All language subtitles for A.E.S15E10.1080p.WEB.h264-CODSWALLOP_track3_[eng]

In Peru, a remote island
scarred by a violent revolution.

With the world watching, this group
chose their moment to strike.

A peaceful refuge in Nevada
that offered hope to its occupants.

This place attracted women
from across the country

in search of a better life.

In France, a workers' paradise
seized by an invading force.

Facing annihilation,
they didn't give in,

but instead turned to resistance.

And a rural Italian settlement
trapped in a downward spiral.

It became an idyllic home for many,

but would be destroyed
by a disastrous event.

Off the Peruvian coast,
an isolated compound

tells the story of a country
held captive by fear.

In the Pacific Ocean,

about five miles west
of Peru's capital city, Lima,

you come across
a barren mountainous island.

We can see buildings here.
They have not been looked after.

They have not been properly used
in a very long time.

In one of the roofless structures,

we can find crumbling remains
of tables and benches.

Perhaps this had
some type of institutional purpose.

Take a closer look
and you start to see evidence

that those who lived here
didn't do so by choice.

Bars on the windows
and the secluded island location

expose this site's true purpose.

This is a bit like Alcatraz.

This is where you're going to put
the people who must never escape.

This rocky outpost
was designed to house

Peru's most violent offenders.

They were members
of a militant organisation

that terrorised the Peruvian people
in the name of communism.

The Shining Path were well-organised
all over Peru,

and that included this prison.

As you look around, these buildings,

they've not just been destroyed
by wind and by waves.

You can see
there are bullet marks here.

It looks as though
a full-scale war took place.

There are hostages
being held on this island.

The Peruvian government
had to make a decision.

They launched an attack,
and what followed was a massacre.

This island was uninhabited
for most of its history,

but in the early 20th century,

the government found a perfect use
for it - they built a prison.

Initially, it was just used
to house violent criminals,

but in this turbulent world
of Peruvian politics,

it was soon the place where
political prisoners were sent to.

Those prisoners were members
of a communist organisation

that formed in the 1970s.

It was called the Shining Path.

The terrorist group
was able to exploit

Peru's poverty-stricken
rural population,

which had suffered greatly
under a succession

of weak civilian governments
and military dictatorships.

The Shining Path were
anti-government insurgents,

and they organised themselves

according to Mao Zedong's principles

of revolutionary warfare.

They were
a highly militant organisation

and established a guerilla army.

Fabrizio Tealdo is a local historian

familiar with
the Shining Path's dramatic rise.

By the early 1980s,

the Shining Path's ranks had swelled
to around 10,000 members.

Their reign of terror included
intimidation, public executions,

and bombings throughout the country.

The ultraviolence
of the Shining Path

was designed to frighten
the Peruvian people

into shifting their support
from Peru as a state

to the Shining Path as a movement.

As the Peruvian government started
to succeed against the Shining Path,

they knew it was very important
to separate the Shining Path members

from the general population
of Peruvian prisons.

In 1982, the facility here
was repurposed

to lock up the growing number
of Shining Path radicals.

This is El Fronton prison island.

By 1986, there were
over 160 presumed members

of the Shining Path
who were imprisoned at El Fronton.

They were all housed
in the Blue Pavilion block.

But segregating the prisoners
proved to be a fatal mistake.

The Peruvian government
were creating the ideal conditions

for a new revolutionary cell
on this little island

only five miles away from Lima,
the capital of Peru.

At 6am on June 18th, 1986,
prison guards opened up the cells

of the ground floor
of the Blue Pavilion block.

But, suddenly,
they rushed the guards,

taking them by surprise

and attacking them
with homemade weapons.

They took hostages.

Rapidly, they controlled the prison.
Rapidly, they controlled the island.

The Peruvian government
soon discovered

that the seizing of El Fronton
was part of a much bigger plan.

On the same day,
members of the Shining Path

had rioted in various other prisons
throughout the country.

