Thou shall not be indifferent - Nadine Labaki’s Wake-Up Call to the West

For most of us, the French-Italian frontier in Menton is a concept, a sort of imaginary line of cheaper groceries and good pizza. One could possibly remain oblivious to this privilege as long as they never venture towards the Ventimiglia train station, where some are desperately trying to cross a very real border in the hopes of a safer life. To try to alleviate their struggles, SciencesPo Refugee Help and Cinementongraphe decided to team up and organize a screening of Lebanese director Nadine Labaki’s film, “Capernaum.” All the proceeds funded food distribution for refugees and immigrants in Ventimiglia.

The film’s title refers to the biblical city of Capernaum, a place damned and abandoned by God. The protagonists of the film are also forgotten, not necessarily by any form of divine power, but by the Western world and the international public. We follow the life of a 12-year old Zain, whom we meet in court as he tries to sue his own parents, through retrospections of his childhood on the streets of Beirut. Labaki’s decision to cast herself as Zain’s lawyer was purely symbolic. After all, just like her character, the director is giving a voice to the voiceless by providing them with a floor to share their stories.

The main character is played by a Syrian refugee who himself grew up in Beirut’s slums, Zain Al Rafeea. The name used in the film was no coincidence: Labaki had changed it after casting the boy, highlighting that the protagonist’s experience in the film reflects the reality of children living in Lebanon. Neither of the Zains had received any schooling. Al Rafeea had to learn his lines by having them read to him as he was illiterate at the time of the shooting. It is impossible to tell that Al Rafeea is not a professional actor throughout the film. He lived that life, he did not have to act. It is perhaps the profound sadness in his eyes that shows the hardships he has been through despite his young age.

After having run away from his parents, we witness Zain trying to survive in a hostile urban jungle. Long, stunning shots resemble a fairytale-like child’s odyssey, however, the story is far from The Little Prince’s narrative. The boy interacts with a lot of strangers who all have their problems and shattered dreams of a better life. One of them is a young girl, a refugee from Syria. She tells Zain she received food and is going to move to Sweden. Zain asks her how he could receive the same benefits, and she answers point-blank: you are not a Syrian refugee. This one sentence struck me, especially looking at the girl’s t-shirt which reads “I am Lebanese.” That’s precisely how selective the West is when it comes to providing help. When Zain is referred by the girl to a human trafficker, he receives another blow - he lacks any documents, or as the trafficker describes it, ‘a proof you’re a human being.’ The issue of undocumented people is a recurring theme over the course of the film. Those in power expect a birth certificate from people who can’t afford medical aid in a life-threatening emergency,much less to deliver an infant in a hospital.

The film’s somber atmosphere was amplified by a haunting score by Khaled Mouznar, Labaki’s husband who collaborated closely with her in the production of the film, making it, as Labaki called it in her acceptance speech of the Jury Prize at the Cannes Film Festival, a “family film created at home.” Given how heart-breaking the story was, it would be simply cruel if the film ended without some positivity or a glimpse of hope. We saw how Zain posed for a camera to have a picture taken for his ID card. Finally, Zain was recognized as a ‘human being.’ What we consider to be a rather inconvenient chore every few years was a life-changing moment for him. The real Al Rafeea also moved forward; his family has been granted asylum in Norway. When Labaki called Al Rafeea to share the news that the film was nominated for an Oscar for Best Foreign Film, Al Rafeea was in school with teachers and new friends. Labaki might not have won the Academy Award, but I believe the opportunity to make a difference in Al Rafeea’s life was the biggest prize she could gain for this film. As her own character in the story, she was not able to change the system. The best she could do was help an individual. The rest, as for judges in a courtroom, is for the audience to reflect on and decide.

- Krzysztof Kaluzny