Through a Lens Darkly
"Waste Land" is Filled with Riches
After listening to these stories and countless others like them, Muniz resolves to craft his portraits from the very recyclables that serve as the focal point of his subjects' lives. As the final joining of "art and idea," he decides that they should be the works' creators, not he. "At the end, they're not going to say 'Vik did it.' They're going to say: 'We did it.'" Based on photographs Muniz stages with each subject, the portraits are assembled from bushels and black plastic bags crammed to overflowing with plastic containers, shredded tires, bottle caps, and an endless assortment of rubbish gathered from the treasure chambers of Gramacho herself.
Once the works are completed, Muniz submits them to an English auction house, promising to hand over the proceeds of their sale in their entirety to the catadores who helped him bring them to fruition. In the film's powerful closing moments, Tião is left speechless and overwhelmed when his portrait sells for ₤28,000. Reduced to tears of joy at the sudden realization of dreams he long considered unattainable, he can only say: "God was so good to me, so wonderful."
The lives of many of the artist's models are dramatically and incontrovertibly altered by their experiences. Many resolve to free themselves from Gramacho's clutches, while others returned to their former haunts with the express purpose of lifting their fellow workers up from the depths. "That's what this job brought to me," says one of them, "the will to change." Yet not all are convinced that they need "bettering." Irma initially uses the proceeds of her portrait's sale to start her own food business, but eventually returns to the land fill to cook for her former catedorian clients once again—"We feel good in here," she says. "I feel very good. In this water, in this garbage. I feel very good. . . I don't let anyone go hungry"—proving that humans are always far less predictable than we expect (or wish) them to be.
The film is a paradoxical work; a creation of unexpected beauty that defies the sordid bleakness of its surroundings. The initial images of Jardim Gramacho, bound together by the instrumental musings of Moby, are both unsettling and depressing. But as Muniz grows closer to the catedores themselves, recognizing their stubborn drive for survival and wondering at their deep-seated pride in the fruits of their honest labors, the dump's stark reality softens and grows almost comforting.
Muniz's own journey is deeply uplifting. In the film's opening moments, he expresses concern for his safety amidst the catadores. But by its conclusion, he is overwhelmed by the goodness and decency he has found among them. They are not redeemed by his art; rather, his art has been transformed by the extraordinary beauty and honesty of their lives—lives lived out cheerfully in the midst of great poverty and suffering. "When you see the appetite for life these people have, and the way they carry themselves, it just inspires you....even if everything went wrong, you could still be like them. And they're beautiful." Even if he lost everything, he realizes, the ability and the desire to do good would remain.
Yet the film's most extraordinary insight is not that Muniz's experience with the catadores has changed him forever, or that his work has influenced the lives of all who participated in his project. It is in recognizing the extraordinary character of the catedores themselves, and what they can teach us about poverty and peace.
The workers Muniz meets are not always happy. Their lives are hard; their futures, bleak; their troubles, seemingly endless. Yet they are right-minded and strong-willed, understanding the power and dignity of their labors in a way that their "betters" often fail to recognize. Their lives are filled with a contentedness and a hope that is difficult to achieve for those of us weighed down by our material possessions and driven by the desire to possess them. Poverty is a heavy cross to bear, and few of us would willingly embrace its. Yet those who bear it are acutely aware that they are not called to carry it alone, and it is that awareness that may be its greatest gift.
The pangs of poverty are always with us. But then, so is He.
Joseph Susanka has been doing development work for institutions of Catholic higher education since his graduation from Thomas Aquinas College in 1999. He blogs at Crisis Magazine, where he also contributes feature articles on a variety of topics.