Original subtitles

Come on!

Good pass.

Come on!

-Come on. -Now.

-Go, go, go. -Coming in!

Come on.

Oh, girl.

Good pass.

Almost, Angélica.

POLICE

We are gathered in this trial that the Province of Tucumán carries

against Luis Humberto Gómez,

Eduardo José del Milagro Valdivieso Sassi,

and Darío Luis Amín,

for aggravated attempted homicide in real concurrence

and illegal possession of firearms.

Mr. Luis Humberto Gómez, please come forward.

They are bringing you a chair.

-Do you have any children? -I do, three.

How old are they?

They are of legal age.

Any addictions?

None.

-Do you drink? -No cigarettes, no alcohol, no drugs.

-Any other pending cases? -None.

-Any convictions? -None.

-No pending cases? -None.

Very well.

Darío Luis Amín.

How old are you, sir?

I'm forty-five.

What do you do?

I work for the Honorable Legislature.

Where?

Historical Heritage.

Eduardo José del Milagro Valdivieso Sassi.

What do you do?

I am a retired police officer and a farmer.

-Any pending criminal cases? -No pending cases.

Any previous convictions?

None.

It might be appropriate

that I now clarify what the long-standing relationship is

that I have with the two co-defendants in the case.

Valdivieso and I worked together in the police force.

Well, many here have a friend who always tags along.

For me, that's him.

Wherever I went, he would come.

So, I invited him.

I met Darío Amín about 20 years ago.

We then developed a relationship that went beyond the personal.

It consisted in contributing a certain amount of capital,

to carry out a mining venture that we were developing.

That day we had a camera

because we had to take pictures of what we needed to do…

to start a mining path, and what materials we…

To see whether we needed a bulldozer or any other thing

to start the path again since many years had passed.

They started taking pictures.

I asked who these people were. I was told they were locals.

They took photos of us.

I asked why they were photographing the license plate and whatnot.

And they said

that they were Indigenous, allegedly, and wanted to take over

a property that supposedly belonged to Amín.

I backed away, avoided the conflict,

went down with Darío, and that's when they surrounded us,

attack us, I was clearly attacked.

I felt like death was there.

They were never aware of the fact that I have a mother and two kids.

They publicly called me "the murderer."

And they labeled me as "the murderer."

They labeled me as "the murderer."

And I was not on trial yet.

And I'm not a murderer either!

I was home.

I am no criminal. I am a family man.

I'm a farmer, my kids attend a religious school.

It's not as the prosecutor said.

I'm not a crook, nor a paramilitary task force member.

I have nothing to do with that.

I have honorable friends,

I cannot be accused like this.

The prosecutor inquires why we were armed.

I would ask instead: "Who prohibits that I carry a gun?"

Us police officers do not lose our status as officers.

I am proud to be a retired police officer.

Thank God I had a gun, or I wouldn't be here to explain.

It's recording now.

Hold it for me.

Who's in charge here?

No one is in charge here.

-No one? -No one.

Fine, then. See you later. Take care.

Put the…

You need to drive down the hill.

-No. -What?

-I mean, you have to… -No.

-Are you driving up? -Yeah.

Be careful with…

the ravine.

Are you recording?

-Their faces, I mean. -Yeah, man.

-Point it at them, keep your cool. -I see them.

Kick the four-wheel drive in.

-They're taking pictures. -Yeah, let them.

What for? No one at the court listens to them anymore.

POLICE

Today, here in this place,

where chief Javier Chocobar was murdered nine years ago

there will be an official re-enactment conducted by the jury.

The Forensic Investigation Team from the Prosecutor's Office

is handling all the technical aspects

besides security that is handled by members of the police force…

We were coming through here in our Land Rover, at 6 p.m.

Darío Amín was driving, I was to his right

and Valdivieso was in the back.

Here, we made the first visual contact

with these people, who were over there.

I waved from my seat, they didn't respond, so we kept going.

When we got here, by that post was a gate and a sign that said:

"No Trespassing. Chuschagasta Community."

Something like that.

I saw in the rearview mirror people were approaching from behind.

So when we all realize, I tell them both:

"Don't step out of the car because they might think

that if it's three of us, we are looking for some kind of trouble."

So, I got out all by myself

and went to meet them.

I say: "Good afternoon. Who is in charge here?"

Making these gestures. "Who is in charge here?"

So they… Go on please, walk past me as closely as you can.

That's it.

So they replied: "No one is in charge, this belongs to the community."

What did I do in response?

"Very well, then. Good afternoon!"

And doing nothing else, we turned around and drove away.

And that's the end of that scene.

Valdivieso said: "I will take a nap."

Our intention was to make it to the mining path.

I suggest you stand there, I'll point that way and behind my back.

Okay.

When we saw that people were coming down,

I told Darío to start recording and let me do the talking.

And they gestured like this. You stand there.

You can clearly see it in the video.

So, they forced me to turn around.

You three, walk over there gesticulating like this.

-This way? -Same as in the video.

-Like this? -Yes, exactly.

I told them: "I don't want any trouble."

"I will report you all to the authorities."

He then came up to me, saying: "What are you gonna do?"

-Do it, please. -Hands outward.

-Good. -That's it.

So I was now seeing that he was holding a rock,

and I was not sure about the other.

But I couldn't let anybody grab me like this.

So, when he did that, I acted on instinct.

-I did that. -Here, take it. The gun.

I won't do it again.

What I did was part of my training. It's natural.

The Argentine State trained me to do that.

The Argentine State.

I drew my weapon and kept it down.

Or they would have killed me. That's what I thought.

I kept talking to them.

I kept talking.

Do you believe in God?

Do you have any religious beliefs or any other belief

on which you could swear?

Do you swear to tell the truth, on your honor?

Were you able to attend school?

PUBLIC PROSECUTOR'S OFFICE

Mr. Cata.

What was your relationship with Mr. Chocobar?

He's my maternal half-brother.

Where do you live?

In El Chorro, within the territory of the Chuschagasta Indigenous Community.

The quarry is at the center of the territory.

Who are you and why do you come here?

We are the Amín family, don't you know?

We are the Amín family.

You have no business here.

So you say, tell me who you are.

-We are a community. -An Indigenous community.

And we are asserting our rights, so…

OK. Relax, calm down.

If we talk, we might understand each other. Or maybe not.

So I say, let's talk, and we might understand each other.

If we don't talk, we might not.

You know there is a court order.

I don't mean to hurt you, but if I report what you're doing,

we will all get in trouble.

