Children of Men: Against Politics

This review was published originally in cinekklesia on January 11, 2007.

I recently finished reading Ernesto "Che" Guevara's The Motorcycle Diaries: Notes on a Latin American Journey. Many know Che as the Cuban Revolution's most iconic hero, whose image—ragged beard, long hair, and eyes gazing into that supposed proletarian utopia—has been reprinted on countless T-shirts all around the world. The Motorcycle Diaries documents Che's pre-revolutionary days as a restless Argentinian medical student, looking for exotic adventure in the South American continent. Most of the work is a fun and fascinating travelogue with only occasional hints of political consciousness-raising — in many respects, it could have been written by any well-educated twenty-something on a low-budget road trip.

Yet, the final chapter, "A Note in the Margin," serves as an explicit, internally-directed call to a life of revolutionary struggle. It's too bad because the rhetoric is cheesy and over-the-top, denigrating the rest of the work (which is a lot more nuanced and complex). An Ocean Press edition also includes an abridged version of a speech Che delivered to post-revolutionary medical students in Cuba; in that text, we see that the transformation of Che from an adventurous, fun-loving student to a stodgy, didactic, and self-righteous politician had become complete.

What does this have to do with Alfonso Cuarón's Children of Men (2006), a superb thriller set in a dystopian future in which humans have lost the ability to reproduce? Simply put, Children of Men's main character, Theodore Faron (Clive Owen) serves as a foil for the historic Che Guevara; Theodore transitions from a politically active life to one of seeming depression, apathy, and cynicism. However, in the process of depoliticizing his consciousness (albeit slowly and perhaps unintentionally), he gains a powerful moral sensibility that both transcends and spurns the political.

During the movie, we learn that Theodore was quite the activist back in the day (though he claims that he was just in it for the sex). He betrothed a fellow activist, Julian Taylor (Julianne Moore) with whom he had (and then tragically lost) a child. Their responses to the loss exposed deep divisions within their relationship, and they eventually split.

That was two decades ago. In the meantime, the world has been turned upside-down. For some reason (never explained), humans lose the ability to conceive, and "youth," already a prized status (at least in the West), takes on a whole new meaning. (The movie opens with news of the death of the world's youngest person, an event which provokes intense public mourning.) In addition, all of the major cities in the world have fallen into turmoil (whether provoked by the worldwide infertility or not is neither confirmed nor refuted), and Theodore and Julian's home country of England have taken drastic, fascist measures in order to "protect" the citizenry.

Theodore—disillusioned, alcoholic, and working some bureaucratic job for the very state he should despise—is recruited by Julian to help transport a woman, Kee (Claire-Hope Ashitey), out of the country. In the middle of the movie, we learn that Kee is pregnant! Impossible! Eureka! Is the future of humanity again ensured? Perhaps. However, before we see whether she can even get out of the country and give birth, she will have to get away from political forces—both the state and the main rebel group—who will want to use her (and her pregnancy) for their own ends.

It is through this saga that we see the renewal of Theodore's standing as an independent, morally conscious man. Originally recruited by the rebel group to procure transport documents for Kee, he eventually comes to see her as someone in need of "proper care," regardless of the political events swirling around her. Within the classical language of moral reasoning, he sees Kee as an end, rather than political means. Yes, he still agrees to get her out of the country (much of the movie tracks their harrowing ordeal), but he does so in order to help her, to get her away from the political nightmare that is England's future.

As such, we see the character of Theodore Faron as the very opposite of the real-life Che Guevara. Faron's "consciousness raising" was an unintended walk through a purgatory of post-political depression, apathy, and cynicism, leading to an awareness of the moral significance of helping one person in need, despite the risks and political repercussions. The tragedy of Che Guevara lay in his decision to eschew such individual-level moral reasoning for the sake of meaningless collectivist cant. (Of course, it should be noted that meaningless political rhetoric is found in abundance among both left-wing and right-wing circles; for a contemporary example of the latter, just watch Fox News.)

Those who complain that the movie doesn't provide any explanation of why the human race became infertile or why the world's cities descended into anarchy are barking up the wrong tree. Children of Men is ultimately not about fertility, children, or even dystopian futures; these elements simply serve as vehicles that highlight the main point: the role of formal political life in stunting moral development. When we become overly "political"—wedded to collectivist policies, rhetoric, and actions—we lose the ability to make independent decisions and to see other people as complex individuals who don't fit predefined political categories. We lose the ability to take meaningful risks for a true Greater Good because the "good" becomes redefined in narrow, worldly, opportunistic terms.

All formal political life—from totalitarian crackdowns to violent revolutions, from running for office to simply casting a ballot—degrade our capacity for independent moral judgment. While this is not an intrinsic necessity of political life, it is nevertheless the reality of said life. Theodore Faron eventually learned this lesson and took meaningful moral action. Hopefully, the rest of us can do the same.