To Kill a War Machine: Banned documentary exposes UK complicity in Israeli arms trade

The New Arab sat down with Shareefa Energy, co-producer of To Kill a War Machine, a documentary that showcases the five-year evolution of grassroots action against Israeli arms manufacturer Elbit Systems.

Shareefa, who is also a poet and activist, is based part-time in Leicester, where she was part of the local community resisting the Leicester Elbit factory.

She tells The New Arab that she got involved with the project "for the sake of the narrative and because of her interest in archiving, too."

The release of To Kill a War Machine, both in cinemas and then online, was brought forward by several weeks in June due to the UK government’s legal case against Palestine Action.

Following the proscription of the group under the Terrorism Act in early July, the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) revoked the film's classification on 4 July 2025. Further distribution or exhibition of the film is now considered an offence under the Terrorism Act 2000.

To Kill a War Machine was filmed by Rainbow Collective.

The New Arab: Could you tell us more about why you made this documentary?

Shareefa Energy: Our primary goal is to create an archive of the last five years – that's our initial intention. To ensure people understand the journey of state repression in the UK.

A few years ago, actionists could defend themselves in court. And now we have people like Filton24 having terrorism charges over their heads.

State repression has increased towards local communities and anybody mobilising against Elbit. The way that the state protects these drone factories, the way the state manufactures consent for the arms trade to continue, all for them to continue genocide against Palestinians.

Many people organise as local communities against drone factories, so it doesn't mean you need to be a part of a direct action network group. We're just local community members who want the factory out of our city.

What is the fate of the film now?

Friday, July 18, was supposed to be the premiere, but we released it early due to the events surrounding the proscription.

We also released it for download, allowing people to view it before it was taken down and became a banned documentary, as it is today. That's the reality of it.

So, we had to rush to ensure that people understood what they were up against and to ensure that the narrative reached the public. You can no longer find it online, and the BBFC revoked our cinema certification on the same day that Palestine Action was proscribed.

This has created serious implications, as certain actions could now result in jail time. If people hold a screening of the film, the organisers could face jail time because they would be sharing [what is seen as] material of a proscribed group.

It's literally censorship. It’s about digital erasure. It's about fascist, draconian laws. It’s an attack on people’s civil liberties; it's putting people in danger for protesting against the worst crime (genocide) with more than their lungs.

How are you doing, emotionally, knowing that your work has been censored?

It’s bigger than the film for me. It was only a matter of time before the crackdown by the British government increased. It was inevitable, which is why working on this film since January with a tight schedule for our team was important, and why I was involved in the first place.

People are reacting in different ways. Some can go straight into paranoia. That’s what censorship to this detrimental degree is designed to do.

[But none of this should take away from the much bigger issues.] Filmmakers, social media archivists, and journalists in Gaza are being assassinated in tents outside hospitals for sharing the truth; They are the priority.

How was the film received in the short time it was available?

I’m proud that many were able to see the film while it was still available. There were a lot of people mobilising screenings for it across the country and internationally, including in Yemen at their million-man march. People have seen the power of film, the power of documentation, the power of archives.

I’m a poet, but I also occasionally record over music. We featured music from people in the camps in Palestine, as well as local artists in Britain. I loved compiling the majority of the documentary soundtrack, which added power to the narrative.

It included a song Jnoud by The Lock, produced by Wasp Nest from Jenin Camp in the West Bank. Including them, and other Palestinian artists' music was important to me, which is why the documentary started with Inn Ann by the incredible Shabjeed and Daboor — the 2021 anthem for when Palestinians in Sheikh Jarrah were having an escalation of violence by the Israeli occupation against them, and when the occupation was bombing Gaza.

It was also an honour to have the wonderful Palestinian First Lady of Arabic hip-hop Shadia Mansour’s powerful music featured in the documentary, alongside the creator of the internationally known Palestine anthem, Lowkey’s music.

There were over 100 screenings locally and internationally. The response was great. Many people got behind it, and they truly appreciated it. I took the documentary to Poland. We showed it in Warsaw, a few days before the proscription. So, yeah, there were plans for it. But now we’re just back to the drawing board.

What aspect of this documentary are you particularly happy with?

I’m happy that it gave voice to the Filton18 families, as well as working-class people and activists. One of the young men in it — a Pakistani guy from Birmingham who did the action against Arconic on Grenfell’s fourth anniversary in 2021 — he's just a kid off the street.

The doc gave him a voice. It involved both local community resistance and more formal direct action. It wouldn't have been as powerful without the soundtrack. And just going through the stages of the years, it was powerful in showing how direct action has evolved over the years, and the government’s response to suppress it, being in bed with the Israeli lobby.

Why was it important to get the families of the Filton18 on screen?

It's important because: let a mother speak, let a mother articulate. Even just her pride in her daughter. It also sends a message to other parents of activists who might need reassurance that they don’t need to be ashamed of their children.

Also, we had poetry from people inside jail. It’s a way of platforming them and making it clear that we’ve not forgotten them while they’re behind bars.

Your documentary is a powerful testament to how we use our phones for activism, right?

Yes, as reflected in what is happening in Gaza, too. In fact, we also used footage from Gaza on our phones in the documentary.

We wanted that in the archive, so it was a mix of local footage from here, but also footage from Palestine, whether it was the March of Return or little Gaza girls telling us about the torturous “zoom zoom zoom” sound of the drones. All of this is about giving evidence collated over decades.

I'm someone who does a lot of stuff around filming the police during stop and searches, and more generally, witnessing them when they abuse their powers. Police the police. Some of the footage used in the documentary was even captured on my phone, taken outside the Elbit factory when the Leicestershire police brought out riot police for us.

We need to document abusive powers, intensive policing, and the British police being complicit in protecting genocide to continue.

Additionally, not having a London-centric narrative was crucial because you only ever hear about the Met in detail. You don't often hear about other police forces, so I was particularly proud of that, as none of us on the team were raised in London.

Sebastian Shehadi is a freelance journalist and a contributing writer at the New Statesman. 

Follow him on X: @seblebanon