-It's OK. -What are we doing?

What is it that we are doing?

-What is it? -Man.

Stay cool, brother.

Don't you threaten me. I'm being polite.

Who do you think you are?

What's going on?

I will fuck you up!

No!

Stop it, man. Stop!

Stop it, man!

That's Javier, see?

That's my brother.

And this is Javier's brother.

That was in the city, when they were harvesting.

Cutting sugar cane.

What you see there is a pen.

This one is from when Javier was drafted.

He served for three months.

On account of his good behavior.

That was the fashion back then.

The jacket and…

the sunglasses.

That's a small badge, like a button.

The Argentine badge

like the ones that the kids wear on their school uniforms.

He would carry the pen around, I don't know why.

They used to wear jackets, suits.

They went on horseback.

They went dancing.

Chacarera, zamba, gato, escondido, bailecito.

Those dances were frequent here.

There are still. Chamamé, pasodoble.

That girl who is dancing was a member of his family.

He was single. We were not dating yet.

He ironed his handkerchief himself.

With the corners out. Really tidy.

They used to dress up a lot back then.

All these were taken with his camera.

He took pictures of everything.

It was a white camera, I don't remember well.

He already had it when we got married.

There is a tree over there.

He would send a message calling me.

My dad didn't know,

he worked harvesting sugar cane, too.

He would go cut cane with my mom.

My brother and I stayed home.

He would send me letters through his sister,

saying he wanted to see me

and I would go right away.

No talking, he'd just stare at me for a little while,

and then we would leave, we wouldn't talk much.

That's the day after I got married.

I was 21.

I wore a little suit.

I don't know the name of that fabric, it was light blue.

It wasn't thin, it was rather thick.

And what is this one?

That's what he looked like when we met.

Your dad and me.

Javier got up every morning to go cut cane,

until 8 a.m., then he'd come back,

have breakfast and go back until 12 p.m.

And around 9 p.m., he'd already be in bed.

And he would get up again at 2 a.m.

He would go when the moon was shining bright.

But if there was no moon, he wouldn't go.

He'd just go the following day.

That's Gabriel when he was a baby.

He was angry.

So I laid him down

and Javier took the photo.

He took photos of all the kids.

Women were not so much into photographs.

Men were.

"You've kept the best one for yourself," he used to say.

He was a jokester.

He made saddles, you know?

Headstalls, reins, all that.

They sold well.

The festival of…

What was it called?

Festival, Festival of…

Tradition!

We are…

The Hope of Chamamé!

We come from up there where the air is pure.

For all of you, we bring the rhythm of…

chamamé!

And it goes like this!

Let's hear that sapucai, gauchos!

You are Delfín Cata, is that right sir?

That's me.

You were taking photos. What is that camera?

That camera belonged to a community member.

A camera that uses film.

See you later. Take care.

They're taking pictures.

You are recording, right?

-Their faces, I mean. -Yes, man.

-Point it at them, keep your cool. -I see them.

Darío Amín was recording that day.

He had the video camera and a revolver.

That's Uncle Javier.

That's Andrés.

Emilio, that's me,

and the one coming down here is Beto.

Beto Cata.

That's Nico, Adriana's son.

That's Lucrecia, Delfín Cata's daughter.

That's Francisca.

And that's Uncle Javier standing there.

Why take photos? No one at the court listens to them anymore.

If we talk, we might understand each other. Or maybe not.

So I say, let's talk, and we might understand each other.

Or we might not. You know there is a court order…

Uncle Javier is coming from the back.

He's coming down over there.

Who do you think you are?

We were wrestling with Gómez and I went like…

Excuse me.

Like this.

So I picked up the gun

and flung it over there.

Where was Javier?

Javier was lying over there.

And that's when he said:

"Turk, you motherfucker. You shot me."

This memorial wasn't here.

Then I heard another shot.

Gómez didn't have the gun anymore.

And then, Gómez tried to escape

and he fell here.

A little farther ahead.

There.

That's when Gómez reached for his ankle.

So, I pulled on his leg like this

and I took his other gun.

Gómez was disarmed.

I flung it far.

Over there.

Please state your full name, please.

Alberto Orlando Cata.

How old are you?

Twenty-two.

What do you do?

I'm an athlete.

-I can't hear you. -I'm an athlete.

-An athlete? -Yes.

-Were you able to attend school? -Yes.

-How far did you get? -High school.

-Did you graduate? -Yes.

I was standing here, and my uncle came this way.

So I saw Amín shooting from over there.

Around here.

-Amín was there. -Right.

-Go on. Lead the way. -Uh-huh.

He came from the back.

I turned around and I saw Valdivieso coming.

I am aware that the weapons have been seized…

Could you please show them to the plaintiff?

We have never seen them.

-Of course. -If we may.

Are they unloaded, Mr. Secretary?

-Hold them downwards, please. -Very well.

A Taurus .40 pistol,

a Beretta, 9mm caliber

and a .32 revolver.

I drop the gun and all I manage to do

is run over here.

I go look for Valdivieso.

And then I pass out.

I can't remember anything else.

Four people, please.

Stand here.

Someone, stand here.

Someone behind me, please.

From the sides, they kicked my gut.

The guy behind me hit my head with a stick.

I got up and warned them they would kill me.

I fire and shout: "Stop! Police!"

"You're gonna kill him! Enough!"

"I'm a police officer. What are you doing?"

I turn around. A fat one starts strangling me.

I thought I'd get shot from the way they were punching me.

So I stay down, and when I get up,

there was silence, and blood is coming over my eyes.

It's true that they received blows, but no gunshots.

We could have done the same as them,

with the same weapons.

But we didn't…

Javier received a fatal shot and lost his life.

Emilio got shot in the shin, which broke his leg.

And Andrés was shot in the abdomen.

Right when the trial began, he started feeling unwell

and they found a tumor in his head.

He wants to speak, some words come out right,

but he cannot express what he feels, what he wants to say.

Meanwhile, we kept waiting for the trial

against these crooks.

Nine years.

Yes, nine years

until the trial finally took place.

CHUSCHAGASTA COMMUNITY

Javier Chocobar!

Now and forever!

WE DEMAND PROSECUTOR DEMITRI'S RESIGNATION

See? He has a pen there too.

In his shirt pocket.

It was Manolo's birthday.

They popped the piñata.

This is Chanito, he was so little!

Chanito.

What was this old man's name?

He was always around.

When they branded cattle, he would play music.

