Chapter 12: Globalism, Nationalism, and Marginalized Communities

International Relations Theories and Children of Men 

Global politics can sometimes feel like a tangled mess of chaos, conflict, and competing interests. Fortunately, political science gives us tools—lenses we’ve already explored—to bring that chaos into focus. But theories don’t just live in textbooks or policy briefings—they pop up in pop culture too. One film that practically begs for political analysis is Children of Men (2006), a dystopian thriller that imagines a future where humanity faces extinction due to mass infertility. In this grim world, Britain has become an isolated, authoritarian state, violently shutting out refugees and silencing dissent in a desperate attempt to preserve order. It’s a haunting portrait of fear, power, and survival. Watching this film through different theoretical lenses reveals not only what’s going wrong in that fictional future—but also what IR scholars pay attention to in our own world.

Realism: The World as a Struggle for Survival

If Children of Men feels disturbingly plausible, that’s because it echoes the kind of world realists see when they look at international politics: one driven by fear, power, and the instinct to survive. In the film, Britain has turned inward, transforming itself into a heavily fortified state that shuts out refugees and crushes dissent in order to maintain control amidst global infertility and collapse. From a realist perspective, this reaction makes sense—when survival is on the line, states focus on securing themselves, even if it means abandoning humanitarian ideals. It’s the logic behind “Fortress Europe,” where rising border controls reflect fears about instability, or U.S. migrant detention policies that prioritize sovereignty over asylum. Children of Men vividly captures this grim calculus. But even in this bleak setting, not everyone plays by realist rules. Acts of resistance, solidarity, and hope start to push back against the dominant narrative of fear—moments that realism struggles to fully account for. That’s where other theories step in.

Liberalism: The Hope for Cooperation and Human Rights

Amid the chaos and violence of Children of Men, a quieter thread of hope emerges—one that reflects the ideals of liberalism. While the film is steeped in fear and authoritarian control, moments of cooperation and compassion break through the gloom. The underground resistance, known as “The Fish,” fights not just for survival, but for something bigger: the protection of life, human rights, and the possibility of a better future. Their efforts to help Kee and her unborn child echo real-world liberal principles, the same ones that drive institutions like the United Nations and the UNHCR, which advocate for refugee protection and global cooperation. But here’s the rub: in the world of Children of Men, those institutions are nowhere to be found. The state has turned inward, and international organizations have vanished from the scene. The film doesn’t just show liberalism in action—it shows its absence, or perhaps its failure, in a time of global crisis. That gap raises tough questions: What happens when cooperation breaks down? When ideals aren’t enough? To dig deeper into those questions, we’ll need to turn to another framework—constructivism.

Constructivism: The Power of Ideas and Identity

In Children of Men, the most powerful weapons aren’t just guns or drones—they’re ideas. That’s where constructivism comes in. This theory focuses on how beliefs, identities, and social narratives shape political behavior, and the film offers a chilling example. The British government doesn’t just enforce harsh policies—it crafts a story: refugees are dangerous, outsiders who must be kept out to preserve national security. This identity, built on fear and exclusion, justifies the regime’s brutality. Sound familiar? In the real world, similar narratives have fueled nationalist movements—from the Brexit slogan of “taking back control” to Donald Trump’s framing of migrants as threats to the American way of life. But constructivism doesn’t just explain repression—it also sheds light on resistance. Kee’s pregnancy becomes a symbol not because of its strategic value, but because of the hope and meaning people assign to it. It’s a reminder that political realities aren’t set in stone—they’re shaped, challenged, and changed by the stories societies choose to believe. Still, constructivism has its blind spots. It doesn’t fully account for the grinding poverty, inequality, and class struggle that define much of the film’s world. For that, we’ll need to bring Marxism into the conversation.

Marxism: Class Struggle and Exploitation

In Children of Men, the end of humanity might be biological—but the suffering we see is deeply economic. From a Marxist perspective, the film is less about infertility and more about inequality. The gap between the privileged elite and the oppressed masses is impossible to ignore: while the ruling class lives in guarded comfort, refugees are brutalized, and the working poor are left to rot in a collapsing system. The state acts as a shield for the powerful, using force to maintain a status quo that serves the few at the expense of the many. This isn’t just fiction—it echoes real-world dynamics, like the exploitation of migrant labor in wealthy Gulf states, where workers face harsh conditions while elites reap the benefits. The film also hits on a key Marxist critique: in capitalist systems, people are treated as disposable. Refugees, the unemployed, the unskilled—they’re pushed to the margins, dehumanized by a system that values profit over people. For Marxists, the crisis in Children of Men reflects the breakdown of a system built on inequality. But while class is central here, it’s not the whole picture.

Children of Men provides a rich, multi-layered narrative that can be analyzed through multiple political theories. Realism explains Britain’s self-interested, survivalist approach, while liberalism highlights the film’s moments of resistance and cooperation. Constructivism reveals how political identities are socially constructed, shaping state behavior, while Marxism exposes the deep economic inequalities that fuel oppression. Finally, feminism draws attention to the film’s themes of gender, reproduction, and power. By applying these different theoretical lenses, we can see that no single perspective fully explains the complexities of the film—or of real-world politics. Instead, each theory offers valuable insights, helping us understand how power, identity, and ideology shape global events. As future political scientists, students must learn to think critically and engage with multiple perspectives, recognizing that the world is not just a battleground of states but a constantly evolving web of ideas, structures, and human struggles.