All language subtitles for Contre

For 30 years, Amnesty International has
been fighting for the freedom of opinion,

against torture
and against the death penalty.

But Amnesty International
doesn't take a stance on the
opinions of the people it defends.

Mr. President of the
Socialist Republic of Vietnam.

I'm French and I'm 26 years old.

At the age of 26, Nguyen Chi
Thien, a poet from your country

trusted the "may 100
flowers bloom" motto.

It was in 1957.

North Vietnam's government
had decided

to give back the
freedom of speech

to artists, intellectuals and clergymen.

Nguyen Chi Thien
believed in the influence

of words and created
a literary review.

He lived one year of hope,

barely,

because one year later, in 1958,
all publications were suspended

and Nguyen Chi Thien was
sentenced to two years in prison.

Between that first conviction and
today, Nguyen Chi Thien will have spent

more than half his life
in prison, over 30 years.

More than my entire life.

Nguyen Chi Thien was
released in early 1961

and arrested again in November.

Yet, he committed no act of violence.
There was no indictment, no trial.

He was declared
"under-developed citizen"

and sent to a re-education camp.

He remained prisoner until 1964,

when he was released before getting
imprisoned again from 1965 to 1968.

The work was exhausting in the camp,

the food insufficient, the
medical care precarious,

the humiliations and bullying
a daily occurrence.

Prison did not break
Nguyen Chi Thien.

It inspired a volume of
poetry, Flowers from Hell.

My verses are in fact no verses

They are simply life's sobbings

Dark prison cells opening and shutting

The dry cough of two caving in lungs

The sound of earth coming
down to bury dreams

All the sounds of a life not deserving
half its name or even the name of death:

No verses are they!

In 1979, Nguyen Chi Thien
left a manuscript

of his poems at the
British embassy in Hanoi.

He wanted his work to
be heard. And it was.

Published in Germany and England,
it received a prize in 1989.

For that crime, he
was imprisoned again.

It took 10 years for
the detention to be

recognized and the
trial to be announced.

In 1989, an Amnesty
International delegation

detached to Vietnam was not
able to check up on him.

It was believed Nguyen Chi Thien was
held secretly and in dire conditions

in the Ba Sao camp and that
his health status was critical.

Mr. President,

my name is Emmanuelle Béart
and I am an actress.

I know the beauty of a
text and the value of words.

Sharing them is my profession.

I'm here to ask you, respectfully,
to release Nguyen Chi Thien

I'm waiting with confidence.

Please accept, Mr. President, the
assurances of my consideration.

The prize given to Nguyen Chi Thien
is called "the freedom to write".

You and I who are free,

let us write for him

and for the prisoners of
conscience all over the world.

Silence can be beautiful
as well, you'll see...

Mr. President,

I would like to
sing for a prisoner.

I have to plead a case.

Augustine Eke has
been convicted,

he will be executed.

One day at the market,

he was buying shoelaces.

The police arrested him,

He had been reported,

He had been accused

of taking part in
an armed robbery.

It could have happened to me.

It could have happened to me.

Two witnesses had reported him,

because they had been tortured.

The trial was botched,
everything was rigged.

Where is the truth?

The only thing that
was proven was

that on that day, Augustine
Eke was buying shoelaces.

Where is the truth?

It could have happened to me.

Maria Nonna Santa Clara

and one of her colleagues,
Angelina Llenaresas

left work in Naga City
to go to Santa Cruz.

The first was 35 and
a social worker.

The other was 25
and a volunteer.

A woman from the village
explained that when they left,

three men in plain clothes
were following them.

Later, thanks to a photograph,

Maria Nonna Santa Clara

was officially identified.

Late in the afternoon, priests
witnessed an army Jeep

aboard from which this
woman cried for help.

Maria Nonna Santa Clara
and Angelina Llenaresas

went missing on April 26, 1989.

Madam President,

I'm asking you.

Where are they?

It must have been an
hour since he's moved.

Nothing around him
has moved either.

He must move.

He runs the risk of a stiff
arm like the other day.

He should stand up,

walk and go in circles.

It's time.

What time is it?
It's the afternoon.

It's less hot.

The guard won't pass by again.

He passes by once a day.

How many days has he been here?

More than a year now.

He recounts his life.

He has seen his death in dreams.

Against those damp walls,

he makes a mark each day near
the door in order to remember,

so as not to become insane.

He sings on Sundays
the tunes of his childhood.

The light grows dim.

Around noon, he
can see his hands.

The light is so weak.

To go blind.

He was afraid of
it at the beginning.

Today, he isn't afraid anymore.

Or maybe he is,
but of other things.

When the guard comes,

as soon as he hears him,

his only visit, the
only human being,

he walks to the
back of the room,

sits and wait there.

He prepares himself
to receive the light.

It used to be a source of
happiness for him.

He could almost see the sun.

But now, it hurts him.

He's suspicious of it.

It hurts him too
much afterward.

He still folds his two blankets,

He has some water left.

When he wakes
up during the night,

as he does several times,

when the silence is too loud,

he likes to drink his water.
It's fresh at that hour.

He'd like to keep some bread

but it would be too stale

and he's too hungry
during the day.

Something has been
scaring him for some time.

He feels like he can't
hear or see in his head

the voices and images
of his wife and son.

They're slowly disappearing.

They pull away,
farther and farther.

Now, he's afraid
that he's too weak.

He finds his teeth weird.

He never had a trial.

He was never convicted.

No one knows where he is.

He's losing hope.

He will call the guard.

He will ask to see the doctor.

He will say that
he has things to say.

He will be lying.

He has to hold up
until tomorrow.

Tomorrow he'll be stronger.

This man is called Alirio
de Jesus Pedraza Becerra.

He's 41.

He is a lawyer.

He hasn't committed any crime.

He went missing July 4, 1990.
He was buying some bread

when 8 armed men pretending to be
from the secret service seized him.

He is a defender of human rights

in Colombia.

I lived for a year in Africa.

I was 21 then.

I spent some time in
Port Etienne, Mauritania

and then in Senegal.

I'm a photographer

and I've spent my
life taking pictures

of the faces of
people of all ages,

chief among them
those of children.

In the Orient and the Occident.

