THE STORY OF “JUNGLE REMEDY"

In 2005 I embarked on upon an adventure to uncover the truth about a Belizean bush doctor, his treatment for HIV/AIDS, and the government’s inaction and questionable tactics. After seven years, two attempted clinical studies, and one sinister threat, I had to walk away from the project.

I still get the occasional email asking what happened with the film, the medical study, and the bush doctor at the center of it all. It’s been on my mind lately, and I think it’s only fair (and possibly quite cathartic) to lay it down in words — especially given that so much of the video content will never see the light of day.

Thus, I’ll recall as many of the key details as I can while keeping things as succinct as possible. For consistency sake, I’ve changed the most of the names to honor those few who requested anonymity.

THE SHORT

It started with a front page article from the Belize Reporter newspaper. Family members, just back from their trip, brought me the newspaper that read “A Cure for HIV/AIDS? Harry Guy Says He Has One”. They insisted it would be a great story for me to look into for a documentary project. I nodded, pondered it for a few days, read and reread the article, and decided to track down this memorably-named Harry Guy.

At this time I knew enough to know that the word “cure” was going to set off the sensors. The Belize Ministry of Health was actually quite concerned about the claims of the article and Mr. Guy. He had administered his jungle remedy treatment to a well-known AIDS symptomatic homeless man in Belize City. Once wasting away “with oozing sores”, he could now be found jogging through town and turning heads.

I believe that a good documentary searches for something. I wanted to know the truth. I wanted to believe the claim. I wanted to know why the Ministry of Health wouldn’t at least look into it. So I finally reached Harry via the article’s author.

 
 

Harry told me of his bush doctor lineage. He shared the healing powers of his herbal remedies for people with diabetes, infertility, and cancer. He also told me that finding people to come forward on-camera would be very difficult due to the stigma around HIV/AIDS, but he knew of a couple patients who may do it.

In an early-internet-pre-smartphone-era, I started researching everything I could on HIV treatments, on Belize, and on bush doctors and bush medicine. I booked a ticket, packed my camera gear and bug repellent, and made my way down to San Ignacio, Cayo in northwestern Belize - a few miles from the Guatemala border.

In those first days, it was all word of mouth.

”Oh, you should talk to Elmer at the meat market. His little cousin was near-death from the AIDS and is in good health now.”

“I see this lady from Belize City come in and pick up Mr. Guy’s medicine. She almost died until Mr. Guy helped her.”

 
 

I got rides to and fro and began knocking on doors. I met the first woman who was on her deathbed before her family carried her lifeless body to Harry, hoping for a last minute miracle. They had already made her funeral arrangements and picked out her coffin and dress. She stood before me, having tested negative and now was engaged to be married.

Jane, another woman, showed me her scarred legs, once riddled with open lesions from Kaposi sarcoma. She thought she was days away from death before her family brought her to Mr. Guy. Within days she had energy, a higher white blood cell count, an appetite, and was on her way to living a “normal life”. I found the accounts to be staggering and convincing.

Peter, a native Californian wandering Central America, felt chronically ill for months before taking an HIV test. He tested positive twice. Peter heard about Harry and visited him to stock up on his herbal remedy.

“Within a month of starting the formula, I started to gain weight rapidly. After six bottles — 66 days from start to finish — I went in and got tested for HIV in a clinic in Oakland, California, and I tested negative. And I repeated the test twice. So I went three times, and I got three negatives.”

I can smell a fib; exaggerations have an even stronger odor. These were not those. I was curious, leaning towards convinced. There certainly was something worth a larger exploration. But why hadn’t the Ministry of Health sought Mr. Guy out except to tell him to stand down? So I called them up and set up an interview with Paul Edwards, MD, MPH the head of infectious disease at the Belize MoH.

 
 

Dr. Edwards still reigns as the most challenging and tense interview I’ve ever encountered. He found the Belize Reporter newspaper article irresponsible and dangerous. Apparently, there was a lack of confidence in the public to responsibly read such a claim with objectivity. Dr. Edwards was fixated on the use of the word “cure”. When I asked why he doesn’t at least meet those who claim to have taken Mr. Guy’s remedy with promsing results, Dr. Williams seemed exasperated by the question, raised his volume for impact, and stated,

“We have to be careful about individuals popping up on every corner saying they have a cure, because they are preying on the vulnerability of those who are living with this disease.”

