Juliana Fanjul received a BA in Visual Communication and attended the documentary department at EICTV (International Cinema and TV School of San Antonio de las Banos). She received a Masters in Cinema Studies through a joint program between ECAL (Ecole Cantonale d’Art de Lausanne) and HEAD (Haute Ecole d’Art et Design) in Geneva.

“Radio Silence” will screen in the New York edition of the 2020 Human Rights Watch Film Festival. This year’s fest has gone digital due to COVID-19, and runs June 11- 20. You can find more information on the fest’s website. 

W&H: Describe the film for us in your own words.

JF: “Radio Silence” is my encounter with my country’s most renowned journalist, Carmen Aristegui, in one of the most critical moments of her professional career amidst a complex and violent year for Mexico.

Through this encounter, I aim to create a film essay where the link between the official discourse and the one I believe to be true is evident, and to ask myself how Mexico ended up knee-deep in a spiral of extreme violence, corruption and impunity. In that context, Carmen’s somewhat optimistic point of view brings a glance of hope in an otherwise seemingly hopeless situation. And, as a result, change still seems possible.

W&H: What drew you to this story?

JF: Since I was a teenager, I would listen to Carmen on the radio. She was my main source of news and she helped me open my eyes to the social and political reality of my country. After moving to Switzerland as an adult, her voice was not only an essential tool to keep me informed on the current events in Mexico in general, but specifically to try and decipher what was going on in 2015, amidst a climate of violence that had overtaken the country. When her voice was silenced that same year due to censorship, a sense of helplessness came over me and her millions of listeners. I was outraged. I couldn’t help but think that if this could happen to one of the most important and renowned journalists in Mexico, what were hundreds of less visible journalists up against on a daily basis?

After hearing about the worst possible atrocities going on in the country that year, I was profoundly at a loss for words — and Carmen’s sudden absence on the airwaves felt like a double amputation.

Unsure of what would happen next, I started writing “Radio Silence” in a bid to somehow get a voice back. I decided to canalize my anger, frustration, and feelings of helplessness through the creation of a documentary film that could, in some way, restore Carmen’s voice. I felt that could be my contribution. It was clear to me that I needed to not be complicit by remaining silent.

W&H: What do you want people to think about after they watch the film? 

JF: If there was one thing I would hope the audience in general would walk away with, it is an appreciation for the independent press. We should all ask ourselves: whose interests is the press responding to? In a time where fake news is abundant, we must defend the work of independent journalists and measure their importance. They cannot survive without funding and there are great risks behind losing this profession, which are ever so important for the public and society in general.

Rather than reflect on the matter while watching my film, I would like for the audience to get a sense, on an emotional level, of the danger Carmen and her team face every day, and to try and connect with the perilous realities experienced by independent journalists, especially in certain countries where freedom of speech is often threatened.

The act of resistance is worthwhile, as is fighting for a cause in difficult times. Even the smallest action carried out by someone can be paramount for change. I would love it if the audience could walk out of the movie inspired by Carmen’s strength and resistance and that they see in her all the other people in the world who decide not to sit back and remain complacent.

W&H: What was the biggest challenge in making the film?

JF: When we shot the film, the social and political climate in Mexico was very tense — to say the least — and we could feel it on a personal level. It was a known fact that Carmen was under surveillance through a malware called Pegasus, and being close to her automatically meant that we became a target, too. The crew and I couldn’t shake off a feeling of unease. We had never felt so paranoid as we did during those months spent near her. Speaking in codes and taking all kinds of security measures became the norm for us.

Speaking more generally, my main challenge while writing the film was to be able to tell a story to the Mexican public of a woman they knew so very well without making it redundant for them, while also telling a very specific story of a specific journalist in a specific country, and making it universal for an international audience who had probably never heard of Carmen or were not aware of what was happening in Mexico during those years.

W&H: How did you get your film funded? Share some insights into how you got the film made.

JF: This film was produced in Switzerland and its financing came from public funds from the Federal Office of Culture, the Fonds Cantonal in Geneva, as well as the Swiss Television. I believe that this film could only find financing in a country such as Switzerland due to the implications of talking about such a controversial figure during extremely complicated and violent times in Mexico.

If I had tried to apply for funding in Mexico, I would have had to disclose the subject of my film and that would have been too risky. Complete confidentiality was needed to be able to approach Carmen and convince her to put her trust in us.

I strongly believe that without Swiss support, I would have not been able to make this film. Once the Swiss production started, we did work with Mexican co-producers who contributed to the film in different ways.

W&H: What inspired you to become a filmmaker?

JF: My love for cinema.

W&H: What’s the best and worst advice you’ve received?

JF: The best professional advice would be to always try to work with the best. They will push you to strive, and there is always something you can learn from them. By their side, you will always aim at bettering yourself and at not stagnating in your comfort zone.

As far as bad advice goes, it simply doesn’t register with me, so any bad advice is long forgotten.

W&H: What advice do you have for other female directors?

JF: One can be a good mother and a good filmmaker at the same time. The two are not mutually exclusive. If any female director wants to become a mom, I would say to her that it is possible to excel in both worlds without having to sacrifice one or the other.

I discovered on a personal level that motherhood opened up a new kind of sensitivity, and it can fill you with a very different and creative kind of energy. You become very efficient with your time. If, for some reason, you are a bit unsure about certain world views, motherhood seems to answer those questions in no unclear terms, which can help you define your perspective and find your own voice.

W&H: Name your favorite woman-directed film and why.

JF: I would probably say Agnès Varda’s “Les Glaneurs et la Glaneuse.” Varda’s body of work is exceptional, and her role in cinema is outstanding. She was one of the very few female directors during the French New Wave and the intrinsic feminine point of view she infuses in her films makes them simultaneously intimate and universal. This is something I myself look for in cinema. Many great female film directors have achieved this balance, but for me Varda is the most iconic reference in as much as she talks about women — by talking about herself — with a profoundly refreshing sensitivity that has reached the hearts of many.

W&H: How are you adjusting to life during the COVID-19 pandemic? Are you keeping creative, and if so, how?

JF: The COVID-19 situation has hit the film and cultural industry particularly hard. Human contact in forbidden or extremely restricted, and us documentary filmmakers depend on the closeness to our subjects to be able to film and tell a story. And subsequently, our professional survival depends largely on the screening of our films in theater, which are now closed indefinitely.

Until the crisis is over, I wish for cinemas — especially independent cinemas which usually showcase our genre — to find the necessary support to not go under or close their doors for good.

On a more personal level, during my confinement, I did pick up my camera and I forced myself to create and to tell a story. I tried to continue to capture emotions, instants, human stories, and in doing so I was able to build a reflection surrounding my own experience during the quarantine. I shot a short film for the Swiss Television.

W&H: Recent protests in the U.S. and abroad have highlighted racism and anti-Black police brutality. The film industry has a long history of underrepresenting people of color onscreen and behind the scenes and reinforcing — and creating — negative stereotypes. What actions do you think need to be taken to make Hollywood and/or the doc world more inclusive?

JF: As far as I’m concerned, change will only come through education: how we form the future generations.

There comes a time in each filmmaker’s career where they must give back what they have received and learned, and a great example of this is the training spaces created in the context of film festivals — like in Latin America, for example. There it is possible to give a voice to current and future filmmakers who come from marginalized backgrounds and who are able to film themselves and their reality. They should be able to speak for themselves and express their emotions and views and not to have others do it for them. The idea is to give them the tools to tell their stories in the same way that women must tell their own story in their own words.