Hearthbreaking docu on young CPDRC inmates moves audience
There was a collective gasp.And then dead silence.
As director Ditsi Carolino and camerawoman Nana Buxani’s documentary “Bunso” wrapped up, it took a while for students of the University of the Philippines High School Cebu to gather their thoughts after being hit with the full impact of the film. Carolino, a UP High alumna, was there to witness the reactions.
Leading up to UP Cebu’s 100th anniversary, the UP Cebu Alumni Association and College of Communication, Art and Design put together the UP Cebu Centennial Film Showcase April 13 at the Performing Arts Hall, featuring films and docus by UP Cebu alumni, faculty, and students, as a way of celebrating the contributions and milestones made by UP Cebu folk in the thriving Cebuano film industry.
One of the films screened was “Bunso” (TheYoungest), an insanely moving and touching documentary that explores injustice, neglect and perpetual helplessness. It follows the lives of three boys namely Tony, Diosel and Bunso who are struggling to survive in the crowded Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center (CPDRC) alongside adult rapists and murderers.
A picture painted by the kids themselves, the film is more of a narrative than an investigative look at a world where children are caught between extreme poverty and the law in this claustrophobic and dingy community.
“Bunso” offers a multi-dimensional look at its young protagonists, showing them not only as flat-out detainees, but also highlighting their streetwise, likeable, and distinct personalities against their degrading conditions.
Made alongside Consuelo Foundation and UNICEF, “Bunso,” which was shot in 2001 and released in February 2005, calls for a proper juvenile justice law. Prior to the law, a child could be detained as young as nine years old.
As it made rounds in film festivals, “Bunso” won for Carolino Best Director in the One World Film Festival in Prague, claimed the Grand Prix in the EBS International Documentary Festival in Seoul, won Youth Jury Prize at the Perspective-Film Festival der Menschenrechte in Nuremberg, and was hailed Best Short Film at the Gawad Urian.
“The film was purposely made in order to help in the campaign of the juvenile justice law. They think that throwing kids in jail will reform them, make them learn from their mistakes,” Carolino begins.
“But that isn’t what happens. There are no programs especially tailored to their needs. Advocates say that taking a child to jail is like going into a university of higher crime. They have very simple violations when they come in, but once they are exposed to other criminals, when they come out, they become prone to more complicated cases.”
The audience got to see how detainees lined up for food only to be turned away when it ran out, how unsanitary tattoos and even mutilation ran rampant in a community whose only source of activity is a television screen. These children count their days in prison the same way couples count monthsaries, they complain about the judges and the attorneys handling their cases, they tell social workers that they’d rather stay in community shelters than their own homes.
No one is there to look after their health and well-being, and not a single government agency is held accountable for this heinous treatment. Coming in as quiet, intimidated children, they soon transform into full-fledged inmates, unafraid of talking back to fellow, much, much older detainees.
These kids come in with simple cases like begging and theft. As they emerge from jail, it doesn’t take long for them to be detained once again for more serious crimes like drugs.
“Bunso” also depicts the strained relationship the kids have with their peers and family. When Tony comes home, he exchanges the formidable prison cell for an even more toxic and dysfunctional family with an often inebriated mother and an abusive father. Bunso is frustrated at the promises of freedom and argues with his mother during one of her sporadic visits.
“These kids come from really disadvantaged, poor communities, and dysfunctional families where domestic violence is very much a reality. You can only imagine that chances are, they might end up being involved in something worse because this is what happens to them,” explains Carolino.
“They can’t discern the right thing to do. There has to be a better way of addressing their needs. If we can’t bring the legislators to jail despite all the research and PowerPoint presentations, and the lobbying efforts of children’s rights advocates, why don’t we bring them to jail? But that’s not something that they do so why don’t we do the next best thing? That’s the reason why we made the film.”
After making rounds in national and international film festivals, “Bunso” was also shown to legislators and students. Grade 6 pupils from Assumption College saw the film, and paid kids in jail a visit and asked when legislators were going to pass the bill. Moved by the message and the gesture, these legislators promised to work on the bill, and true to their word, Republic Act No. 9344 or the Juvenile Justice and Welfare Act, which establishes a comprehensive juvenile justice and welfare system, was put in place in 2006. However, recent discussions of amending the act continue to threaten the system as leaders argue that it only allows less accountability.
