Renegades | Filmmaker Mo Naqvi Talks Through His Own Turning Point
The Pakistani-American producer/filmmaker on standing up for truth and justice
Welcome to Renegades, a series spotlighting Asian Pacific leaders and creatives who are carving their own paths and defying stereotypes along the way. This week, we dive deep with Pakistani-American filmmaker and producer Mo Naqvi, whose films explore themes of human rights, social justice, politics, and identity in contemporary Muslim and South Asian narratives. His latest docuseries, Turning Point: The Bomb and the Cold War, breaking down the effects of the atomic bomb, from its initial development to modern day, is now streaming on Netflix.
What did you want to be when you were growing? And how does it compare to what you currently do?
My first love was always the theatre - the magic of storytelling and performance. It was the sweltering summer of 1995 in New York City, and for a 15-year-old immigrant kid from Pakistan, it felt like entering a wondrous new world. I had been accepted into an acting and directing workshop for teens at the prestigious Lee Strasberg Academy. I am surrounded by aspiring actors, one of whom was a fresh-faced Rosario Dawson who just wrapped Larry Clark’s Kids. I am discovering the gritty beauty of off-off-Broadway at La MaMa, while my nights were a whirlwind of independent cinema at iconic venues like Angelika and Film Forum - getting familiar with the work of Indie pioneers like Christine Vachon, Gregg Araki, and Harmony Korine. I even snuck into legendary clubs like Limelight with a fake ID, rubbing shoulders with other young creatives. For a queer Pakistani kid, this little pocket of downtown Manhattan was pure liberation.
Back home in Karachi, however, the reality was drastically different. A cloud of sectarian violence hung over the city, with Shia Muslim families like mine living under the constant threat of massacre. When one of my uncles and his son were tragically gunned down, my family decided to flee to America temporarily to escape the danger. In NYC, I could breathe freely and immerse myself in the arts I loved so dearly. That's what I dreamed of - using creativity and performance to give voice to the stories that needed to be told.
Fast forward six years, and my passion for storytelling led me back to New York, this time to lay the foundations of my professional life. But the world I returned to was markedly different in the wake of 9/11. The tragedy of that day, coupled with the ensuing wave of Islamophobia, shifted my focus towards telling stories from my homeland—stories that needed a voice amidst the clamor of misinformation and prejudice. This shift was not just about a change in medium, from theatre to documentary filmmaking, but a profound realignment of my purpose as a storyteller.
My work in documentary filmmaking was driven by a desire to bring nuanced, authentic stories to the forefront. And then I got my big break. I had just finished shooting Terror’s Children in Pakistan for the New York Times & Discovery channel. The film was an exposé of militant madrassahs in Pakistan but told in a nuanced and authentic way challenging the racist news narrative. It was my first big break after graduating from college. This experience didn't just mark the beginning of my American dream; it defined the mission that would guide my career.
When I got off the plane in New York, they sent me to a secondary inspection room. This is what happened next:
“They wouldn’t give a fuck if you died. You know that, right? To them you are just someone who can get good access to news stories in the Middle East,” the immigration officer barked at me.
I was interrogated for seven hours by immigration officers in a fluorescent and sterile room, somewhere behind the baggage carousel at JFK. My suitcase was ripped apart and its contents strewn on the floor.
“You’re fucking lucky to be here,” added the officer. “You’re lucky that I’m letting you go. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
The officer kicked my torn suitcase towards me. “You can pack up now,” he finished.
In that dehumanizing moment, any intention of silencing me backfired. I became more resolute than ever in my goal to elevate our own voices and resist the white colonial lens through which our stories had been told.
Today, I continue that pursuit, fighting to make space for the incredible South Asian and Muslim storytellers and creators rising in this industry. If that immigration officer aimed to discourage me, it achieved the opposite - fueling my lifelong dedication to empowering our narratives and offering a true portrait of who we are.
Can you tell us about your upbringing in Pakistan and how it has influenced your perspective as a filmmaker and producer, particularly in shaping the narratives you choose to explore?
