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“Shifting Focus from Political Agendas To the Real Faces of Conflict”: Sareen Hairabedian on Her DOC NYC-Premiering My Sweet Land
"My Sweet Land" (courtesy Sister Prods/Soilsiu Films) Admittedly, Artsakh (Nagorno-Karabakh) was not in my geographic vocabulary before this region in the Caucasus Mountains took centerstage at last year’s IDFA, when first-time filmmaker Shoghakat Vardanyan nabbed top prize for 1489. The heartbreaking doc details the Armenian director’s real-time, smartphone-shot search for her brother, a young student and musician who’d been conscripted into the most recent war over their disputed homeland.
And now we have Sareen Hairabedian’s cinematic, Gotham-supported My Sweet Land screening DOC NYC (where Emily Mkrtichian’s There Was, There Was Not, which follows four women in Artsakh, is also playing). Starring a bright 11-year old citizen of Artsakh named Vrej, it’s a coming-of-age story spanning years, always with the multigenerational war as backdrop; and it’s made all the more poignant by the Armenian-Jordanian filmmaker’s insistence on witnessing the up-and-down journey through her young protagonist’s all-to-aware eyes.
Just prior to the film’s DOC NYC (U.S. Competition) premiere on Saturday, November 16, Filmmaker reached out to the US-based Hairabedian, whose directorial debut, HBO’s We Are Not Done Yet, received a Best Documentary Short nomination at the IDA Awards back in 2018.
Filmmaker: So how did you meet Vrej and his family? Why were you even in Artsakh (Nagorno-Karabakh) in the first place?
Hairabedian: I met Vrej and his family during my first research trip to Artsakh in 2018, shortly after completing my documentary We Are Not Done Yet, about U.S. veterans using poetry to cope with PTSD. Feeling a deep connection to Artsakh as part of my Armenian identity, I was drawn to explore the lives of those living under the constant threat of war. My goal was to hear the stories of children — of their dreams, hopes and fears; and daily lives in a region unknown to much of the world.
I began my research by meeting families from villages that had participated in a mass wedding in 2008, organized to repopulate the area after the devastation of the 1990s war over Artsakh between Armenia and Azerbaijan. That’s when I met Vrej. His curiosity and wisdom — a child-turned-philosopher beyond his years — immediately captured my lens, and I knew then I would return to film with him.
Filmmaker: What exactly led to your decision to show this tale of endless war through a child’s eyes? And what did the process of framing a story from that POV entail?
Hairabedian: This story told through the eyes of a child aims to highlight the human experiences of a war-torn land, shifting focus from political agendas to the real faces of conflict. The people of Artsakh — children, women, men — are the ones who faced the horrors of war that came to their doorsteps: displacement, loss, and rebuilding. They poured love into their lands, air and water, livestock and crops; and despite every hardship that war brought they always returned. Ultimately, they lost the homes they had spent their lives building and protecting. By starting with the perspective of a child, we gain an unfiltered view of a nation’s struggle to protect its homeland.
Telling the story from the POV of 11-year-old Vrej specifically required a great deal of patience and trust between us. Throughout the film Vrej experiences significant changes — both within his personal bubble and in the broader context of his country’s turmoil. Capturing his reflections on the shifting worlds around him, living in the limbo between war and peace, meant allowing space for all moments: joy, sadness, fear, and play. Some days he didn’t want to be filmed, other days he sought comfort in conversation, and at times he just wanted to be the child he deserved to be. It was important to me that all these moments were captured with the care they deserved, offering a nuanced and honest portrayal of what it means to grow up in Artsakh.
Filmmaker: In addition to being a director you’re also the founder of HAI Creative, a production company that “collaborates with artists and humanitarian organizations across continents.” So what does your HAI Creative work consist of? How does it connect to your own films?
Hairabedian: Through HAI Creative I collaborate with artists and mission-driven organizations worldwide to communicate their messages via short documentaries and creative media. This work has allowed me to engage with some of today’s most pressing social issues while continuously learning and fostering new relationships.
Through the company I’ve worked with organizations in human rights, social justice, healthcare, arts and culture. Some examples of projects include a multidisciplinary dance performance with Christopher K. Morgan & Artists about the artist’s Hawaiian culture, a Sesame Street Workshop initiative on how to talk to children in military families about suicide, and a collaboration with MTV Studios on centering youth voices in discussions about mental health.
And the themes that I explore through HAI Creative often intersect with the independent projects I produce and direct; in some cases these smaller projects evolve into larger, more in-depth explorations. What I find beautiful and fulfilling in this work is the opportunity to engage with people from different walks of life, building lasting relationships, and always learning something new that offers me more insight into how I experience the world around me.
Filmmaker: I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that I ‘d never heard of Artsakh until last year, when I saw Shoghakat Vardanyan’s 1489, the Armenian director’s heartbreaking personal investigation into her conscripted brother’s death (which nabbed top prize at IDFA). Any thoughts as to why it took so long for the international community to wake up to this conflict and why more films set in the region are hitting screens now? (Emily Mkrtichian’s There Was, There Was Not, which follows four women in Artsakh, is likewise playing DOC NYC.)
Hairabedian: Unfortunately, I don’t think the international community fully woke up to the conflict, or else more than 100,000 ethnic Armenians would not have been forced out of their ancestral lands in September of 2023. I saw Shoghakat’s film last weekend at the Verzió International Human Rights Film Festival, and Emily’s film at the Golden Apricot Yerevan International Film Festival in July. Both powerful films document Artsakh’s conflict through unique and intimate perspectives.
I am deeply honored to be part of this wave of compelling stories coming out of the region (and yet to come). What’s especially striking is that many of these recent documentaries are created by women. This speaks volumes about the commitment, resilience, and patience of women storytellers who have continued their work in these uncertain times of conflict. The recognition these films are receiving is a testament to the dedication of Armenian artists in ensuring that our history is preserved and our stories continue to be told. We must keep telling the human stories of Artsakh to preserve history and reshape our narrative; and empower future generations to create, rebuild, and dream of a better future.
Filmmaker: It was announced in September that My Sweet Land would be Jordan’s official entry for Best International Feature at next year’s Oscars. But now it seems Jordan has withdrawn the film, perhaps after pressure from Azerbaijan. So how did you learn of this turn of events? And were you offered any explanation for the abrupt reversal?
Hairabedian: My team and I were thrilled to learn that My Sweet Land had been selected as Jordan’s official entry for the Academy Award for Best International Feature Film. Unfortunately, soon after, covert diplomatic pressure from Azerbaijan led to calls for Jordan to withdraw the film. To our great disappointment, Jordan complied in October. We were given no clear explanation other than that the withdrawal was intended to preserve diplomatic ties with Azerbaijan.
It was disheartening to see a deeply personal and emotional story about a child’s love for his home and family silenced in this way. So my team and I decided to submit My Sweet Land in the Best Documentary Feature Film category at the 97th Academy Awards to continue sharing Vrej’s story on the global stage — a story about a child’s fundamental right to safety and security. This narrative reflects the struggles of countless children around the world today who deserve to live and dream without the threat of war. We remain fully committed to telling Vrej’s story.
