Journalists Scott Dalton and Margarita Martinez spent a year following the lives of three marginalized youth in a Colombian barrio to illuminate a seldom-seen side of the country’s decades-old conflict. Dalton and Martinez share their experiences as first-time documentary filmmakers, from gaining access to a world that is off limits to reporters to dodging sniper fire and dealing with the sudden death of a main subject.
Why did you want to make LA SIERRA?
Scott Dalton: We both knew the reality of neighborhoods like La Sierra through our work as journalists, Margarita as a writer for the Associated Press, and me as a photographer for the Associated Press, The New York Times and other newspapers. Margarita had been to La Sierra, and I thought it would be a compelling subject for a documentary, our first. The aim of the film was to show the cycle of violence in Colombia, specifically among Colombia’s urban youth. Remember, this is a decades-old conflict. From one generation to the next, marginalized youth get caught up in drugs and violence, all of which is ultimately connected to the wider national conflict. Because of the allure of gaining power and respect (often through fear) in their communities, thousands of Colombian youths take up arms, and this world is actually very unexplored. More often than not, the stories that come out of Colombia only reflect the views of powerful leaders, whether in the government or in the various illegal groups waging war across the country. This film was really an attempt to explore the forgotten or unseen side of the conflict. We were also very determined not to just show the violence in isolation, the way you often hear about violence in the news, with no sense of who is involved and why, and what are the repercussions. Rather, we wanted to give a deeper, human context to it—the effects on families and communities when their young men decide to become warriors.
Was it hard to get access to this area, in light of the fact that it is controlled by paramilitaries?
Filming in La Sierra was only possible because we had explicit permission from high-level paramilitary commanders on the national scene. Once we had that permission, and the contacts that came with it, it made our work in the specific neighborhood of La Sierra much easier because the higher-ups essentially told the local commanders that we were their guests. Getting those original contacts with the national commanders, of course, was very difficult indeed, and was a product of years of working as journalists in Colombia. Without connections like that, it would be impossible to do what we did in LA SIERRA.
Was it dangerous?
Margarita: Since we were basically the guests of the paramilitaries in the neighborhood of La Sierra, we didn’t have anything to fear from them, although you could say many of them were very violent, dangerous people. Our problem in this respect was that there were insecure periods when the guys in the barrio would switch allegiance from one paramilitary group to another. They didn’t know if their new bosses would approve of our presence and the work we had already done. They felt very insecure in that situation, and so did we. The most obviously dangerous thing was following them when they were patrolling or fighting. At one point in the film Scott is following [19-year-old paramilitary] Jesús Martinez as he patrols at night, and a sniper starts firing. Jesús is screaming, “Get down, gringo!” as everyone dives for cover. At other times during the production, Scott accompanied paramilitaries engaged in intense combat. And as you also see in the film, stray bullets do kill people in La Sierra so trying to document this kind of thing certainly has its dangers.
What was the most difficult part of making this film?
Coming to a place like La Sierra over such a long time did take a toll on us personally. You’re worried that your welcome is going to wear thin (or that your luck is going to run out), and maybe you should quit with what you’ve already got. And of course, there were the problems all documentary filmmakers face of building trust with people, of waiting for when they want to open up and really talk, of being in the right place at the right time when things are happening in their lives.
In our case, it was particularly difficult to have built that personal connection because the tragedy of the situation affects you more than if you just came for a day or two as a journalist. When one of the main participants in the film was killed during filming, we were devastated. This is someone who shared his life with us, helped us out, who became our friend. And then he is shot dead almost in front of our eyes. We didn’t go back to La Sierra for a long time after that, and for a while we wanted to abandon the project completely. Of course, in a sense we had it easy. We had the luxury of always being able to leave La Sierra, whereas the people who participated in the documentary have to make their lives there.
What do you want audiences to take away from the film?
