Stories of a Generation - with Pope Francis (2021–…): Season 1, Episode 3 - Episode #1.3 - full transcript
I have faith
in your enthusiasm, okay?
Let's get going.
Do you like the word "fight"?
What does it mean to you?
If you ask me if I'm a fighter.
I will tell you, "No. No, I'm lazy."
I'm more of a lazy person
than a fighter by nature.
If I can avoid a fight, I will.
Even, sometimes,
when I… when I have to serve justice,
which is a violent act,
to punish a person…
It's hard for me because it's a struggle.
There will be winners and losers.
Justice! Justice…
The fight is part of life.
I don't like it,
but there can't be life without struggle.
It's innate.
To survive, we have to fight.
♪ If I wanna doo-doo
Doo-doo-dn-doo-doo, I will ♪
♪ I shall, I can ♪
♪ You see a face
But I see butterfly wings ♪
♪ A song is time that sings ♪
♪ I want a place in the sun
That shines in the rain ♪
♪ A song is time explained ♪
♪ I can get everything everywhere ♪
♪ I can get everything everywhere ♪
We fought throughout
the 20th century
for a united South Africa,
a non-racial South Africa.
Sthembiso played
an important role in my life.
My name is Omar Badsha.
I am 75 years old.
I'm a photographer.
I was looking through my archive,
and so I saw the photograph,
thought about Sthembiso.
He would come every day
and work in the darkroom,
until this one day, he said to me,
"I want you to take a photograph of me."
"I am leaving this evening."
"I'm going to join the movement outside."
He said, "I trust you."
"If anything happens to me,
please give it to my family."
But that didn't happen.
Personally, I was part
of the underground network…
against what then they called apartheid.
In that period, many of us
knew that we could be banned
or killed.
Things were very, very tough.
The violence, and also,
I became a target a number of times
where I was nearly killed.
We denied ourselves.
We denied these losses.
We cut it off.
They came back later to haunt us.
So today it will be nice to go back
to Durban to keep my promise,
giving this photograph to the family.
It's a way of paying respect
to the life of Sthembiso,
that was the essence of our fight.
I have fought all my life against the ocean.
A fight against the force of nature,
against fear, against myself.
My name is Felipe Pomar,
and I'm 77 years old.
I was born in Lima, Peru.
I won the first official
world surfing championship.
Felipe Pomar, the lone Peruvian left in the finals,
challenging the world's finest.
Once I won the world championship,
I had to prove that I was
the best big wave rider in the world.
At that time, there was
no official competition in that field.
Only a few crazy people wanted
to surf ten-meter-high waves.
One day, surfing alone
on a beach called Laniakea…
I realized
the wave was going to fall on me,
and it was pretty big.
At that moment,
I felt transported to another place.
And what I saw was light.
And in the distance,
I saw a body floating.
And I thought, "Who could that be?"
At that moment, the body turned around…
and it had my face.
I thought,
"I'm afraid I'm in serious trouble."
I started swimming to the surface,
for air.
"Just one more stroke."
"I'll either breathe air or more water."
I took a breath and luckily got some air.
I got a cut here,
and I asked the doctor
if he could make the stitches waterproof.
The doctor said,
"Why? You can't go in the water."
And I immediately said,
"Doctor, please, let's be honest!"
"I'm going straight back
to the sea when we're done."
Many months later,
I was ready to go after
the biggest wave ever…
A giant tsunami.
People who have
no fear worry me.
And people who let themselves
be consumed by it worry me too.
You need to have a dialogue with fear.
I remember… we had gone to the theater
for… for a movie about skydiving.
A man jumped with a… an umbrella…
a… a parachute, you know?
And when we got back home,
my fourth brother,
who was very little, went to the balcony
with an umbrella and jumped.
Broke his arm.
I mean, he didn't even consider fear.
He wasn't afraid.
And in that case, fear was needed.
Come on, girls!
Here it is.
This is Aleppo's Kebab Karaz.
It's a very well-known dish.
This one is Palestinian.
Syrian from Damascus.
We have a meal that expresses our region.
So that's what we've made.
- We're waiting for Gisèle before we start.
- Come on, Gisèle!
- She's still not here.
- We're waiting for Gisèle!
Gisèle! Gisèle!
Gisèle! Gisèle! Gisèle! Gisèle…
My name is Gisèle Assouad Marie Sabbagh.
I was born in Syria in Aleppo.
I came to Beirut
because in Aleppo there was a war.
Beirut is my second home.
I've been in Lebanon for ten years.
Unfortunately,
I have to leave in a few days.
I'm going to live
with my daughter in France.
I'd rather not,
but we're refugees.
