Review of Our Land (Nuestra Tierra): Lucrecia Martel’s Vital Record of Indigenous Resistance

      Before *Nuestra Tierra* (Our Land), we are presented with a solemn procession of subdued production logos, a common practice for films with political and historical significance. The narratives that matter most tend to be the hardest to convey and frequently arrive years after the fact. In 2018, a local landowner named Dario Amin, along with two retired police officers, Luis Gomez and Eduardo Sassi, faced trial for the murder of Javier Chocobar, an elder from the indigenous Chuschagasta community in Tucumán Province, northwest Argentina. The events leading to the murder, which occurred in October 2009, were recorded on video. However, it took nine years for the Argentinian government to heed the Chuschagasta community's calls for justice.

      To narrate the saga of this land and the murder that compelled the Chuschagasta community to resist, Lucrecia Martel starts from space. Satellites orbit over the southern hemisphere, reminding us of the world’s vastness. Gradually, Martel brings our focus closer to Argentina through drone footage sweeping across the terrain. As the film homes in on the exact location of the murder, we hear the haunting voice of Argentine singer Mercedes Sosa. We watch a field of girls playing football while community members observe from the shade of a large tree. However, the beauty of nature is often disrupted by the harshness of state violence: following these fleeting moments of love and reverence for the land and its culture, Martel leads us to the stark, intimidating whiteness of the courtroom.

      The footage is clear in its message, yet society distorts that image. When we first hear Amin, Gomez, and Sassi defend themselves, it is apparent that they are speaking from a position of privilege and state backing. The underlying dynamics are easy to discern. While the government had awarded Amin the land, it wasn't truly his; it belonged to the community that had long inhabited it. Their resistance, though mild and justified, was met with senseless violence. Martel interviews community members, emphasizing their love for one another and their collective wish to coexist peacefully with the land. “Who is in charge here?” Amin asks on video. The community replies, explaining that no single person is in charge and that the land belongs to all of them. This sense of community contradicts the dominant notion of individual land ownership, along with the violence tied to appropriating land from those who have spent their lives cultivating it.

      To any viewer with a conscience, *Our Land* is a maddening film that underscores how the affluent and powerful inflict unnecessary harm and violence upon indigenous peoples worldwide. The Chuschagasta people evoke the memories of Native Americans, First Nations in Canada, and, particularly, the Palestinians of Gaza, who have endured brutalization and killings at the hands of Israeli military and settlers for decades. The most poignant aspect of Martel’s film is that it tells the story of all land. Those who perish defending their homes will remain etched in our memories, especially as capitalism relentlessly drives us toward environmental degradation. *Our Land* is a crucial film with an impassioned heart that deserves to be viewed by audiences globally. Martel has created an essential work.

      *Our Land* (Nuestra Tierra) is currently in limited release.