I am devastated to learn of
the deaths of two young shepherds.

Mamadou Ba and his
brother Abdoulaye Ba.

It happened in your
country, Mr. President.

In the valley near the frontier
with Senegal, in June 1989.

The eldest was 12

and kept with his brother
a herd of sheep and goats.

Abruptly,

this peaceful and traditional
picture gets torn up.

Officers of the National
Guard hurl themselves

at the children and
slit their throats.

Why this atrocity?

We know there are
ethnic issues everywhere,

and Mauritania is no exception.

But how do national guards come
to murder children in cold blood?

Is it due to a difference
in language, religion

or skin color?

How can this monstrosity
be justified?

It's so far from what
the Koran teaches.

We know of this
particular atrocity

but unfortunately
it's not an isolated one.

Witnesses have seen
Mauritanian forces

surround Fula villages,

and confiscate their
lands and livestock.

The hunters of the country.

If they resisted, they
were arrested or killed.

It's in this madness
that Mamadou and

Abdoulaye Ba have
lost their lives!

The whole world over, we all
know that the death of a child

represents the
epitome of tragedy.

You too were a child
once and I hope,

Mr President of the Islamic
Republic of Mauritania,

that you will hear my voice

and act so crimes like
these never happen again.

It is a duty to protect
the magic of childhood.

- How many times did he shoot?
- Two times.

Show me your injuries.

Wait, it hurts.

The bullet was
still in your arm...

I didn't even cry.
I didn't cry and

just kept walking.

Did you realize
he had injured you?

In Guatemala City,

there are thousands
of street children.

In Guatemala City, the
police shoots at you.

You live in the street because
your parents can't feed you anymore.

And to survive, you
become a little thief.

You sniff glue. It gets you
high and suppresses hunger.

We call the cops "vultures"
because they live off us.

The children without
any money get killed.

Sometimes they give half of what

they've stolen in
order to avoid prison.

They kicked him,

everywhere in the ribs.

He got back up,

and then he fell.

He started to shit himself.

We told him: "Nohamon, get up!"

You won't get back up, Nohamon.

They beat you to death.

Your friends testified
and they accused,

and for once, there
was a reconstruction

but here, the innocents
are wearing the masks.

They're afraid to be
recognized by the cops.

Four police officers
were tried and convicted.

Four months later, it was
overturned on appeal.

The police officer came...

He pulled me on
my feet by the ear.

He grabbed Nohamon and
threw him on the ground.

And I was sad

because I was losing a friend.

You too, Hugo.

You knew that the "vultures"
could kill you one of these days

And you, Armstrong,

they shot you and then
went for a drink nearby.

Your friends had seen all of it

but the police officers
finished their beers.

They stepped on your
hand when they left,

as if you could
still feel something.

One of the cops
eventually got arrested.

We ask that the
murderers of Nohamon,

Hugo and so many
others be brought to trial

and that they stop killing
children in that country.

"the neighbors explained that
they had seen the soldiers

exit Crisanto Mederos's house

carrying something
bulky on a board."

Yes.

March 3, 1989.

Crisanto Mederos was
killed by soldiers

who had burst into his
home in Caracas.

He was 38 years old.

A few days before, hundreds of
people had rallied in the streets

They protested against
austerity measures

taken by the Venezuelan government.

There had been looting.

The next day, the government
had imposed a curfew and

had asked the army
to restore order.

The evening when
Crisanto Mederos died,

soldiers burst into
his mother's home

and forced people to lay on the
ground while they searched the house.

Then, they proceeded to the house
next door, which was Crisanto Mederos's.

A gunshot rang out.

One of Crisanto Mederos's brothers
heard a soldier ask for a plank.

His mother tried to
see what was happening.

A soldier threatened to kill her.

Later, the neighbors explained
that they'd seen the soldiers

exit Crisanto Mederos's house

carrying something
bulky on a plank.

The next day,

Crisanto Mederos's family
learned of his death.

They went to the morgue
where the body was.

A tag tied to the thigh said

"unidentified body."

"Not to hand over."

And below,

"Did not respect the curfew."

"Was found in the street."

According to the
death certificate,

death was caused by
gunshots to the neck.

There was no mention of the
injury he had on the forehead,

which seemed to
result from a rifle butt.

There was no autopsy.

The people responsible for his
death were not brought to trial.

From the time when soldiers
were known as foot soldiers,

here is what our
grandfathers saw.

Today, the recruits of the 46th class
arriving in Vincennes can compare.

After having filled out
the various forms

which will serve to
establish the individual file,

the recruits take an exam

to ascertain their knowledge,

before the traditional
and necessary visit

made efficient and even informative
by the progress in medicine.

And the no less traditional and
necessary comprehensive immunization

will ensure health conditions
beyond reproach.

But what a change of atmosphere.

A general staff wearing even
the smile of a social worker

makes sure the conscript
enjoys maximum comfort.

Where is the bullying of old

and the fruitless
search for freedom?

And when outfitted from head to toe

with some stylish
and tailor-made gear,

the conscript will
rejoin his barracks

He'll be able to accomplish
without petty hassle

all that is by definition
of military service.

Andreas Christodoulou, a young
conscientious objector of 19 years old,

was sentenced to four
years in prison in 1989.

His only crime:

wishing to live in harmony
with his religious convictions.

I wish for Greece to put in place
for conscientious objectors,

a non-punitive civil service,

useful to society.

April 1973.
Arrest.

June 1974.

Verdict.

December 10, 1974.

2 p.m.: acquittal

8 p.m.: new arrest.

February 19, 1977.

New verdict behind closed doors.

Sentence of 15 years in prison.

February 24, 1977.

Transformation of the
sentence into life in prison.

March 9, 1988.

The Leader of the
Revolution declares

that human rights are
respected in his country.

1991.
Still imprisoned.

In prison for 18 years.

On the basis of an alleged affiliation
with an unauthorized party.

Prisoner of conscience.

"His Excellency Colonel Muammar
al-Gaddafi, Leader of the Revolution.

Office of the Leader of
the Revolution, Tripoli.

Great Socialist People's
Libyan Arab Jamahiriya."

Your Excellency, I do not
know 'Ali Muhammad al-Qajiji.

