Break Into Your House

When I was a kid studying Cinema in Brazil, my dream was to make a film that was truly anticapitalist. I wanted to record the revolution of my generation. What kind of revolution? Did you make it? I don’t know how to answer these questions, I was too young. What I know is that I wanted to get into an atmosphere, a city; had to be a country developed enough that in its margins could exist a counterculture that was able to produce a way of life anticapitalist enough that worked, at least for myself. So London was the perfect place. Where else can you live collectively without paying for food, or rent, just like the British young people? It was a good way to start, but suddenly I realized real life: broke, alone, messy places, messy people, trying to survive the most hostile capitalism that I couldn’t even imagine. It was a good laboratory for relationships, no doubt about it. The most creative people were around me, everyone trying to escape capitalism in it’s own way, living together. So I jumped into it. With all my desires and a mini-dv camera, it was all I had. I got stolen. I got fucked it up by lawyers, drugs and parties, but I also discovered a different city. Young people from all over the world trying to resist regular life, tv life, working system life, cctv life. We wanted more. This is the repetition of the same story of our grandparents in 68, our parents in the 80’s and my story nowadays. The difference is that I knew the dream was over, by far, at 20’s. For me and a big crowd, immigrants from the lowest part of the globe, the destiny was clear: throw away your graduation diploma and take this mop, try to survive, and hopefully, send some money back to your family. I could say yes, like many others, but I said no. I decided to walk around. I felt in my flesh the impositions of one culture over another, I saw the dead British Empire trying to resist, desperately. I felt all the lies of one global community at the center of the financial world system, the prejudice in its people on the streets. Friends got arrested, deported, the criminalization of squatting was the final shot. I got angry with you, London. I wanted to burn you down, just like a punk kid from the 80’s. At the end, I discovered nothing really new about resistance, was the same difficult here as it was in Brazil. The difference? Your polite cops.
So I moved back to Brazil with no revolutionary film in my hands, left just two or three real good friends there. I couldn't touch the tapes that I recorded for a couple of years. My image, my desires, I felt so ingenious about me, about my ideas, about what happened. After a while, I decided to throw away all that angry: I recorded different voices of me, of global capitalism forces that I had from the inside. It made me sick sometimes. But I kept going. I also gathered poetry and colonial studies that helped me to understand what I was feeling. So, after all, there is no linear story to follow. The film is a map of my own subjectivity, my fears, the heart of a young kid desperate, and I’m critic about it. An adult looking back to his youth. What do I lose along the way? What have I lost in the pursuit of that dream? In the face of migratory dilemmas, global communities could start asking similar questions.