“Bunso” was touching as it was heavy. Viewers tried to find their footing after having had the wind blown out of them, as the dainty and smallframed Carolino went up and center to face them with the softest facial expression.
In an open forum following the screening, the freelance filmmaker shared the process of creating a docu. She says the experience is the same as that of community organizers and social workers because of its immersive nature.
For Carolino, when you’re on field shooting, the technical knowhow comes to mind, allowing a wall to build and keep them from becoming emotional as they film. She admits that it is during postproduction where she feels the gravity of how horrible these situations are, and then allows herself to ponder on her emotions. It isn’t until well after filming that they realize how filthy, cramped, noisy and smelly the field is.
“Was it hard? When you’re shooting, you get so engrossed in the technical things. I have to make sure the exposure and audio levels are right, that the mic is on. I need to make sure that my shots will edit well. It becomes kind of a wall, or a filter from feeling much. When you edit, and sit with 30 hours of material in front of you, when you freeze the frame and see this close-up of the kids staring right at you—that’s the time when you break down. This is the thing that makes you want to do the best you can,” Carolino quietly quips.
Students couldn’t help but become emotional at the account, clearly floored by the visuals and circumstances presented: the lack of opportunities, how these kids long for their families to visit, how completely aware they are of how cruel the world can be, how despite yearning for freedom they’ve somewhat found comfort inside the hot and unkempt cells where they are susceptible to physical, sexual and substance abuse.
“I pray to God that you will never be desensitized. That you will always be affected by what you see, hear and experience. You need to put on breaks sometimes. You can’t be crying while you’re shooting,” Carolino says of how she keeps herself from becoming a cynic when facing the full weight of the endless cruelty and suffering that is surely bigger than any of us.
“Please pray that you don’t get desensitized. It’s caring about issues that makes you do good things. I totally encourage you to go out and experience worlds that you have not seen, outside of the privilege.”
Carolino also shared how happy she was with the interest and engagement Cebuano cinema has gathered over the years. The director, who flew in from Manila just for the showcase, says that she enjoyed and was impressed with the films brought by the new generation of filmmakers.
She encourages viewers to become mobilized, to say something, and to continue feeling not only for themselves but also for the beings around them. Although she didn’t have formal background in filmmaking, Carolino, a sociology graduate, pressed that shouldn’t stop someone from using their voice.
“When the feeling is so strong, I just say, ‘God please help me.’ I was able to put together a piece where I could show to people, who have never been to jail, and let them know what it feels like as if you’ve been there through the projection of the film. This is like an outreach. You learn about the issue by immersion and exposure. And then you decide to make a short fiction or a documentary about a topic that really moved you and you want to say something about it. Beyond that, think about how you can spread the word,” Carolino reminds the young audience.
She also points out the importance of showing subjects in their entirety. “It’s a visual medium where we could really illustrate how bad the situation was, what it feels like to have kids as young as nine to be in jail. I don’t like presenting my subjects as total victims. I want to show them in their wholeness. They’re not cardboards, they’re not stereotypical victims. They’re also smart-alecks, witty and clever.”
“The way the little boy argued with his mother, I said: ‘Gosh, this is like wisdom coming out of the mouths of babes!’” Carolino says, referring to how Tony assumed the role of guide as they weaved their way through the cramped prison, how Diosel liked to sing which he often used when begging in the streets to feed his siblings, and how Bunso clapped back at the older detainees’ teasing, and his mother’s goading and seeming lack of concern.
Although “Bunso” was a hard pill to swallow, it also showed how these kids find the strength to endure in a system that has so obviously failed them. You see them making jokes, taking responsibility, being polite. You hear them talk about God and confession.
Tony once spoke about how he prays for his siblings, how he asks God to provide enough for his family, and how despite all the mistakes, one’s sins are washed away through confession. You hear the relief in his voice the day he is released, saying he can’t wait to feel the breeze outside of the stuffy prison. You hear the word “antuson” (endure) slipping from their lips often. It’s bitter here, but we endure – that’s what the children, not even teenagers yet, keep on saying.
“I like to be hopeful in my films. But the intention was clear: to get the legislators to act. Because when you give a happy ending, it lulls people that all is well.”
“After I worked on ‘Riles’for my research because it came first, when we were editing for ‘Bunso,’I asked about what had happened to the boys. That’s how I learned about them three years later. It was necessary, because how do you get people to act? You need to show them the reality,” Carolino asserts.