He was friends with Javier.

Mariela, Gabriel's wife, baked the cake.

She bakes.

The whole family is in that photo, everyone wanted to be in the picture.

Javier is playing the old man's accordion.

I was here when they came.

Javier told me he'd walk down to the plot with the rest and come back.

And that's when I heard a gunshot.

I fell down, got up, fell down and got up…

They said I was rolling around and screaming.

I don't remember anything.

"Mama, let's go home, Dad's already dead," they said.

I kept repeating: "No, he is not dead."

They couldn't take me away. I was there, holding onto him.

This news story begins

with a brutal armed confrontation between two gangs

in the town of Chuscha, in the Trancas department.

As a consequence, a man died

and three people were injured.

In the afternoon…

Why were you there?

We were looking after our land.

To prevent strangers from taking it.

Since when have you been looking after the land?

We used to live there.

Our ancestors, my grandfather, my great-grandfather.

How old are you, sir?

Forty-six.

Have you been looking after the land for 46 years?

Even before that.

-Counsel, the prosecutor is right. -Long before that.

-It is not relevant. -No, it's not.

He said he had always lived there, his grandparents, too.

I want to know how long they have been protecting the land.

Then ask him that specifically.

Since when have you been gathering around

in that area or at the gate to protect the land?

"We did not have weapons,

we acted peacefully from the beginning

to prevent them from taking control."

"But problems arose and they began to shoot."

"We had to defend ourselves with sticks and stones."

Truth is…

yes, with stones, because the truth is we…

we didn't have any weapons.

Do you know me, sir?

No.

I want you to look at me.

Do you know the defendants? Whom you mentioned as Amín,

the one wearing the white cap, and the gray-haired one.

I know him.

-Who is he? -Darío Amín.

And in that sector to your right,

do you know anybody?

-The question from the defense… -That's up to our defense.

I won't discuss my strategy with you.

-But the question… -It won't cause any harm.

So as not to be repetitive, do you have good eyesight?

-Excuse me? -If you have good eyesight.

-Do you wear glasses? -No, I don't. I have good eyesight.

When you saw Mr. Amín, was he standing, sitting, kneeling?

He was standing.

And, when my uncle came by,

he pointed the weapon at him and fired, I saw him…

Who determined Mr. Chocobar was dead?

You said you saw Mr. Valdivieso firing his gun.

I did.

-When was that? -It was…

When in your story?

I'd say, when people were…

Closer to the microphone.

People were retreating, and he aimed

towards the people who were climbing,

to reach another path farther up.

-He aimed towards people. -Yes.

Do you remember the statement you gave to the police after the event?

Excuse me, I consider

the defense attorney's remarks are witness harassment.

This is an oral debate!

And this is what oral proceedings are for.

So that the witnesses can explain in detail,

not to repeat verbatim what they told a computer…

I request the floor.

I do not intend to intimidate the witness, Your Honor.

His previous statement was different.

He was 13 years old, he was a minor.

Based on what he says now, I hereby request a confrontation.

You get me? And there was no weapon in my hand

because you stole it from me and took it away.

You hear me? The weapon is a pistol.

-What's it like? -The weapon was…

-You say you know it so well. -…a small weapon…

You're wrong, my weapon is big!

You're dead wrong, it's big!

It's a big pistol!

-Be respectful, Mr. Valdivieso. -Don't raise your voice.

-All right. -I haven't given you the floor.

-I apologize, Your Honor. -Be respectful.

The weapon…

It wasn't big, it was…

If you know the weapon…

I would like the Court to show the weapons and see if he recognizes…

No, address him, not the Court.

And when you were leaving…

-No interruptions. -…you came back, so I found it.

My weapon?

-Well… -My weapon?

Was it my weapon?

Why didn't you pick up another weapon?

-Because… -Why?

-Why would I? -So, why take my weapon?

-Excuse me? -Why take my other weapon, then?

So you don't mess up again like--

You're saying I picked up a weapon

and that I messed up…

You say I presumably picked up a weapon.

What weapon did I pick up?

Do you think that, had I found another gun,

I'd leave without my gun, which you stole from me?

Why were you there?

I asked him why he was there.

It won't do any harm, answer.

Why were you in that place?

Do you believe in God?

Do you swear to tell the truth, so help you God?

You said that you got together

in order to protect the land.

Why did you think that someone would take over your land?

How many families live there?

Did you ever think of defending yourselves?

Stick to the facts, counsel.

Did you know that the land belonged to Amín?

I'll be straightforward.

Why were you there that day

instead of being home drinking mate tea or sowing the land?

An athlete from the town of Trancas, La Higuera!

Coming in, athlete number 20 from La Higuera!

Representing Trancas!

Come on.

Here.

I really liked

doing that, taking pictures.

Fly away, little one.

When I served in the military,

I had several photos taken.

I wanted to keep a record, so it wouldn't fade away.

I had one of those cardboard cameras.

Nowadays, the phone helps.

But in the community, not all of us have good phones.

I took these photos to keep a record

of the times of trouble

that the community was going through.

Like when Darío Amín built that shack.

Chief Balderrama is showing the injunction

asking them to leave the community

as they were not allowed there.

People were tired of lawsuits.

We had to defend ourselves somehow, how did we do it?

By filing reports.

Whether they did something about it or not,

without a report, there's no evidence.

Realizing that you are…

erm…

a descendant of our ancestors

hasn't been easy for me.

But I finally did realize.

We don't come from far away.

We're not from Germany,

we don't come from the U.S., we don't come from Italy.

Here, our grandparents, great-grandparents, parents…

and us, we were all born here, and our children are being born here.

These are the steps to follow to build a case file.

You need to analyze the problem

and see where to elevate it.

Whether it's the local Congress, or the Prosecutor's Office

or some other institution, like the Land Registry Office.

Meaning, wherever the complaint needs to be addressed.

And always better if it's signed by the entire community,

but it doesn't end there.

'Cause if you don't follow up, they will shelve it,

new files come in and it gets buried

and then nobody can find it.

Day after day, endless commutes.

They'd tell us to go back the following week, month, 15 days…

I… constantly followed up on that that file, periodically,

in order to make progress.

Sometimes, also,

you have to send them something like a chicken, a gift,

for those at the front desk

because they are the ones who really control the case files.

Right.

Sometimes they understand

because they are workers and people like us.

Right.

There's another important thing.

When the counterparty

asks to talk,

that's not good for the community.

