A Christmas story ... of sorts

Here we are, with everything around us drenched in sparkly red and green, and everything around us decorated in lights and holiday wreaths. And soon, we’ll switch out one calendar for another. Heart in one year, foot in the other. What I’m saying is, our time on Earth is precious, and this season can be overwhelming with its frenzied madness of materialism. For us dreamers, we are easily underwhelmed by capitalism’s greeting-card message of synthetic sincerity. Since our time on Earth is precious, we should always find ways to creatively resist those for-profit forces that seek to dull our imaginations. This can include inventing our own anti-holiday traditions that invert the usual holiday norms. My own anti-holiday tradition involves watching the 2006 film, “Children of Men.” It’s a dystopian thriller about a pregnant refugee fleeing a xenophobic, authoritarian government that sees her child as a threat. In other words, it’s a Christmas movie. 

I originally saw the movie in December 2006 at a theater, where there was a glittering abundance of family friendly holiday movies to choose from. But the poster for “Children of Men” signaled something ominous. The darkness pulled, and I followed. 

Set in 2027, the film depicts a world collapsing from pandemics, climate catastrophes and nearly 20 years of human infertility. The United Kingdom is one of the few remaining nations in power and operates as a fascist police state. In the film, the streets are filled with refugees imprisoned in cages, and the government distributes suicide kits and anti-depressants to citizens. The few technological upgrades available are enough to keep people distracted from the daily violence around them. 

Theo, our reluctant protagonist, was once a passionate activist; now he’s an indifferent bureaucrat. But Theo’s estranged wife, Julian, is still a committed activist. She works with a clandestine resistance group and reaches out to Theo for help. Julian needs Theo to help her smuggle a refugee woman named Kee out of the country to reach the Azores. When Theo learns more about Kee, he discovers she’s pregnant. She reveals her pregnant stomach in a barn, surrounded by cattle: a direct reference to the Nativity scene

With the government’s extremist stance against immigrants, Kee and her child are at risk. The people protecting her know that the government won’t allow a Black refugee to be the first person in decades to bear a child. Theo becomes the person Kee relies on to find sanctuary. In doing so, Theo loses everyone he loves. Or to put it another way, Theo must bear witness to his loved ones sacrificing themselves in order to protect the child. 

The viewer feels every heartbreak throughout the movie. That’s partly due to the camera’s insistence on extended one-shots. The filmmakers used handheld cameras. so you are walking with Theo and Kee. And sometimes the camera turns away to look at the surrounding environment. You see soldiers corraling the elderly into cages and body bags laid out on the sidewalk. The camera forces you to witness the wider landscape of suffering. 

Growing up in the shadow of 9/11 and the so-called War on Terror, it was hard to imagine a better future in 2006. With unflinching realism, “Children of Men” presented a world that seemed on the horizon. And every year when I return to this movie, it feels like looking into a black mirror reflecting the present. But the film also has powerful, fleeting moments of stubborn hope. 

So, dear dreamer, I have brought you all this way to talk about one scene in particular, which keeps my heart. It’s near the end. Refugees and rebels are rising against the state. The city has turned into a war zone, and Kee and her newborn have been kidnapped. Theo locates them on the top floor of an apartment building filled with refugees. Bombs are bursting outside, and soldiers are readying to execute the civilians inside. But then, as Kee walks through this destruction, people begin hearing the sounds of a newborn crying. The refugees sing in their languages, offering blessings to this child. Here, the refugees become angels. When rebels and soldiers hear the child, they’re paralyzed in awe. One soldier calls for a ceasefire, to let Kee and her baby exit the building. The soldiers lay their weapons down, some kneel and give the sign of the cross. Here is peace on Earth. Here is ceasefire now. 

For a moment, the cries from Kee’s baby drown out the bombs and guns. The peace lasts long enough for Theo, Kee and her baby to leave. Eventually, a missile is fired, and the war continues mindlessly. In our present day, I often think about that scene and its fugitive flash of hope. In our own terminal phase, it’s reassuring to believe peace is possible in a world of war.