The favelas embody the marginalized in Brazilian society. As the Brazilian sociologist Michael Misse notes, the state has long coexisted alongside gangs, serving landowners’ interests while turning violence into “political merchandise” that police and paramilitaries offer to criminal entities. The security apparatus that preys upon the favela is substantiated by popular culture, where the favelas make up the problematic zone in the collective imaginary. One of the most influential projects to shape popular perceptions of the favela has been Fernando Meirelles and Kátia Lund’s Cidade de Deus (City of God) (2002). The film attempted to present a raw yet humanizing look at Rio de Janeiro’s favelas. However, it has been criticized for projecting violence to an audience that can consume it at a distance while cleansing itself of any connections to the violence.
Those on the periphery rarely get to tell their own stories.
Those on the periphery rarely get to tell their own stories. Ben-Hur Nogueira, a 24-year-old Afro-Brazilian documentarian, was born and raised on the margins. He is an autodidact who has been capturing the stories of his community for as long as he can remember. Nogueira comes from a rich family history of community engagement and draws from his own lived experiences, making his projects much more profound, genuine, and captivating.
On a recent visit to learn about the history of housing occupations in Belo Horizonte, I met with Ben-Hur, who graciously showed me around this neighborhood. After visiting his family and walking through the streets that defined him, we sat down for a conversation on how his work seeks to present a different view of the favelas and the resilience of their people.
George Ygarza (GY): Can you share a little about your family history? How has your early life shaped the topics you choose to cover in your projects?
Ben-Hur Nogueira (BHN): I suppose that my parents in general were the key factor that shaped my work, my father artistically and my mother politically.
My mother was part of the occupation or land takeovers on the north side of the city in the 1980s following the hyperinflation that came with the tumultuous democratic transition. My mother, inspired by the Black Panthers’ survival programs, ran communal kitchens, childcare, and mutual aid work that she still carries out to this day.
My father was a prolific actor, and I used to accompany him backstage. He was a member of the “theater company of the street” who performed downtown, and would be invited to places around the state to perform. I admit that frankly, I was not interested in becoming an actor, but rather a filmmaker because of what I saw backstage at my father’s plays. This heritage led me to be an artist, to be mostly a documentarian.
GY: Much is made of the post-racial myth of Brazilian society. How does your work counter this myth and provide a different perspective on Brazilian society, particularly the margins?
BHN: There has been this longstanding myth in Brazil that racism did not exist in our homeland simply because it was not like South Africa’s apartheid or the U.S.’ Jim Crow. For those who made that claim, a country would have to explicitly prohibit Black people from accessing places, and yet there are numerous stories of Black singers not being able to perform in certain venues and Black actors earning less than white ones.
Nowadays, there’s what I see as a new type of class and racial imperialism: the elite still tries to invest in our stories, while gaining all the benefits. That’s when my work comes in. I’m the antithesis of the elite; I’m the antithesis of imperialism. My work is not based on the academic point of view, but on heritage, nostalgia, memories, redemption, and loss. My work is the antithesis of the point of view of an outsider because I’m an insider of my own people.
My work is not based on the academic point of view, but on heritage, nostalgia, memories, redemption, and loss.
I’m heavily inspired by authors such as James Baldwin and Guimarães Rosa; they always allowed the characters to be humanized in their works. This type of humanization made me develop all my works based on the points of view of those in need and those who are historically oppressed. I’m here because of them.
GY: A lot of your work is on self-determination and autonomy. Can you speak more about these themes and why they are so central to your work? How do you see them at play in broader society?
BHN: I grew up in a society in which people like me were barely listened to; I knew that I only needed an opportunity to show the world my purpose. I once heard that the lower the budget, the more creative you get, and ever since I was a child seeing my father working on his plays, I knew that I could someday be working in a similar creative fashion. Holding onto our autonomy allows us to be creative on our own terms and tell our own stories. I hope to one day be to Brazilian cinema what Clarice Lispector is to literature or be to the favelas what Guimarães Rosa is to the Sertão.
GY: In your first project Pandeminas, you cover the solidarity and communal support networks in the community Morro Das Perdras. You present a view not often seen of the favelas. What inspired you to take up this theme?
BHN: I was inspired by the film A vez a hora de vassourinha (Vassourinha: The Voice and the Void) and the filmography of Eduardo Coutinho. I wanted to direct a film about a reality that has not been shown in the media during the outbreak of the pandemic. I wanted to show the initiative of my parents, who had developed a community support system inspired by the Black Panthers’ free breakfast program. I did not want to expose the violence that is often depicted, but instead the collectivity that beautifully emerged on the periphery at that time.
The film is a love letter to my parents and to all the ghettos in Brazil.
GY: What are the challenges for organic documentarians and more broadly marginalized creatives such as yourself in Brazilian society?
BHN: The most notorious setback is the lack of opportunity, which includes the distribution, sponsorship, permissions, etc. Racism in Brazil works with the denial of opportunities to Afro-Brazilians. If we are ever given an opportunity, we are heavily scrutinized and must be hypercautious because any misstep may prevent us from having another chance in the future.
We need sponsors and budgets to shoot our films. This might be the greatest setback of all, as it prevents us from telling the stories in the best way possible and gaining visibility.
GY: A lot is to be made about the latest elections. What changes or remains the same for the periphery, such as the favelas whose stories you capture in your work? What are the stories you are looking to capture?
BHN: We still suffer with the scarcity of water, regular blackouts, criminality that robs children from their mothers; the peripheries continue to suffer from the same problems regardless of election outcomes.
The stories I want to tell in my documentaries aren’t based on criminality but on our heritage itself.
The stories I want to tell in my documentaries aren’t based on criminality but on our heritage itself, based on Black folks reacting to old photos of their community or Black mothers instructing their children how to play soccer—these types of things, the everyday. When people imagine the periphery they simply imagine criminality, but I want to focus on immigration, nostalgia, redemption, loss, renaissance.
My biggest inspirations are Kurosawa, Carlos Reichbach, Caravaggio, Mark Ribas, Eduardo Coutinho, Pasolini, Guimarães Rosa, and the musical cultural movement Clube da Esquina.
George Ygarza is a translator, popular educator, and Assistant Professor of Sociology at Binghamton University. His work explores power structures as well as popular forms of resistance and autonomy.
Ben-Hur Nogueira’s films have been showcased around the world and have won several honorable mentions. Nogueira has received the Virada Cultural Ouro Preto 2024.