This was a coordinated operation.

This all took place
when President Alan Garcia

was hosting
an international congress in Lima.

This was an act of propaganda

to humiliate the Peruvian government
in front of the whole world.

Armed police were immediately
sent out to El Fronton,

along with a negotiating team

who tried to communicate
with the rebels via loudspeaker.

Holding three prison guards
as hostages for leverage,

they issued a long list of demands

that included
better prison conditions.

It becomes very clear
to the Peruvian government

that they're going to have to use
military force against this island.

This was no easy task.

The rioters
had smuggled in dynamite,

they had gotten guns
from the guards,

and they had even made
their own crossbows.

Throughout the night,
the military pounded

the Blue Pavilion
with heavy gunfire.

But their initial attacks
were repelled by inmates

who fired back at them
and threw explosives in retaliation.

With the attack failing,
the president took an extreme step -

he issued a supreme decree

declaring the prison island
a restricted military zone.

This enabled President Garcia

to ban civilian
and judicial authorities

from the island, which meant that

the world would not see
what happened next.

The consequences
were swift and brutal.

The Peruvian government
would wreak their revenge

on the prisoners at El Fronton.

As darkness fell, the special forces
prepared themselves for an assault.

Government troops were able
to rain down artillery shells

onto the defences
that the prisoners had established.

In the Blue Pavilion, the structure
is starting to go to pieces,

and the Shining Path
are going to move into the cellar.

2pm on June 18th,

the remaining inmates shouted out
that they wanted to surrender.

By now, only around 30

of the Shining Path prisoners
were still alive.

More than 100 had already died
during the battle.

But there were even greater
acts of violence to follow,

the shocking truth of which

would not be revealed
for many years.

Their bodies were disposed
in the trenches below the pavilion,

covered in gasoline, and burned.

In the aftermath of the massacre,
witnesses came forward.

The military's actions
came under increasing scrutiny.

The conflict with Shining Path
eventually came to an end

around the year 2000.

It left some 70,000 people dead.

El Fronton's haunting remains
now serve as a grim reminder

of one of Peru's most troubled
and violent eras.

In Southern Nevada, USA,
on the edge of Las Vegas,

a scenic park contains the remnants
of a revolutionary sanctuary.

From the sky, this place stands out
as a lush, green oasis,

set against the backdrop
of this dusty, dry desert.

We can see a cluster
of white buildings

with a vaguely Spanish style,
like a ranch or a hacienda.

Smaller structures
dotted around the site

suggest this was a place
where people once resided.

When you look in these rooms,

they're kind of time capsules
of the mid-20th century.

You see wood panelling,
pink tile in the bathrooms,

kitchens that look like something
out of the I Love Lucy show.

The question is,
who were these buildings for?

So, this is a part
of Las Vegas history

that many people are not aware of,
including locals.

This is a place
that offered women a freedom

they did not have access to before.

Las Vegas has always been famous
for the quickie wedding,

but this place tells
a different side of the story.

And it wasn't long
before major celebrities

started coming to Nevada
to stay at sites like this.

Dr Diane Siebrandt is
a historic preservation officer

for the city of Las Vegas.

Her job is to protect culturally
important sites like this.

Many people believe that

Las Vegas history starts and ends
with gambling,

but there was
another tourist industry

that is less well-known.

This property was a major part
of that industry,

and its origins
are closely connected

to the creation of Las Vegas itself.

Today, we think of Las Vegas

as a huge city of glitz
and shameless wealth,

but 100 years ago,

it was a little rough-and-ready
outpost in the desert,

a place for travellers to stop
in the midst of a gruelling journey.

This all changed
with the construction

of the Hoover Dam in the 1930s.

This was America's
biggest engineering project

since the Panama Canal,

and it required
thousands of workers.

Almost overnight,
Las Vegas turned into a boom town.