Even the young women who came here
to embroider,
tailor clothes, and all that…
sometimes they cry.
"What, you're leaving?"
"How are we going to do
this without you?" and all that.
- Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy, enjoy!
- Come on, come on!
I'm leaving Beirut with great sorrow
because here I could live how I liked.
The mountains, the
people…
I like how they think.
I like their way of living.
The beautiful Beirut,
the Beirut I loved,
became Beirut under attack,
Beirut destroyed.
Hundreds of meters
from the port area,
nothing seems to have withstood the blast.
The nearest buildings
have been reduced to rubble.
The city has changed a lot.
It's rather tough now to pay the rent,
to buy what we need,
not just for us, for everyone.
People no longer have money to buy food.
I regret it so, so much,
but that's how it went.
Next Monday, we'll fly to France.
Life is a constant struggle.
Now we have to fight even harder.
It was important for me to come to Durban,
find Sthembiso's family.
Sthembiso is, as a person, important to me,
but also he is a symbol of Durban
in the 1980s,
a very difficult,
very, very difficult time
of great pain,
also of great expectation.
So this is the area that I grew up in.
As a kid, we would run around here.
We lived in a very, very mixed ghetto.
The street where I lived
was one away from
where the white community started,
so there was a boundary virtually.
The new apartheid government
began its apartheid policy.
We would go to the park.
We couldn't use the swings.
It was for whites.
All the hotels and restaurants
and amusement parks
were segregated.
As we grew up, we were always reminded of the fact
that we were fighting for freedom.
There's a lot of mixed feelings
when I come into this building,
but also very fond memories.
This was where our offices were.
The first door on your left
was the darkroom.
One day a comrade
came knocking at my darkroom
and introduced me to Sthembiso
and said to me,
"Please look after him."
That's it. No questions asked.
So he came and worked with me
in the underground
to undertake an armed struggle
to overthrow the state.
In 1974, there was a big earthquake in Lima.
A friend and I decided to go into the sea
to ride the waves created
by the earthquake.
These waves are called tsunami.
For me, it was an opportunity, a chance
to surf the biggest wave in the world.
I had never seen anything like it.
The sea had gone mad.
Waves coming from
all sides at the same time.
And suddenly, from one side,
I saw a wave throw a fishing boat.
It flew through the air,
then crashed into a rock.
And the boat, in an instant,
was just splinters of wood.
I always thought of the sea as a friend.
Then I realized
the sea doesn't understand me,
doesn't love me, and isn't my friend.
It is purely nature.
My fear was what helped me.
I told my friend, "Here's the plan."
"We must catch a wave as fast as we can,
surf as long as we can,
and get to the beach."
"This may be the last wave of your life."
I started surfing and rode the whole wave
until it turned into foam.
When we got to dry land, we were so happy
that we started hugging
and dancing together.
While we were dancing,
I looked at the sea and realized
the water was retreating again.
So I said to my friend, "Run! Run!"
And we ran away because we didn't know
what the sea would do.
The wisdom I've gained
from so many years in the sea is huge.
The sea teaches humility
because whoever you are,
the sea will humble you.
Hello?
Hello. Good evening, Youssef.
How are you?
Good evening, my dear.
I'm very well and yourself?
Very well. I can't wait to see you.
So, are you ready for us?
Yes, I am. I can't wait to see you.
You can't wait, habibi!
-Good luck getting
ready, then. -Sure.
And I'm looking
forward to seeing you.
Very well. Bye, dear.
See you soon. Bye, habibi.
Youssef is Zena's son,
and he's an engineer in Nantes.
So Zena decided to go,
to be with her son too.
Yes, it's beautiful.
I must go with her,
because I don't want to be on my own.
The most difficult thing… is change
because it's the second change in my life.
That's me there.
I was very, very young.
♪ This bitter earth… ♪
We lived like princesses in Aleppo.
We used to ride our bicycles
or we'd go to the movies with friends.
I especially liked to dance.
- I liked to swim.
- ♪ What good is love… ♪
And I liked to laugh.
Syria is my soul.
♪ Mmm, that no one shares… ♪
Unfortunately, I can't go there anymore.
It's too dangerous.
The war came and destroyed
- every beautiful thing in Aleppo.
- ♪ And if my life ♪
♪ Is like the dust ♪
♪ Ooh, that hides ♪
♪ The glow of a rose ♪
♪ What good am I… ♪
We
were torn from our roots,
but we accept it
because we have to go on living.
♪ Heaven only knows… ♪
I don't feel old.
I feel young.
But I don't want
to be a burden for my daughter
and for my grandson and everyone.