Yes, communication is important,

but it's not convenient for us

because if we agree to talk, we know we'll end up losing,

because we'll have to concede something.

Dialogue means giving up something.

Which means giving up a part of the land.

Let's give a warm welcome to our pilgrims,

to the gaucho troop from Chuscha and La Higuera.

They brought their figurines.

It's a day for family, a day for faith.

My dad was from Chasquivil.

My mom was from Rodeo Grande.

I don't know what the processions were like back then,

the Lord of Health, all that…

My mom and dad met there

and they got married.

Happy Day of the Virgin to everyone.

This procession was in Anca Juli.

I'm not sure what part exactly,

or what saint they were carrying.

That's my dad

playing the drum and probably singing.

They must be singing coplas.

His grandparents were from Amaicha.

My grandfather used to say he was the son of Indigenous peoples.

But my grandmother, Pistán, she said she was mixed blood.

We are not pure, I guess.

This one is the oldest.

That's the first house they had in Anca Juli.

It was more like a small shed, made of cane and sticks.

My mom is holding my hand.

Women came and asked her

to make them a dress, a skirt, a blouse.

"That's how I learned to sew," my mom used to say.

She would wash the fabric and then measure

the shoulders, the inseam.

All of that.

My mom used to assist in births.

In emergencies, I stepped in, I helped with three.

But I only helped them come out.

I cut the umbilical cord, helped with the placenta,

no more than that.

This is Silvia.

She wasn't their biological child.

Her mother left her at home as a baby

so the judge told my parents to register her as their own.

That's me.

"Chuscha" means thick hair.

It's a word…

an Indigenous word, I was told.

My family always received visitors.

The hunters would come, one would tell the other, and so on.

They spoke well of my parents.

They brought their photo cameras, those small, square ones.

They'd give them to my mom as a gift.

And so, they made friends.

We are six.

The eldest was Antonia, Braulio, Luisa, Francisco, Delfina and myself.

Mom and Dad taught us to be articulate.

Not to just stand there in silence.

They used to tell us we had Indigenous heritage.

"The children of Indians."

Indigenous peoples were not liked.

It was embarrassing because it was derogative

to call somebody "Indian."

There were problems. My dad used to tell me that.

He went to trial, I remember.

They wanted him to pay to work the land.

He had to pay with labor.

Working for them,

but without compensation.

If he refused, they would threaten,

erm,

to take away a year-old animal

and give him two newborns instead.

So, the way I see it, it was like a scam

because he didn't know if those newborns

would grow up healthy, whereas he'd give the boss

an animal that was already a year old.

My mom didn't like having problems with anybody.

So she asked my dad to come and find a place to move.

It made me very sad to leave the place where I was born,

where I grew up,

where I had everything.

We packed everything up in boxes.

There were no roads, no paths whatsoever.

We carried all by mule.

It took us about three or four months.

The goats, the sheep, the cows, the horses.

We had to carry it all. Even the chickens.

Meanwhile, we built the house here

cutting the adobe and the straw to make the roof.

First a bedroom,

then, a kitchen resembling a small hut.

We did it together, as a family.

That's how it came together.

You know, you see these like this,

quite weathered,

but they are here.

I've kept them.

I don't know what will happen

when I die, what will happen to these.

What they'll do with them.

That's what happened.

There is a historian who clearly states that they disappeared in 1807.

Let's be very clear about that.

Great.

I have a blind faith in justice

and also in the justice of God.

I believe that my son,

after seven years of seeing a psychiatrist…

Both of them, actually, my grandson as well…

It's very hard for a mother to see your son hurting and in such bad shape…

The lands absolutely have… a deed and a title.

They were bought at a judicial auction from the National Bank.

They have perfect legal titles.

That's why I was able to register as a mining entrepreneur.

In 2006, I offered them one acre each,

total ownership, but not as an Indigenous community,

and they said no.

I offered work in the quarry, they said they were on welfare.

They received a payment of 200 pesos a month

and in the quarry we offered 600 per week.

But no one wanted to work.

How can anyone even imagine that if I wished to kill someone,

I would shoot them in the leg?

It's way easier to lift the weapon six inches and hit the abdomen.

Or nine more and hit the chest. Twelve more and hit the head.

But of course: "Who is the author?" "Luis Gómez." "Why?"

"Whatever, he's paramilitary and he's this and that," and so on.

The truth will be revealed.

We had genuine interest in going

and I was not, in any way, a hitman, as the lawyers say.

I have genuine interest.

Darío Amín and myself formed an LLC before the event even took place.

So they can't say that we went to evict them carrying weapons.

They were living there together with us.

Some were born and raised there,

they are still there!

Nobody was looking to evict them.

Here, we are all equal under the law.

So, the whole thing about being Indigenous, not Indigenous…

The Vikings were Indigenous too

and today we travel to their country, and it is the First World.

Thank you, Your Honor.

What did "Campo Amigo LLC" mean?

It was the combination of the two surnames.

"Ami" for Amín, and "go" for Gómez.

The purpose was to exploit that quarry.

The video captures the entire event.

Not only do the images capture it, but so does the audio recording.

What was Gómez's threat?

"I'll bring you to justice."

Not, "I'll take a gun and shoot you."

Gómez had been carrying a gun since 1979.

He is the founder of Grupo Cero in Tucumán.

A task force which trained abroad.

Consequently, had Gómez intended to kill,

he would have done so.

What's going on?

I will fuck you up!

We are trained to develop different brain hemispheres.

What does this mean?

I can talk, think, look,

and analyze at the same time.

Speech is controlled by one part, thought by another part,

and my movements by another part.

If I don't learn to do two or three things at the same time,

I won't have…

what I need to be in a special task force.

Out of 100 people who enroll in a special forces course,

only three to five graduate, eight at most.

In that sense, I ask you this: couldn't Gómez have backed up,

walking backwards without losing sight of the people coming his way?

Couldn't he have moved away…?

Walking backwards is impossible on the surface I see.

We have a technique to move backwards

where we drag one leg.

If I may, I'll show you our technique to avoid tripping while walking backwards.

Amín decides to turn to Gómez.

He sees that the legal methods are going nowhere,

so, at some point, he resolves to do this through other means.

He doesn't call an engineer or a geologist.

No, he calls a retired police officer

who, at 31, had been formally accused eight times of illegal coercion,

threats, robbery, fraud, aggravated robbery on two occasions

and of very serious injuries.

Gómez brings Valdivieso along.

"The operation is today at 4 p.m.

