Tingog sa Carbohanon

In 1959 New York City announced a "slum clearance plan" by Robert Moses that would displace 2,400 working class and immigrant families, and dozens of businesses, from the Cooper Square section of Manhattan's Lower East Side. Guided by the belief that urban renewal should benefit - not displace - residents, Frances Goldin and her neighbors formed the Cooper Square Committee and launched a campaign to save the neighborhood. Over five decades they fought politicians, developers, white flight, government abandonment, blight, violence, arson, drugs, and gentrification - cyclical forces that have destroyed so many working class neighborhoods across the US. Through tenacious organizing and hundreds of community meetings, they not only held their ground but also developed a vision of community control. Fifty three years later, they established the state's first community land trust - a diverse, permanently affordable neighborhood in the heart of the "real estate capital of the world."

San Francisco has long enjoyed a reputation as the counterculture capital of America, attracting bohemians, mavericks, progressives and activists. With the onset of the digital gold rush, young members of the tech elite are flocking to the West Coast to make their fortunes, and this new wealth is forcing San Francisco to reinvent itself. But as tech innovations lead America into the golden age of digital supremacy, is it changing the heart and soul of their adopted city?

In an historically Black neighborhood of Cincinnati, a family closes shop as new residents roll in on their Segways and craft beer carts.

In the 1950s, Seattle had plans to build one of the densest networks of freeways in the world. It would have displaced thousands, especially the poor and people of color. Over the next two decades, a broad coalition of communities came together and halted these plans. Testimonies from that era are juxtaposed with interviews of activists who participated in the revolt, giving a picture of what Seattle could have been had the people not stood up to the highway lobby and their representatives.

A film about the cross coalition of communities that stopped a planned network of freeways from being built in Seattle in the late 60s and early 70s. It weaves together archival material with the filmmaker's personal narrative about living next to freeways, and features interviews with participants from the freeway revolt.

The film explores the destruction of a unique train station in Zurich and the construction of the new prison and police centre in its place. From the perspective of the filmmaker’s window, and with testimony from prisoners awaiting deportation, the film probes how we deal with the extinction of history and its replacement with total security.

The documentary Two Doors traces the Yongsan Tragedy of 2009, which took the lives of five evictees and one police SWAT unit member. Left with no choice but to climb up a steel watchtower in an appeal to the right to live, the evictees were able to come down to the ground a mere 25 hours after they had started to build the watchtower, as cold corpses. And the surviving evictees became lawbreakers. The announcement of the Public Prosecutors’ Office that the cause of the tragedy lay in the illegal and violent demonstration by the evictees, who had climbed up the watchtower with fire bombs, clashed with voices of criticism that an excessive crackdown by government power had turned a crackdown operation into a tragedy.

Despite being only a five-minute boat ride away from Cebu City, at the foot of the country’s record-breaking new expressway, Shell Island is an unfamiliar name to many Cebuanos today. “Dalangpanan” sheds light on the island, following a day in the life of one of its residents to uncover the stories and struggles of living on a forgotten, desolate land amidst progressive, bustling cities. Through the voices of the Shell locals, audiences learn why and how they ended up settling there, and what their future could possibly be. The documentary’s title, which literally translates to “refuge” in Cebuano, is a nod to what the island might mean to those living on it—a home, a source of hope, or even more.

Six individuals from different generations recall the golden age of Cebuano cinema, modern Cebuano cinema, their experiences, and discuss their aspirations about the future of Cebu’s film scene.

In recent years, the Marga Marga Province has witnessed a drastic change in the visual and sound landscape due to urban expansion. Faced with the observation and the need to explore the territory that seems more and more alien and less and less our own, the film functions as a material resource and support for plastic reflection on living in the midst of capitalist progress.