He wouldn't agree with my
ideas nor could I with his.

I live in a different world
from his and from yours.

But these different
worlds can communicate:

- through compassion
for human suffering.

- Through compassion for
the one who is imprisoned.

- Through the fraternity of
human destiny in our global age.

Hence, I call on your
compassion, your mercy, and

your magnanimity to
give Ali Muhammad

al-Qajiji his freedom
after 18 years in prison.

Please accept, your Excellency, the
assurances of my highest consideration.

Mr. President,

in 1988, in your country
of Equatorial Guinea,

a man received a death sentence

later commuted into
20 years in prison.

I'm not a jurist, Mr. President,
but it seems to me that

in order to condemn
a human being

to such a sentence,

certain conditions
would have to be met.

First, the accused would have to
confess to his crime or at the very least

that the evidence of this crime

be abundant and solid.

Then,

he would need to have had a fair trial,

and benefit from the help of
a lawyer during said trial

with whom he'd have the
opportunity to prepare his defense.

It wasn't the case, Mr. President,

for Joaquin Elema Boringue,
a non-commissioned officer in your army,

accused of plotting against you.

The trial did take place, in front
of five members of the military.

And Joaquin was able to meet his

lawyer only a few
hours before his trial.

If he did initially
confess his crime,

it was under torture.

He then recanted his
confession during the trial,

and described the tortures
he had suffered through,

that had lead him to
sign a piece of paper.

A piece of paper, Mr. President,
that he had not read.

As for proof,

it's merely a map of
your presidential palace

drawn by Joaquin in 1986.

According to him,
on the orders of a superior

to reinforce security
in your palace.

According to the prosecution,

to assassinate you.

Once again, Mr. President,

I'm not a lawyer,

but it seems obvious to me

that Joaquin Elema Boringue

is detained in your
prisons only for his opinions.

And that's why I'm speaking
to you, Mr. President

to ask you for the
release of this man.

And because your country of
Equatorial Guinea adheres since 1987

to the International Covenant
on Civil and Political Rights,

Article 7 of which prohibits
the use of torture,

and Article 14 of which

guarantees to all a fair trial,

I'm asking you

urgently, Mr. President,

to take every necessary precautions
to stop the use of torture

and the mistreatment of
prisoners in your prisons

and to guarantee,

as stated in the Pact you have signed,

to every person,

to every indicted,

a fair trial.

"I add my voice to Archana Guha's
so that justice be done to her

and so that beyond
her particular case,

the sentencing of the men responsible
marks your willingness not to accept

that others be subjected to the
treatment that was inflicted upon her

One Archana Guha is your country,
or in any country..."

Mr. Prime Minister,

look at this woman.

She could be your sister,

your cousin,

or a friend.

Now, look at this wheelchair.

It was a prison.

A prison for this woman.

The warmth of her skin

and the cold of the metal
united for many years.

Why this unnatural union?

It's a simple story.

Simple and terrible.

It's July 17, 1974.

It's the middle of an Indian night.

Archana Guha is about to fall asleep.

Suddenly, someone knocks at her door.

They knock with determination.

Archana opens the door,

it's the police.

Archana Guha doesn't get the
time to ask what they want.

They take her.

The first screams,

and already the first blows.

Why are they taking Archana?

Because her brother
is wanted by the police.

He is suspected of belonging to a
left-wing armed opposition group.

But since this brother
is nowhere to be found,

she's the one they pick up.

Archana is a particularly soft target.

Innocence is always soft.

Pushed around, humiliated,

Archana arrives to Calcutta
police headquarters.

On her body, very quickly,

they make use of torture,
they threaten her with rape.

She's tortured for 27 days...

yes... for 27 days.

Neither indicted nor heard,

neither defended nor judged,

She spent three years in prison.

She got out in May 1977,

on this wheelchair,
her legs paralyzed.

Archana Guha has not given up fighting.

For her physical recovery first.

She underwent the
necessary treatments abroad.

She's doing better.

She can walk a little,
on short distances.

She has initiated legal actions

so that her torturers be judged

She was able to identify the
officer responsible for her arrest

as well the police officers
who had tortured her.

14 years later,

these men have still
not been convicted.

They say two of them are dead.

They say they can't find a third one.

As for the officer in charge,

he used all legal
means to avoid a trial

and he was given a promotion.

If we do the math,

we get:

27 days of endless torture

and 14 years of injustice.

Mr. Prime Minister,

I add my voice to Archana Guha's

so that justice is done to her

and so that beyond
her particular case,

the sentencing of the men responsible

marks your willingness not to accept

that others be subjected to the
treatment that was inflicted upon her

One Archana Guha in your country,

or in any country,
Mr. Prime Minister,

and justice, too, is crippled.

Mulugetta Mosissa,

Ethiopian senior civil servant,

was without a trial

put in jail for 11 and a half years

by the government of Mr. Mengistu.

He has been tortured.

He has been separated from
his wife, put in an other prison,

and from his son, born in prison.

The three of them,

recently released,

are currently undergoing treatments
at the London Medical Foundation,

specialized in the care of prisoners
who have undergone torture.

Mr. President, I am asking of you,

who has taken charge in Ethiopia,

to ensure that from now on,

in your country,

events such as those
that led to the imprisonment

and torture of Mulugetta Mosissa

no longer occur.

Mr. President Hafez al-Assad...

Hafez al-Assad

Hafez al-Assad

Hafez al-Assad

Hafez al-Assad

On March 31st 1980,

Ghassan Najjar, a Syrian engineer

took part in a
pacific demonstration

to ask for the lifting
of the state of urgency

imposed in his
country since 1963

He was arrested at his home by
the secret service and thrown in jail.

Detained without an indictment
or a sentence for 11 years,

he has been tortured,

and suffers from a spine fracture
and a severe heart disease

One day of strike, more than
4000 days of detention.

Mr. President, Hafez al-Assad,

free Ghassan Najar.

It came back to me,
it really came back.

And I was overwhelmed.

Free, after
17 years in Moroccan prisons,

Abraham Serfaty is
reunited with his wife,

who came to welcome him
as he stepped off the plane.

