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Wide Angle 21.2 (1999) 137-165


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Toasts and Tributes

Compiled by Cara Mertes

[Figure 1]   [Figure 2]   [Figure 3]   [Figure 4]   [Figure 5]  

Ana Bia Andrade

I was nineteen years old when the Arts and Design Department of the Catholic University in Rio de Janeiro offered a special course on video, with a certain George Stoney as professor. People just said that hewas a man from New York.I thought, "Well, I'd like to know a bit about video, and it's a good opportunity to practice English." At that time, I didn't imagine how a person like George could change everybody's life, giving everyday lessons about hope and happiness, and assuring us that, with honesty, hard work, and love in mind, all dreams can come true.

The class started and the old man, wearing that red-and-blue checkered shirt and a blue hat, presented some videos about babies and children (All My Babies, Bari Ellen, Can You Hear Me?), artists (How One Painter Sees), Asians (Sad Song for Yellow Skin), black people (We Shall Overcome), and strikes (The Uprising of '34). Then, he presented a CBS 60 Minutes program about Brazil, showing crimes, violence, and poverty. The final purpose of the course was to answer a video letter from New York University students, trying to show them the spirit and reality of our country.

Except me, all the students in the class were white and part of a high economic class. They started claiming that 60 Minutes, which showed household workers and homeless people, was not telling the truth, saying that we treat poor and black people here with respect. I became very angry and, as a bad-tempered young girl, started a discussion about racism and prejudice. Finally, the class [End Page 137] decided to make videos about Brazilian music and beaches and sun and beautiful people. I told George that I would like to make a video at Rocinha (the biggest Latin American favela, five minutes away from the University), showing people as they really are--totally based on the feeling I had after seeing all the videos he had just presented. But I didn't have a camera or any experience in filmmaking. He told me, "You are going to do that because you can use my camera." Then we became friends and during that year we went out almost every day just to visit places and talk to people. (George has made many friends in Brazil: artists, teachers, actors, and many common people.)

The day he left, a friend who worked on the Rocinha video went with me to accompany him to the airport. I cried a lot, thinking that I would never see him again in my life. But George wrote me a lot of letters. And three years later, when I got money to spend some time in New York, I couldn't wait to see him. Again, I met many special people (as I would describe everybody around George), and we had great fun just talking about life, about feelings, [End Page 138] about societies, about Ben & Jerry's ice cream. For the second time I cried when I left, thinking once more that I would never see him again.

A few years later, my phone rings. He just said, "I am in Brazil, and need you to spend two weeks in the jungle with the Krao Indians." No question about it! I just left everything, and went with him wherever he wanted to film, talk about life, meet people, and eat armadillos at 4 a.m.

For the last thirteen years, these simple words on the phone have made me feel so very happy: "I am here and need you to bring me some videos for a...

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