At the same time,

the impact of the Great Depression
began to hit hard,

and it became obvious
that drastic action was needed

to stimulate
the state's struggling economy.

On March 19, 1931,

the state governor
signed Assembly Bill 98,

which legalised gambling
in the state of Nevada.

One man, who had come to Las Vegas
from the Midwest in 1928,

was quick to capitalise on
the liberal new law.

Prosper Goumond was a businessman,

and he, along with
other businessmen,

they purchased the Boulder Club,

one of the first
of four establishments

that received legalised
gambling licences in Las Vegas.

Goumond made a fortune
from his new venture

and quickly looked for
additional ways to make money.

In December 1941,
he found the perfect place.

Prosper Goumond was a man
who could see an opportunity.

He saw that this region of Nevada

might be a place of economic growth.

He invested in
a huge piece of property

around these natural springs

and this natural oasis
in the desert.

He developed this site
from empty fields

to a successful working ranch
known as Tule Springs.

Soon, it would be transformed
into a prime holiday spot.

So, it initially was
a working ranch,

but it started taking on guests
as a dude ranch.

This was a time

when America was fascinated
by all things western.

So, the notion of a dude ranch -

a place where
you could go and ride horses

and spend time side by side
with real working cowboys

and maybe even come home
with a cowboy hat.

Though families seeking
an authentic western experience

were not the only guests.

If you were staying at
Tule Springs Ranch in the 1940s,

you wouldn't just see cowboys
and horses roaming around.

You'd probably also see
a few glamourous young women.

The reason they were here
was because of legislation

passed on the same day
gambling was legalised in 1931.

This new law introduced the concept
of a quickie divorce,

and to qualify, all you had to do

was become a resident of Nevada
and live there for six weeks.

But you also had to have witnesses
that attested that

you had stayed in the same place
for six weeks.

So, Prosper Goumond recognised
that opportunity

and he opened up his ranch
to a divorce ranch.

At this time, ending a marriage
was still very much taboo

and difficult to achieve.

Divorce ranches
were an attractive option

to speed up the process.

Nevada's liberal divorce law

was a dramatic contrast
to most of the rest of the country.

In other states, you'd have to prove
all these difficult things -

that your husband had abandoned you,

or that some kind of abuse
had taken place,

or various indiscretions.

For women especially, this was
a difficult, arduous legal process.

In Nevada, it was more like

what today we would call
a no-fault divorce.

You could claim mental anguish
or mental cruelty,

irreconcilable differences,

and this allowed the women
to get out of a marriage

that perhaps was not healthy.

Nevada openly advertise themselves
as the divorce capital of the US.

The remote location of Tule Springs
made it an appealing choice.

It was still very far
from Downtown Las Vegas,

so you had your privacy,

and I think that was one of
the most important aspects of it.

Women can enjoy themselves and relax
before they get their divorce.

There was a pool here.

They could go fishing.
There was also a shooting range.

But divorce ranches
were not an option for all women.

A Nevada divorce required money,

so this was really only accessible
to women who were well-off.

It could only really accommodate
about a dozen people,

so because this did really cater to
a small clientele,

it was very exclusive.

In 1951, an up-and-coming movie star
checked in.

The space we are in right now,

there was a young Hollywood starlet
named Terry Moore,

and we can just imagine
that she's in this space here

doing her make-up,
maybe doing her hair,

and getting ready for her day.

Terry Moore was
a relatively minor star,

but her secret boyfriend
was anything but obscure.

So, Terry Moore was here

because she was having an affair
with Howard Hughes.

At the time, she was married to
a football star named Glenn Davis

and the marriage didn't work out.

Howard Hughes arranged
for her to come here

to seek her six-week residency

in order to file for
that quick Nevada divorce.

Howard would have definitely
visited her here,

or even stayed with her here.

But Moore didn't stay
for the full six weeks.

It's rumoured her husband,
Glenn Davis,

refused to agree to
a quickie divorce

and wanted to use this as leverage
to secure a big payout from Hughes.

