

But five years after the collapse, it seemed as though Argentina and Argentines had gotten back on track not only with the policies, but also the mentality of modern globalization. The government was restructuring its debt and inviting foreign corporations to come buy out industries, and everyday people insisted on the Argentina's large middle class and the wonders of consumer culture.
And on nearly every street, in every neighborhood, at any time, there were people digging through trash bags. Teenagers, seniors, whole families, all with their push carts salvaging anything of value.
"They're just the cartoneros. Bums," is what people told me.
Some very simple research showed that these "cardboard people" were not simply a minority of lazy street people. They are a huge population of people who cannot find jobs, and have formed a survival economy so they can meet the most minimum of living standards. They are a visible display of Argentina's true identity as an underdeveloped nation, one of globalization's losers.
But I didn't make this movie to point out the unfairness of globalization. I chose to make this movie because I wanted to show that cartoneros are people. They have many different stories, families, desires, interests, and livelihoods. They are human beings, most of which have been forced out of desperation to live off the discards of society. When an audience sees these things, the cartonero becomes Juanchi, or Juan Carlos, or Florencia, or Ivana, all with names, faces and smiles. The stigma of their work gets broken down, and it provides the viewer with a new, more human context to approach economics, poverty and globalization.
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