Behind the Scenes: Producer Stories

Carl Byker, Red Hill Productions

The Raid

The day we first met Indian activist Kailash Satyarthi, we thought we were on the verge of getting some much-needed rest. We'd been filming 15 of the 16 days we'd been in India doing stories about Inderjit Khurana, a woman who has created a network of train platform schools to try and give the "kids who ride the trains" an alternative to prostitution; and a story about Dr. V., who has saved the sight of over two million people practically by force of will alone. Filming those stories had taken us on a marathon tour of the country — from Chennai and Pondicherry on the southeast coast of India, to Madurai at the southern tip, to a city south of Calcutta on the Bay of Bengal. When we finally arrived in New Delhi, where Kailash Satyarthi's organization dedicated to freeing the millions of slaves in India is located, we were a crew desperately in need of the day off planned on the schedule. First, however, we went from the airport to meet with Kailash and his people, just to say hello and tell them that we were looking forward to beginning filming with them in a couple of days.

As soon as we walked into Kailash's office, we could feel the tension in the air. After quickly shaking hands, he'd told us things had come together faster than they'd expected, and a raid to free slaves who were working at a remote stone quarry was set to begin that night. The plan was to leave New Delhi in a few hours, drive through the night, sleep a couple of hours at a "staging ground" they'd chosen, and then, at 4:00 the next morning, launch the raid. For a crew that was more than a little burned out, it was a daunting prospect, but we also knew from our many e-mail conversations with Kailash's people just how tough a raid was to set up and pull off. The bottom line was that if Kailash and his people were going on a raid, so were we.

The hours we slept were in a dark, barracks-like structure that one of Kailash's people had managed to get a key to. As I lay on the bed in my clothes and listened to a dog barking furiously outside, I wondered if I'd get to sleep at all. Then, suddenly, an alarm went off and it was 3:30 a.m. As we gathered outside in the dark, waiting for the three cars to pull up, a reporter for Time Magazine Asia said to me, "Don't expect too much. I've been on two of these raids before and both times corrupt policemen tipped off the quarry owners that Kailash was coming — and so the Indian mafia that 'owns' the slaves spirited them away the night before and we arrived to find a ghost town. More likely than not, this will be a complete bust."

Fortunately for us and for 53 stone quarry slaves, the raid wasn't a bust. Instead, it was one of the most adrenaline-filled and exhilarating experiences I've ever had. Often in our films, the reality of what it was like being there is "bent" a bit, because we have to edit it and collapse it to make it fit into the film. But watching the raid segment of the Kailash Satyarthi film is almost exactly like being there. My partner Mitch Wilson (a cinematographic genius) kept the camera rolling virtually the entire time — but instead of producing the kind of chaotic, emotionless mush that "reality" cameramen often turn out, he captured what was going on in the faces of the kids, the adults and Kailash, and transported viewers to India and into that extraordinary place and time.

During the first few minutes of the raid, Kailash's behavior was hard to believe. On a previous raid, a close friend of his had been shot and killed by mob goons who showed up in the middle of the attempted rescue; another time, Kailash had suffered numerous broken bones when the mob arrived carrying cricket bats; and this time, he'd been told by a spy who he'd planted among the slaves that we'd have 20 minutes at most before the mob goons came to take the slaves to the quarry. With every second precious and everybody else on the raid team nearly hysterical, Kailash had an almost preternatural calm about him. He walked slowly from one family group to another, hugging the men — some of whom began to cry in his arms — and getting down on the level of the children, almost all of whom were crying. He told me later that he's learned from previous raids that he must remain calm amid the storm, so the slaves will trust him enough to try and escape with him — they know that if the escape attempt fails, they could be tortured, raped and even killed.

After several minutes of hugs and quiet talk from Kailash, a few of the slaves wrapped their meager belongings in sheets of cloth and hurried toward the three vehicles. But at that point, even Kailash began to look worried. There were more than 50 people in the compound and 10 rescuers including us. In order to get them all out, Kailash's people had hired a local truck driver to accompany us to the quarry, but the truck was nowhere to be seen. We found out later that as the truck driver approached the quarry, he realized what he'd been hired to do and balked at going any farther, out of fear of the mob goons. With no truck in sight, Kailash began to pile as many people as he could into the back of his car — but for a few very tense minutes, it looked like a lot of people were going to be left behind.