But Harry wasn’t on every corner. The people of Belize had found him. There was no flashy barker standing on a truck tailgate testifying to the elixir, no sharply dressed pharmaceutical rep pushing his breakthrough treatment. When I attended a local festival where Harry sold his jungle remedies, there was no mention of HIV/AIDS on his homemade signage.

I left the MoH aggravated and knocked back on my heels a bit. What’s the big deal with the government at least interviewing a couple of people? And therein lies the rub. A foreigner with a video camera comes in and starts asking why things are as they are in a place like Belize, and that’s a recipe for frustration. This would be a dynamic I came to respect quite quickly if I were to continue with the project.

Harry did not seem surprised by the MoH response. He told me of the strange occurrences that had happened a couple years before when three white foreigners came to the little shop in the front of his house asking for his jungle remedy. They said they were interested in learning more about it. Harry could tell something was off, and he declined their request that he sell them the remedy or divulge its ingredients. After asking them to leave, Harry noticed the missing bottles of his remedy. Apparently, while two men distracted him with questions, another had stolen a couple bottles off the shelf. Three months later, one of the four key ingredients in the remedy was decimated from the nearby jungle. Harry could never prove this story, but in the years that I followed him, it never changed. He was convinced of their sinister intent to steal his remedy “because it works.”

 
 

I never felt that Harry’s interest in getting the word out about his remedies was motivated by money. While I knew he’d appreciate the stability and possibly a later model SUV or truck with better suspension, I felt Harry was motivated more by clearing his name and validating the efficacy of bush medicine. He believed that the pharmaceutical companies had his country in a stranglehold, and the MoH was along for a lucrative ride.

After a week, I had to return home. At the airport I never let the mini-DV tapes out of my sight, even insisting that they be hand inspected instead of going through the metal detector. That first trip to Belize was exhilarating. I was convinced that there was a story to follow and a truth to find. I booked a return trip as soon as I got settled back in L.A.

Three more trips followed over the next year, each following the trail of claims of patients and family members. Precious little Samantha contracted HIV via a blood transfusion, and her doting father ached for justice and help. I befriended Jane, the woman from Belize City who was on her death bed before taking Harry’s treatment. She wanted to share how her government-issued medications didn’t help her, only making her feel ill as she wasted away. Now, she darted around her house, hanging laundry out to dry.

”Film me climbing the stairs! I couldn’t do this before.”

I met local healers who seemed to confirm Harry’s mistrust in the government. I rode with Harry to his farm, hiking through the jungle to his small piece of land as he checked on his vegetation and harvested tea tree leaves.

Back in Los Angeles, I obtained a press pass and booked a ticket to the 2006 World AIDS Conference in Toronto. I wasn’t sure why I was going. Validation? Stories of healers outside of Belize? At the conference, discussion or representation of alternative/natural therapies was few and far between. In the exhibit hall, there was a small side stage that dedicated one of its hours to a lightly attended discussion on alternative therapies. It became clear very quickly that the real power at the conference lay with the pharmaceutical companies. Aside from funding for education and prevention, the real goal of the international representatives was to advocate for affordable access to the latest drugs.

At one point, the entire convention center seemed determined to squeeze into the main hall where former president Bill Clinton was scheduled to speak. During these 90 minutes of calm on the empty convention center floor, I had some of my favorite conversations with fiercely focused advocates from South America and Africa. Aside from these few, the entire event had a formality and expense that was sickening when contrasted against those living with the side effects of HIV and its medications on a daily basis.

I returned home feeling small and disheartened (and with a nasty cold for a souvenir).

 
 

Still, I persisted, and I spent the next couple of months editing a 41 minute “short” documentary and submitting it to a handful of small film festivals. I wanted to just get it out there and hopefully connect with the right people to help me produce a feature-length documentary from it.