Growing up in Pakistan, I witnessed a country markedly different from the one my parents knew—a place once celebrated for its tolerance and openness had become overshadowed by instability and violence. As part of the Shia Muslim minority, my family found itself amidst the crosshairs of escalating right-wing Islamist extremism. The murder of my uncle in the 1990s was a turning point, prompting my family to oscillate between the safety of the US and the familiarity of home in Karachi. This constant migration between two starkly different worlds—New York and Karachi—left me feeling out of place in both, nurturing a sense of alienation that, in retrospect, perhaps fed my artistic drive and the somewhat romantic notion of the 'outsider.'
Before the seismic shift of 9/11, my Pakistani heritage and Muslim upbringing were mere facets of my identity, elements that I could navigate or set aside as circumstances demanded. However, the aftermath of 9/11 erased any notion of compartmentalization, casting a stark light on my identity and marking the first time I felt vilified for my origins. This experience catalyzed my journey into activism and social justice through filmmaking—a path I hadn't consciously chosen but one that chose me through the stories I felt compelled to tell.
One of my first films was the feature Shame, which spotlighted Pakistani activist Mukhtar Mai's defiant survival and activism after a brutal gang rape. At 22 years old, like most young artists, I was fascinated by her heroic arc - transforming unimaginable tragedy into an uprising for women's rights in her village. When people say one person can create change, she embodies that truth. But her story also resonated profoundly for me as a sexual abuse survivor myself.
With Pakistan's Hidden Shame, I didn't yet have the self-ownership to openly discuss my own traumas. So I channeled them into giving voice to other survivors - impoverished young abuse victims caught in Pakistan's patriarchal, cyclical system of violence. The process was incredibly challenging, opening dialogues about abuse, survival, and the strength found in shared experiences, even as it forced me to confront my own past.
In essence, my filmmaking journey has been an unintended rebellion against the silence and victim-blaming entrenched in society. By exploring stories of marginalization, resilience, and the human capacity for change, my work seeks to challenge stereotypes, foster empathy, and amplify voices long suppressed. Through this lens, activism didn't just choose me; it became an integral part of my narrative, shaping not only the films I create but the very way I see the world.
You studied at the University of Pennsylvania before venturing into the world of TV and film. How did your academic background contribute to your journey in the entertainment industry, and what motivated you to pursue a career in filmmaking?
At the University of Pennsylvania, I pursued a unique dual path - a double major in Economics and Theatre Arts. It may seem like an odd pairing, but it perfectly encapsulated the two driving forces within me. From a very young age, I knew without a doubt that my future lay in the entertainment industry. So while I relentlessly honed my creative skills through UPenn's theatre program, putting on plays and diving into the vibrant arts scene in Philadelphia, I also received crucial real-world training interning at the Cannes Film Festival Marche through the Penn In Cannes program.
My South Asian parents were remarkably supportive of my artistic ambitions, but they instilled a level of pragmatism in me as well. Economics became my insurance policy of sorts - a fallback plan should my showbiz dreams not materialize right away after college. Little did we know how apt that combination would prove to be.
Today, as a producer and director running my own production company, I operate squarely at the intersection of creativity and finance daily. Packaging each new film or series is akin to launching a startup. I have to seamlessly shift between my right and left brains - living in the storytelling on one end, while also securing financing, strategizing distribution, and maximizing profits on the other. My academic degrees prepared me to thrive in that precarious balance of inspired artistry and business acumen that this industry demands. What once seemed like an odd coupling turned out to be the perfect equipping for my multifaceted career.
As the chairman of the Pakistan Academy Selection Committee, what responsibilities does the role entail, and how do you navigate the process of selecting Pakistan's official submission for the Academy Awards?
As the chairman of the Pakistan Academy Selection Committee, I approach my role with immense responsibility and pride. It is pivotal not just for representing Pakistani cinema on the global stage, but for championing our nation's rich storytelling traditions. The primary task is ensuring a fair, transparent, and inclusive process for selecting Pakistan's official submission to the Academy Awards' Best International Feature Film category.
Once submissions are received, an esteemed committee of industry professionals - filmmakers, critics, scholars - convenes to evaluate the entries. Our committee last year included esteemed names like movie stars Fawad Khan, blockbuster directors Bilal Lashari, and prolific writers like Fatima Bhutto. We assess various criteria like storytelling, direction, performances, technical merit, and the ability to engage audiences beyond our borders. It's a robust process involving extensive discussions and debates, reflecting our shared commitment to showcasing the best of Pakistani cinema worldwide.