Their divorce was finally issued
in 1952.

But here's where
things get complicated.

As it turns out, when Terry Moore
arrived at Tule Springs,

she was already married
to Howard Hughes.

The two had had a secret wedding
offshore years prior.

So, her marriage to Glenn Davis was,
in fact, a bigamous marriage.

And in the ultimate
Hollywood plot twist,

none of this became public knowledge

until after Howard Hughes's death
in 1976.

In 1954, three years after
Hughes and Moore left Tule Springs,

its owner, Prosper Goumond, died.

By 1959, the property
was no longer being used

as a divorce ranch.

Divorce tourism to the state
was in decline

and it made no financial sense
to continue.

After Prosper Goumond's death,
the ranch had several owners,

but, fortunately,
it eventually wound up

in the hands of the state,
which converted the ranch

and the beautiful springs around it
into a state park.

We would love to do
a large restoration project

and get all these buildings
restored,

maybe turn them into
some type of a period museum.

In a fitting twist of irony,
this site has done a full 180,

as it's now a site to many weddings.

In north-east France,
90 miles from Paris,

stands a monument
intended as a force for good

that was hijacked by evil.

This small town,
built along the banks of a river,

really looks like
it's seen better days.

But across the bridge is something
that looks grand and ornate

compared to the main street.

These three vast wings of a building

make up what looks like
a palace fit for a king.

The scale of this is grand,
but when we look closely,

we see that this is not
a place of great riches.

One empty unit after another
is lined up around these courtyards.

There must be hundreds of them
in total.

Only a few clues remain
as to what these were.

A narrow bathroom,
remains of a kitchen -

all of this suggests
they were modest apartments.

When constructed, this place
was part of an innovative vision

to improve workers' lives.

In time, that dream
turned into a nightmare.

The German jackboot
comes to this corner of France

twice in the early 20th century.

They arrived at these doors

and the inhabitants' lives
were plunged into chaos.

During World War II,
an individual act of extreme courage

helped the Allies
force out the Nazi occupiers.

He knew he was taking his life
into his hands,

but that he had to do it
to save the lives of others.

The grandeur that we see today

is all the result
of one man's vision.

He set out to change the way
that French people worked and lived,

but it had a modest beginning.

In the early 19th century,
Jean-Baptiste Andre Godin

was a young apprentice
travelling around France,

learning the trade
of iron production.

While he perfected his craft,
he couldn't help but notice

the terrible conditions
in the factories,

and that workers around the country
were suffering.

Godin had grown up
in relative poverty

and was driven by a desire

to help those
even less fortunate than himself.

Amelie Godbert
works at this site today.

Part of her role is to make certain

the memory of the man who built it
is never forgotten.

He knows what it is
not to eat every day,

not to have a nice,
clean place to live in,

not to go to school.

His idea is to make
the workers' lives better.

But before Godin
could make his mark,

he needed to make his own fortune.

Godin develops a new way
of making stoves.

He builds a stove
that can be cast out of molten iron.

Godin's got the potential
to make stoves better,

and more efficiently,
than anyone in Europe.

The design was a hit
and production boomed.

And he's got a lot of money

cos he's got the monopoly
on the stove market.

By 1859,
Godin had amassed enough wealth

to finally make his dream

of helping the people
who worked for him a reality.

He set out building
a collective settlement

for his workers,
across the river from his factory.

It's his own vision and he tries
to transmit this philosophy.

It's like an experiment.

Godin called his utopian concept
the Familistere.

It was also known as
the Social Palace of Guise.

This was going to be
a genuine community,

focused not only on production,

but on productive living.

The centrepieces were
these three great apartment blocks

built around central courtyards.

They could house 2,000 people
in 500 apartments.

There was a theatre,
a swimming pool,

restaurants, stores, and a nursery.

There was even a school that
provided free mandatory education

for the workers' children.

