Films that ought to change the world

Just come home from some friends' new film club – inaugural screening – feeling very emotional. Called Rwanda Hotel, it documents the true story of a man and his family caught up in the Hutu/Tootsi genocide. A man of unbelievable courage, strength and character who saved the lives of over a thousand Tootsies who sought refuge in the hotel where he was manager. Who saw and witnessed the atrocities, and was able to get the outside world to take notice; risking his own life to safeguard the lives of others. An unbelievable story. So humbling, and sobering.

These kinds of things are happening in places even now. Massacres continue to occur and we do nothing to stop them. On the news the other night, Israeli mortars targeting a military outpost, missed, but hit civilian houses, killing and maiming dozens of people, mainly children. In Rwanda, the policy was to kill all of the children to wipe out the next generation. Over a million people were murdered, most of them hacked to death by machetes. I remember following the reports on the news in 1994; we were living in Australia at the time. Remember being horrified and sickened by the killings, but it soon became old news and was quickly forgotten. Paul, the amazing man whose story is told, and his family, now living in exile in Belgium, won't be forgetting in a hurry.

Before the film we watched our hosts' wedding video – not as cringe-worthy as might first be believed. Short and sweet, filmed and edited by a professional film-maker mutual friend, it was really lovely. Rosie did some of the camera work which was duly credited, and the poem that I wrote for them at the last minute, and nervously read out, is an add on at the end with a montage of images. Unexpected, as I had no idea that I was on camera. Fitting to be showing it in the same barn where they swore their vows, and with us as former wedding guests, present. Raising a glass of champagne, and munching popcorn, we toasted their continued happiness and good health.

In one of the window alcoves, the framed photo of Joe – Joe Silva, the stillborn baby boy who didn't quite make it into this world – was illuminated by a flickering candle flame. I could see his tiny fist bunched up next to his face. His parents, there in the room too. Next to me, another tiny baby snuffled his way through the film. Life goes on. Death is tragic, sad, terrible, but life does go on. I cried when I heard about Joe, everyone did. Wrote and recorded a song to express my sense of loss, show that I cared. Visited his beautiful woodland grave and tried to think peaceful thoughts.

I'm terrified that I may have to face such pain and grief; hope to god that it will never come to pass. That I go first, as is the natural order of things.