Lucien Bourjeily’s Heaven Without People (2017) captures a family gathering, using a single Easter lunch to show deeper societal issues. In this intimate setting, Bourjeily draws on universal family dynamics to reflect on Lebanon’s complex socio-political realities. From sectarian divides to systemic racism, the film delves into the cracks that run through both family bonds and the nation itself. This blog examines how Heaven Without People navigates these tensions and why its themes resonate not only in the Lebanese context.
The central issue in Heaven Without People is the fragility of unity, be it within a family or a nation. The family reunion begins with familiar banter and shared memories but quickly spirals into conflict when a theft is discovered. The missing 12 grand, money earned through a bribe, becomes a symbol of corruption’s pervasive grip on Lebanese society. The scapegoating of Zoufan, the Ethiopian maid, sheds light on racism and the exploitative kafala system. Zoufan’s long service to the family earns her little more than suspicion when tensions run high. Her mistreatment reflects Lebanon’s dependence on migrant domestic workers, who often face abusive working conditions and limited legal protections. The film also subtly critiques sectarianism through the character of Serge and his girlfriend Leila. Leila’s background as a Shiite displaced by war introduces a quiet yet potent commentary on Lebanon’s fractured identity, where sectarian loyalties often override human connections.
The issues in Heaven Without People are significant because they mirror Lebanon’s ongoing struggles with political dysfunction, economic disparity, and social fragmentation. Corruption in Lebanon is not just an abstract concept but a lived reality. Transparency International consistently ranks Lebanon poorly on corruption indices, and bribery is often seen as a necessity for survival. Additionally, the plight of domestic workers like Zoufan reflects broader global challenges surrounding labor rights and migration. According to a 2020 report by Amnesty International, Lebanon’s kafala system leaves domestic workers vulnerable to exploitation, with little recourse for justice. The film’s focus on sectarianism ties into Lebanon’s historical and ongoing political challenges. The country’s power-sharing system, designed to balance sectarian interests, often deepens divisions rather than resolving them. These issues, while specific to Lebanon, resonate globally as societies grapple with racism, economic inequality, and political polarization.
Watching Heaven Without People felt like a deeply uncomfortable but necessary experience. The family’s unraveling mirrored the way societal problems often erupt in the most personal spaces. Zoufan’s scapegoating was particularly striking, as it highlighted how systemic racism often manifests in seemingly mundane interactions. It reminded me of similar dynamics in other parts of the world, where marginalized communities are disproportionately blamed for societal issues. The film’s portrayal of sectarian tension through Serge and Leila’s relationship also resonated. While sectarianism may seem uniquely Lebanese, its essence of dividing people based on constructed identities is universal. In the U.S., for instance, racial and political divides often play a similar role in creating boundaries between communities.
While the film’s final act leaned too heavily on heightened drama, the emotion it evoked was a lot. The ending, though chaotic, felt like a fitting reflection of a society on the brink, where unresolved tensions eventually boil over. Heaven Without People is more than a film about a family gathering, it is an exploration of Lebanon’s social and political issues. By grounding its commentary in the personal and the intimate, the film invites viewers to reflect on the broader implications of corruption, racism, and sectarianism. Overall, Heaven Without People reminds us that the threads holding communities together are often thinner than they appear and that understanding these dynamics is the first step toward change.
Works Cited
Amnesty International. “Lebanon: ‘Their House Is My Prison’: Exploitation of Migrant Domestic Workers in Lebanon.” Amnesty International, 24 Apr. 2019, https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/campaigns/2019/04/lebanon-migrant-domestic-workers-their-house-is-our-prison/.
Transparency International. “Lebanon.” Transparency International, https://www.transparency.org/en/countries/lebanon.