The Europe-wide protests against Chile’s military dictatorship were expressed not only by political activism, but by a host of artistic actions. The colourful aesthetics of the Unidad Popular’s street art, popularised by the Ramona Parra Brigades, became a visual trademark. Based on this model, the Brigada Pablo Neruda, for example, whose members included well-known Chilean artists exiled in Paris like José Balmes, Gracia Barrios and Guillermo Núñez, realised a 60-metre-long mural on the fringes of documenta 6 in Kassel in 1977. Its creation was documented in Franz Lehmkuhl’s film “Chilenische Wandmalerei” (1977–80), screened in Leipzig in 1980. In his agitation film “Chile lebt”, co-produced with Michael Börner, the Chilean journalist and filmmaker Juan Forch uses pictures of the Brigada Pablo Neruda to express what keeps hope in his homeland alive: international solidarity. In 1979, Forch returned to Chile from exile in the GDR.

Florian Wüst

In 1977, Valentin Milanow, a Bulgarian student at the GDR Academy of Film and Television, sat in at the DEFA Studio for Documentary Films. Director Rainer Ackermann was assigned as his mentor. Milanow came up with the idea of portraying the reality of life of exiled Chileans in the GDR. He was friends with a young couple, Alejandra Holzapfel and José Fuica, who lived in the same prefabricated housing estate in Potsdam-Babelsberg. She studied veterinary medicine, he was training to be a teacher of Marxism-Leninism. Milanow was allowed to film their wedding. On the fringes of the seemingly happy celebration, conversations turn to memories of interrogations and torture by the military junta and worries about relatives who were left behind. What the bride herself did not reveal at the time: As a leftist underground fighter she had been exposed to the worst abuse in the “Venda Sexy” prisoners’ camp and others. Today, this place is the memorial site Asociación de Memoria y Derechos Humanos Irán 3030. It is run by Alejandra Holzapfel.

Florian Wüst

Five days after the coup, Chile’s most famous singer-songwriter, Víctor Jara, was brutally murdered. In recognition of his oeuvre, his political stance and also of the “victims of the fascist sadism perpetrated by the military and the CIA in Chile after 11 September 1973”, Santiago Álvarez immediately created a cinematic “report in four songs”. The musical and rhythmic structure and the simultaneous reportage style arising from found news footage and recordings of Jara reflect the agitprop language that is so typical of Álvarez. The title of the film is taken from the poem “Nuestra América” (1891) by Cuban poet José Martí. The end, too, alludes to the continuity of the anti-colonial struggle: A collage of international examples of state repression against insurgents from Puerto Rico to Vietnam and Indonesia is followed by depictions of legendary battles of liberation in 19th century South America.

Florian Wüst

In a large-scale operation, a group of homeless families occupy some wasteland on the outskirts of Santiago in March 1967. When the police attempt to evict them, a little girl, Herminda, dies in her mother’s arms. The eviction is called off, the people are allowed to stay and, without any existing infrastructure, build the settlement that exists to this day: Herminda de la Victoria. “Full of errors and mistakes, [the film] is my first approach to cinema, albeit to a ‘new cinema’, a Latin American cinema marked by underdevelopment. Nonetheless, the cinematic process, editing and sound represent a fully valid experience to me. ‘Herminda de la Victoria’ champions the interests of the homeless in Chile, suffers with them, is both testimony and a ‘document’ that forces you to take sides.” (Douglas Hübner)

Florian Wüst

The Chilean folk group Illapu only really became famous under the military dictatorship. The five musicians were allowed to work, but had to “keep a low profile”. When they gradually joined the cultural resistance against the Pinochet regime, they were expelled in 1981. From their French exile, they toured Europe, including East Berlin. This is where Carlos Puccio’s film begins: The Chilean directing student observed Illapu’s rehearsals and concerts for his diploma film project at the Film and Television Academy of the GDR. They talk about their enduring bond with Chile and about what would happen if individual members of the band were given entry permits and Illapu would consequently break up. In 1986, they moved to Mexico together and returned to Chile two years later because of the changing political climate.

Florian Wüst

After the military coup in Brazil in March 1964, the new rulers stopped the fairer distribution of land that had already begun. The agrarian reforms implemented instead favoured big land owners and the agribusiness sector; unions were suppressed. Against this backdrop, Paulo Rufino and Ana Carolina address the struggles and hardships of agricultural labourers. In a free and poetical style, they assemble photographs, film sequences, quotes in words and images into an experimental collage that probes the limits of the documentary. In particular, they play with the instrument of repetition – in a kind of non-linear interpretation of “Lavra Dor” (1962) and other poems by Mário Chamie. The film was screened in the “Week of New Cinema: Latin America” section of the 1970 Berlinale which was compiled by Peter B. Schumann. Four years earlier, Schumann had already shown a cross section of the Brazilian “Cinema Novo” in West Berlin as part of the festival’s retrospective.

Florian Wüst

Líber Arce was the name of a communist student who was shot dead by the police at a protest on the university campus of Montevideo. The film documents the events before and after his burial, its title transforming the name of the victim into a call for action: liberarse, to liberate oneself. The fact that the film is silent and the indictment of the social and economic conditions as well as US imperialism is spelled out in intertitles turns the lack of resources for a soundtrack into an aesthetic quality. We look more closely because there is nothing to hear. Mario Handler is a cofounder of the “Cinemateca Tercer del Mundo” (1969-1974) film collective, which sought to build its own cinema of counter-information and published a magazine. Above all, however, it screened the militant films from the other Latin American countries and popularised them far beyond the circles of bourgeois culture in Uruguay.

Florian Wüst

“Still I believe / We are created, free and equal / Now / Now / Now …” US-American singer Lena Horne interpreted the Hebrew song “Hava Nagila” with different lyrics: “Now!” (1963) became an anthem of the civil rights movement in the USA, while Santiago Álvarez’s film of the same name rose to become an agitprop classic. He edited photographs and a few short moving image sequences of racial discrimination, police violence and white terror to the rhythm of Horne’s song. The International Leipzig Documentary and Short Film Week alone screened “Now!” five times in two decades after it had won the Golden Dove in 1965. The presence of Cuban documentary film in Leipzig amounted to a long success story, not least thanks to Álvarez, its best-known exponent. In addition to screenings of his films, he served several times as a member of the International Jury. Even after the controversy surrounding his stance on the Prague Spring 1968, Álvarez continued to be a regular guest.

Florian Wüst

The brothers Matheus and José live in Brazil by the rivers of the Kalunga Quilombo, a community of descendants of escaped slaves. The springs and rivers are an important part of their life and they both know how precious and worth protecting these waters are. They love to collect stones there which they use for their artworks. The film follows the brothers on their forays along the water for a bit and tells of their special connection to this place.

Lina Dinkla

During the Unidad Popular election campaign in 1970, the Ramona Parra Brigades mobilised young activists across the country. They painted political messages on facades and walls using brushes and buckets of paint. In “Brigada Ramona Parra” (1970), Álvaro Ramírez – who continued to work as a filmmaker in exile in the GDR – documents the sometimes daring work of one of these groups. Leonardo Céspedes’ “Pintando con el pueblo” in turn shows the new direction of Chilean cultural politics under Salvador Allende. Artists and art students create a huge mural in front of the presidential palace, La Moneda, in Santiago, under the eyes of passers-by. The site becomes a stage for a rally organized by the Unidad Popular.The film ends with a speech by Allende about art as “an art for all the people”. The 16mm distribution print held by the Arsenal archive is probably the only surviving copy of “Pintando con el pueblo”. It was digitised for this retrospective.

Florian Wüst