♪ After all ♪
My grandmother had a story.
She'd tell it in her dialect.
She told us many things.
About a nice family with children.
The way the grandfather lived with them,
and he began getting old.
At the dinner table, his hand trembled,
he would drool when he ate or get dirty…
Of course, the family couldn't invite
people for dinner because of him.
It was a problem.
So the dad said, "Look…"
he explained to his family,
"Starting tomorrow,
Grandpa will eat in the kitchen."
He discarded him.
"So we can invite friends over
and eat in peace."
They said, "Yes, yes," and didn't argue.
A few days later,
the dad comes home from work
and sees his six-year-old son
playing with hammers, nails, wood…
"What are you making?"
"A table."
"What for?"
"For you, for when you're old."
Good morning.
You're tuned in
to our community radio station,
Radio La Voz Lenca,
and we are sending lots of love
to our friend Austra Bertha Flores López,
who is turning 88 years old today.
My name is María Austra Bertha Flores López.
I know a lot about life.
I was mayor of the municipality
of La Esperanza three times,
and then I was also a governor,
and later a deputy
of the National Congress.
It's very important
to fight to defend the weak.
♪ Happy birthday, Mamá Bertha ♪
♪ Happy birthday to you ♪
♪ Happy birthday, Mamá Bertha ♪
♪ Happy birthday to you ♪
And now…
- To good health!
- Cheers!
May she turn 120!
Let's go for 100!
I'm not afraid of anything,
not death or anything else.
I have to be brave
so they can catch the plotters,
those who paid,
those who ordered the murder of Bertita,
my youngest daughter.
We can't be naive to this power…
Out!
…to the humanity of our companions
in the process of reclaiming our land.
Bertita exemplified a fighter,
a fighter against economic power,
bringing visibility to Indigenous peoples
and against discrimination.
At 2:00 in the morning, someone called me.
I remember it clearly.
I heard the phone ring and I picked it up.
They said, "Doña Bertha," they said,
"Bertita has been murdered."
And they hung up.
I put the phone down, and you can imagine.
I was alone, inconsolable.
Around midnight, between March 2nd and 3rd, 2016…
YOUR SACRIFICE IN THE
STRUGGLE SHOWS US THE WAY
…our comrade and leader Berta Cáceres
was in her home in La Esperanza, Intibucá,
when an armed group of hired assassins
forced open the door
and shot her, taking her life.
Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice…
I will not die without getting justice.
In the '80s, we began to lay the basis
for setting up armed groups.
Some of the leaders go into exile
to train people for a long-term war.
Others were involved
in setting up networks there
so that they could infiltrate soldiers
into the country.
One night,
there was a knock on my door.
And here was this man,
oldish guy, very white hair.
He said to me, "Are you Omar?"
I said, "Yes."
He says, "I am Sthembiso's father."
He told me that
Sthembiso had died,
was killed by the police.
This was a friend, a close friend,
and yet was killed, and he's dead there.
How do I deal with this situation?
'Cause I don't want to tell him
that I know his son.
I'm not sure who he is.
He could have been a police informer.
You need to be extremely cautious.
It was quite a shock
to show any empathy
and any sign of weakness
or crying or mourning.
That's the price that one pays
and the pain that one goes through.
These things traumatized many of us,
we were not able
to deal with normal life after that,
'cause we went through so much of that.
We are heading where Sthembiso lived.
His parents passed away.
I'm visiting the niece.
It's difficult to explain what one feels.
Excited is not the word.
I just hope that it works out properly.
Good afternoon. How are you?
- A handsome young man.
- Thank you.
HALL OF MAYORS
Look,
Doña Austra Bertha Flores López,
Municipal Mayor,
declared the session open.
Yes,
there are all the signatures.
When I was mayor,
I had six women with me as councilwomen.
I did a lot of work, first
against racial discrimination,
because back then
the Indigenous were treated very poorly.
Indigenous women
were completely invisible.
I became aware of the need
to lift up our heads,
to participate in politics,
and not to believe that
we were only good for cooking,
for giving birth,
but that we also had
to fight for our rights.
Bertita helped me a lot in politics.
That was why she started fighting so hard,
not only for the rights of women
and Indigenous people.
We have constantly condemned
the discrimination and racism
that has been committed
against the Lenca people
by not recognizing their historical rights
to defend rivers such as
the sacred Gualcarque River.
For a long time, she had received death threats.
She was insulted,
treated badly by the authorities
who protected the companies
building those big dams
on the Gualcarque River.
Bertita left here a few days before.
I said, "Bertita, why are you leaving?"
"You've been my companion all my life."
"You're not a burden.
You're the opposite."