Recent years have seen Pakistani films making remarkable strides internationally. Saim Sadiq's Joyland was shortlisted for the Oscars two years ago, while Zarrar Khan's In Flames was our official submission this year - both were prestigious Cannes Official Selections. This year alone, three Pakistani origin films - Iram Parveen Bilal's Wakhri, Fawzia Mirza's Queen Of My Dreams, and Amman Abbasi's Yasmeens' Elements - had their world premieres at SXSW. Ahead of their SXSW debuts, I held an event in Los Angeles on behalf of PASC celebrating these trailblazing filmmakers.
As we witness increasing representation on the world stage, my role is championing this momentum. It's about fostering national pride while contributing to the global dialogue through the universal language of cinema. The selection process is a delicate balance of honoring artistic achievements and strategic positioning for an international platform. Ultimately, it's a profound responsibility that the entire committee embraces - elevating the profile of Pakistani cinema and sharing the diversity of our narratives with the world.
Given your diverse portfolio with productions for various networks and platforms, including Showtime, HBO, and Netflix, could you share your approach to storytelling and the types of stories you are particularly drawn to when working on projects with Pakistani characters?
Historically, non-fiction storytelling about Pakistan has predominantly been shaped through a colonial "white gaze" lens. It's only in the last few decades that Pakistanis have been able to transcend being mere "fixers" and reclaim the narratives about our own homeland. As a filmmaker, I've made it my mission to resist the outdated tropes and center authentic Pakistani perspectives.
Too many recent documentaries have become performative, pandering to that very colonial appetite rather than offering nuanced portraits. So in my own work from 2012 onwards, I've deliberately privileged the vantage points of the powerful - the oppressors themselves. Whether it's militant leaders like Maulana Aziz of the Red Mosque, the controversial cleric Khadim Rizvi who pushed for blasphemy laws, or even former dictator Pervez Musharraf, I've gone into the proverbial lion's den to engage with these influential yet dangerous figures.
Ultimately, by centering Pakistani perspectives, even polarizing ones, I aim to transcend reductive stereotypes. It's about humanizing the full scope of our narratives in all their complexities - a refusal to filter them through an outdated colonial lens.
Your documentary Among the Believers and other works shed light on critical societal issues. What motivates you to tell these stories, and how do you navigate the challenges of bringing such topics to a global audience?
My driving motivation for making Among the Believers was to shed light on the complex realities and critical societal issues of rising extremism in my homeland of Pakistan through an indigenous lens. With this documentary, I wanted to examine the increasing turmoil and spread of radical ideologies since the War on Terror. My focus was the notorious head of the Red Mosque, Maulana Abdul Aziz Ghazi - an avowed ISIS supporter and Taliban ally pushing for Sharia law through his growing network of extremist madrassas that indoctrinated children as young as four.
I knew tackling such a controversial and dangerous subject matter head-on would be an immense challenge. But I felt it was crucial to pull back the curtain on this very real, active threat - one with grave ramifications not just for Pakistan but globally. Too often, narratives about my region get filtered through an outside, sensationalized perspective. As a Pakistani filmmaker, I was committed to offering a raw, unvarnished look at the forces my country was grappling with.
The backlash and risks I faced for this project were chilling. Almost immediately after the film's release, militants sympathetic to Ghazi issued death threats against me and my crew in Pakistan. We were forced into hiding, relocating households out of fear for our safety. Tragically, two of our human rights activist friends who spoke out against Ghazi, Sabeen Mahmud and Khurram Zaki, were murdered.
Censorship became another battle, with the film banned in Pakistan - a situation that continues today despite appeals from rights organizations. I had to make the difficult choice to go on hiatus from distribution until security issues could be addressed. Exhibiting the film to Ghazi himself finally alleviated some of his concerns, allowing a U.S. release to move forward this fall. The film went on to be nominated for an Emmy, an Independent Spirit Award, and a Cinema Eye Award.
The intensity of these challenges uncovered the depths of the existential fight my home country is waging - between the forces of extremism and those striving to uphold democratic ideals. At a time when fear-mongering politicians demonize all Muslims as terrorists, my film offers a necessary counterpoint from an indigenous Muslim voice bravely reclaiming the narrative and pushing back against radical elements.