It was more than
a high standard of living

because even the richer people
in the town wouldn't have that.

Godin continued to perfect
his workers' utopia

for the next 25 years.

Godin even kept an apartment
for himself.

It's important to him
if he wants to be the example,

so he has to live here.

Your job is not related
to the size of your flat.

You could be a manager.

If you're single, you will have
the smaller one - two rooms.

If you're just a worker
with a family of six kids,

you will have a four-bedroom,
four-room flat.

So, your job has nothing to do
with the life in the Familistere.

But in 1888, at the age of 71,
Godin passed away.

Fortunately, he died
knowing his legacy was safe

in the hands of his workers.

But soon, Godin's creation
would face a threat

he could never have imagined,

one that would bring
the social experiment

to a shuddering halt.

In 1914,
when Germany attacks France,

their plan is a rapid advance
and they're going to take Paris,

and that means
the German army comes to Guise

early in the First World War.

About 200 factory workers
were mobilised in defence.

It's said that some of them
were firing at the approaching army

from the left wing
of the residential complex.

The battle would not last long,

and after two days,
the Germans overran the Familistere

and began a long occupation.

Under German control,

the theatre was converted into
a military prison

and the courtyard became a hospital
for wounded soldiers.

A place that was built for peaceful,
communal family life

turns into a place of misery.

And then, when Germany exits the war
with the armistice,

it becomes possible
to try to re-establish

the dream here in Guise.

The Familistere's residents
reclaimed their homes

and, eventually, the factory began
to operate once again.

But the fragile peace
did not last for long.

Across the border,

another malevolent power
was mobilising.

On September the 1st, 1939,
Germany invaded Poland,

and soon turned the full force of
its army against France once more.

During the Second World War,

Germany ruthlessly exploited France
for the Nazi war economy.

This factory is repurposed
to support the German war effort.

For many of the workers
and families,

the memories of occupation
were all too fresh.

The residents of the Familistere
that worked in the factory

were urged to collaborate
or face brutal reprisals.

They were instructed
to continue making cast-iron stoves,

but this time,
chiefly for the German market.

It rapidly became clear
to a lot of French people

they could not accept the horror
of Nazi occupation.

So, all over France,
including here in Guise,

those who were fit enough

would become part of
the French Resistance.

Maxime Potier is a historian
at the Familistere

and an expert on Jamart's heroics
during World War II.

On June the 6th, 1944 - D-day -

the Allied forces
landed in Normandy.

Over the coming months,

Hitler's troops were forced back
towards the German border.

By the end of August 1944,

the US army
was edging closer to Guise.

The Allies had liberated Paris,

and all across France,
the German army was retreating,

sabotaging what it could as it went.

Here in Guise, as the Germans
were getting ready to leave,

they packed the bridge
with explosives,

preparing to blow it up behind them.

If they succeeded,
it could have slowed down

the Allied advance in this region.

When the American forces arrive,

they were able to cross the bridge
over the Oise and liberate the town,

thanks to the bravery
of one young man.

At the end of the war,
Godin's factory reopened,

but its days as a workers' paradise
were numbered.

In 1970, it was purchased
by a cookware company

who had no need for the Familistere.

The apartments were sold
to private owners,

and by the early 2000s,
many of them were abandoned.

Today, after much
careful restoration,

visitors can walk the rooms
and hallways of the Familistere

and see Godin's vision
in all its glory.

The school and theatre
are still in use,

and there are even plans
to convert one wing into a hotel.

In Sicily, Italy,

an isolated settlement
charts the tragic tale

of a rural paradise forever lost.

Agricultural fields
stretch for miles around,

and with mountains
off in the distance,

it's beautiful, but eerily quiet.

In the centre of all this
rises a strange collection

of crumbling buildings.

The lines are symmetrical,
simple, and clean-cut.

The architecture is unusual
for rural Sicily.

On each of the buildings are signs

that indicate
their original purpose -

school, laboratory, salon -

evidence that this was once
a residential village.