But, "No, Mom," she said.
"The truth is
I don't want to put you at risk."
She told me, "They're coming to kill me."
What do you fight for? Do you fight for your children?
And how do you fight for them?
You fight for your parents,
not for financial inheritance,
but for the cultural inheritance,
for the roots of your life, don't you?
We fight to keep our roots,
we fight for tradition,
which doesn't
make us traditionalists, right?
A tradition grows.
Static tradition is useless.
That's the real tradition,
not one that limits you,
but one that inspires you,
one that pulls you forward.
So it's about fighting for your roots.
That's it.
It's hard to say goodbye.
The
women, the seamstresses,
when they arrived, didn't even know
how to hold a needle.
It will pain me terribly. I'll be so sad.
But I don't want to show them
how… emotional I am over this.
I'll act normally,
but it'll break my heart.
My heart…
I want to change it and take it to France
to live a life that's happy.
If we keep crying and thinking about the life we left,
it can't work.
I have to fight to go on living well
with my family.
I
love Youssef very much.
I raised him when he was a child.
I taught him to sing.
He used to come sleep next to me.
Hiya!
- Good evening, Youssef!
- Hi!
Welcome!
Thank you.
You have a lovely home.
How are you?
I'm not tired because I'm happy, so happy.
That's how I live,
full of hope.
This award is dedicated
to my mother,
to the martyrs
for the defense of nature's good.
Thank you very much.
This is the Goldman Prize.
I went with her
to accept it in the United States,
as a defender of Mother Earth.
Bertita was a friend, a companion,
a very loving daughter,
a tireless fighter.
And a few months after she left here,
maybe weeks, she was murdered.
This has marked my life in a horrible way.
Berta lives!
The struggle goes on and on.
- Blood of martyrs!
- Justice and freedom!
After Bertita's murder,
I thought I would die of grief,
but then I said, "No."
The blood she shed must stay
as an example of courage.
Justice!
Justice! Justice! Justice…
If you don't fight, you are either paralyzed or a loser.
Justice!
Justice! Justice! Justice!
My grandchildren,
who had to live through
their mother's murder,
have followed my example
and participate in politics too.
That's a reward to me,
after all the struggle, all the work,
all the suffering for all my life.
But I won't lower my guard.
I'm still fighting.
Hi, how are you?
- Oh, so nice to see you! Nice meeting you.
- Nice to see you too!
It's been a long time. So your…
- Your grandparents passed away?
- Oh.
I must show you something.
I brought some photographs,
which I took.
I'm glad I got this picture with
Sthembiso.
- Yeah.
- Oh.
Yeah.
- Yeah.
- Oh.
Yeah.
- Sad.
- Very.
This one is…
I don't… I don't want to go there… It's…
Right. It is… It is not easy.
- Bring back...
- It's like everything…
- This is a whole history of family.
- Exactly.
Once I finished taking pictures,
then he said to me,
"Comrade, I am leaving tonight."
"I'm leaving the country."
I said to him, "Sthembiso,
you shouldn't be telling me that."
"That should be a secret."
"You are breaking the rule here."
He said, "No, but I need to tell you."
"You're my elder, and… and I trust you."
He said, "If anything happens,
please give it to my family."
Was he an easy person
to work with, though?
Yeah. No, he was such an easy chap,
but as I said, he was so shy,
not aggressive or anything.
Very s... gentle. Very gentle.
You can tell that
when… when you look at his photos,
that he wasn't a harsh person.
You know when you hear about someone,
just say, "Hey, he was, yeah…"
"He died this way, and this is
what happened" and whatnot…
And, yeah, so…
This… This is quite beautiful.
- Yeah.
- It's quite beautiful.
Yeah… But, no, I… I just wanna say, like,
thank you so much. It means so much.
No. I must thank you for saying…
you know, allowing me to come, and…
We also have to celebrate
their lives because they gave their life…
True.
…for the struggle.
- That's why we're here.
- Yeah.
You're never too old to fight
for what you have inside,
what you risk your life for,
if you have an open soul,
if you have an open heart.
Now, if your heart is hardened and closed,
you're already old.
There are people
who are only 50 who are old.
There are 30-year-olds who are old
because they have a heart that's hardened.
Impermeable, nothing gets in.
If you have no memory,
you don't know how to fight.
We must not forget
who makes history.
Sthembiso Nzuza is one line
in a newspaper article.
We need to write a new history.
It's a history not of big names and big people.
It's a history of ordinary people.
They are the ones who make history.
That legacy is something
that we must keep alive.
Any struggle in the world,
it's a struggle for change.
Holy Father,
let's move on to the last topic, work.