It made it into a couple of festivals that are no longer around - and into the Newburyport Documentary Film Festival which, to their credit, still puts a charmingly successful annual festival together. I traveled with my wife to Newburyport, RI, screened it to an audience of 100+ people followed by an engaging Q&A. The audience wanted updates, more proof, answers. Jungle Remedy took home the Best Documentary Short award, and I left feeling validated to keep going.

Returning home, I screened the short one eveneing in West L.A. at Club Fais Do-Do as part of a night of global awareness. The next day, the daughter of a successful Hollywood producer contacted me and asked if we could meet for lunch to discuss the future of the film. We met, and she asked if I’d be interested in developing the project into a feature narrative film. She had been given the green light to find a compelling project to develop.

I had recently seen 2005’s haunting thriller The Constant Gardner, its dramatic depiction of a global pharmaceutical conspiracy still fresh on my mind. I wanted so badly for Jungle Remedy to reach large audiences. And the idea of Forest Whitaker or Ben Kingsley portraying Harry made me chuckle inside. But first I had to know how the film concluded, if Harry was truly on to something that could change people’s lives. I politely declined and told her that the story hadn’t yet played itself out.

THE FEATURE

Around this time, my mini-DV camera was quickly becoming obsolete as the transition to HD was in full effect. I sold it, invested in an HD camera, and began to reach out to my contacts in Belize for the next stage of filming. This time I was working with a co-producer who was helping to fund production. This, along with feedback on the short version, allowed me to workshop the film at the NALIP Producer’s Academy, screen and pitch it at New York’s (formerly named) IFP Market, and attach a talented and award-winning documentary editor.

 
 

All along, the response to the short film was positive and genuine. I felt that I was on the right track. But there was still the lingering thorn of “why me?”. Why was I the one to tell the story? I was aware of only one person in my life living with HIV. I had only honeymooned on the shores of Belize before being handed that newspaper. But I had come to care very much for those I interviewed. Meanwhile, I started to loathe ingesting pharmaceuticals for things like pain or indigestion. With no one else taking up the torch, I told myself it was enough to validate my role and efforts. Plus, Harry trusted me.

The problem is, that when it came to cooperation with production, I had a hard time trusting Harry. Too many times, I arrived in Belize with the assurance that his patients would be there to share their stories - either concealed or on-camera. Too many times, they did not show up at the bus station, or Harry had not actually confirmed their availability.

“Kirk, it’s like I tell you, nobody want to talk on film about their HIV. The stigma’s too big in Belize.”

I knew Harry was right, but that didn’t make production any easier. Instead I looked for the story away from the patients. I focused on the jungle, the communities, the stigma. I filmed a Jesuit priest who worked with the HIV population. He suspected that the actual HIV+ numbers were 3x higher and that it was not in the government’s interest to test an alternative remedy when they had such heavy pharmaceutical funding. I researched the MoH’s seemingly stagnant approach to HIV/AIDS prevention and treatment. And I tried repeatedly in vain to get representatives from the MoH and the National AIDS Commission to speak on-camera about their funding and position on alternative therapies.

THE BELIZE CLINICAL STUDY

So I went back to Dr. Spelman who a couple years earlier had expressed interest in documenting Harry’s patients. Dr. Spelman was a retired American doctor from Jacksonville, FL living with his wife in Belize City and running a general health clinic from an office on the first floor of his home. I had interviewed him for the short. He was a charismatic, hypnotic character when he spoke - matter-of-fact but sincere. I asked him about the logistics of conducting a more formal, albeit tiny, medical study to test the efficacy of Harry’s treatment on HIV patients.

Dr. Spelman quickly ran through the moral implications, the necessary patient cooperation and consistencies, and the natural inconsistencies of organic materials, given the way Harry harvested and brewed them. Accepting all of this, he drew up a research plan and agreed to see the patients to establish their baseline and progress while on Harry’s treatment. And thus, the Clinical Evaluation of Jungle Remedies for AIDS (CEJURA) was born.