But it's peculiar
to label each building

in such a functional way,
which suggests whoever built this

was trying to impose
some kind of order.

Created to revitalise
Sicily's countryside,

this settlement was part of a vision
of Italy's famous fascist dictator.

But none of this explains
why it's abandoned.

For many years,
this was a peaceful home

until a disastrous event
began its slow demise.

The final nail
in this village's coffin

would be a tragic descent
into violent crime.

Luigi Solazzo lived
in this rural village

for almost 40 years.

To understand why this place exists,
you'd have to go back

quite some time
into Southern Italy's history.

Prior to the 20th century,
most of Sicily's agricultural land

had been divided up
into vast private estates,

owned by local nobility.

These were known as latifundia

and dated back to Roman times
when Rome conquered Sicily

and turned it into the bread basket
of Rome, alongside North Africa.

This system of feudal landed estates

persisted well into the 1800s,

and at the bottom
of this socioeconomic pyramid

were the penniless peasants

that did the backbreaking labour
on the land itself.

When an economic crisis hit Sicily
in the 1880s

and made things even harder,
people started leaving.

Over the next 30 years,

around one million Sicilians
emigrated,

many to the United States.

The mass exodus
left Italy without the means

to produce enough food
for the remaining population.

Something drastic needed to be done
before it was too late.

Political upheaval and World War I
delayed things.

Then, in 1922, Benito Mussolini
and his Fascist Party

forced their way into power.

Mussolini's ideology
was ultranationalist

and all about self-sufficiency.

He didn't want Italy to have to rely
on any other country for food.

At the beginning of 1940,

they started building
eight new villages

spread across the island.

This one was called Borgo Schiro,
"borgo" meaning village

and "Schiro" the surname
of a fascist martyr

killed by left-wing agitators
in the 1920s.

On the 18th of December 1940,

it was officially unveiled
during a grand opening ceremony.

The village was designed
to have everything

that a growing community needed,

and the goal was
to encourage peasant families

to move into the farmhouses
that dotted the fields.

Geared towards serving
these new local farmers,

there was a school, a post office,

a medical centre,
and a general store.

But, soon, the government
was thrown into chaos

as Mussolini's alliance with Hitler

brought World War II
to Sicily in 1943.

When peace was restored
to the island,

the new government continued
the land reform policy

and Borgo Schiro could finally meet
its potential for prosperity.

At Borgo Schiro's peak
during the 1950s,

about 100 people
lived in the village

and its surrounding farmhouses.

Life was simple,
and it was hard work,

but for many, it was idyllic.

But just as life seemed perfect,

a catastrophe would hit Borgo Schiro
and usher in its downfall.

In 1968, a violent earthquake
struck the valley of Belice,

and the epicentre was
a mere 17 miles

from the village of Borgo Schiro.

The powerful tremor,
measuring 6.1 on the Richter scale,

devastated the Belice valley area
of south-west Sicily.

Four towns were
completely destroyed,

leaving 100,000 homeless,

and killing or injuring
over 1,200 people.

The government response
was quite tepid.

There was a lack
of disaster planning,

an excess of bureaucracy,
and a lack of necessary supplies.

The region was struggling,

and many families left
in the aftermath of the earthquake.

That included the residents
of Borgo Schiro.

But Luigi and his parents
refused to leave.

This was their home

where three generations of Solazzos
had built their lives.

By the late 1980s, in a village
where some 100 people used to live,

they were the last family left.

But living in
a virtually abandoned town

has its risks, and Borgo Schiro
became a target for criminals.

After the Solazzos departed in 1995,

Borgo Schiro's abandonment
was complete.

It has continued to crumble
ever since.

There are currently no plans
to demolish Borgo Schiro,

so you can happily walk around
its ghostly streets

and bear witness
to an extraordinary remnant

of Italy's fascist past.

Subtitles by Red Bee Media