Work is what makes you worthy.
Without work, there's no dignity.
in your enthusiasm, okay?
Let's get going.
Do you like the word "fight"?
What does it mean to you?
If you ask me if I'm a fighter.
I will tell you, "No. No, I'm lazy."
I'm more of a lazy person
than a fighter by nature.
If I can avoid a fight, I will.
Even, sometimes,
when I… when I have to serve justice,
which is a violent act,
to punish a person…
It's hard for me because it's a struggle.
There will be winners and losers.
Justice! Justice…
The fight is part of life.
I don't like it,
but there can't be life without struggle.
It's innate.
To survive, we have to fight.
♪ If I wanna doo-doo
Doo-doo-dn-doo-doo, I will ♪
♪ I shall, I can ♪
♪ You see a face
But I see butterfly wings ♪
♪ A song is time that sings ♪
♪ I want a place in the sun
That shines in the rain ♪
♪ A song is time explained ♪
♪ I can get everything everywhere ♪
♪ I can get everything everywhere ♪
We fought throughout
the 20th century
for a united South Africa,
a non-racial South Africa.
Sthembiso played
an important role in my life.
My name is Omar Badsha.
I am 75 years old.
I'm a photographer.
I was looking through my archive,
and so I saw the photograph,
thought about Sthembiso.
He would come every day
and work in the darkroom,
until this one day, he said to me,
"I want you to take a photograph of me."
"I am leaving this evening."
"I'm going to join the movement outside."
He said, "I trust you."
"If anything happens to me,
please give it to my family."
But that didn't happen.
Personally, I was part
of the underground network…
against what then they called apartheid.
In that period, many of us
knew that we could be banned
or killed.
Things were very, very tough.
The violence, and also,
I became a target a number of times
where I was nearly killed.
We denied ourselves.
We denied these losses.
We cut it off.
They came back later to haunt us.
So today it will be nice to go back
to Durban to keep my promise,
giving this photograph to the family.
It's a way of paying respect
to the life of Sthembiso,
that was the essence of our fight.
I have fought all my life against the ocean.
A fight against the force of nature,
against fear, against myself.
My name is Felipe Pomar,
and I'm 77 years old.
I was born in Lima, Peru.
I won the first official
world surfing championship.
Felipe Pomar, the lone Peruvian left in the finals,
challenging the world's finest.
Once I won the world championship,
I had to prove that I was
the best big wave rider in the world.
At that time, there was
no official competition in that field.
Only a few crazy people wanted
to surf ten-meter-high waves.
One day, surfing alone
on a beach called Laniakea…
I realized
the wave was going to fall on me,
and it was pretty big.
At that moment,
I felt transported to another place.
And what I saw was light.
And in the distance,
I saw a body floating.
And I thought, "Who could that be?"
At that moment, the body turned around…
and it had my face.
I thought,
"I'm afraid I'm in serious trouble."
I started swimming to the surface,
for air.
"Just one more stroke."
"I'll either breathe air or more water."
I took a breath and luckily got some air.
I got a cut here,
and I asked the doctor
if he could make the stitches waterproof.
The doctor said,
"Why? You can't go in the water."
And I immediately said,
"Doctor, please, let's be honest!"
"I'm going straight back
to the sea when we're done."
Many months later,
I was ready to go after
the biggest wave ever…
A giant tsunami.
People who have
no fear worry me.
And people who let themselves
be consumed by it worry me too.
You need to have a dialogue with fear.
I remember… we had gone to the theater
for… for a movie about skydiving.
A man jumped with a… an umbrella…
a… a parachute, you know?
And when we got back home,
my fourth brother,
who was very little, went to the balcony
with an umbrella and jumped.
Broke his arm.
I mean, he didn't even consider fear.
He wasn't afraid.
And in that case, fear was needed.
Come on, girls!
Here it is.
This is Aleppo's Kebab Karaz.
It's a very well-known dish.
This one is Palestinian.
Syrian from Damascus.
We have a meal that expresses our region.
So that's what we've made.
- We're waiting for Gisèle before we start.
- Come on, Gisèle!
- She's still not here.
- We're waiting for Gisèle!
Gisèle! Gisèle!
Gisèle! Gisèle! Gisèle! Gisèle…
My name is Gisèle Assouad Marie Sabbagh.
I was born in Syria in Aleppo.
I came to Beirut
because in Aleppo there was a war.
Beirut is my second home.
I've been in Lebanon for ten years.
Unfortunately,
I have to leave in a few days.
I'm going to live
with my daughter in France.
I'd rather not,
but we're refugees.
Even the young women who came here
to embroider,
tailor clothes, and all that…
sometimes they cry.
