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Welcome
This past weekend, I went to the French cinema for only my second time to fulfill a requirement for my European Cinema & Society class. The movie we were instructed to see was "Welcome" by French director Philippe Lioret. The film, set in Calais, a small town in northern France situated just across the Channel from London, tells the story of a young Kurdish refugee named Bilal who, having fled the war in Iraq, is seeking a way to rejoin his girlfriend in England. Yet his status as an immigrant leaves him with few options of escape, and he is forced to attempt everything from hijacking trucks to walking the tunnel between London and France. He finally decides to try swimming the English Channel, and enrolls in swimming lessons at the local pool where he meets Simon, his instructor, who takes on the role of mentor, helper, and guardian. The film paints a touching portrait of the relationship between Bilal and Simon, refugee and loner, who find, in each other, the family they never knew they needed.
The conditions under which Bilal (and Simon) are forced to live bring back haunting memories of the Nazi occupation of France during the Second World War. Upon discovering that Simon is housing an Iraqi refugee, one of his neighbors calls in the gendarmes who proceed to enter and ransack Simon's apartment, question him vigilantly, and eventually bring him into the police commisariat where he is informed he is under investigation. Loiret's portrayal of this devastating circumstance recalls with startling accuracy the daunting situation of Nazi-occupied France; Simon is treated by the French authority as horribly as the Gestapo would have treated someone who dared house a Jew during World War Two. The fact that this story takes place in present time makes the film all the more chilling, and tragic. It also brings into light the current plight of asylum-seekers who are denied refuge all across the world. After seeing this movie, I began to think about this idea, and realized that this identity--refugee, immigrant--is not too far from where I am as a traveler. Every traveler, like every refugee, seeks a home away from home, seeks peace or love or family in a land of somewhere elses. Every traveler is in a place not his own, struggling to keep moving forward, struggling to find what fits. Though every traveler may not be fleeing his own country, he is leaving behind a separate identity and trekking faraway into unknown land, hoping to find something he could not find before. Travelers are refugees. Immigrants are travelers. This makes the plight of "Welcome" all the more resounding for me personally.
One of the most impressionable and emotional scenes comes soon after the gendarmes leave Simon's apartment, having searched it for Bilal and found nothing. Simon steps outside his door, watching as they file down the steps, then turns with sad and angry eyes to the closed door of his neighbor who turned him in. Outside the door, on the ground, sits a warm brown mat with the word "Welcome" sprawled sweetly across its face. Simon stares at the mat, closes his eyes, turns back to his apartment, and shuts the door. The power of this scene is undeniable. We are all travelers, all refugees from something or somewhere. Were we not all immigrants at one time? Are we not all still migrating, wherever we may be, today? We owe it to each other, as world travelers, as travelers in life, to welcome and love and hold each other close. We are after all, one world, whether we like it or not. It's about time we all realize it.
