We recently connected with Jean Chapiro and have shared our conversation below.
Jean, so good to have you with us today. We’ve always been impressed with folks who have a very clear sense of purpose and so maybe we can jump right in and talk about how you found your purpose?
I didn’t find my purpose in a single, revelatory moment. It wasn’t something I woke up knowing or that was handed to me. It was something I kept circling back to, something that kept pulling me in no matter how much I resisted.
I started making films as a child, not because I thought it would become my purpose, but because it was the only way I knew how to communicate things I didn’t have the words for. I wasn’t trying to tell grand stories or change the world—I was just trying to make sense of my own. But as I grew older, I started to see how filmmaking could hold more than just my own voice. It could hold the voices of people who weren’t being heard, who weren’t being seen. And that mattered to me.
At first, I thought journalism would be the way I could do that. I wanted to uncover the stories that weren’t being told, especially in Mexico, where so many are silenced. But I quickly realized that journalism, for all its power, has limits. Facts alone don’t always make people feel. And feeling is what moves us to act. That’s when I started to understand that the way I wanted to tell stories—the way I needed to tell them—was through film.
I think my purpose found me in the spaces where silence was the loudest: in the grief of mothers searching for their missing children, in the memories of displaced communities, in the quiet resilience of people fighting battles no one else sees. My purpose isn’t just to document but to create spaces where stories can be told on their own terms, where truth can exist beyond facts, and where filmmaking can be a tool for healing—not just for those in front of the camera, but for those behind it and those who watch.
It’s not always easy. Some stories take a toll. Some leave questions I don’t have answers for. But I know I’m exactly where I need to be because I can’t imagine doing anything else.
Thanks for sharing that. So, before we get any further into our conversation, can you tell our readers a bit about yourself and what you’re working on?
I’m a documentary filmmaker, but I don’t see my work as just making films—I see it as creating spaces for memory, healing, and transformation. My films explore themes of displacement, trauma, and resilience, often centering strong female protagonists and communities that have been historically overlooked. What excites me most about my work is the ability to push the boundaries of what documentary can be, blending investigative journalism with psychology, magical realism, and participatory reenactments.
I’m especially interested in how filmmaking can be a healing process, both for those in front of the camera and those behind it.
Beyond my own films, I’m always looking for ways to engage with storytelling in different capacities—whether through producing, collaborating, or helping to bring stories to life in unconventional ways. At the heart of everything I do is the belief that storytelling has the power to challenge, to reveal, and to connect us to one another in ways that nothing else can.
If you had to pick three qualities that are most important to develop, which three would you say matter most?
Looking back, I’d say the three most impactful qualities in my journey have been curiosity, resilience, and the ability to listen deeply.
Curiosity – I’ve always been drawn to the unknown, to stories that feel just out of reach. Whether it was researching the crisis of missing people in Mexico or exploring the emotional depths of psychodrama, curiosity has driven me to dig deeper, to ask more questions, and to constantly challenge what I think I know. For those starting out, I’d say: follow the questions that haunt you. The best stories often come from the things you can’t stop thinking about. Be relentless in your pursuit of knowledge, and don’t be afraid to step outside your comfort zone.
Resilience – Documentary filmmaking isn’t easy. It involves navigating difficult stories, ethical dilemmas, and, at times, personal and emotional exhaustion. There were moments I questioned whether I could keep going—especially when working on projects where participants passed away. But resilience isn’t just about pushing through; it’s about learning how to take care of yourself while doing the work. My advice: build a strong support system, take breaks when you need them, and understand that your best work will come from a place of balance, not burnout.
The Ability to Listen Deeply – The most important thing I’ve learned as a filmmaker is that people don’t just want to be seen—they want to be heard, truly heard. The way you listen shapes the way you tell stories. It’s not just about gathering information; it’s about creating a space where people feel safe enough to share their truth. If you’re just starting out, practice listening—not just with your ears, but with your whole presence. Be patient, ask thoughtful questions, and sit with the silences. Some of the most profound moments happen in what’s left unsaid.
Ultimately, I believe the best way to develop as a storyteller—or in any creative field—is to stay open. Open to learning, to making mistakes, to evolving. The stories you tell and the way you tell them will change over time, but the core of your curiosity, your resilience, and your ability to listen will always be what guides you forward.
Who has been most helpful in helping you overcome challenges or build and develop the essential skills, qualities or knowledge you needed to be successful?
Without a doubt, my family has been the most important force in helping me overcome challenges and develop the skills and resilience I needed to pursue this path. Their unconditional love and support have been my foundation, giving me the courage to take risks and the strength to keep going when things felt impossible.
Filmmaking can be emotionally and mentally exhausting. There have been times when I’ve questioned whether I was capable of telling certain stories, whether I had the right to, or whether I could handle the emotional weight of the work. But my family has always reminded me why I do this. They’ve believed in me even when I doubted myself, and that belief has been everything.
Beyond emotional support, my family has also shaped the way I see the world. The stories of my ancestors made me who I am. They gave me an innate understanding of memory, loss, and the ways trauma carries across generations. My family taught me that remembering is an act of resistance and that storytelling is more than just a craft—it’s a responsibility.
Their unwavering support has given me the freedom to explore, to fail, and to grow. And no matter where my work takes me, I know that at the end of the day, I always have them to come back to. That kind of love is the greatest gift, and I carry it with me in everything I create.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: @jean.chap
- Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/jean-chapiro-20537317b/
Image Credits
Photo #1 Kenia Carreón
Photo #2 Peter Decherney
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