"What, you're leaving?"
"How are we going to do
this without you?" and all that.
- Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy, enjoy!
- Come on, come on!
I'm leaving Beirut with great sorrow
because here I could live how I liked.
The mountains, the
people…
I like how they think.
I like their way of living.
The beautiful Beirut,
the Beirut I loved,
became Beirut under attack,
Beirut destroyed.
Hundreds of meters
from the port area,
nothing seems to have withstood the blast.
The nearest buildings
have been reduced to rubble.
The city has changed a lot.
It's rather tough now to pay the rent,
to buy what we need,
not just for us, for everyone.
People no longer have money to buy food.
I regret it so, so much,
but that's how it went.
Next Monday, we'll fly to France.
Life is a constant struggle.
Now we have to fight even harder.
It was important for me to come to Durban,
find Sthembiso's family.
Sthembiso is, as a person, important to me,
but also he is a symbol of Durban
in the 1980s,
a very difficult,
very, very difficult time
of great pain,
also of great expectation.
So this is the area that I grew up in.
As a kid, we would run around here.
We lived in a very, very mixed ghetto.
The street where I lived
was one away from
where the white community started,
so there was a boundary virtually.
The new apartheid government
began its apartheid policy.
We would go to the park.
We couldn't use the swings.
It was for whites.
All the hotels and restaurants
and amusement parks
were segregated.
As we grew up, we were always reminded of the fact
that we were fighting for freedom.
There's a lot of mixed feelings
when I come into this building,
but also very fond memories.
This was where our offices were.
The first door on your left
was the darkroom.
One day a comrade
came knocking at my darkroom
and introduced me to Sthembiso
and said to me,
"Please look after him."
That's it. No questions asked.
So he came and worked with me
in the underground
to undertake an armed struggle
to overthrow the state.
In 1974, there was a big earthquake in Lima.
A friend and I decided to go into the sea
to ride the waves created
by the earthquake.
These waves are called tsunami.
For me, it was an opportunity, a chance
to surf the biggest wave in the world.
I had never seen anything like it.
The sea had gone mad.
Waves coming from
all sides at the same time.
And suddenly, from one side,
I saw a wave throw a fishing boat.
It flew through the air,
then crashed into a rock.
And the boat, in an instant,
was just splinters of wood.
I always thought of the sea as a friend.
Then I realized
the sea doesn't understand me,
doesn't love me, and isn't my friend.
It is purely nature.
My fear was what helped me.
I told my friend, "Here's the plan."
"We must catch a wave as fast as we can,
surf as long as we can,
and get to the beach."
"This may be the last wave of your life."
I started surfing and rode the whole wave
until it turned into foam.
When we got to dry land, we were so happy
that we started hugging
and dancing together.
While we were dancing,
I looked at the sea and realized
the water was retreating again.
So I said to my friend, "Run! Run!"
And we ran away because we didn't know
what the sea would do.
The wisdom I've gained
from so many years in the sea is huge.
The sea teaches humility
because whoever you are,
the sea will humble you.
Hello?
Hello. Good evening, Youssef.
How are you?
Good evening, my dear.
I'm very well and yourself?
Very well. I can't wait to see you.
So, are you ready for us?
Yes, I am. I can't wait to see you.
You can't wait, habibi!
-Good luck getting
ready, then. -Sure.
And I'm looking
forward to seeing you.
Very well. Bye, dear.
See you soon. Bye, habibi.
Youssef is Zena's son,
and he's an engineer in Nantes.
So Zena decided to go,
to be with her son too.
Yes, it's beautiful.
I must go with her,
because I don't want to be on my own.
The most difficult thing… is change
because it's the second change in my life.
That's me there.
I was very, very young.
♪ This bitter earth… ♪
We lived like princesses in Aleppo.
We used to ride our bicycles
or we'd go to the movies with friends.
I especially liked to dance.
- I liked to swim.
- ♪ What good is love… ♪
And I liked to laugh.
Syria is my soul.
♪ Mmm, that no one shares… ♪
Unfortunately, I can't go there anymore.
It's too dangerous.
The war came and destroyed
- every beautiful thing in Aleppo.
- ♪ And if my life ♪
♪ Is like the dust ♪
♪ Ooh, that hides ♪
♪ The glow of a rose ♪
♪ What good am I… ♪
We
were torn from our roots,
but we accept it
because we have to go on living.
♪ Heaven only knows… ♪
I don't feel old.
I feel young.
But I don't want
to be a burden for my daughter
and for my grandson and everyone.
♪ After all ♪
My grandmother had a story.
She'd tell it in her dialect.