I'm thinking about the first
time I met Abraham Serfaty

as if it were yesterday,

at the Kenitra prison,

12 years ago.

By the thousands,
the letters had piled up

in the prison offices,
in the government offices,

an in the police stations of Morocco.

It's also thanks to them that
Abraham Serfaty is free today.

I remember my first
night of freedom.

I was thinking of
my three comrades.

Ahmed Bennacer,

Abdallah Harif,

Ahmed Rakiz

who lived alongside me
through so much prison,

who are in my heart.

For 15 years,

they have been in
Kenitra Central Prison,

their health eroded by
humidity and detention.

These prisons, where prisoners

escape immediate insanity
only through hashish.

Since my release,

a deep anguish has
been haunting me.

A detention camp,

somewhere in the desert.

A monstrous detention camp,

where prisoners,
plunged into darkness,

have been dying
for more than 18 years.

Out of 61 prisoners,

28 survived.

This detention camp
is called Tazmamart.

All the prisoners think
about Tazmamart.

And all the Moroccans
know the name.

I won't be able
to ever forget it.

And I hope no one will.

I am free.

But where are they?

What matters to him the most

is the fate of his comrades
who are still in prison.

Besides torture,

the hardest part was
the two years of isolation.

The darkness.

And what broke through the darkness
were the letters from Amnesty.

Write to prisoners.

By writing to prisoners, you're
sawing the prisons' bars

and it's the convergence of our
tenacity and your action

that will allow us to come out
with our heads held up high.

Prison will have not
succeeded in breaking us.

"that's when the army trucks came,

full of soldiers

who arrested the people
there and drove them

for interrogation in
a military detention camp..."

Many have heard of your country,

of its age-old culture,

of the subtlety of its inhabitants,

of the beauty of its scenery.

It will do.

Yet, I learned that a man,

who isn't a criminal,

can be found in your country,

sentenced for his opinions
to 20 years in prison.

A whole life.

Around 60 people there at the ceremony

were singing and praying.

A woman had helped to sew
the flag for the group.

She was sentenced to
two years in prison.

This man, Thomas Wainggai,

has not to my knowledge
committed an act of violence.

He wanted to promote the independence
of the province where he lived.

Is the meeting Friday at 11 still on?

Yes.

From what I know, Mr. Wainggai's trial

was shrouded in secrecy.

The hearings took place
inside a military base.

The pieces of evidence remained hidden.

Thomas Wainggai and his wife Teruko

were arrested on December 14, 1988

during a public ceremony

organized to proclaim
the independence

of their province, renamed
Western Melanesia.

"Despite the derisory aspect of
stating what my responsibilities are..."

the information at my disposal

lead me once again to think that
Mr. Wainggai never called for violence.

In fact,
his whole life has been shattered,

by the mere expression of thought.

André Rousselet, president of canal+

"his only crime..."

I therefore have the
honor, Mr. President,

to ask you to use your influence

so that Mr. Wainggai, his
wife and the other people

imprisoned for the same
reasons be released.

Mr. President, as a
family man yourself

you can imagine the
suffering of parents

who haven't heard from their
son in over three years.

Working for a civic organization
in a township near Pretoria,

Johannes Maisha "Stanza" Bopape

was 28 when he was arrested
by Johannesburg police

on June 8, 1988.

Since then, no news.
His friends are looking for him,

without knowing if he's still alive.

Since the start, Stanza's parents
have understandably been worried.

They live in a country
where section 29

of the Internal Security Act

allows the police to
secretly detain suspects

indefinitely and
without charging them.

The police said he escaped
during a prison transfer

but his family has a good
reason to be skeptical.

The prisoners under
section 29 usually

have their hands and feet
tied during prison transfers.

Moreover, the police waited three
weeks after the so-called escape

to ask questions to the
family, which is strange,

and they contradict themselves
about the date of the escape.

Which is even more strange.

I had never heard of
Stanza, Mr. President,

because the disappearance

of a black and unknown
South African man

doesn't make the
newspaper in France,

let alone the news broadcast.

Mr. President, your
style of governance

has shown you to be a
man with good intentions.

But it seems to me this is not
true for all your fellow citizens,

especially those tasked
with law enforcement.

Police officers are
under your authority,

so order at long last a serious

investigation into what
happened to Bopape

and make its conclusions public.

For his parents and his friends,

this uncertainty is the
cruelest of torments.

Mr President, it might be
too late to save Stanza

but a human life cannot
end on a question mark.

"Frederik de Klerk."

"State President

of South Africa."

"Pretoria."

"South Africa."

The weather was nice.

It was spring in Tiananmen
Square, Beijing

and Wang Xizhe, in
the back of his cell,

was dreaming.

Democracy, at long last!

It was spring.

China sang,

at the Gate of Heavenly Peace.

The dream, shattered.

Armed men in helmets,
facing their brothers.

Some were singing,
others were shooting.

It was spring.

In Tiananmen Square.

And Wang Xizhe, in
the back of his cell,

was not dreaming anymore.

Winter, once again.

Winter, for a long time now.

And for a long time again.

Wang Xizhe is still in prison,

for expressing his opinions.

The gulag, for a few words.

He had written them in 1968.

One-year sentence.

He had written
them again in 1974.

Two-year sentence.

He had done it again in 1981.

Verdict: 14 years.

Wang Xizhe has been
locked up since 1981

because he dared to
write the word "Freedom".

He's only allowed to see
his wife twice a year,

for 45 minutes, under the
supervision of a guard.

He barely knows his child.

Wang Xizhe had hoped,
on a day of spring in 1989.

He must have heard us
then from the back his cell.

He only hears silence now.

Ours.

Yet we all were
Wang Xizhes in 1989.

That spring was ours.

We were ready
to die for Beijing,

and we live quite
well when in spring,

the seasons pass,
like fleeting images.

The rebellious man,
facing the tank.

A superb scene, and we
show it again and again.

Makes for good ratings.

Then we forget.

The humiliated man, kneeling
at the feet of his executioner.

Touching scene. We show it
again and again and we protest.

Makes for good ratings.

Then we forget.

The man, locked up.

No cameras, so no images.

So no TV ratings.

Let's not forget.
His name is Wang Xizhe.

