Gang of the Caribbean (Le Gang des Antillais)

THIS FILM IS BASED ON A TRUE STORY...

FRENCH WEST INDIES - 1964

My God. How French you are!

Prime Minister Michel Debré announced today,

at the end of the Council of Ministers, the creation of BUMIDOM,

the Bureau for the Development of Migration

in France's overseas territories.

Continental France will be welcoming

its citizens from Martinique, Guadeloupe and Réunion.

When I got on the plane, I was like:

"Why did I leave? Why am I leaving?"

So many questions. So much to think about.

I'm feeling so lost.

We were told we'd get training and a job. We said "okay."

We were told: "You'll learn to do housework."

That hit me hard.

I was like: "I can't believe it.

I didn't fly 7.000 kilometers to do housework."

I would've paid good money to fly back.

But I realized it wasn't possible,

because it was a one-way plane ticket.

There were no return flights.

WE SHALL OVERCOME BUMIDOM

DOWN WITH THE SLAVE TRADE

WHITE BASTARDS

DOWN WITH FRENCH IMPERIALISM SET THE WEST INDIES FREE

DOWN WITH COLONIALISM

WE WANT TO GO HOME

NO TO THE BUMIDOM

BASED ON THE NOVEL "LE GANG DES ANTILLAIS" BY LOÏC LERY

My dad was an old, angry nigga.

I never saw him laugh.

His face was just mystery and severity.

When he'd lacerate my back with his belt, I'd dream about his death.

But I did love him.

He died three days before I left.

My heart was grieving when I landed in Paris.

I was 13.

He'd tell me: "If you don't find your place in society,

you'll never find it in your own family."

All my life, I've had to fight.

What the hell are you doing here?

Get out of here!

Odile, wake up.

Come on, move it!

Move it! I got things to do!

Come on, let's go.

Don't come back.

Don't touch me.

I was tired of looking for low-paying jobs.

When I'd come in for an interview,

‎they'd tell me ‎the position had been filled.

Some bosses were more straightforward: "We don't hire niggas."

Odile, your smile kept me going since your mom had left us.

Hi, boss.

You can wash up, the john's clean.

Thanks.

Where are we gonna sleep?

Don't worry. We'll find something. Daddy's on it.

I have stuff to do this morning. You're staying with Godmother.

Hello, sir.

-It's done. -Goodbye, sir.

No...

It's for the province.

Don't yell. Don't be afraid!

We're just here to fill up our tattered pockets.

We can make this an enjoyable experience.

Come on.

Do what you're told, and it'll be over quick.

Don't move and you'll be fine, okay?

Give us the money.

Hurry up.

-Leggo! -Wait.

BUMIDOM TREASON

Politik, my ghetto brother, introduced me to Liko,

Paris's most cunning postman,

and Molokoy, the King of Barbès.

How much?

20,000. You good?

Pays better than your hospital shifts.

They were looking for a fourth guy for a special job.

I said yes right away.

To Jimmy who joined our cause! He's done with that broom!

I had nothing to lose.

You worked like a chief.

It works better as a quartet.

Did that brunette get moist, being held by a nigga?

If you let 'em in, you deal with them.

You got scared, huh?

Shouldn't we be wearing masks?

No, the message is we got nothing to lose.

To a white guy, all niggas look alike.

When's the next one?

Guys, I know a post-office that's really cool.

The riot police will be nearby, but it's not their job to intervene,

they'll call the regular cops.

No one will see us from outside.

It's a goldmine, let's help ourselves.

Hold on. Isn't three in a week a bit much?

Why wait? You think the State is waiting to screw us?

BUMIDOM, BUMIDOM, BUMIDOM...

Fuck their mamas.

How long have you been at the mail sorting center?

Ten years at Gare du Nord.

From 11:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m.

The BUMIDOM promised me a regular job. It worked out. You?

My mom sent me to France. Tensions with my old man.

-All right. -Okay, see you later.

Yeah, yeah, yeah... I'm coming!

Do you have papers?

They hand 'em out like lottery tickets.

Molokoy sent me.

150 francs a week. You pay in advance.

We'll have a new room.

-With a real bed? -Yeah.

So... Gimme room number two.

No, number five, number five.

-Do you smoke? -No.

Good.

The shitter's in the hallway.

Will you come back next week?

There you go.

-Is it okay? -Yeah.

If you need another bed, it's five francs per day.

Okay.

Oh, God! Let me do it.

If she's too noisy, you're outta here.

This ain't no nursery.

Are you coming, Pops?

Yeah.

I was working as a stretcher-bearer when I met Linda.

Her creole beauty stunned me.

She had no problems accepting Odile. It seemed obvious to her.

Her dream was to make it big in music.

I admired her perseverance. Her voice made my heart melt.

You scared me.

You're so handsome.

My little flower.

No, not here. I don't want any trouble.

Let me see this.

No, Jimmy. I'm not done with my shift.

No. I don't have the time for this. I'll be done in two hours.

A Gibson?

Is it for me?

But how? It's not stolen, is it?

I bought it for you. It's your dream guitar, right?

Thanks.

Need anything else for Odile?

No.

I don't need to beg anymore.

Politik found me a construction job.

Construction? With Politik?

Oh, and Godmother's back hurts. Can you check on her?

I will.

I also got some news for you.

I got an audition at the Monico.

That's great!

No. Not here. Not here, Jimmy.

Go ahead. Tell me.

One, two...

-Yeah... -Three, four and five.

Okay. You got it.

Write it down.

Linda told me you found work? Good for you.

You can get a real apartment.

It'll be better for school and all...

Don't you forget to ask them for a pay stub every month.

Odile, come and drink your hot chocolate.

Gimme that notebook.

-Do you remember Nicole? -No.

Her folks had a big apartment rue des cascades . Brown hair.

You didn't like going there when I cleaned homes.

So I let you stay at the library.

You were off the street, couldn't misbehave.

Why are you telling me this?

She dropped by. Asked me how you were doing.

She saw you at a post-office recently.

Oh yeah? What does she look like?

Long hair, in her forties.

Been walking with a limp since she had her accident.

And when was that?

How would I know?

I told her that you never tell me much.

Gotta go.

Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy. No, Jimmy, stay. Jimmy...

You just got here. Sit down. Jimmy!

Fuck you! You didn't recognize her?

I was 13.

How do you plan to handle this?

-She's a friend of Godmother's... -Fuck...

How do you know she won't talk?

She told her. She wants something.

You need to fix this.

It's yours now.

Come in, Jimmy.

I used to know all these books.

They smelled of Catholic school and a good education.

I no longer wanted their help and their pity.

I was done shutting up and breaking my back.

Remember how my mom would give all of my books to Godmother, for you?