Anne Makepeace reports from Los Angeles …

What a weekend I’ve just had! Still jet-lagged from Saturday’s flight, I screened We Still Live Here - Âs Nutayuneân at the Autry Museum in Los Angeles on Sunday for one of the many free Community Cinema screenings organized by Independent Lens. Desiree Gutierrez, an Outreach Coordinator for Independent Lens, had arranged the event with co-sponsorship of the UCLA American Indian Studies Center. For a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, we had a terrific and very diverse crowd; including a Wampanoag man far from his home in Mashpee, Massachusetts.

After the film, we had a lively discussion moderated by Dr. Mishuana Goeman (Seneca), a professor at UCLA.  The next day, I found myself inside the Pitchess Detention center in Castaic, California, a medium security prison that is the oldest jail in Los Angeles County. The setting as we drove in was beautiful — fields and mountains stretched away in the distance. Then we came to the prison walls, 25 feet high, topped with razor wire, guard towers, heavily armed personnel, doors clanging open and shut as we were let in. I hadn’t been in jail since I was 16, arrested in Philadelphia for … but that’s another story. We entered a room packed with perhaps 250 men in prison uniforms listening intently to a dynamic presenter talking about … actually I was too distracted and overwhelmed to take in what he was saying.

Desiree and I were introduced and as I looked out over this sea of men of every color, I wondered what they thought of my film (they had watched it a few nights before), what they got out of it, how it related to their lives. Though many of the men looked tough and a bit scary to me, they were very polite, focused, interested, even passionate about the film. There were lots of questions about the true history of the Pilgrims and the Wampanoags, about Jessie’s dreams and the miracle of bringing a culture back to life.

One man was inspired to find out more about his Blackfoot grandmother; another said the film reminded him of redemption and being able to start over. I was so jet-lagged and disoriented that I kept losing track of the questions, especially the two- and three-part ones, but the guys were patient and accepting. I was extremely moved by their interest, their thoughtfulness, their curiosity and intelligence, and wondered what had brought them to this place. I hoped they would soon be free and make better choices on the outside.

That night we drove south to another world — Orange, California — where we screened We Still Live Here - Âs Nutayuneân at Chapman University, a Christian college in the heart of Orange County. The audience was mostly film students keen to know how to negotiate the prickly path to becoming a filmmaker. They were eager, open, excited about their projects and very enthusiastic and curious about We Still Live Here - Âs Nutayuneân. It was nice to end the two-day screening frenzy with those fresh open faces, the students so excited about telling stories on film. I often tell students, “If you can do anything else in your life professionally and be happy, do that!” because being a filmmaker is so fraught with uncertainty, financial deprivation, creative agony, and tensions and pressures that make having a normal family life nearly impossible.

But I didn’t say any of that to these kids, perhaps because of their passionate enthusiasm, but more likely because I had just had two days of filmmaker heaven, of having the story I had labored over for nearly four years seen, heard, appreciated, making a difference. All the hardships and challenges of creating We Still Live Here - Âs Nutayuneân Here dissolved in the light of these experiences — the very reasons we filmmakers devote our lives to this work. I wanted to say, yes, do it! Find those stories you have to tell, and bring them into the world.

Read more of Anne’s blog.