In the area of Bhavnagar (region of Gujarat – India) I could go inside some factories where big iron plates (which arrived from the demolition of boats) were cut, melt and transformed in rods. Those rods are then used in reinforced concrete.
Going inside these factories was like a punch in the gut. There are not another ways to describe it. You literally see lives on the cross. You walk around surrounded by fire, crosses and sweat.Be born, grow up and die without the possibility to escape: it’s a life on the cross, men and children must be subject to this sentence. It’s very common around here.Life is stigmatised, stopped, trapped in a inhuman condition. They earn 1 dollar per day, every day for the rest of their lives.It’s a cliche to say that these men have, anyway, looks full of dignity on their faces and that they are willing to smile. But it’s the truth.It’s also true that walking in this hell I couldn’t get out of my sight the recurring image of a cross, almost as a reminding of the common thread of this men’s existences. Shot after shot I tried to portray the men, their gazes, their fatigue, their sweat and their cross so that someone else could see them like I saw them: men with a life on the cross.