She told us many things.
About a nice family with children.
The way the grandfather lived with them,
and he began getting old.
At the dinner table, his hand trembled,
he would drool when he ate or get dirty…
Of course, the family couldn't invite
people for dinner because of him.
It was a problem.
So the dad said, "Look…"
he explained to his family,
"Starting tomorrow,
Grandpa will eat in the kitchen."
He discarded him.
"So we can invite friends over
and eat in peace."
They said, "Yes, yes," and didn't argue.
A few days later,
the dad comes home from work
and sees his six-year-old son
playing with hammers, nails, wood…
"What are you making?"
"A table."
"What for?"
"For you, for when you're old."
Good morning.
You're tuned in
to our community radio station,
Radio La Voz Lenca,
and we are sending lots of love
to our friend Austra Bertha Flores López,
who is turning 88 years old today.
My name is María Austra Bertha Flores López.
I know a lot about life.
I was mayor of the municipality
of La Esperanza three times,
and then I was also a governor,
and later a deputy
of the National Congress.
It's very important
to fight to defend the weak.
♪ Happy birthday, Mamá Bertha ♪
♪ Happy birthday to you ♪
♪ Happy birthday, Mamá Bertha ♪
♪ Happy birthday to you ♪
And now…
- To good health!
- Cheers!
May she turn 120!
Let's go for 100!
I'm not afraid of anything,
not death or anything else.
I have to be brave
so they can catch the plotters,
those who paid,
those who ordered the murder of Bertita,
my youngest daughter.
We can't be naive to this power…
Out!
…to the humanity of our companions
in the process of reclaiming our land.
Bertita exemplified a fighter,
a fighter against economic power,
bringing visibility to Indigenous peoples
and against discrimination.
At 2:00 in the morning, someone called me.
I remember it clearly.
I heard the phone ring and I picked it up.
They said, "Doña Bertha," they said,
"Bertita has been murdered."
And they hung up.
I put the phone down, and you can imagine.
I was alone, inconsolable.
Around midnight, between March 2nd and 3rd, 2016…
YOUR SACRIFICE IN THE
STRUGGLE SHOWS US THE WAY
…our comrade and leader Berta Cáceres
was in her home in La Esperanza, Intibucá,
when an armed group of hired assassins
forced open the door
and shot her, taking her life.
Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice…
I will not die without getting justice.
In the '80s, we began to lay the basis
for setting up armed groups.
Some of the leaders go into exile
to train people for a long-term war.
Others were involved
in setting up networks there
so that they could infiltrate soldiers
into the country.
One night,
there was a knock on my door.
And here was this man,
oldish guy, very white hair.
He said to me, "Are you Omar?"
I said, "Yes."
He says, "I am Sthembiso's father."
He told me that
Sthembiso had died,
was killed by the police.
This was a friend, a close friend,
and yet was killed, and he's dead there.
How do I deal with this situation?
'Cause I don't want to tell him
that I know his son.
I'm not sure who he is.
He could have been a police informer.
You need to be extremely cautious.
It was quite a shock
to show any empathy
and any sign of weakness
or crying or mourning.
That's the price that one pays
and the pain that one goes through.
These things traumatized many of us,
we were not able
to deal with normal life after that,
'cause we went through so much of that.
We are heading where Sthembiso lived.
His parents passed away.
I'm visiting the niece.
It's difficult to explain what one feels.
Excited is not the word.
I just hope that it works out properly.
Good afternoon. How are you?
- A handsome young man.
- Thank you.
HALL OF MAYORS
Look,
Doña Austra Bertha Flores López,
Municipal Mayor,
declared the session open.
Yes,
there are all the signatures.
When I was mayor,
I had six women with me as councilwomen.
I did a lot of work, first
against racial discrimination,
because back then
the Indigenous were treated very poorly.
Indigenous women
were completely invisible.
I became aware of the need
to lift up our heads,
to participate in politics,
and not to believe that
we were only good for cooking,
for giving birth,
but that we also had
to fight for our rights.
Bertita helped me a lot in politics.
That was why she started fighting so hard,
not only for the rights of women
and Indigenous people.
We have constantly condemned
the discrimination and racism
that has been committed
against the Lenca people
by not recognizing their historical rights
to defend rivers such as
the sacred Gualcarque River.
For a long time, she had received death threats.
She was insulted,
treated badly by the authorities
who protected the companies
building those big dams
on the Gualcarque River.
Bertita left here a few days before.
I said, "Bertita, why are you leaving?"
"You've been my companion all my life."
"You're not a burden.
You're the opposite."
But, "No, Mom," she said.
"The truth is
I don't want to put you at risk."
