Elson Santos and Lara Sousa’s documentary We, People of the Island opens with the peaceful and reflective rendition of Amilcar Cabral’s Ilha. Published on July 22, 1946, in the weekly newspaper A Ilha and collected in his collected works and writings of youth in Unity and Struggle, Cabral maternalized his homeland, Cape Verde, by portraying […]
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Elson Santos and Lara Sousa’s documentary We, People of the Island opens with the peaceful and reflective rendition of Amilcar Cabral’s Ilha. Published on July 22, 1946, in the weekly newspaper A Ilha and collected in his collected works and writings of youth in Unity and Struggle, Cabral maternalized his homeland, Cape Verde, by portraying her as naked, barren, and forgotten. This poetic rendition accentuated by Cape Verde’s arresting landscapes, introduces the film, the nationality, and a titbit of the subject matter Santos’ debut feature-length documentary project will meditate on. Thus, when one of the documentary subjects stated, in a matter-of-fact, language, and demeanor, that colonialism, imperialism and its accompanying symbols are stubborn and resist physical and psychological death, it further emphasizes the political and intellectual nature of the unfolding documentary.
Colonialism, imperialism and colonial symbols remain an enduring, seemingly indestructible presence on the African mind and continent, Cape Verde and its citizens inclusive. It is impossible to take a leisure walk around Cape Verde without confronting imposing colonial images, statues, and spots that are residue of slavery and colonial oppression. Through talking-head interviews with Pedro Verona Rodrigues Pires, Julio Cesar de Carvalho, Maria Elidia da Cruz Evora, Angelo Medina Dantas Pereira, and Silvino da Luz (more on them later), the documentary invites viewers to question whether these old but enduring colonial totems mock our inability to shake off colonial heritage and imperialist imposition from the continent. Another of the documentary subjects, in a politically-correct sentence, stated that symbols of colonialism should not be referenced in a free country. The implicit argument and implication is that a truly independent country should create, curate, and center images, names, languages, and totems that carry its national identity, conscience, and history.
But, colonialism, more accurately imperialism and its predecessor, capitalism, makes it impossible for a total divorce to happen. For over an hour, Santos and Sousa’s documentary focuses on Cabral and the African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde‘s (PAIGC) militant efforts towards the independence of Cape Verde and Guinea-Bissau from Portuguese ownership. It ponders on the intricacies of the earliest guerilla movement, independence, post-independence Cape Verde, and the generational tension between the early freedom fighters and the current generation. The documentary’s attention occasionally shifts, but Santos’ voice overs, part reflection and commentary, keep it from stumbling into a rocky situation.
In Santos’ dreamy documentary, the question of heroism and revolutionary struggle gets discussed. Cabral and the film’s subjects, who are soldiers, are portrayed as heroes. “In 1965, on a secret operation, a group of 31 young Cape Verdeans, including a woman, embarked for Cuba, to receive military training to free the country from the clutches of colonialism,” the film’s synopsis reads. These young Cape Verdeans, who were between the ages of 20 to 30—an important point to note—left their comfort driven by the dream of freedom. It’s the dream that five of these Cape Verdeans speak of in We, People of the Island. What’s notable is how these men and women don’t interpret their effort as heroic. For them, it’s a “mad” attempt to outset colonial oppression.
The documentary’s insight on framing revolutionaries as heroes is well established when it captures the dismay felt across Cape Verde and Guinea-Bissau after Cabral’s assasination. The dismay after Cabral’s assasination is indicative of the caution of not championing sole individuals as heroes and instead treating them as individuals who represent ideas that reflect the general opinion of disgruntled and disenfranchised citizens. The documentary suggests that this uniformed heroism—an individualistic act—dampens the strength of revolutionary movements and struggles when these towering heroes die or betray the movement. It sees class struggle as a collective, not individual, struggle against the oppressor.
In one of Antonio de Oliveira Salazar’s speeches, Angola and other Portuguese-colonised-African countries are phrased as a Portuguese creation that cannot exist without it. Cabral’s generation proves that wrong. Despite the mixed pessimism and optimism of the freedom-fighter generation, they believe strongly in an independent Cape Verde. The documentary’s unhurried pace, archival footage, and nostalgia-ridden conversations offers a deep insight into what freedom meant and how it can inspire current and future generations of Cape Verdans.