Mr. Governor of Louisiana,

Under your authority,

the state has killed Dalton Prejean.

He was 33 years old.

Abandoned child,

with the street and its
violence for sole education.

At the age of 14,
he killed a taxi driver.

The doctors noticed
severe mental disorders.

They recommended hospitalization,

under strict surveillance.

Due to a lack of funds,
(Is America that poor?)

the institution released
him, three years later.

And almost immediately,

on July 2, 1977,

at the age of 17,

he was chased by the
police, (he's a junkie)

He killed this time a police officer.

Dalton Prejean was black.

The police officer was white.

Dalton was lost.

In May 1978, Dalton Prejean
was sentenced to death.

By what judge?

By a jury composed only
of white people.

The prosecutor had rejected

every possible black jury.

The lawyer, appointed by the
court, as it is for the destitute

had not presented the court with
the essential mitigating circumstances,

such as the severe brain disorders

from which this man suffered

Mr. Governor,

it was all up to you.

Despite the recommendations of
the Louisiana Board of Pardons,

despite international pressure,

it was you who imposed
the death penalty.

Will you find some excuse for yourself?

Because, like 40% of the
2000 people on death row,

awaiting execution
in the United States,

Dalton had black skin.

You had this guilty man killed,

after he had lived for
13 years on death row.

The United States is one of
the seven countries in the world

that still authorizes

the execution of criminal who
were minors at the time of the crime.

When will you let the public know

that this death penalty

which is obviously the ultimate
manifestation of social marginalization,

has been consistently
found throughout the world

to be completely useless

as a deterrent to crime?

It's done.

On May 18, 1990

Dalton Prejean was executed.

In April 1991,

you had 34 death row inmates

in your state of Louisiana.

I beg you to stop killing.

Commute the sentences

because it's injustice,

that first source of
crimes, that must die

for the world to live.

Signed your brother, Abbé Pierre,

very ashamed of so much injustice.

This film was made from
authentic documents.

So, I have to talk about that guy
who's in jail. What's his name again?

Alexandrovich Goldovich.
That's Jewish, isn't it?

No, I don't mind myself but

it's not been that
long since I learned

that the commies
were that antisemitic.

Because we talk
about the Nazis a lot

but damn, the communists!

OK, so I read the text

of the letter like
the rest of them,

like a basic Amnesty
International advocate.

Mr. Gorbachev, I'm very disappointed.

Here I thought, and I wasn't
the only one in France

that for the last few years thanks to
you, the gulag and so on were done with.

Even our professional intellectuals
such as Bernard-Henri Lévy

wrote in our newspapers
that Solzhenitsyn

might have exaggerated things
a little with his Archipelago.

By the way, this is the big
difference between our two systems.

Solzhenitsyn was forced
to go to the US in exile

whereas we had to keep
Bernard-Henri Lévy.

Talking about Jews,

what did this Alexander Goldovich
do that was so wrong

for him to get 15 years in labor camps

and 5 years of internal exile

on December 2, 1985?

According to the documentation
provided by Amnesty International...

Don't know if you got it, Mr. Gorbachev
but it's usually really well done.

Alexander Alexandrovich Goldovich,

a 44 year-old physicist was arrested
with his wife Natalya Sokolova,

simply because they were
about to cross the Black Sea.

On a boat.

So what? You're against
travels, Mr. Gorbachev?

That's something that used to be
held against you and your wife.

You were always jumping from
one capital city to the next!

As soon as you
were feeling a little blue,

"let's go Raisa!
Pack your dresses!"

Here we come New York, London or Paris!

I understand you.

Clearly, daily life in your parts
doesn't look very exciting.

Mr. Gorbachev, I'm talking
to you man-to-man,

eye-to-eye.

In the West, you have what they call

in advertizing an excellent image.

What's going on?
Are you trying to ruin everything?

You who keep asking us to help you...

Can you do me a favor?

Could you use what's
left of your influence

to obtain,

from the representatives of the
police and the administration,

the guarantee that they
leave Goldovich be?

Please.

Mr. Gorbachev, I swear I'm not
even appealing to your humanity.

It's in your interest.

Now more than ever.

Alexander Goldovich was
released on September 27, 1991.

In black and white, not in color...

There was a lot of
this in the old stuff,

things from Abel Gance
and what's his name...

Yeah, I love it.

A simple, ordinary image.

In Sudan, Ushari Ahmed Mahmoud
is no longer in prison.

But he remains deprived of freedom
of expression and movement.

In Paris, some men are dreaming.

Though I know that
in Belleville street,

nothing is meant for me.

But I’m in a beautiful city,

that's something at least.

So far away from my antelopes,

I make myself inconspicuous.

Walking in a European city,

that's something at least.

Oh, and I dream

of Sudan, my country suddenly rising...

Dreaming, that's
something at least.

There is a green plastic bag

dangling from my arm.

In my green bag there is air.

That's something at least.

When I dance as I walk

in those djellabas,

that makes the passers-by smile.

That's something at least.

Oh, and I dream

of Sudan, my country
suddenly rising...

Dreaming, that's
something at least.

That's something at least.

Something at least...

At least...

At least...

For wanting a nice music,

Sudan, my Sudan

For a democratic tune

you get your teeth smashed.

For wanting to
speak of the world

Sudan, my Sudan

A world where speech is shared,

You get your teeth smashed.

Oh, and I dream

of Sudan, my country
suddenly rising...

Dreaming, that's
something at least.

I sit in the Belleville street

amidst a crowd,

and there the hemophiliac time

flows.

Oh, and I dream

of Sudan, my country
suddenly rising...

Dreaming, that's something at least.

That's something at least

Oh, and I dream

of Sudan, my country
suddenly rising...

Dreaming, that's something at least

That's something at least

It's

Something

at

Least.

Minister,

the images of violence
in a happy society

are so recurring that they're
now part of our daily lives,

and thus Vythialingam Skandarajah's
story could almost seem banal.

There are men and women whose life or death
doesn't depend on spectacular gestures,

but on a more insidious violence.

For our administrations,
they are so many case files

determined by procedures,
investigations, decisions, choices,

answers to questionnaires,
pieces of paper.