 
 

Dr. Spelman and I searched for funding. The Belize MoH declined to participate, but Dr. Spelman did receive permission to conduct the study as long as the patients came voluntarily and were not recruited — to which he agreed, of course. I secured a US lab to handle the CD4 (T cell) and viral load tests gratis, and I found a clinical professor at Bastyr University in Washington who was interested in possibly sponsoring the study.

Months went by, as is the norm on these sorts of things. Then, in March 2008 I received an alarming email from Dr. Spelman. The Belize Ministry of Health had done an about face on the study, seeing it “unethical to divert any HIV positive citizen of Belize away from their program to use conventional anti HIV viral medications”. Furthermore, they would seek “disciplinary and/or legal action against the perpetrator(s) of CEJURA.”

Dr. Spelman was rattled. He’d seen the Belize government work swiftly to deny basic rights to citizens who they felt crossed them; and Dr. Spelman was a citizen with dual citizenship. He didn’t feel comfortable returning to Belize and his clinic at the moment.

Meanwhile, Harry gathered the documents Dr. Spelman had created and prepared for a visit to the MoH and the new head of the National AIDS Commission. There was a determination and sense of organization I had not encountered before. I went down to Belize to try to capture the meeting(s). A storm washed out the bridge in Dangriga, and Harry was trapped. He was unable to secure another meeting with officials while I was there.

 
 

Upon returning to the States, I reached out to Dr. Spelman to update him. After a couple days, he called me. I could hear something was wrong. He spoke faster and with brevity, almost as if he didn’t want to talk to me or know who he could trust. He told me how he was contacted by someone anonymous, and they warned him of consequences if he didn’t stop his affiliation with the study. He felt threatened and that his life was in danger.

That was the last contact I had with him. Voicemails went unreturned. From what I could gather, he eventually closed his clinic in Belize City and remained in the States. Something frightening was said to him. It rocked this man to his core, a man in his golden years who was just trying to help people. He wasn’t flipping a bird to the system… he was trying to work with it.

THE HOUSTON NOT-SO-CLINICAL STUDY

During this time I was contacted by a man named Brett who asked about the treatment. Brett was a friend of a friend and also from Houston, my hometown. Brett had heard of the film and wanted to try Harry’s treatment for HIV, which he’d lived with for 24 years. I gave Harry’s information to Brett so that he may explore the jungle remedy on his own. I asked if he would willing to get an updated (baseline) CD4 and viral load count before starting Harry’s treatment and share it with me along with his progress. Brett agreed, even connecting me with Dr. Schneider, his doctor who took an interest in the project. I flew to Houston to meet Brett and interview him and film a checkup with Dr. Schneider. Brett was brimming with optimism, just excited to have an alternative to the usual antiretroviral regiment.

Dr. Schneider became intrigued with the initial response from Brett - increased appetite and energy and an overall more positive disposition. Dr. Schneider asked if I’d be willing to meet with a couple other patients of his who had plateaued on their current antiretroviral therapy. Reg was suffering from night-terrors, limb-numbness, and constant diarrhea. He was also buckling under the monthly expenses of his drugs. Mateo was chronically exhausted, had no appetite, and did not enjoy the taste of most foods, resulting in a weight loss that was alarming his partner.

On three return trips to Houston I interviewed the patients and documented their increased energy, appetite, and general outlook on living with HIV. All three of them were still taking their pharmaceutical regiment along with the jungle remedy. One thing also seemed to be consistent; the first followup test after taking Harry’s treatment resulted in a drop in viral load (when initially detectable) and a significant uptick in their CD4 count. These improved numbers seemed to plateau though, albeit a significant initial response. Also, according to Dr. Schneider, things like ear infections and antibiotics, hip surgery, and even 2008’s Hurricane Ike likely had an adverse effect on their test results. And then there was the occasional pause in taking the remedy because they forgot to get it ordered in time - another pitfall of a study of this sort.

 
 

To try to deduce some usable results from three men at different stages in the disease, at different stages of their lives, dealing with different challenges of everyday life was nearly impossible. Even my non-medically trained mind knew this data was not strong enough to garner clinical attention. In Belize, there was a broader simplicity and access to the HIV community. CEJURA needed to happen there. And that was no longer an option.

