Trumpai: dokumentinis filmas, kuriame žmonės iš viso pasaulio dalijasi tuo, kaip suvokia ir patiria gyvenimą: meilę, santykius, skurdą, turtą, laimę, depresiją, nuovargį, darbą, nusikaltimus, bausmę. Filmas labai estetiškas, subtilus, priverčiantis susimąstyti ir labiau vertinti tai, ką turime. Labai akivaizdu, kad tas pats dalykas, pavyzdžiui, meilė ar darbas, kiekvienam žmogui gali turėti visiškai skirtingą prasmę ir reikšmę, sužadinti skirtingas emocijas ir asociacijas.
Raktažodžiai: ašaros, baimė, darbas, depresija, gyvenimas, homoseksualumas, išsilavinimas, juokas, kalėjimas, karas, laimė, meilė, mirtis, monogamija, moteriškumas, nusikaltimai, nuovargis, pasaulis, pasiaukojimas, pokyčiai, poligamija, sąmoningumas, santykiai, skirtumai, skyrybos, skurdas, smurtas, šeima, turtas, vertybės, žmonija.
Keletas kadrų iš filmo + išsakytos mintys:
I am poor. I will define poverty now. What poverty means to me. It‘s when I have to go to school, but I can‘t go. When I have to eat, but I can‘t. When I have to sleep, but I can‘t. When my wife and children suffer. I don‘t have sufficient intellectual level to get us out of this situation, me or my family. I really feel poor. Physically poor, mentally poor. And you rich people who listen to me, what do you have to say about your wealth?
I know that I‘m less happy with more money. And I know that I still want more. It reminds me whether it‘s sex or money or any of these transient things, somehow you can‘t rationalize yourself into wanting less. I like things and I pursue the things, but the things only make me happy for a short period of time. Then, I go back and I have challenges of my family and I don‘t know how to make a depressed person happy. You can‘t give them a thing and make them happy, because their brain is not happy. So I feel frustrated that the cures don‘t exist. And I can‘t just wave a magic wand and make my… son… better.
When we have no more food, we go gathering grains of rice in the rat holes. When we find some, we keep them in a basket. We go home when there‘s enough to fill a bag. The next morning, we cook the rice, then we go and gather more. God is kind-hearted. He watches over us and gives us everything. When God watches me looking everywhere, I always find some rice. I search the rat holes, then go home.
Some of the most generous people I know have no money. That‘s how it should be. When we have no money, it‘s a different lifestyle. When you see the old people… In our language we have no such word as “please” or “thank you”, because that is expected of us… is that we share and we give what we have. Today, we have to say “please” and “thank you”, we have to beg for things. In the old days, it was a given thing that we would share things. That was a part of who we are. And not only for Aboriginal people, I expect people all around the world would do the same things before money. But nowadays, “It’s mine.” There are words like “mine.” We don’t share our things anymore. And it’s become… It kills us as human beings, as a society, as a race. When I say “race”, I’m talking about the human race. But we deny other people shelter, we deny other people food, we deny other people their survival, purely because of money.
The way we live and our values are the expression of the society we live in. And we cling to that. It doesn’t matter if I’m the president (of Uruguay). I’ve thought about all this a lot. I spent over 10 years in a solitary confinement cell. I had the time… I spent 7 years without opening a book. It left me time to think. This is what I discovered. Either you’re happy with very little, without overburdening yourself, because you have happiness inside, or you’ll get nowhere. I am not advocating poverty. I am advocating sobriety. But we invented a consumer society which continually seeking growth. When there’s no growth, it’s tragic. We invented a mountain of superfluous needs. You have to keep buying, throwing away. It’s our lives we are squandering. When I buy something, or when you buy it, we’re not paying with money. We’re paying with the time from our lives we had to spend to earn that money. The difference is that you can’t buy life. Life just goes by. And it’s terrible to waste your life losing your freedom.
Maybe these atrocities make people more violent, because they want to avenge them. Even though I can understand that, I try to keep my humanity. Once you have killed a man, it becomes clear to you, you can never hope for heavenly peace, for peace with yourself. When you have killed your enemy, he is no longer an enemy. So why did you kill him? It’s an endless cycle. That’s simply the way human nature is. When you kill a man, only afterward you do realize you should have avoided going that far. Because then, you live with that for the rest of your life. It’s not easy.
On the 16th of January 2007, an Israeli border policeman shot and killed my 10-year-old daughter Abir in front of her school in Anath where I live. She was with her sister and two friends. 9.30 in the morning. In her head in the back from a distance of 15 to 20 meters by a rubber bullet. Abir wasn’t a fighter. She was just… a child. She doesn’t know anything about the conflict and she’s not part of this conflict. Unfortunately, she lost her life because she’s a Palestinian. Because we are human beings, sometimes you think: “If I kill the killer or anyone from the other side, from the Israelis, or maybe ten, this will give me back my daughter.” No. I’ll cause another pain and another victim to the others. I decided to break this circle of violence and blood and revenge by stop killing and supporting revenge, by myself. Many people told me: “It’s not your right to forgive in her name.” And the answer: “It’s also not my right to seek revenge in her name.” I hope she’s satisfied. I hope she rests in peace.