Filmmaker Weam Namou on ‘The Great American Family’ and the Hidden Cost of National Security

In her award-winning documentary The Great American Family, filmmaker and author Weam Namou tackles the explosive true story of Dawn Hanna—a Michigan native sentenced to six years in federal prison for allegedly brokering telecom equipment to Iraq during U.S. sanctions. What the jury didn’t know? Her co-conspirator was a CIA operative, and the operation had government backing.

We sat down with Namou to explore what drew her to the case, how her Chaldean heritage shaped her storytelling, and what The Great American Family reveals about justice, secrecy, and the human cost of politics.

What first drew you to Dawn Hanna’s story, and when did you know you had to make a film about it?

Secrets of silent strength

It actually began with Dawn’s mother, Linda. As a fellow mother and daughter from a family-centered culture, I was deeply moved by the pain this case was causing. Initially, I hesitated—politically, it felt risky. But after prayer and a conversation with my husband, I knew this was the right thing to do. The book and the film became acts of justice and humanity.

This story found me, really. As someone with Chaldean roots—descendants of the Neo-Babylonians who still speak Aramaic—I’ve seen firsthand how our community survives by standing together. I was born in Baghdad, a minority Christian, and I felt uniquely responsible for telling Dawn’s story with integrity.

How did you balance national security concerns with the personal impact on Dawn and her family?

Uncover hidden truths

That was one of the most difficult parts. Dawn was used as a scapegoat—her case mirrored a larger pattern where politics and profit take precedence over truth. National security became a shield used to silence deeper injustices. My goal was to present both sides: the systemic failures and the very real, very personal toll on families like Dawn’s.

What was your initial reaction when you learned of the CIA’s involvement?

Total disbelief. Her brother, Darrin, mentioned it during coffee at a diner. I thought it was too far-fetched—until I interviewed Emad, the CIA operative, and combed through the court files. The government didn’t even deny his status—they just claimed it wouldn’t have changed the jury’s decision. That realization was gutting. My family fled dictatorship for the promise of justice in America. Seeing this happen here was deeply sobering.

Was verifying classified or redacted material a challenge during production?

Surprisingly, no. Dawn’s family had built a meticulous archive—court transcripts, affidavits, documents. They did the legwork. My job was to organize and interpret the mountain of evidence that the jury never saw.

How did you approach dramatizing the government’s chilling response?

I didn’t have to. The quote from the Government Brief stood on its own. Our cinematographer simply captured it. Sometimes, truth is more dramatic than fiction.

Is Dawn’s case unique—or part of a wider pattern?

Absolutely not unique. While Dawn was incarcerated, she told me about hundreds of other women behind bars—most for nonviolent offenses, many mothers. The system is broken. Her case is a symptom of that.

How did Dawn respond to the film?

After losing her appeal, Dawn pulled back. The experience drained her and her family. My connection deepened with her mother, Linda. When Dawn was released, she chose a quieter life. I respect that. Healing takes time.

Your Baghdad roots—how did they shape your approach to this story?

Profoundly. I grew up tracking the Gulf War, the sanctions, the 2003 invasion. I went back to Iraq in 2000 and saw the suffering firsthand. Working on this film gave me a way to serve—to shine light where there’s been too much darkness.

Were there moments in production that transformed your view of American justice?

Yes. The idea that injustices are protected to “save face” shook me. Also, when UK journalists backed out of interviewing the CIA operative out of fear, I knew I had to do it myself. It reminded me just how intimidating these power structures can be—even for professionals.

Did any whistleblowers or insiders help shape the film?

Yes, several—off the record. One unforgettable moment was a call from Vincent Bugliosi. He praised the project and expressed heartbreak over Iraq’s suffering. That encouragement meant the world to me.

What do you hope this project changes—if not in policy, then in public awareness?

I want people to demand accountability. The Constitution exists for a reason. No one should be above the law—especially those who use power to destroy lives. If we stay silent, nothing changes.

What would you say to people who believe, “If you’re innocent, you have nothing to worry about”?

That belief is naive. The justice system is not infallible. Innocent people get caught in its gears all the time—especially in cases involving secrecy. If we keep ignoring that, we’re complicit.

How did you visually or thematically explore the idea of trust?

We used handheld footage to bring intimacy to the family’s experience. We followed them through daily life—even on a flight to visit Dawn. Archival clips, activist interviews, and news footage grounded the larger context. And we captured Dawn’s brother’s wedding—just before she went to prison. These layers show how fragile trust can be when institutions fail.

As a novelist, journalist, and filmmaker—how do you decide what medium tells the story best?

I started with books, and they’re still my foundation. But film reaches more people. Managing my family’s video store for 12 years taught me the power of cinema. I always dreamed of my books becoming films—I just didn’t expect to make them myself. But if I didn’t, who would?

And if the government is listening—what message does this film carry for them?

You wasted time, money, and lives. This case wasn’t about justice—it was about politics. Let it be a lesson: justice must come before appearances, or we all lose.

About the Filmmaker

Weam Namou is an Eric Hoffer award-winning author of 20 books and a trailblazing filmmaker whose debut feature, The Great American Family, has earned over a dozen international awards and streams on Amazon Prime. Her second feature, Pomegranate, broke ground as the first Iraqi American feature led by women and won over 40 international honors. A former executive director of the Chaldean Cultural Center, Namou also founded Unique Voices in Films and The Path of Consciousness. Born in Baghdad and raised in the U.S., her storytelling bridges cultures, empowers communities, and brings truth to power.