She told me, "They're coming to kill me."
What do you fight for? Do you fight for your children?
And how do you fight for them?
You fight for your parents,
not for financial inheritance,
but for the cultural inheritance,
for the roots of your life, don't you?
We fight to keep our roots,
we fight for tradition,
which doesn't
make us traditionalists, right?
A tradition grows.
Static tradition is useless.
That's the real tradition,
not one that limits you,
but one that inspires you,
one that pulls you forward.
So it's about fighting for your roots.
That's it.
It's hard to say goodbye.
The
women, the seamstresses,
when they arrived, didn't even know
how to hold a needle.
It will pain me terribly. I'll be so sad.
But I don't want to show them
how… emotional I am over this.
I'll act normally,
but it'll break my heart.
My heart…
I want to change it and take it to France
to live a life that's happy.
If we keep crying and thinking about the life we left,
it can't work.
I have to fight to go on living well
with my family.
I
love Youssef very much.
I raised him when he was a child.
I taught him to sing.
He used to come sleep next to me.
Hiya!
- Good evening, Youssef!
- Hi!
Welcome!
Thank you.
You have a lovely home.
How are you?
I'm not tired because I'm happy, so happy.
That's how I live,
full of hope.
This award is dedicated
to my mother,
to the martyrs
for the defense of nature's good.
Thank you very much.
This is the Goldman Prize.
I went with her
to accept it in the United States,
as a defender of Mother Earth.
Bertita was a friend, a companion,
a very loving daughter,
a tireless fighter.
And a few months after she left here,
maybe weeks, she was murdered.
This has marked my life in a horrible way.
Berta lives!
The struggle goes on and on.
- Blood of martyrs!
- Justice and freedom!
After Bertita's murder,
I thought I would die of grief,
but then I said, "No."
The blood she shed must stay
as an example of courage.
Justice!
Justice! Justice! Justice…
If you don't fight, you are either paralyzed or a loser.
Justice!
Justice! Justice! Justice!
My grandchildren,
who had to live through
their mother's murder,
have followed my example
and participate in politics too.
That's a reward to me,
after all the struggle, all the work,
all the suffering for all my life.
But I won't lower my guard.
I'm still fighting.
Hi, how are you?
- Oh, so nice to see you! Nice meeting you.
- Nice to see you too!
It's been a long time. So your…
- Your grandparents passed away?
- Oh.
I must show you something.
I brought some photographs,
which I took.
I'm glad I got this picture with
Sthembiso.
- Yeah.
- Oh.
Yeah.
- Yeah.
- Oh.
Yeah.
- Sad.
- Very.
This one is…
I don't… I don't want to go there… It's…
Right. It is… It is not easy.
- Bring back...
- It's like everything…
- This is a whole history of family.
- Exactly.
Once I finished taking pictures,
then he said to me,
"Comrade, I am leaving tonight."
"I'm leaving the country."
I said to him, "Sthembiso,
you shouldn't be telling me that."
"That should be a secret."
"You are breaking the rule here."
He said, "No, but I need to tell you."
"You're my elder, and… and I trust you."
He said, "If anything happens,
please give it to my family."
Was he an easy person
to work with, though?
Yeah. No, he was such an easy chap,
but as I said, he was so shy,
not aggressive or anything.
Very s... gentle. Very gentle.
You can tell that
when… when you look at his photos,
that he wasn't a harsh person.
You know when you hear about someone,
just say, "Hey, he was, yeah…"
"He died this way, and this is
what happened" and whatnot…
And, yeah, so…
This… This is quite beautiful.
- Yeah.
- It's quite beautiful.
Yeah… But, no, I… I just wanna say, like,
thank you so much. It means so much.
No. I must thank you for saying…
you know, allowing me to come, and…
We also have to celebrate
their lives because they gave their life…
True.
…for the struggle.
- That's why we're here.
- Yeah.
You're never too old to fight
for what you have inside,
what you risk your life for,
if you have an open soul,
if you have an open heart.
Now, if your heart is hardened and closed,
you're already old.
There are people
who are only 50 who are old.
There are 30-year-olds who are old
because they have a heart that's hardened.
Impermeable, nothing gets in.
If you have no memory,
you don't know how to fight.
We must not forget
who makes history.
Sthembiso Nzuza is one line
in a newspaper article.
We need to write a new history.
It's a history not of big names and big people.
It's a history of ordinary people.
They are the ones who make history.
That legacy is something
that we must keep alive.
Any struggle in the world,
it's a struggle for change.
Holy Father,
let's move on to the last topic, work.
Work is what makes you worthy.
Without work, there's no dignity.