Original subtitles

I was born in a small town in Poland.

I lived in the ghetto.

At school I always sat on the right side, because we couldn't mix.

I loved football but I couldn't join in. They could even kill those who tried.

You couldn't walk on the streets on the other side of town.

We lived closed off in one environment, ignorant of the world outside.

As a sensitive kid, I suffered a lot. I'd walk to the border and I'd ask myself:

"My God, why do they have more rights than me

when we were born in the same city and we speak the same language?"

We're the same and yet he's got more rights than me.

He can go anywhere and do anything, and I can't.

These restrictions marked me deeply, right to this day.

In 1940, the sculptor Frans Krajcberg lost his entire family

during the occupation of Poland by Nazi Germany.

After the war, I really wanted to forget everything and get away from people,

to find a place where there wasn't anyone. I imagined Brazil was like that.

I'm going to get far away from Europe, from the war, from these people

who think they are superior because they believe in another religion, in another race.

A NEW BEGINNING

There's also another side of my life.

I was born again, and discovered life again in Brazil.

Here, in these forests, I found that I can still survive, and that I can fight for them.

Like my mother, who gave her life to the Marxist ideals which she passionately believed in.

It's the most beautiful thing that exists, to give your life to an ideal.

It's what I'm doing today and it changed everything.

I didn't believe in life anymore. I even wanted to commit suicide.

When I discovered this wonderful scenery, I wanted to dance with joy.

I found a life I'd never dreamt of,

I'd never felt life as deeply as when I discovered these forests, this flora,

these magnificent trees, this impressive movement... it's incredible.

LETTERS

I receive many letters from all over the world, wherever I visit,

or where ecology is an important issue.

They're mainly from young people, from all over the world.

But the letter that touched me most was from Salvador, Bahia.

Socorro Nobre's Letter "Dear Frans

It's a bit difficult to begin this letter to you, but I'll try.

After reading the article about you in Veja Magazine

I became fascinated by your way of living.

I know you won't reply when I tell you where I am.

I close my eyes and live in my own memories

I see myself walking along a beach just as beautiful as yours.

My paradise is in my imagination, but it has helped me to remain calm

and wait for time to pass.

We often only appreciate things after we lose them.

Right now I'm in the Women's Prison in Salvador, but soon I'll be able

to walk barefoot on the beach again, to see the moon, the stars,

raise my chickens again and perhaps have a dog like Peroba.

Now I'll introduce myself: my name is Maria do Socorro Nobre.

I've been in jail for 4 years and 9 months.

I was sentenced to 21 years and 4 months in prison.

If you get to read this letter, thank you.

With admiration and affection, Socorro Nobre.

Look, Fransberg, as I call him, suffered enormously.

He also lost his whole family tragically, left Europe in despair, a lost soul

from the reports that I read.

A person full of anguish, but he overcame it all and succeeded.

He triumphed because he had incredible willpower.

And today he works with something that everyone throws away.

At times, we throw away our own lives.

He works with calcined things, burnt timber from forests...

"calcined" is a word, I learnt only recently,

I didn't know this word - for 'burnt' things.

A person that does that has to be really sensitive.

Working with wood which is then

transformed into a work of art. And our life here is a work of art,

because in our daily life here we have fear, anguish, hope, and we have the desire that

this here ends soon, and so I decided to write to him.

The only thing he didn't lose was his freedom, but inside he must have been

an anguished person... it's not easy losing your whole family.

Even today I feel I was a victim of injustice. But now I'm more resigned, because I think

that God only gives you the cross he thinks you have the strength to carry.

I'd be born again from my mother's womb. The only thing from the past I'd want

is my three children. As for the rest I'd change everything.

Everything. I mean it.

If I had a magic wand... I'd be a shoeshiner but I wouldn't be here.

I mean it.

I begged God to let me die. Today I no longer do.

Today I want God to let me grow old to get all of this out of my head,

and to begin to live again when I get out.

As my youngest daughter says: "start living when you're old."

So I want to start to live when I'm old. Now I say it every day,

When I get my conditional release, it'll be like coming out of my mother's womb,

but with good judgement.

In Ilhéus, the prison was all made of cement, like this one.

There was a small garden, but we had little access to it.

So when I arrived in Itabuna, I hadn't seen grass in ages,

I asked the guard if I could touch some.

It was silly, because it's so common that you don't notice it.

But when I saw it I said: "Can I just hold a bit of grass

and walk around on it?" And he said: "Sure, go ahead.".

And there I stayed. It was the biggest sensation in my life.

I think one should have dreams, one has to dream,

but you can't live in an endless world of dreams.

Once in a while we should feel like Sleeping Beauty

to have that one dream that will nourish you.

It's the best meal in the world.

Sometimes I sit here and my cell mates sit over there

and I keep picturing this dream, of being in a place alone,

jumping from a tree, living like they did in the Stone Age.

Then the girls say: "wake up" and I come back to reality.

PENITENTIARY COMPLEX

I was 35 when I was imprisoned and I'd learnt nothing outside.

In the 5 years and 4 months I've been here...

I think that if I lived 100 years outside without going through this,

I think I would never have learnt.

I'll never forget that I loved the wrong man!

If my dignity was short, now it has grown.

I want to restart my life with the same dignity that I had before,

but for you to get out of here, a place like this, with the same dignity

that you entered, you have to have a lot of character.

It's very difficult.

WERE YOU HAPPY AND DIDN'T KNOW IT?

I was sentenced to 14 years...

OTHER LIVES

Everything I had at home was taken. There's nothing left.

So I have to wait for them to release me to see my boys, to see what I'll do,

'cos when I get out of here, I'll leave with nothing.

The work I did here won't amount to anything.

What can I get with 100 bucks a month? Not even a pair o' shoes for my kid.

I'm waiting for the judge and God to set me free to see my boys.

I miss my son, my brothers, all my relatives, even those that come here.

You miss talking to them.

When they visit, you talk just a little, then they go.

We really miss our families here.

I was 82 when I got there.

And how long are you serving? - 6 years.

All this you see in the yard, people laughing, it's all a fantasy.

Our reality is very different.

I am full of indignation,

and my indignation seeks to give people a little more awareness.

I'm doing everything I can in my work to show my indignation,

to get through to people,

for them to understand that life is in everything,

that everything on this planet has a right to survive and to exist.

You have no milk for your puppies.

I have to give them a bottle. Give her a kiss, that's it.

Fransberg, as I pronounce it, lives in a paradise.

I consider his place a paradise.

Now, I also live in a paradise, only his is external and mine internal.

My certainty of a new start, my certainty of getting out of here

is as real as my own two hands,

and as the sun rising every morning, luminous.

The certainty of a bright new beginning through the strength that

I have inside me is the greatest certainty of my life.

My greatest dream is to raise myself up again.

I think I owe this to myself.

Maria do Socorro Nobre was sentenced to 21 years and 4 months in prison.

At the beginning of 1995 she was given a conditional release.

Today she lives with her 3 children in the countryside of Bahia, Brazil.

I've done everything to forget my past, but undoubtedly it is still inside me.

At times it reappears, at times I begin to cry,

at times I think it's not worth carrying on,

but life goes on.