Peace on earth; ceasefire now

Here we are now, with everything around us glowing red and green, and christmas lights and holiday wreaths are holding the days together. Soon we’ll switch out one calendar for another. Heart in one year, foot in the other. What I’m trying to say is, our time on earth is precious and this season can be overwhelming with its frenzied madness of materialism. And I know 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 forces that seek to dull our imaginations. This can include, of course, inventing our own anti-holiday traditions. My own involves watching the 2006 film “Children of Men.” It’s a dystopian political 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. My friend and I arrived at the theater, and there was an abundance of feel-good holiday movies to choose from. But the poster for “Children of Men” signaled something ominous. The darkness pulled at us. 

The film, set in 2027, depicts a world collapsing from pandemics, climate catastrophes and human infertility. The United Kingdom is one of the few nations in power, operating as a fascist police state. The streets are filled with refugees imprisoned in cages, and the government distributes suicide kits and anti-depressants. The few technological devices available are enough to keep people distracted from the daily violence. 

Our reluctant protagonist, Theo Faron, was once a passionate activist. Now he’s an alcoholic bureaucrat. But Theo’s estranged wife, Julian, is still fighting. She works with a clandestine resistance group and reaches out to Theo to help smuggle a refugee woman named Kee out of the country, with the goal of reaching 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 of the Gospels. With the government’s extremist stance against immigrants, Kee and her child are at risk. The people protecting her sense that the government won’t allow for a Black refugee to be the first person in 18 years to bear a child. Theo becomes the person Kee relies on to find sanctuary. In doing so, Theo loses everyone he loves in order to protect the child. 

You, as the viewer, feel every heartbreak throughout the movie. That’s due in part to the camera’s insistence on extended one-shots. The production used handheld cameras, which places the audience alongside Theo and Kee on their journey in search of a rumored utopia. Sometimes the camera turns away from the main characters and takes a long look at the surrounding environment. You, the viewer, see soldiers corraling elderly refugees into cages; there are body bags lined up on the sidewalk. These scenes remind the viewer that Theo and Kee are connected to a larger world. The camera forces you, as the viewer, to also bear witness to the suffering. 

When the film was released in 2006, it was hard to imagine a better future. We were still in the shadow of 9/11, which begot the so-called War on Terror, which begot an increasingly expanding surveillance state. “Children of Men’s” unflinching realism presented a dystopian world that seemed right around the corner. And every year when I return to this movie, it feels like staring into a black mirror reflecting the present. But the film also has powerful, yet fleeting moments of hope. 

So, dear dreamer, I have brought you all this way to talk about one scene in particular that explains why this film keeps my heart. It’s near the end. Refugees and rebels are rising up against the state. The city has turned into a war zone. 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 civilians inside the building. But then, as Kee walks through this destruction, people begin hearing the sounds of a newborn crying. The refugees begin singing in their own tongues, offering blessings to this child. Here, the refugees become angels. When rebels and soldiers in combat hear the child, all are 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 before the child. Here, soldiers are rendered powerless before a newborn baby. 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 escape. Eventually, a missile is fired from somewhere and the war drones on. In our present day, where we are somewhere south of peace, I often think about that scene and its fugitive flash of hope. In our own terminal phase, it’s reassuring to believe that one second of peace is possible in a world at war.

– Kirbie Bennett