Then suddenly there was a loud horn honk and the truck pulled into the compound — Kailash's people had managed to come up with enough money to convince the driver it was worth his while to take part in the raid. A few families began piling their children and their belongings in the back of the truck, and as others saw that escape was really possible, a literal flood of human beings began racing toward the back of the truck. Mitch's shots of babies and old people being lifted up by those below and pulled in by those above are the most powerful images he's ever captured.

Once all the slaves were aboard the vehicles, we began a race for the state line. As soon as we crossed it, we were out of reach of the corrupt state cops, and the raid could finally be declared a success. Kailash had all the vehicles pull over to the side of the road and he began shouting the word "freedom" over and over. Slowly but surely, the former slaves joined in. When everyone was piled back into the cars, those of us in the vehicle carrying the film crew had the option of returning to New Delhi to celebrate and sleep. Instead, we drove another three hours to Kailash's halfway house for rescued slaves in the state of Rajasthan. We spent every minute we possibly could over the next three days filming with the men, women and children from the quarry. The universal yet unspoken agreement among the three Americans and two Indians on the crew was that there would be plenty of time to sleep when we were dead.

In the end, out of 24 days in India, we filmed 23, making the trip a literal marathon. Often, those who run 26 miles talk about how at about mile 18, they "hit a wall" and it seems like they can't go on. For us, we hit our wall at the beginning of the slave raid. But the combination of being part of a truly amazing human endeavor and the chance to document it gave us something else that marathoners talk about: a glorious second wind.

India: The Train Platform

Our film about Inderjit Khurana makes it clear that she gets no support for her heroic efforts from the Indian government — but the story of her relationship with the government is actually even worse than there was time to go into in the film. In fact, Inderjit lives in constant fear that government officials will shut the train platform schools down, out of fear that the schools might embarrass them by drawing attention to just what a cesspool of crime and prostitution the train stations are. As soon as we arrived in Bhubaneshwar, we were caught up in this drama. Though Inderjit was glad we were there because she hoped the film might bring much-needed support from viewers, she worried that the government would see a film about the kids of the railway station as the last straw and shut her down once and for all.

Our most intense experience with the fear and paranoia that Inderjit has to live with came on a Friday afternoon while we were filming. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man leaping off the platform on the other side of the tracks and rushing at break-neck speed across the tracks toward us, without so much as a glance to see whether a train was coming. I wondered just what this lunatic was up to. It turned out he was no lunatic, but a man who works for the schools. Inderjit told me later that his job is to hang out inconspicuously in the train station manager's office whenever the school is in session, and if he hears the manager call in the police he races to the school with a warning so that the kids and teachers can vanish before the cops get there.

Now, the man rushed breathlessly up and said that three police cars had just arrived at the station. Suddenly, everyone was in motion — one teacher packed up the teaching supplies, another hurried the kids toward a path that led from the station into the slums. Inderjit had warned us several times that if we were caught filming illegally on the platform, we would be arrested. That didn't seem like such a big deal, but she also warned that the authorities would confiscate our camera and evict us from the country, thereby destroying our chance to tell her story (we had yet to film Kailash's story as well) and that did seem like a big deal. So, just like the teachers and the kids, we gathered up everything we had and raced for the exit from the platform.

In the way that time sometimes slows down when you have adrenaline pumping through your system, and you notice details you might not otherwise, what I remember noticing as we ran toward the slum was that there was something odd about the prostitutes lounging on the wall at the edge of the station, watching us curiously as we hurried past.

Not long after we'd rejoined the kids and the teachers on a street corner a few blocks from the station, the man who'd brought the warning reappeared to tell us that it had all been a false alarm — the police had come to the station on another matter entirely, and, on this day at least, weren't trying to shut down the school.

Though it was just a false alarm, the experience gave us a bit more insight into Inderjit's life. You might expect that as she works with unbelievable dedication to transform the lives of the train platform kids, she would at least have the satisfaction of being cheered on by the government, even if they can't afford to support the project. Instead, Inderjit lives with fear that she'll be shut down because she's trying to solve a problem that the government would rather see swept under the carpet. Amid it all, Inderjit not only holds no resentment, but also exudes a combination of can-do competence and boundless optimism. What an amazing woman!