Filming the Price of Gold

The mayor of Choropampa addresses protestors

But after interviewing villagers that first hot, sunny afternoon, I realised an article would not be enough. Their memories were so vivid, their voices rising with emotion, their expressions honest and compelling. The story had to be told by the villagers themselves.

A few months later my partner Ernesto Cabellos and I returned to Choropampa and began filming. I had never worked in video before and Ernesto’s experience was limited to producing and filming short programs. We did not know how long the project would take or where to find the necessary funding, but we were convinced that the film had to be made.

During the next two years of filming and editing we encountered numerous obstacles. Scarce funds were a persistent worry, but non-material concerns also disturbed our sleep. Choropampa lacked direct and consistent support from nonprofit agencies and by default Ernesto and I were the only development people they saw on a regular basis. We tortured ourselves with feelings of inadequacy - wouldn’t a lawyer or doctor or psychologist be more useful? It was the Choropampinos who resolved our psychosis, insisting that it was important for them to tell their story to the outside world.

Poisoned by mercury, people of Choropampa confront the riot police in protests

As the weeks of filming turned into months, we realised that the film-making process itself was having a positive effect. Villagers felt empowered knowing their opinions mattered and were being recorded, especially in a country like Peru where indigenous and rural Andean people are usually ignored or misrepresented by the media. The act of remembering their trauma also had a cleansing effect for many people – what psychologists call ‘disclosure.’

Choropampa is a community based on peasant farming and trading and we were filming people unused to being in front of a camera. At first most participants appeared stiff and unnatural. Ernesto and I spent time developing relationships of trust with the villagers and filming them constantly so they became accustomed to the camera. It helped that we were just two people with relatively unobtrusive equipment – just one microphone and a digital camera that Ernesto could hold in his lap. A few years after making the film we returned to host Choropampa’s high school graduation. Ernesto didn’t have his camera out at first and people asked him, “Where’s the camera? Why aren’t you filming?” In their eyes the camera was part of Ernesto, like an extra arm, and it was strange to see him without it.

During the course of filming, the villagers asked us how to get their story in the media. We put them in touch with our contacts, brought colleagues with us to the village, sent alerts and updates to Peruvian and foreign reporters and international solidarity groups abroad and helped Choropampa’s leaders write press releases. When the village mayor or Defence Front president came to Lima, the capital city, we organised interviews with television, radio and print media. Although it wasn’t part of our original project, we ended up as media advocacy advisors

There were also moments of tension during the filming, and even danger. Hours before Choropampa blocked a major highway to protest the mine’s inaction, a representative from the company told the town’s leaders that I had offered to sell our footage to the mine. Suspicion was high in the village. Even family members mistrusted each other. Friends told us to stay away from the blockade, in case the crowd turned on us, but we knew that our absence would seem proof of our guilt. We wrote a letter to the company outlining the charges and demanding an apology and faxed it to all the top brass as well as the Canadian embassy and foreign press association. Then we presented the letter to Choropampa’s mayor as he addressed a crowd of 500 villagers ready to take the highway. It was late at night and Ernesto and I held flashlights under our chins to illuminate our faces to the crowd as the mayor read out our letter. When he finished, he told the crowd how we had helped him with media campaigns, hosted him in our home and given him copies of our footage. “And what’s more, I consider Stephanie and Tito to be my friends,” he said. “Should we let them continue filming?”

“Yes!” the crowd shouted in unison.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead and Ernesto turned on the camera. The blockade proved to be the most dramatic, important moment we filmed in Choropampa and ours was the only camera present.

Journalists are fond of remaining aloof and uninvolved. They think this helps make their work objective. As documentary film-makers, we do not worry about such nonsense. We get involved, follow the viewpoint that holds the most truth for us and lose our hearts to the story. Our convictions sustain us through frustration and turmoil and in the end, we hope, the sentiment we feel for the film’s heroes is passed onto you, the viewer.

Stephanie Boyd is a WACC member and the film “Choropampa, the Price of Gold” was distributed with assistance from WACC.

Guarango Cine is currently working on media training and other films with a human rights focus.

"Choropampa - The price of Gold" will be shown in Peru's National Television Network of 194 TV stations. Until now the documentary has only been shown via cable (Canal N) and RED TV, a network of municipal TV stations. Guarango have donated the documentary to TNP.

Choropampa was screened at the Latin American Film Festival in London this month, which members of WACC staff attended.