In June 1987,

Vythialingam Skandarajah became
one of these pieces of paper.

He had left Sri Lanka where
he no longer felt safe.

A bomb had exploded in his home.

He had been detained by police.

They had roughed him up.

In the hope of being welcomed
in a land of freedom,

it's at the United Kingdom's door
that he came knocking.

While his request was being examined,

your services placed him in detention.

He had protested that his life would be
in danger if he went back to his country.

Human rights were violated every day;

abductions, tortures, executions
were common practice there.

By the decision of your ministry,

his request was denied.

He was sent back to Sri Lanka.

His lawyers had spoken to the
High Court and the House of Lords

to have your ministry's
decision overturned.

But these authorities can
only decide on procedure,

and not on the request for asylum.

Vythialingam Skandarajah
didn't really benefit

from a right to appeal
before his deportation.

Arrested by the Indian security forces,

accused to campaign for
an independent Tamil state,

tortured, he remained detained with
6 other people in a 30 square feet cell.

The story is truly so banal.

It ends too well, he didn't even die.

His family obtained his release.

In March 1989,

he was granted asylum in Great Britain.

We shouldn't hear
anything more about it.

Yet, the prejudice this
man went through,

concerns one of the essential
rights guaranteeing our freedom.

Great Britain invented them.

That is why, Minister, I took it
upon myself to write to you.

Vythialingam Skandarajah's
case shows that

the system in place in
the UK is not satisfactory.

That of the other European
countries might not be better,

but no friend of freedom,
throughout the world,

can remain indifferent
when in this regard,

Great Britain is not exemplary.

Gaza Strip. August 21, 1991.

Abd Al Ra'uf Ghabin
has just been released.

My name is Abd Al Ra'uf Ghabin.

I live in the Shatti
refugee camp in Gaza.

I was arrested in August
1990 in this house.

The soldiers jumped above
that wall and arrested me.

Amnesty International
says that Palestinians,

in the occupied territories

have no chance at a fair trial.

I think Amnesty
International is right.

He was arrested like
so many before

And like so many will be in the
future in the occupied territories.

They are put in a police precinct,

without a lawyer and without
any contact with the outside world.

They are roughed up, tortured even.

It's not so much the
desire to make them suffer,

but there's a need to break them.

Violation of human rights.

But actually, in that moment,

they are no longer human.

They have to lose all
their ability to be human,

that they become only living beings,

who want to survive.

So, they'll confess.

Or they won't, and some sort of
administrative detention

will have been invented,

without trial, that will allow
them to be locked up

for six months, or sometimes
two or three times that long.

My interrogation lasted three weeks.

I was sitting on a chair.

Hands tied and blindfolded.

I wasn't allowed to move or to sleep.

Once or twice a day, they would
take me to the interrogation room.

They hit me; they hit me
on the genitals.

I could see only the investigators.

I wasn't allow to contact my lawyer.

I didn't know if it was day or night.

It was total isolation.

The interrogation was hard

but they could hold nothing against me.

I put in administrative detention for
six months, and then six months more.

It isn't only a personal problem,

it concerns thousands of Palestinians

detained without trial since
the start of the intifada.

It's really unacceptable.

The Israeli must renounce
this way of doing things.

They must and we're all concerned.

Letter to the President of Peru.

Mr. President,

I'd like to bring to your attention the
sad situation of one of your citizens,

Fidel Intusca Fernandez.

In August 1990,

he was the victim of an
armed opposition group

that forced him to load
explosives on a truck.

As soon as he was let go,
he was arrested

and tortured by military forces.

He was able to escape.

But out of work, he went from
town to town for a long time,

to earn some money.

I would like you to
intervene in his behalf

with the authorities
responsible of the

sequestration and torture
which he suffered.

It was by Amnesty International
that I was made aware

of the great difficulties encountered
today by Fidel Intusca Fernandez.

If this humanitarian organization
asked me to write this letter to you,

it's not only because of
my profession as an astrophysicist,

but above all because of
my beliefs on the importance

of each human being in
the evolution of the cosmos.

Born in a state of intense heat,

the universe has progressively
cooled down,

and matter slowly came out
of its primordial chaos.

The atoms forming today
our Earth and our bodies

were born from the
activity of countless stars

spread across billions of years.

We know today that the
human being represents

one of the highest summits
in the cosmic organization.

The existence of each and every one of us
implies the whole history of the cosmos.

This fundamental discovery
of modern astrophysics

gives to each of us our
nobility and dignity.

Moreover, it indicates
our responsibility.

Please ensure that our planet doesn't
become inhabitable because of...

Please ensure that every
individual may find

a fulfilling living environment
for himself and his family.

With this in mind, it seems
more and more unacceptable

that individuals are mistreated

like Fidel Intusca Fernandez has been.

An independent and thorough
investigation needs to be open

on the accusations of torture
carried out by soldiers.

And above all, he and his family
must not live in fear of reprisals

and must be able to have a human life.

Hubert Reevs, research supervisor

National Scientific Research
Center in Paris, France.

What do you think?
Was it alright?

Better shoot another take.

Mr. President,

Esteban Gonzalez Gonzalez is in prison.

Esteban Gonzalez Gonzalez,
a mathematics professor,

man of studies and not of violence.

How can we forget
that the life of this man

stopped on that night of
September 23, 1989,

when the agents of the security
forces came into his home,

when they searched his house,

when they stated having found illegal
and counter-revolutionary documents,

when they took him to
their headquarters,

when later, he was sentenced
to 7 years in prison.

Esteban Gonzalez Gonzalez is in prison.

How can we forget that he
was convicted for his opinions,

that he was convicted
because he was the founder

and leader of the Movement
for Democratic Integration?

A movement that demands
elections and a multi-party system

while categorically rejecting
the use of violence.

He was convicted

because he had created the Cuban group
for amnesty of all political prisoners

and the abolition of the death penalty,

because he was a member of the
Cuban commission for human rights.

As you know Mr. President,

it is because human beings
are not identical

that equality had to be invented.

It is because they don't
have the same ideology

that human rights had to be invented.

Esteban Gonzalez Gonzalez is in prison.

How can we forget, Mr. President,

the formidable hope that
your accession to power

had meant to many?