"Don't tell Mom. I'm shaking all over,

but I trust Luis."

"I trust Luis, four more cops are coming."

"Don't say a word,

only you and I know."

This is a text message that Amín sent to his brother.

Are you friends or enemies with the parties in this trial?

I have been a friend of the mother for 35 years.

Of Mr. Amín's mother?

And I've known the kids since they were little.

Do you have any interest in the outcome of the trial?

Only for justice to be served, nothing personal.

Were the slabs located within Amín's claimed property?

They were.

As a land surveyor, along with my topographer,

we took measurements and determined that the place was within the property.

-Did you see those papers? -I did.

There were clear legal titles for that property.

I can attest they are the owners.

Have you seen a house there?

I know people lived further up, yes.

When you say further up, how far exactly?

I can't say.

I can't say.

An estimate.

I have no idea.

I haven't analyzed that.

What do you do?

-I'm a public servant. -Where?

In the Choromoro rural community.

Please state if you are certain of who the owners of the property are.

The Amín family.

How do you know that it belongs to the Amín family?

I'm 47, for as long as I can remember,

I've known the property belongs to them.

Right, but how?

Because of what people say…

People say they own it.

Is the last witness your brother?

-A relative? -He is my brother.

-Your brother. What do you do? -I'm a public servant.

Where?

The rural community of Anca Juli.

Let me ask you, if you live there…

You said you were born and raised there.

Is it a choice whether to belong to the community or not?

I've never been…

I've never agreed to be part of the community.

So simply living there and being born there

doesn't make you a member.

-I'm not a member. -You are not.

-I'm not. -What about other people?

Do you understand the question?

For example, if a child of yours is born,

are they part or should they do something to become a member?

-Of the Chuscha community where I live? -Yes.

I'm part of the community because I live there.

But I don't belong to the Chuschagasta Community.

Do you need to enroll or…?

Do you need to engage in activities?

What do you need to do to be part of the community?

Do you have to share the work and the yield?

I don't understand.

You are from there.

I was never part of the Chuschagasta Indigenous Community

as they call themselves.

Honestly, I don't know if they are truly a community.

I was never a part of it.

Is it by birth or by choice?

Do you understand what I'm asking?

No, no, it's by…

It's by choice.

It's optional.

Mrs. Chiarello.

Silvia Chiarello.

What do you do?

I'm retired but I still work at the Anca Juli rural community

-I keep collaborating… -Retired from what?

The Ministry of Interior.

Do you know the parties in the trial?

Only Mr. Amín.

Do you have a friendship, an enmity,

or a vested interest in the outcome of the case?

None. Absolutely none.

-Madam President? -Yes?

-Regarding the witness… -Yes.

The complaints filed against her are still active.

Let me repeat the question:

-Are you a friend or enemy…? -No.

-Do you have a stake in either party? -None.

But I do have to say--

-Are you being sued by a party? -Yes.

-That part is true. -Let's see.

The Chuschagasta Community

is suing my brother and me before the Federal Court.

-What is your brother's name? -Dante Chiarello.

Are you in any territorial dispute with the community?

-Maybe a border issue… -No, none whatsoever.

We have always lived in peace and harmony.

Everybody knows what the limits are, where the borders are.

They were always good, hardworking people,

just normal folks, equals.

We are all equal.

So, everyone did their thing, focused on their own work.

But fundamentally, good people.

Yet the community filed the complaint against you?

Saying that we weren't the rightful owners

and that we were usurping was an euphemism.

They called us crooks, abusers, oppressors.

And for me personally, when I was the commissioner,

who voted for me to win?

Who voted for me to win?

And I've won many times with the people's vote,

and my elections were absolutely transparent,

just like my life, counsel.

Mrs. Chiarello was highly regarded by Mr. Salvador.

He didn't know how to read, he signed with his fingerprint.

For them, a person like that was easy to deceive.

They befriend people, build rapport, and then begin to inquire

about the state of the land, who owns it

and before you know it, it's too late.

If there is no further matter…

Indeed, counsel.

The defense was not informed at any time

that a movie was being filmed.

So, we are working in a kind of circus for a movie to be made.

I think it would have been prudent for all of us to have known

that a movie about the case was being made,

so that this isn't regarded as a circus,

but treated with the seriousness that this hearing deserves.

No one in this Court or in this room gives this trial,

which has a unique importance compared to other processes,

the treatment or tone of a circus.

Let me clarify that with all seriousness.

It's inappropriate to believe that this Court behaves as such.

This courtroom is open, as the law mandates,

during an oral and public trial.

It is not for us to decide

what press we like or not in order to let them in.

In fact, I don't know the names of the journalists,

nor what outlets they work for.

Never have I pondered life itself.

I only thought about what I needed to get by.

Not about life itself.

Later on, I did.

As years went by,

I came to understand how I lived and what life had been like for me.

I worked selling brooms.

And I also shined shoes.

If I made more than three pesos, that was good money.

I gave it to my mother.

And if the weekend came

and I wanted to go to the movies, or to the circus,

she would give me money for that.

My favorite was the one in Ben-Hur.

Charlton Heston.

When I was nine or ten, I lost my mother.

I was left like a ship without a rudder.

In her room,

I had dug up a hole and hidden a can.

When I returned every afternoon,

I would put the two or three pesos I had left over in it.

I started saving.

Since the trains came into the station, it was full of vendors.

I'd sell newspapers, magazines, or even apples.

I remember that when I turned 13, I started cutting sugar cane.

The closure will mean the loss of land

and the migration of thousands of people from Tucumán

who won't be able to do anything in the province…

I moved to Buenos Aires after the sugar mills closed in 1966.

And there began my pilgrimage to find work.

I moved to a boarding house.

There were many old boarding houses that were inexpensive,

but you had to share a room with five people

who would come for work and then stay.

I first worked with a Chilean, then with someone from Tucumán.

"The kid knows a bit about plaster, take him along."

"He's looking for a job."

"Alright, be ready tomorrow."

I made a fortune building plaster wardrobes.

Of course, I liked making money,

but I also began to like the trade.

I didn't find it heavy going.

I had already done harder things.

That trade could lead me anywhere.

The bigger the town, the more work I had,

because there was more construction.

There were these Uruguayans

with whom I played soccer.

I told them I was from Tucumán, so they called me "Diaguita."

That was the first time I thought

that I could be Indigenous.

The problem started in 1975

with the inflation and the price spikes.

To get away from it, I decided to spend a month in Tucumán.