Beyond non-fiction, you've also produced fiction features. Can you discuss the transition between documentary and fiction filmmaking and share any unique challenges or insights you've gained from working in both genres?
My background actually began in theatre, where I first fell in love with the art of bringing characters to life on stage. So when I branched into narrative fiction films, it felt like an organic extension of that early passion for immersive storytelling. As a producer on projects like the cross-cultural road trip drama Big River, which premiered at the Berlin and Busan Film Festivals, and the indie comedy I Will Avenge You Iago, starring Giancarlo Esposito and Larry Pine, I was able to apply my documentary instincts for authentic representation to fictional narratives across diverse genres.
One of the most rewarding aspects has been the ability to explore differing perspectives on overlapping human experiences. My recent fiction directorial debut Happy Things in Sorrow Times, inspired by Tehmina Durrani's coming-of-age novel, allowed me to render the intense emotions surrounding issues like refugee displacement that I've also documented in the non-fiction realm.
I've been fortunate to collaborate with renowned artists internationally as well, including producing a project with the iconic Japanese filmmaker Takeshi Kitano's production company Office Kitano. Working in Japan was incredibly insightful, exposing me to new storytelling aesthetics and furthering my commitment to uplifting cross-cultural dialogues through my work.
Each genre, documentary and fiction, offers its own set of unique challenges—the unpredictable fluidity of real-life stories versus the disciplined craft of constructing a fictional narrative. Yet, what is fundamental to both is the commitment to elevate stories above mere tropes and societal constructs, ensuring that narratives retain their depth and authenticity, rather than being compressed into one-dimensional portrayals.
You produced two seasons of the Netflix Original Top 10 docu-series Turning Point. How did the concept for the series come about, and what was your experience working on a platform like Netflix, known for its global reach? Additionally, how do you believe Turning Point contributes to the broader narrative landscape of documentary filmmaking?
Producing Turning Point for Netflix was an extraordinary experience. It was a privilege to work on both seasons with director and executive producer Brian Knappenberger and his Luminant Productions, alongside an exceptional team, including the Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Lowell Bergman. The essence of Turning Point lies in its endeavor to reexamine pivotal chapters of world history through a modern and critical lens. Our aim is to revisit narratives that have been repeated throughout time and to cast them in a new light, one that cuts through the noise of propaganda to uncover truths that challenge comfortable perceptions. It's about rendering history with contemporary relevance and confronting the audience with realities that may be tough to digest but are essential for a comprehensive understanding of our past and its impact on our present.
The 9/11 narrative, for years, focused on honoring the victims and heroes. But a critical lens was missing. "Never forget" became synonymous with "never question." Our series aimed to break that cycle. We explored the events leading up to 9/11, America's response, and the long-term consequences, including the war in Iraq and the erosion of civil liberties. It was a necessary interrogation of a pivotal moment in history.
Turning Point wasn't just an Emmy-nominated top ten hit on Netflix, it was a global conversation starter. We challenged the dominant narrative of the War on Terror by examining its roots, missteps, and untold stories. Through in-depth research and interviews with a wide range of voices, from military leaders to Taliban leaders and survivors, we offered a fresh perspective on this defining period. Reaching a massive audience on Netflix pushed documentary series into the mainstream, sparking dialogue even beyond traditional film circles. Notable figures like Kim Kardashian and Stephen King publicly discussed the series, demonstrating its power to engage a diverse audience.
Building on its success, the second season of Turning Point, titled The Bomb and the Cold War, delves into the nuclear arms race and its lasting impact on the world stage. Released in March 2024 and already a global top-ten hit, the series stays true to its mission of critical historical analysis.
Through over 100 interviews conducted across seven countries over a two-year production period, the documentary offers a multifaceted perspective on the Cold War's legacy. Personal accounts from survivors and key figures like Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, NATO Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg, former CIA Director Robert Gates, and former Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice provide a rich tapestry of experiences and insights. These interviews shed light on how the Cold War shaped the world we live in today.
Lightning Round
Favorite city to visit: Toss up between Seoul, Korea & Lima, Peru
Favorite Pakistani Dish: Sindhi Biryani
Camera Hack: Buy your camera, never rent - your line producer will thank you.
Role Model or Favorite Director: Ingmar Bergman
Documentaries or Fiction: They both lie, Just differently.