And you know very well

that it is not by getting rid of
the men who want to be free

that we get rid of freedom.

The history of man

is nothing else other than
his struggle for freedom.

It took billions of years for
the human being to appear.

It takes 9 months to
produce a human being,

but a moment is enough to destroy him.

A simple bolt is enough to
take away his dignity.

Esteban Gonzalez Gonzalez is in prison.

How can I forget, Mr. President,

that it's not the first
time I write to you?

Several times, on behalf of the
Academy of Sciences of Paris,

I have asked you to intervene in
behalf of scientists of your country,

convicted for their opinions.

I have never received an answer.

But times have changed.

So I ask you Mr. President,

to accept to release
Esteban Gonzalez Gonzalez

and his comrades who remain imprisoned

because they let be known their
opinions, without the use of violence,

on the politics of their country,

of your country.

As the 21st century dawns,

this practice must
permanently disappear.

One of the worst plagues of humanity

is the certainty to be right,

the need to want at all costs

to bring happiness to men
in spite of themselves.

Febe Elizabeth Velasquez,

killed for her union
activities in a bombing.

Febe Elizabeth Velasquez,

was killed on October 31, 1989

in a bombing.

She was prepared for it.

She knew it could happen to her.

No more exchanged kisses.

No more impromptu meetings.

No more dawn, no more sunrise.

They eliminated you, they murdered you.

Your mouth fell silent.

Your eyes have closed.

Febe Elizabeth Velasquez,

they left you there,
lying in the rubble.

And with you, nine others.

And with you, nine others.

Your smile,

Febe Elizabeth Velasquez,

that smile that doesn't waver,

they have killed it,

they have destroyed it
but not erased it.

They were not able to erase it.

She, Febe Elizabeth Velasquez,

dared to think,

dared to be, dared to smile.

She was.

She is no more.

She was.

She is no more.

They left you there,
lying in the rubble.

With nine others... Nine others...

Your smile now resides, Febe,

only in the heart of the
people who have loved you,

love you and will love you.

She, Febe Elizabeth Velasquez,

dared to think, dared to be.

She dared to smile.

Her smile now resides

only in the heart of the
people who have loved her,

who love her and will love her.

They eliminated you,
but not from our memory.

They eliminated, with nine others.

There are others.

Tortures, screams, tears, torn families.

Enough! Enough!

Ruins, dust, blood... Enough!

They eliminated you.

They eliminated you, but not from
our memory... Not from our memory.

They eliminated you
with nine others like you.

Nine others.

There will be others like you,

in different ways,

who will take up your ideas,

who will dare to be.

Febe Elizabeth Velasquez
of San Salvador,

we will dare to be.

Febe Elizabeth Velasquez,

with your clear and brave smile,
clear and contagious.

Your mouth fell silent.

Your eyes have closed.
You're already resting.

You, Febe Elizabeth
Velasquez of San Salvador,

your face, your courage and
your name we will keep in mind.

We will keep in mind your
smile that they couldn't erase.

It will forever be part of me.

Forever a part of me.

Yes, as if you were talking to Ramon..."

August 2, 1975.

On that day, José Ramon Garcia
Gomez and Ana got married.

It's the time for happiness
and living together.

Ten years later, they were four.

Ramon called the eldest "snowflake".

He'd nicknamed the youngest "the lion".

It was still the time for happiness.

Ramon fought for the
respect of legality in Mexico.

On October 13, 1988

Ramon went to a meeting.

His last meeting.

Two months later, on October 16,

he left his home to go
to a political gathering.

He never made it there.

He joined the other missing persons.
Since then, his family is without news.

How much longer, Mr. President,

how much longer will this woman,

Ana Santander, have to
wait before she knows?

Is her husband still with us?

Will she ever see him
walk through the door again?

Will he take her into his arms?

He disappeared one winter day.
It was cold, dry and bright that day.

It was three years ago.

Iker is now 13.

He continues to watch, to wait.

Even if he doesn't talk
about it with his mother.

Indarki, their second child,

was 4 on the day his father
kissed him for the last time,

and shouted cheerfully
at him, as usual:

"Be good. See you later."

He is now 7.

The age of reason, so they say;

when one understands.

Indarki doesn't understand.

He has trouble remembering
his father's face.

He looks in vain at the photos

How much longer
without news of the father,

of the husband?

How much longer of not
daring to talk about it?

Because the more we talk about it,
the further away Ramon seems to be.

Ramon,

what's the last image of your
freedom that you took with you?

Ramon,

nothing will silence your voice.

Others like you, who love justice
and freedom, continue to fight.

You're still with us.

One day, we'll know.

Let's go!

Action!

Mr. President,

I'm talking to you on
behalf of Kim Song-Man.

He's young like me,
he has a mother,

parents, friends who love him

and he is wrongfully imprisoned.
You've never seen him, Mr. President

and yet his fate is up to you.
That is why I'm talking to you.

He didn't grow up
in violence nor hatred.

But in the love of his fellow man
and in the search for justice.

His family is Christian
and not only by tradition.

He was an activist within
the Christian student body

in American universities.

He discovered democracy.
He himself stated his credo:

"I am someone who wishes for
the independence of our country

and for democracy.

I think that this ideal can be
achieved in a socialist country."

Such was his firm belief.
It made him a dissenting voice,

not a criminal or a spy.

He is a prisoner of conscience,

and that is why I'm
asking you, Mr. President

to release Kim Song-Man.

Fire!

Kim Song-Man, on
behalf of Kim Song-Man!

In south Korea, there is no
freedom of expression.

And that's no good,
no it's no good!

And when you say what
you think, they put you in jail.

And that's no good,
no it's no good!

Kim Song-Man, we're talking
to you on behalf of Kim Song-Man!

If I'm talking to you,
it's for a noble cause.

To get Kim Song-Man out of jail.

His only offense, a crime of opinion.

Tortured, he ended up
saying he was a spy.

The question I'm asking
hits a critical spot.

What's the worth of a confession
extracted through physical suffering?

To law of exception,
court of exception.

Two discrepancies that
are no exception.

Then followed hundreds
of nights of agony.

From being sentenced to death,
they want to imprison him for life.