We want to show that the closer you get to a place like La Sierra, where young men are deeply involved in war and violence, the more you realize that it isn’t so much about fighting for a cause as about getting ahead, about seizing power and prestige through violence, since it isn’t available by normal, peaceful means. This affects how you see the people in the film, specifically the young guys who are involved with paramilitary groups. Are these guys nothing more than murderers and thugs, or are they just young men following the only obvious path to respect and prestige? Audiences often identify with and even begin to care for Edison, a young man who is an admitted killer. This reflects the complexity we wanted to explore. We also want the audience to wrestle with ideas of choice and responsibility. Although it is a film about violence, at a deeper level it is a meditation on personal choice. All of the people in the documentary address these issues, talking about what they want to do with their lives, and whether or not they actually have the power to make those choices. They are in very difficult circumstances, with a powerful surrounding culture and history of violence pushing them in one direction. But they still feel, of course, that they have a role in where they’re headed—that they have a chance to choose their destinies. Some of them take that chance, and some of them don’t.
Why doesn’t the film explain more about Colombian politics and the national situation?
The focus of our film is one little neighborhood, La Sierra, and the story of people’s lives in that one place. It’s a story told in their own words, and what we discovered during production was that the politics are not what motivates the local players. In contrast, all of the participants in the film were passionate and insightful about issues of poverty, the struggle for power and respect and other factors in the cycle of violence. Although we try to give a little context to the local viewpoint, we didn’t want to bring in experts or make it a historical/political documentary. That would be an important film to make, but it’s a different film.
What impact do you hope this film will have?
I have no idea; I generally feel discouraged about the work’s potential impact. As viewers, we often leave things behind once the movie is over. But the main thing that I hope people will take away from the film is to realize that people are often victims of their environment. And changing lives, especially young people’s, starts with education and opportunity. These things may help to encourage kids not to pick up weapons or get involved in gangs, but it is so hard when you live in a war zone.
What period of time did filming take place and when did it conclude?
We shot from January 2003 to December 2003.
The independent film business is a difficult one. What keeps you motivated?
It is a tough business, almost impossible. I don’t know what keeps me going. I really enjoy telling stories, meeting people, traveling. It’s what I live for; I just hope that I can keep making films that matter.
Why did you choose to present your film on public television?
We chose public television because it is the best and most respected venue for documentary films in the U.S. It is a huge honor to be included in the list of films that appear on Independent Lens.
What are your three favorite films?
That’s a tough question; there are so many films that I love and to pick three, hmmmm…how about 1) Paris, Texas 2) Amores Perros 3) City of God.
What didn’t you get done when you were making your film?
The laundry.
If you weren’t a filmmaker, what kind of work do you think you’d be doing?
I thought you had to have a day job to afford to be a filmmaker. Maybe I need an agent. I already have a day job.
What do you think is the most inspirational food for making independent films?
Pizza.
What advice do you have for aspiring filmmakers?
Go to law school.
Which filmmakers have most influenced your work?
As far as filmmakers and films I tend to be drawn to narratives, I love docs but I strive to make a documentary as if it were a narrative—with a clean story arc. But a lot of that is purely up to chance. What has always drawn me to photojournalism and filmmaking is the struggle to make something beautiful and meaningful out of chaos and disorder. You can’t control the situation as in a Hollywood movie or a photo shoot. You have to react to what’s around you. So having said that, I would probably stick for the most part to filmmakers with definitive styles, the true trademark of brilliance:
Paul Thomas Anderson, Alejandro González Iñárritu (Amores Perros) Gus Van Sant, the Cohen Brothers, Woody Allen, Spike Lee, Robert Altman.
Have screening audiences asked any questions about the film that we didn’t cover?
The one question we get asked again and again is why do we—and everybody else—only focus on the negative about Colombia. This question is normally asked by Colombians, who, in general, are sensitive to their image in the foreign media and the stereotypes of Colombians as gun wielding narcos. After living in Colombia for seven years, I understand and appreciate this frustration. But the answer to the question is that the themes and stories that are important to talk about are not the pretty stories with happy endings. We could talk about how beautiful the beaches are in Colombia, or how brilliant the people are, or the endless positive things in the country. But Colombians, like people all over the world, still need to be ready to face the reality of their country. What do people talk about in the U.S.? The war in Iraq. What do people discuss about Israel or Palestine? The conflict. The list goes on and on. Every country has to face its reality. These are the important topics and issues, and isn’t that what we should be talking about? Maybe we can inspire change or make a difference by addressing these issues. It is hard for all of us to look in the mirror, but sometimes it is the only way to make things better.
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