I came on my own, as I usually did.

Cirilo Balderrama.

My father.

I didn't know where he lived, or who he was.

He sent me half a cheese wheel.

And I took it.

"Go meet him, he's your family," they said.

I was born in Zárate Norte, right at the exit of San Pedro.

So I was familiar with the area.

Thanks to the directions I had, I made it to Cirilo's house.

It wasn't a grand ceremony, so to speak.

We shook hands and that was it.

I had come just to meet him and then leave.

But they mentioned some problems with Amín

who was charging grazing fees and taking their animals away.

This is the remainder of La Higuera Estate

which was supposedly owned by Francisco Colombres.

He would order: "Go put a marker on that tree,

and on that other," and so on.

That's how they seized it.

They behaved like landowners, but didn't have the deeds.

Part of this estate was sold over and over

until it landed in the hands of the Amín family.

We spent more than 40 years

filing requests and writing letters

to different entities asking to solve the land issues.

Everyone was getting lawsuits and threats, eviction attempts.

They took everything they could.

They confiscated goats, cows, horses.

Later, they came for the crops.

We started sharing the harvest.

They did give us materials to sow, it's true,

but they took advantage of people and kept the harvest, the profits.

Cirilo, my father, told me,

they had spoken many times to the Governor, Juri "the Turk,"

who said he would expropriate the estate in favor of the people here.

They would not give up the land for free. Payment was required.

The land was indeed expropriated,

but despite that, they never handed it over.

I started investigating until I got the plans

from the Bureau of State-Owned Real Estate.

There, I saw that all the families

were located within government-owned land.

State-owned estate.

I already had a ticket to go back to Buenos Aires.

I could have left them on their own, said it was their problem.

But I felt that I was part of this.

So I decided to stay.

It's something intangible.

It's a feeling

that's been welling up inside me, I don't know when.

Look up.

That painting shows

when the Indigenous attempted to break into the city.

See how these angels

fought to keep the Indigenous out,

and they sent these beams to scare them away.

Tucumán was inhabited by different peoples.

They practiced agriculture, but war was their passion.

They loved fighting.

It is also said they were good athletes.

Back then, the North of Argentina was one big province

called Salta de Tucumán.

It was composed by Jujuy, Salta, Tucumán…

Listening to him, you realize how convinced he is

that even God wants to erase us for good.

The same God we believe in now

was against us, like the painting shows.

It's hard to make these people understand.

It's sad because the Argentine State was created that way.

Establishing that we are bad.

Members from other communities

don't believe in God.

-They don't… -Exactly.

Meaning, they have other beliefs.

José was baptized there.

-How far did you go in school? -Second grade.

-Second grade? -Javier finished third grade.

There were no more grades.

It would take us an hour, an hour and a half on foot.

We would walk there.

"What can you draw that starts with letter 'I'?"

"An Indian."

"So, draw a person. An Indian."

Some of us would draw it standing with the bow and arrow.

Others with the Argentine bola.

The more skilled ones would draw him riding a horse.

Back then,

my mom, my older brothers and grown-ups would handle the lawsuits.

People would try to evict us,

while at school we were being taught about who discovered America.

About the Santa María, La Niña and La Pinta.

The heroes of the Nation.

They never taught us that we were actually Indigenous.

They never taught us about our rights.

We were taught what the books said.

That this country had been inhabited by Indigenous peoples.

Very little was said about the fact that Indigenous peoples still inhabit it.

That we are still here.

The river has been swollen for three days.

The kids are sheltering at the Ñorco school.

They couldn't cross the river.

We come from a people that has been erased for years.

Our history has been distorted, turned upside-down.

They have even stripped us of our language,

but we do exist.

That teacher has made sacrifices to be able to graduate and work.

Sadly, he needs to teach this because that's what the job mandates.

It's likely that we don't teach a lot about Indigenous peoples

because the priority is world history.

We must teach the curriculum provided by the State.

So what they tell us to prioritize, that's what we have to teach.

We see nowadays that kids do finish high-school.

But then you see a marked depopulation.

And I see an inconsistency, like a contradiction, right?

The struggle for the land

and at the same time, the depopulation.

Why would you fight for a land that you are not going to use?

We Indigenous peoples do exist and we have the right to live on our land.

And that's how the community began.

First, by obtaining the legal entity.

Holding the actual documents,

and not giving up.

Not leaving our land.

Having discussions.

Listening to the someone's opinion.

And then someone else's.

Knowing where we all stand.

Because history starts here.

They say: "We own this land."

But, as I say, the paper doesn't question the pen.

To me, they took advantage of other people's labor.

That's what Cafrune says in his song.

Work is a good thing

It's life's best

But life is lost at work In someone else's ranch

Some work like thunder While others enjoy the rain

The rancher boasts Of gaucho ways and arrogance

He believes it's extravagance For his ranch hand to live a cut above

But the gentleman doesn't know

That his ranch hand is the reason His ranch endures its season

That's the way of the land. It belongs to those who work it.

They might say: "They are lazy, they don't work."

I think that those who live with us,

they know how we live, what we do and why we do it.

And those who don't live here, they don't know.

They don't know.

Come here, little one.

These are my sisters, Luisa and Antonia.

The older one got married and moved to Buenos Aires.

She left in 1954.

Her husband worked at a foundry.

He was a metalworker.

She worked in a sewing workshop.

They used to send clothes to Tucumán.

Stores like Casa Heredia or Gath & Chaves…

They don't exist anymore.

They were good clothes.

My sister Luisa was a Peronist.

Antonia too.

She complained, saying she hadn't had a breaded cutlet

since Perón's times.

"The last breaded cutlet I had was with Perón," she said.

I was 12 or 13 when I left, I don't remember.

That's when they sent me to Buenos Aires.

Since my sister was pregnant, I had to take care of the other baby.

I had to wash his diapers, his baby clothes, and bathe him.

But I didn't hang out or play with him.

I didn't like that.

Then, I looked for another job cleaning houses.

The neighborhood was Villa Urquiza, in the city of Buenos Aires.

I had to work in different houses for three, four, two hours and so on.

I was always running to catch the bus or the train.

But it paid well.

They are Clarisa and Fermina.

They were from Chasquivil.

Right after school, they moved to the city to work.

They didn't play, but took a photo pretending to.

Guillermina Olivar.

What a dress, right?

She was also raised with us in the house.

She became a domestic worker, I don't know what became of her.

That's me.

I might be 17 or 18, I'm not sure.

I was a housekeeper.