The promising initial results were the same for the kind and soft-spoken Jacob. He connected with Harry and shipped the treatment to Houston. Jacob was a licensed massage therapist and very much in touch with his spiritual side. He ate a plant-based diet, gravitated toward eastern spirituality, and tried to practice a holistic existence in all that he did. Jacob’s medications were debilitating to him. When he had bad days, he couldn’t function. He elected to stop the antiretroviral therapies leading up to starting Harry’s treatment. While Jacob’s numbers showed early promising results, his CD4 also plateaued and his viral load slowly increased over the 7 months.

“I have a blood test tomorrow and I am, as always, hoping for the best. I have doubled the dose as of one week ago.”

I remember his disappointment when he emailed me the results, as if he had let me down somehow. Jacob initially refused to return to his medications. After another few months, at his doctor’s insistence, Jacob restarted his medications and saw his numbers improve.

During that time, he separated from his partner, lost a dear friend to AIDS, tended to his father’s last days, and wrestled with constant financial challenges. It’s difficult to overlook those factors and the power they have on our overall health. Jacob maintained a “the sun’s just around the bend” outlook throughout it all. He was the closest I ever came to documenting an HIV+ patient with blood tests and who solely and consistently took Harry’s treatment. Secretly, inside I was crestfallen. Here was the most health-savvy person I’d met on the film project, and the herbal treatment just… didn’t work.

No clinical study’s efficacy is 100%. You need hundreds of people closely monitored, and a placebo thrown in for comparison. I never set out with that in mind. I was told by some in the medical community that if you can document compelling results in even a small study, you can obtain funding for something larger. But I didn’t want to be spearheading a study any further than I had. I felt that I was already precariously straddling ethical lines as a documentary filmmaker — lines that were becoming more and more blurred. I knew that the remedy did work as an appetite and energy stimulant. I saw this repeatedly. And it was clear that it likely had a positive initial impact on T cell count.

I had shepherded things along more than I felt comfortable with. It was time to let the universe take it from here.

 
 

As is the case with so many things — life, love, logistics, and a cocktail of all sorts of external factors erode upon the inertia of objects, emotions, and ideas. The Houston patients sporadically took Harry’s treatment until they stopped placing orders from him, and I slowly lost touch with them all, except for Jacob. He stayed in touch as he moved around, always keeping his resilient outlook.

Even Jane in Belize disappeared. Harry was unable to reach her, and she had stopped ordering her herbal remedy. It was not uncommon for phone numbers to come and go. But it was impossible to ignore the possibility that Jane might be dead.

RELEASING

In many cases, documentary filmmakers are expected to maintain a certain amount of objectivity. Keep the camera rolling, watch the dust kick up, and see where things settle. I knew I was in too far. I wanted promising results more than I wanted the truth. And when I accepted that and looked at what film I had in front of me, what I had left to shoot, and what I knew it would take to do it, I realized I was empty and unable.

I had embarked upon a search for the truth, and I didn’t find it.

A documentary project with Yamaha Motorcycles landed in my lap and took me to Japan on three wondrous trips. Shortly after, I started filming the work of Team Rubicon, just barely a year-old organization. The feature-lenth Jungle Remedy film was destined to be locked within a hard drive in a taped up box with its original mini-DV tapes.

The country of Belize has changed dramatically since my first filming trip. Coastal property has been snatched up with mostly foreign money. Cruise ships dock at Belize City. Coastal Belizeans are tethered to the hospitality industry which has yet to recover from Covid-19. HIV numbers seem to be slightly lower, but the stigma remains.

In May 2022 I had a video call with Harry. He looked older and weak but was in good spirits. He lifted up his shirt and showed me his colostomy bag, a harsh necessity from his battle with prostate cancer. I asked him if he was taking his herbal remedies. He responded in his usual, calm manner, “Yes, Kirk. Everyday.”

I checked in on him in September but received no response. Again in the spring and still no response. I reached out one last time in July, and Harry responded that he was cancer free (again). He said his remedy had saved his life.

 
 
Kirk JacksonComment