By Katie Datko
AFI FEST NOW

Shrink, mediator, paladin. Sampat Pal, the subject of award-winning filmmaker Kim Longinotto’s stirring documentary, PINK SARIS, does what few other women dare to–stands up to the violence and abuse experienced by the women in Uttar Pradesh, the most densely inhabited region in India. Home to some of the poorest people in the world, the most vulnerable–lower-caste women and girls–are victims of a culture still steeped in centuries-old practices, victims of infanticide, child marriage, sexual abuse, and in some cases, femicide.

Pal, with her brief sound bites and cast-iron grit, started the Gulabi (Pink) Gang to help girls and women escape the abuse she herself suffered at the hands of her in-laws. Betrothed by age nine, married at twelve and with child by thirteen, Pal, now middle-aged and separated from her husband, is the heart and soul of a burgeoning movement to ensure equal rights for women in her state–one woman at a time. At present she is known throughout India for her work as champion for Dalit women, those from the lowest caste. “If girls spoke up,” Pal states early in the film, “the world would change.”

Juxtaposing an establishing shot of a farmer in an idyllic field with a street scene of shouting pink-clad women, Longinotto immerses us immediately into the conflict in her gripping narrative. A clash of opposites, where tranquil public behavior belies the cruelty of what happens behind closed doors. Time and time again this plays out in the film, when Longinotto offers ordinary street scenes during points of tension in the narrative, showing us how guarded these women have to be against the chaos that reins in their lives.

Watching Pal is like seeing the force of nature in full action. Much like the Hindu goddess Kali, Pal is the embodiment of wrathful ferocity coupled with unlimited maternal and protective energy. As each woman’s tale unfolds, it is easy to see Pal as the four-armed goddess, standing tall, one foot on Shiva’s chest, the other staff in hand unleashing her fury on those who commit atrocities that in most countries would land them a lifetime in jail. From the initial introduction of Rekha, a young pregnant girl who may be killed to protect her family’s honor, to the story of Niranjan, Pal’s own niece whose family let her female newborn die, we become a witness to Pal’s fearlessness: “You can escape the police, but not me,” she boldly tells one family. With Pal, you know she means it.

In addition to capturing Pal’s bravado in public, Longinotto reveals the private Pal. A woman who sweeps the courtyard and tenderly strokes the loose tendrils of a young girl’s hair–in short, a mother figure, nurturing and compassionate. And, as in Hindu mythology, when Shiva pretends to be dead to quell Kali, drawing forth her motherly love, we also see Pal’s partner, Babuji, challenging her, reigning her in. With her public mask off, we grasp the young girl Pal once was, the fears and demons that gave birth to the strength and unwavering passion which allow her to fight so fiercely today. It is in this moment that Longinotto’s masterful eye for the story allows us to fully understand the true cost of the journey Pal has taken.

Q. What first attracted you to do a film about Sampat Pal?

A. I like making films about change, where you can watch change happening. It seemed like if we filmed a catalyst like Sampat, things would happen in front of our eyes. I like filming things as they happen, rather than have everything recounted in an interview, so I need a good story to follow. Or a catalyst, like Sampat Pal!

Q. What were some technological or cultural challenges you encountered filming in Uttar Pradesh?

A. It was a tough place to film. The original sound recordist from the UK left after five days. It was very hot and we had to walk long distances to get to the villages. But the girls were so happy to be listened to–to be recognized–that it made up for all the physical discomfort. They were used to being non-people–none of them have birth certificates, have been to school, or have been shown any affection after their early marriages, so they were thrilled to be valued by us.

Q. Pal seems very aware of the camera, almost as if she is playing to it, drawing the viewer into the action. How do you think the camera influenced her interactions?

A. Not at all, actually. She is creating theatre, it’s how she works. Sometimes we would sit in the shade and wait for her if it was a story we weren’t following. She would forget all about us and then, if she noticed our absence, would carry on in exactly the same way. She lives in the present. Getting publicity in the newspapers was much more important to her, so she could show the articles to the police and say, “Look, I’m in the papers!” It’s a [source of] protection for her and means that people have to take her seriously. The film seemed to become a distant concept very quickly.

It’s fascinating to watch how Sampat works. She tries to help people by making their situation public and showing the neighbors what these women have been going through behind closed doors. By doing this, she is trying to change peoples’ minds. For example, with Rampayaree’s father-in-law [who was raping her], Sampat challenged him openly and then got the villagers together and involved them. One of them said, “This is shameful”, meaning he thought the rapes should be kept secret. But Sampat said that the shame is in the father-in-law’s behavior, not in Rampayaree’s telling of it.

Recently there has been the revelation of the Catholic priests raping children. If we had a more open, honest society, these things could not have gone on for so many years. One priest was able to abuse 200 children over 40 years. The children felt they couldn’t speak about what they were going through. It’s all about a change in consciousness. Sampat is so famous now she often doesn’t need to involve the pink gang in her work. She certainly doesn’t take any advice from anyone! Also she sees that she can’t really help these girls and they usually end up going back to their families. It’s a change in thinking that’s needed, so that one day a mother-in-law will say, “Hooray! A girl!” when a baby is born, and young girls will be treasured and educated.

Q. The lack of narration in your film makes it more compelling. What filmmakers influenced your style?

A. I try and make the experience as close as possible to a fiction film, in the way that it will involve you totally and you don’t have to worry about the mechanics of the film. That way you are free to identify with the characters and feel as if you’re actually there with them. Recent inspirations are: THE WIRE, MAD MEN, and of course, THE SOPRANOS. Also a film I just saw WINTER’S BONE, which is a fabulous film. I love the way emotions and allegiances are constantly shifting in these films.

Q. Your sparing use of music in the film, mostly on exterior long shots of street scenes, was interesting. Can you comment on why you used music at those particular points in the narrative?

A. We used music after Rekha’s wedding, for example. We were so sad for her and felt helpless. So in the film we wanted to have a little pause; we are travelling away from her, leaving her behind, and mourning for her.

Q. The end of the film when Pal is holding Renu, a young runaway, is quite surprising. What makes you determine how the story you want to tell should unfold?

A. In the end we are watching Renu’s transformation. In that scene we see how damaged Sampat is, and how she’s actually talking about herself. Renu becomes an inspiration and she’s just a 14-year-old girl! Sampat isn’t helping her. She’s too full of her own pain, anger and disillusionment, as when she said, “People only love you for money”.

Q. Your films deal mostly with women’s issues. How do you see yourself in relation to the feminist community?

A. Going to Uttar Pradesh shows you how many of the things we now take for granted were actually fought for. The feminist movement, the Civil Rights campaigns and the fight for the rights of gay people are what have made our life the way it is now. We have our own pioneers and many people are still fighting.

Q. What was the most memorable event during filming?

A. Gosh, all of it! But the girls themselves haunt me. I think about them every day and hope that they are okay.

Q. What are your hopes for this film in terms of raising global awareness of the plight of women in India?

A. Just to play a small part in a change of consciousness, together with books, articles in newspapers, magazines and street theatre like Sampat’s. Change is such a subtle, shifting thing. It needs people like Sampat to stand out and defy superstition and tradition. But it happens in countless other — often hidden — ways in families, villages, and cities all over the world. I see PINK SARIS as a reflection of that longing for change.

How you can help: Friend the Gulabi Gang on Facebook or check out the Gulabi Gang’s website where you can find out more information and how to donate to their vocational education centers.

Katie Datko is a writer and essayist.