Those of us who lived in had Thursday afternoons off

to do some shopping or go out.

And back to work in the evening.

Work in the mountain is very different from the city.

I felt embarrassed because I didn't know how to clean well.

There was no flooring in rural homes. There is now!

But not back then.

The boss one day came to me and said: "Hi, María, here's your payment,

but you can't work here anymore."

I asked her why.

The front door was white.

And I didn't know it needed cleaning every day.

"Tell me how to do it, and I will do as you say,

if you want me to continue."

And I kept working.

From then on, I did as she said.

Francisco, my brother.

He also went to Buenos Aires to work.

In Sudamtex, a textile factory.

He worked there for like 15 years.

Now he lives in Chuscha with his family.

That's you, Dad.

Is that me?

Of course!

Yes.

That's me.

That's also me.

It wasn't hard to find a job.

Many used to leave.

Many young people.

Not only from Tucumán, but also from other provinces.

This man in the white shirt used to live up in the mountains.

He was a police officer in Buenos Aires.

He died a long time ago.

That's a friend of mine from Corrientes.

We became friends.

We celebrated together, we visited each other.

We were homesick.

-That's Aunt María. -Auntie.

Because we learned that it's harder on our own.

She looks so pretty.

We need each other to start building national unity…

I don't like Buenos Aires.

I don't like the weather.

That's my sister Delfina.

Nancy's mother.

My brother gave her that fabric.

I guess they must have sold him the remnants from the factory.

It was pink.

She died.

So I raised my son and Nancy together.

I bartered knitted garments for the tuition fees.

Young girls aren't like that now.

They aren't interested in crafts.

Can you weave?

-No. -What about knitting?

-What about you? -I can't.

-You both work as maids, right? -Yes.

But I've always been treated well.

-I've never had any problems. -Right.

Yeah.

Now I work in Chuscha.

And I come home on the weekends.

-Have you finished high school? -I have.

Grandma.

That's life.

You learn to move around in the city, working there.

Judges' houses, lawyers',

teachers', doctors' houses.

When I turned 18, I wanted to leave that behind

and work on my own.

I'd go to the cemetery at 5 a.m. to sell flowers.

On Father's Day and Mother's Day,

I'd sell a lot of carnations.

Then, I worked selling ice cream.

-Where's your house? -Over there.

-Huh? -It is over there.

Here's the turn, look.

-Oh, you're right. -That way.

All the way, I used to go all the way.

And from there, down.

The path to go see you.

All that.

I hope that our children and those to come

don't have to go through what we faced.

And that would be…

And we're all together.

I'm tired.

Let's rest up a bit. It's hot.

-Where should we build our house? -Over there I think.

Close to that one but farther up.

See how the grass is growing? Look.

-Where? -Over there, that's it.

-I see. It's dry. -Yes.

You have to dig that little edge.

But I was thinking of a small excavation first.

And from there, then… fill all that in.

Then we can build.

We should take the way up like the school kids, look.

From there, the plateau,

you can see everything,

when they go to school and when they leave.

We can build two rooms…

Was there phone reception? How far did it go?

-How far did it go? -Up to the churqui tree.

-Up to the churqui. -All the way there?

-Here too. -Here too?

-The whole area. -But is it good?

Yes, 4G.

-Really? -But it doesn't work very well.

You're out of credit.

-No credit? -I topped it up yesterday.

Remember the goats you saw over there?

-Whose were they? -Ovando's, they left.

-I think there's two still here. -Over there, look.

Good afternoon, everyone.

Can you hear me?

Yes.

Is it recording?

-Yes? -Take the floor, counsel.

Thank you very much.

I will try to get to the point, it's been a long day

and we have gone over the events multiple times.

At this trial we all know what happened

and we saw it play out in this Court.

We have had the chance to see people pass through

trying to highlight the rights of the Indigenous.

I greatly respect the rights they might have,

but in this case, the subject of debate

is not their right to the lands.

In fact, it's not proven that they own the land.

These people arrived peacefully,

and they found themselves cornered, locked in and besieged,

by those who now call themselves a community.

Who took away their weapons?

Was it only Superman Cata who took them all?

During the reconstruction,

he clearly states that he grabbed the weapon.

Delfín Cata could have easily pulled the trigger

that caused the death of Mr. Chocobar.

To paraphrase historian Carlos Páez de la Torre Jr.,

in an article from the newspaper La Gaceta

this historian expresses that in 1807

it was officially declared

that the Chuschagasta Community was extinct.

Did I write that?

It's the first time that I hear that this article

has had an impact other than somebody reading it.

How remarkable!

I wrote it just to add some flair,

to depict an auction back in those days.

But I don't remember the moment I wrote it.

I write every day, imagine that.

If I had to research every day to write this stuff, I would die.

The lands were vacant, completely uninhabited.

And…

we are talking about the Chuschas,

as they were called Chuschas, not Chuschagasta.

It was a place where nothing existed.

This is confirmed by the Registry of the Title III

in the Historical Provincial Archives.

It's certified and included in the book written by Perilli de Colombres,

whom this defense tried to get to come here to explain.

There's not much to explain about

where the name Chuschagasta comes from.

It comes from "chuschas,"

we say "chuschar" when we want to pull someone's hair.

And for the Indigenous peoples,

their hair was a symbol of…

pride.

So they were called the Chuschagasta,

which means "the people with the hair."

We try to follow the evolution of the lands

from the first owners.

We are talking about when the…

First there were Indigenous towns,

but later there were the Spanish owners and their descendants.

And we try to trace it to the present day

because many families still own those lands.

The Trancas area was populated by many Indigenous groups.

According to the Spanish colonial law,

all Indigenous peoples were to have land.

Jacinto Chocobar is the flag bearer!

The banner is carried by Daniel Mamani!

Perico Balderrama!

Julián Balderrama!

Trancas and Burruyacu

were the defense zones against the Indigenous peoples.

They would raid the estates, take the livestock,

steal women, children.

They were ferocious.

The gauchos of our motherland!

Of our Argentina!

The Indigenous peoples took part in the Independence struggles,

but they were somehow silenced.

Their voice doesn't appear again.

In 1808, a man, Nicolás Molina,

came forward demanding that the lands be sold to him.

He claimed that there were no more Chuschagasta Indigenous peoples.

That the lands were in the hands of tramps and bandits.

So he ordered to call the Chuschagasta to see if there were any left.

But none came forward.

According to this file, no representative did.

We are a republic.

