Jailers

I was born in São Paulo, in the South Zone, and grew up in one of the city’s most contradictory areas: Morumbi. A neighborhood that, due to its distance from the city center, became a luxury enclave filled with high-rise buildings and 24-hour security technology. But just beyond those walls, Paraisópolis — one of the largest favelas in the state — kept growing, right on the same street.

My adolescence was marked by fear, control, and constant tension. My siblings and I only left home to go to school and back. Robberies, kidnappings, stray bullets, and curfews were part of our daily life. Contact with strangers was forbidden, and the attempt to separate two worlds on the same street led to conflict. On one side, the wealthy feared the marginalized — the very people who worked in their homes. On the other, a population demanding basic rights.

The rule was clear: no one left the house. Until, on a cold night, the worst happened — a robbery, a shootout, and a near-death in the family. Some demanded justice, others dealt with fear and despair. The wall that once merely divided now became a chasm.

Years later, as I began studying the prison system and working on projects inside correctional facilities, these questions took on new shapes. I started asking myself: what do security and institutionalized violence do to a society?

Now, in my second feature-length documentary, I turn my gaze to the prison system from a different perspective. How are female prison officers — who face violence, forced isolation, and long separations from their families — affected by their work?

The film does not seek definitive answers but raises urgent questions about care, affection, and labor inside women’s prisons. After all, who takes care of those who serve society in one of the most harmful jobs in the world?