For unjust suffering and torture,

for the wait because the
pain of his family lasts,

I ask you, on behalf of
humanity to free Kim Song-Man.

Mr. President, I'm talking to you
on behalf of Kim Song-Man.

Detained for five years already.

His crime is having an opinion,
supporting a regime different

from yours and
having said so publicly.

For this, he was
imprisoned and tortured.

Sentenced to death,
then to life in prison.

To be a democrat and
advocate for one' s views

should be legal in a country
respecting human rights.

Prisoner of conscience in his country.

Far from his parents
and far from his friends,

The seasons go by for
him without bringing

anything that makes
human beings happy.

In the prime of life,
he's only 34.

He's a man of convictions,
a man of thought,

who can help his
family and his country.

So, on behalf of his mother,
on behalf of his sister,

on behalf of his friends
all around the world,

I ask you Mr. President
to free Kim Song-Man.

Free him!

"Mrs. Aung San Suu Kyi,

detained for more than
two years in her house

without any contact
with the outside world.

Only a cleaning lady and
guards, never the same ones,

interrupt her total isolation.

General,

I ask you for the release of this woman,

Nobel prize for peace."

General,

I had first written another
letter, then I tore it up.

It was probably too aggressive,
and naive at the same time.

To say the truth, I'm not used
to addressing a military leader

and the distress I felt about the
situation in your country of Myanmar

made me foolishly neglect
the use of diplomacy.

You are powerful, General

and the population is vulnerable.

But listen to these men and women,
assaulted from all sides,

crushed, hated by
military dictatorships

that have succeeded each other
for over 30 years in your country,

and yet are still standing in
the face of history, even dead,

and resist by the sole peaceful
will to restore a democracy

and to ensure human rights.

No weapon has the
strength of the despair

and of the courage to hope

that the Burmese people
still dare to express.

Life is stronger than anything else.

And the violence you use
against it will not defeat the faith

and of this shining revolt
that roars in your country.

Since the violent repression of 1988,

you tried to seduce
international opinion

by holding democratic elections.

But the Burmese population did not give
in to fear and gave 82% of their votes

in favor of the National
League for Democracy,

the party led by Mrs. Aung San Suu Kyi.

Since then, your regime has refused
to gather the elected assembly

has embarked on a massive
purge of the opposition.

The party was dismantled.

Its leaders are imprisoned,
dead or on the run.

To this fundamentally
pacific movement,

you answer with arrests

tortures, disappearances.

And Aung San Suu Kyi has been detained
for more than two years in her house,

without any contact
with the outside world.

Only a cleaning lady and
guards, never the same ones,

interrupt her total isolation.

General,

I ask you for the
release of this woman,

Nobel prize for peace,

whose only crime is,
and I'm quoting her,

her strong belief in the
sanctity of moral principles

combined with a sense of history

which sets the human condition on
a trajectory whose ultimate goal

is its material and
spiritual advancement.

I'm lucky to live in a free
and democratic country

where the law is above
the men who make it

and has the value of truth.

It's in this humanist
tradition that I learned

to disrespect everything that
denies morality and justice.

And it is with infinite
respect and admiration

that I'm addressing you,
Mrs. Aung San Suu Kyi.

You are the hostage of a country
whose people have voted in your favor.

Your courage to withstand hardship and

resist fears is a shining beacon amidst
the tragedy shaking your country.

Your patience is a blessing

and your faith in the future

has the power of a religion that modern
times would try to erase from our minds.

You're there, and as
walled up as you are,

you are giving history one of the
most beautiful face to face with life.

Mr. President-for-life

of the Republic of Malawi,

Vera and Orton Chirwa

are prisoners of conscience
for life in your country.

Both are jurists.

Vera Chirwa, prosecutor
in Tanzania has taught law.

Orton Chirwa was one of the
architects of independence.

Then came the political crisis,
differences of opinion and exile.

After 17 years of exile,

during which they'd created
a political party in Tanzania,

Vera and Orton Chirwa,

according to their own
account of the events,

were kidnapped by members
of your security forces

in the east of Zambia

where they'd gone to
the bedside of sick relatives.

After a sham trial,

height of absurdity
for these two jurists,

whose judge didn't have any law degree

and where they were denied a lawyer

They were sentenced to death.

In 1984,

following international pressure

you pardoned them,

meaning that you transformed
their death sentence

into life in perpetuity.

They have been held in inhumane
conditions for more than ten years.

Deprived of care.

Malnourished, with no visits

without access to mail

locked in secret in
their cells, 14 hours a day,

handcuffed at night to an iron bar.

They are forbidden to talk to each other

or to communicate with
the outside world.

Vera and Orton Chirwa

are now 65 and 72 years old.

What crime have they
committed Mr. President?

"for life".

Simply that of disagreeing with
the single party of your republic,

without ever having used
or incited violence.

I am an artist from France.

I sing about freedom and life.

And I cannot but revolt against
such a grave injustice.

I therefore urge you, Mr. President,

to release Vera and Orton Chirwa
without conditions

and to guarantee fair
trials in your country

for all the other
political prisoners.

Signed Jacques Higelin.

FREEDOM
[singing of the French national anthem]

If I'm addressing you and the children
of our two countries, Mr. President

it's because the march
of history never stops.

Our children must also hear this appeal.

So as to know about our past
and learn about our future.

I will talk to you
about Nasrin Rasooli,

young Iranian citizen
with a degree in physics.

Nasrin Rasooli had political beliefs.

Her ideals resembled those
of the People's Mujahedin

who were then
the legal opposition party.

In 1988, she was executed like
many other political prisoners.

She was never charged with
a crime nor brought to trial.

We know the names of
more than 2500 prisoners

who have presumably
killed between July 1988

and January 1989.

I would like, Mr. President,
to request information

on the fate of our dead, of your dead.

From school to the end of our
lives, we must know our fellow man.

Isolated in silence,
isolated in prisons

Who are the guilty ones?

Black!
Negro!

Green! White! Red!

Rest assured, Mr. President...

of Iran!

Be good!

Let's be good.

Be good in this hour.

LIBERTY, EQUALITY, FRATERNITY

Mr. President...
- Of Iran!