And since the moment we became a republic

the territories were delimited and marked.

We have a Land Registry,

so we must respect the institutions

and respect the records created.

When the period of independence began,

the Indigenous towns became somewhat displaced

because individual property started being consolidated.

You see deed papers and…

well, you think they legitimize the owner.

The Indigenous peoples didn't have them.

In that sense, the communities were not protected by the documents.

That's what piques my interest.

The existence of the documents.

All those studies on the Indigenous peoples

seem like fantasy to me.

And on the Indigenous language.

"Turns out this word is Kakán, there's a Kakán lexicon…"

That depresses me greatly.

For a long time, nobody talked about Indigenous communities.

And suddenly, they surfaced.

Now they are all demanding land,

quite violently, in some cases.

There are now some problems with the Chuschagasta,

the chief who was killed…

How could they prove their Indigenous community identity?

They no longer speak the language,

they don't have distinctive traits.

But we have to think

that even Indigenous peoples couldn't keep their name.

Let that sink in.

One must write the truth.

So to speak.

What is the truth?

In the film The Devil's Disciple, with Laurence Olivier,

at the end, they say: "What will history say, General?"

So Laurence Olivier turns and says: "History will lie, as it always has."

Cirilo, my father, told me there was a peach tree there.

My grandfather was born there.

They were farmhands who worked gathering the livestock,

either for sale, for branding, to milk, to make cheese.

There, the gang of laborers, as they were labeled,

did all the work.

They were Indigenous,

but their name was changed.

They called them "gang of laborers."

Then they called them "gauchos."

Everyone who wants a piece of the land

says that the Indigenous peoples have all disappeared.

That they have all gone, the Chuschagastas too.

They represented an obstacle

to them seizing the land, as always.

Your Honor,

can you hear me?

It's been 350 years since the Chuschas have been here.

After the Calchaquí Wars,

they were forced by the king to come to this valley

just like the Tolombón and the Colalao.

They were registered as "Chuchingasta,"

"Chachagasta,"

"Chuchagasti,"

"Chugasta,"

"Chuscas,"

"Chujcha."

Or sometimes just "Indians."

They raised oxen to replace cart animals

and livestock to feed caravaners.

Where Route 9 now runs, the Royal Road once passed.

Along that road, carts traveled to the silver mines of Potosí.

It has been said that the Chuschas became extinct in 1807,

but in 1807 the Chuschas were paying rent to a certain Alurralde.

They were charged without the king's permission.

The Cabildo removed the Alurralde family from there.

Their descendants, whose last name was Colombres,

had been collecting documents:

testaments, land surveys, land sales within families.

They made a clever move.

They claimed that an Alurralde had bequeathed the estate to them.

They called it La Higuera Estate.

And they kept charging the Chuschas.

Records show cooks, laundresses, farmhands worked there

under the surnames Balderrama, Mamani, Cata, Vargas, Pistán, Chocobar.

No longer registered as "Chuschas."

The Colombres family sold part of that land.

That's what the Amín family got in 1959.

The Chuschas wrote to the Government of Tucumán

to have their land situation reviewed.

This alerted the Colombres.

They needed a document.

What did the Colombres show as evidence in court?

The rent receipts they collected from the Chuschas, Your Honor.

Behold, the history of property in this valley.

Governor Juri expropriated the Colombres.

It seems like good news for the Chuscha families.

But you'll see.

Colombres received a hefty payout for the expropriation.

Amín and a neighbor, Critto, move forward on the expropriated land.

A certain Araujo, public servant Chiarello and her brother Dante

claimed they own the lands of community member Salvador Cata.

Which national institution cares about the legitimacy of property?

Some things are simply shameful, Your Honor.

The accused and their main witnesses,

and all the alleged owners of this territory

hold or have held positions in the Government of Tucumán.

Except for the Chuschas.

The Chuschas have spent years doing paperwork,

writing letters, waiting in hallways, in front desks,

respecting the country's institutions like no other.

The Republic has shown greater respect for the colonial records

than for Argentine citizens.

Do you believe in God, Your Honor?

Is God seeing all of this?

Don't be afraid.

Don't be upset, nothing bad will happen to you.

Don't be afraid.

Don't be afraid. Nothing bad will happen to you.

You are with your mommy.

The movie depicted Christian characters,

and they suffered under the rule of the Roman Empire.

-Ben-Hur? -Ben-Hur, yes.

If we bring that to the present day,

the members of our communities

have endured a similar fate.

The life of a mule was worth more than a human's

because they had to pay for the mule.

The movie showed the true colors of the empire.

Many empires have fallen, and other empires are rising.

That is the core meaning of the movie.

It awoke this feeling in me in relation to us.

I own all those colors.

Don't be afraid.

I love them all. All of them.

Don't be afraid.

You are with mommy.

Present!

-Javier Chocobar! -Is present!

EMERGENCY EXIT

By unanimous vote, the Court rules

to condemn Darío Luis Amín

for considering him the principal author

of the crime of aggravated homicide by the use of a firearm,

sentencing him to serve 22 years in prison.

To sentence Luis Humberto Gómez,

secondary participant, to serve 18 years.

To sentence Eduardo José del Milagro Valdivieso Sassi

to serve ten years in prison.

INFANTRY

Never give up on the people's fight!

Javier Chocobar!

-Justice for Javier Chocobar! -Justice!

-Javier Chocobar! -Present!

-Javier Chocobar! -Present!

-Javier Chocobar! -Present!

-Now! -And forever!

Cinema? I think I have never been to one.

I've listened to the radio, but only since 1963 or 1964.

And I only just started watching TV recently.

A few years ago.

Surely our generations will keep fighting with the hope

that many people are working for the good of humanity.

This world would be so beautiful

if all of us could see

the wonder that we are as human beings.

When we sing, when we smile, when we make music,

when we look into the eyes of each wonderful person.

But it's so sad when someone ravages, kills, destroys.

I believe that if they found another planet in the universe

they would also tear it apart.

The convicts appealed the verdict.

Two years later, in 2020, they were released.

Darío Amín passed away in 2021 due to COVID-19.

In 2025, the sentence was upheld.

Luis Humberto Gómez and Eduardo Valdivieso returned to prison.

The Chuschagasta Indigenous Community

continues to demand the restitution of their territory

from the Argentine State

and keeps the memory of Javier Chocobar alive.

Dedicated to the Chuschagasta Indigenous Community

and their current appointed leader, Azucena Cata,

without whom this film would not have been possible.