The Power of the Pump

Last night King called me to tell me that one of his cousins in South Sudan contacted him to tell him the Northern Arab militia is again setting fire to the villages in the South. When his People flee, they capture them and "slice their throats like goats".  King said, "Valerie, we must do something." "Do something" reverberated in my head over and over. I am not a political leader with influence. I am not a diplomat with opportunities to meet with dignitaries. I am a filmmaker. That is my voice; that is my sphere of influence. But if no one sees this film, if we don't raise the funds to finish the project, I have failed King.

The genocide is about oil. We support South Sudan. China supports northern Sudan. China owns our debt. Hmmm. The oil is under the soil in the South; the pipelines empty out in the North. The government in the North won't pay the government in the South a fraction of what the commodity is worth per barrel. The government in the South turns off the flow. The government in the North goes and kills King's People, innocent villagers living peacefully in huts that don't use gas or oil or anything made from it. They are nowhere near a city. They have no electricity, no cars. They make fire rubbing two sticks together to cook their meager meals. Real old school. Live caveman oldschool.

We buy gas without a care in the world. And everytime we do, we are part of the problem. I am no hippie, I assure you, and I have no interest in rubbing two sticks together in order to eat. But there has to be better way than murdering innocent people to get a good value at the pump. Ya think? Would we take a stand if every time we filled up our SUVs we had to watch a villager have their throat slit after we swiped our credit card before the gas was released from the pump? I think so.

And that is why I want this film to be seen by the world, because if consumers knew, they would demand change. The power of the consumer is the most powerful voice we have. Blood diamonds. When we were educated about those atrocities, sales declined dramatically and now we hear the phrase "conflict free diamonds" when we shop for engagement rings in addition to the four C's. We don't "need" diamonds and we do need gas but this nonetheless demonstrates the power of the voice of the consumer. We have the power to make the same change here. King is the voice of his People; I am his voice through film; you are our collective voice to your network to support this important film.

King and I implore you to share this powerful message.

These Colors Were Not Allowed To Run

Guor Marial, who we have all seen running in the global Visa television commercials narrated by Morgan Freeman promoting the Olympics, had been told by the International Olympic Committee that he was barred from representing his country of Southern Sudan and that he must run under the flag of the nation of his oppressors. I could not believe my eyes as I read this in the news. I thought, Who in what alternate universe demands that of someone?

I asked King today what he thought. He said, "This is shocking news for me as a King when I heard that my countryman and fellow Lost Boy Guor Marial is now known to the world as an athlete without a country. The world knows that Southern Sudan became an independent country in its own right on July 9, 2011, the newest country, 193rd in the world I believe. For me as King, I disagree with the decision of the IOC who disgraces my brother Guor Marial as runner now without a country. He is from Southern Sudan and he must carry his country flag.

I have seen first-hand the pride King and his People have as they state proudly that they carry an I.D. card proclaiming they are from Southern Sudan. In fact, I have it on film. I can't imagine the devastation Guor must feel today as the Olympics commence. He escaped genocide and ran for his life for safety in the hope of one day returning to a country at peace. He prepared his entire life to be an Olympian but more importantly he prepared to represent his country.

The levels of "losthood" are ever-present in their daily lives, like a wave that knocks you down over and over trying to force you under. But to paraphrase Maya Angelou, Slowly they rise. I marvel each day as King has a singleminded belief that one day Southern Sudan will be at peace. He has complete trust and faith in God in his every waking moment and a postive disposition that is infectious. Each day my King calls me to impart words of wisdom and hope. He bolsters my spirit and can hear when I am questioning the universe.

But in the end, he was pragmatic. King continued to say, "Today Guor had no choice. There was no way he could represent those that ran him out of his homeland but we will keep the faith that the world will do better tomorrow. For Guar runs as a free man with his brothers and sisters in his heart. And for the land in our hearts, these colors were not allowed to run."

South Sudan not eligible to compete in the London Olympic Games under IOC rules. (AFP) http://t.co/41leeXyJ

The Day I Met My King

I received a call out of the blue from a prominent Reverend of one of the southern mega-churches in the area saying she wanted me to talk to a very special man from Southern Sudan about making a film about his life. She said she was referred to me by a number people in the community. When she mentioned this project, my name kept coming up as the "go to" filmmaker. She told me he was a very important person in his community and had an incredible story to tell. I was intrigued so I called him.

When I got him on the phone, I could barely understand what he was saying because of his thick accent. But the one thing he did say that was clear was, "You come here with your camera and film me." I called the very Reverend back and said I had a hard time understanding him and my process was more complex than showing up with a camera. The Reverend instructed me to set a meeting with him and have him bring his cousin who speaks English well.

He asked me to come to him, which was south of the Atlanta airport. I was 20 miles north of the city so with normal Atlanta yuk traffic, we were 2 hours apart. I insisted he come to my neck of the woods for which later, after I learned the horrific details of his journey, I felt deeply regretful. For he had swum across the Nile and Guilo Rivers escaping gunfire on the shores from the land he called home and gunfire on the opposite bank of the neighboring country intent on keeping him out while waves, bullets and crocodiles overtook 5,000 of his People in one day.

I made this request of him before I got a Garmin so it's easy to understand my desire not to inconvenience myself. I did not have to put myself out to earn a good living. Folks who wanted my expertise typically came to me. I had made films on tough subjects before but I admit I wept from a very deep place when I processed my request later in our relationship. This was not a typical business meeting to discuss a project.

Sans Garmin, King Deng arrived with cousin in tow. On this brilliantly sunny day, I came out to greet them and was immediately struck by his exuberantly joyful presence such that we embraced before a word was spoken. His skin a blue-black, his clothes impressively stylish and neat as a pin. His cousin was warm and friendly. They both had infectious smiles. Their demeanor had no hint of what they had been through. King's capacity for forgiveness was palpable akin to Nelson Mandela. A clear and crisp feeling washed over me--this man had the presence of God within him.

We sat and talked about many of my projects. We screened a few of my shorter films and then he shared that a very famous actor who shall remain nameless here had expressed an interest in making his film. This A-lister Hollywood asset was going to play King and King said no to him. King declared in this moment I was the right person to tell his story. I challenged, "You said no to who? Can we call him back and get him on the hook again? I don't have the Hollywood machine behind me. I am an independent filmmaker." He replied vehemently, "I can see here you will tell my story, not your version of my story. The world will finally hear my voice." He concluded by asking us to join hands and pray. While King made recitations asking Muturo (the word for God in his language) to bless this holy union and welcomed me as his new "seestaaa" to the Jurbile tribe of Wulu, Southern Sudan, I was silently praying, Oh Dear Lord, there must be some way we can go crawling on our hands and knees to Mr. X and beg for forgiveness and ask him to please take us back.

I felt the magnitude of the weight of responsibility squarely on my shoulders. I was not going to disappoint my King. The next step was for me to start the immersion process, to completely inhale his life story in gut-wrenching detail. His book was due out in 2 weeks. He said he would send me a copy as soon as he received them. So I waited for my mailman mail to bring me my copy. That was the best place for to begin my journey...