It's the holiday season, and I ventured into the cinema to watch Gladiator II in a moment of rebellion against the usual researching, reading, and writing. When I grabbed my ticket (plus one in tow), I didn't expect to find myself back at my keypad, doing a legal or legal adjacent analysis of the movie. The plan was simple: kick my legs up and relax. And kick my legs up, I did - mission accomplished! Or was it? I ask myself while I am here blogging – and not blogging about my impeccable relaxation techniques.
No, what's brought me back here, writing about a movie on my international law blog, is how unexpectedly I kept making connections to many questions about international law. Scene after scene, my brain couldn't stop linking the dialogue and ideas in the film to bits of literature on legal theory – or plain international law I'd just read or had tucked away in the deepest recesses of my intellectual archive. Some connections were so obvious I was stunned; I hadn't seen them before. Others? Well, let's say they leapt out like gladiators in an arena.
Now, I'll admit, I haven't done any leisurely writing in ages. So, I thought, Christy! What a way to start the year! Put these up! (though if Laurie MacDonald, Walter Parkes, Aidan Elliott, or Raymond Kirk wanted to sponsor this, I wouldn't complain).
So, here we go. Because I'm definitely not writing a movie review (I'd demand popcorn royalties for that), I'm keeping it short and sweet. I'll unpack three lines from the film that sparked my international law brain into overdrive in a 3-blog series, starting with the first below.
Ready? Let's dive in…
Line 1: "The Best Injury is to be Unlike him that Does the Injury"
Expressed in the sentiment of Marcus Aurelius, a Stoic philosopher who once said, "The best way to avenge yourself is not to become as they are," - resisting the temptation to retaliate against an oppressor - breaking cycles of oppression, tyranny, and vengeance. Yet, as I sat in the cinema watching the characters of Macrinus (played by Denzel Washington) and Lucius (played by Paul Mescal) unfold, I couldn't help but reflect on the persistent question: What is oppression? How can the cycle be broken? You see, from economic exploitation to political disenfranchisement, oppression manifests in countless ways, often as a component or underlying act of broader international crimes. To illustrate this even more vividly, accounts of democratic processes are frequently undermined by denial of effective participation, leaving marginalized groups excluded from decision-making, further entrenching systems that keep them marginalized, mirroring aspects of oppression. Moreover, economic systems often entrench hierarchies of exploitation, particularly of vulnerable populations, including migrant workers who are trapped in cycles of debt bondage and exploitation. On these issues, many critical scholars continue to engage, especially because while international law "resolutely condemns all forms of oppression, tyranny, and discrimination… wherever they occur," its rhetoric often falls short when confronted with the systemic and insidious forms of oppression that continue to thrive. One thing is clear, though, in the face of oppression and tyranny, it is clear that "without protecting the vulnerable, our peace...will be both fragile and illusory." To "not become as they are" requires resisting systemic cycles of harm, not with vengeance but with justice that prioritizes inclusion, equity, and dignity - rejecting a legacy of oppression and transforming its structures such that actions align with creating a vision of a more just world.
Macrinus the Lanista
For Macrinus the lanista, I couldn't help but notice how profoundly he embodied the sentiment of this quote in ways that are both inspiring and unsettling - often quoting it himself, signalling to his listeners and perhaps to himself that he was nothing like his oppressor, who as the plot reveals once had him in the arena as a gladiator. Macrinus adorns himself as the true Roman he now believes himself to be, having spent his earlier years in Rome in the arena as a gladiator. He, like others similar to him, had his strength exploited for the economic gain of his lanista and for the pleasure of a crowd thrilled by the very gore of blood. This strength, so brutally exploited, would ultimately lead to the hubris of many like him. Yet his rise from the arena to become a free man and, subsequently, a lanista would somehow symbolize his understanding of avenging the one who injured him - a rejection of the victimhood that a gladiator is destined to endure. For Macrinus, this social mobility is the ultimate achievement of Roman identity - what may have seemed like an impossible feat for someone like him, stepping into a role his injurer could never have foreseen. For Macrinus, this social mobility remains the pinnacle of Roman identity.
Yet the irony is striking. His ascent, which he perceives as a triumph, entraps him within the very system that perpetuated the oppression he once faced. His fierce loyalty to principles, even when unbearable, reveals a deeper truth: he has become a cog in a machine that thrives on inequity. But to Macrinus, inequity is not merely a systemic injustice but a visceral one - a personal affront, a denial of his worth and efforts - efforts marked by mind, muscle, and blood. His conception of being 'unlike them' paradoxically necessitates becoming 'like them' - a version of himself they never imagined could exist. Upon closer examination, however, his means and methods prompt deeper reflection. In his becoming, he conceives Lucius as a pun to be used in part to destroy the Roman establishment he became part of when he was once himself a gladiator. Advancing the Gladiator's conundrum of revenge or redemption, Macrinus offers Lucius two grim choices–fight continuously in the arena, risking death for a pittance, or face General Acacius, the man who enslaved him, in a duel that may end in his death. Either option leads to gain for Macrinus–economic or social–while yielding little to no benefit for Lucius. This debt bondage is ostensible and a class-based form of discipline, with Lucius bearing the cost of Macrinus' calculated power plays.
The parallels to modern labour exploitation are glaring. From mine workers to seafood workers, to garment workers, countless individuals moving across borders toil under conditions that strip them of their dignity and humanity. These systems, much like the gladiatorial arena, thrive on inequity and dehumanization – reminding us of migrant workers – both voluntary and forced – figuratively fighting to their death under the weight of exploitation and debt bondage. Yet even as I reflect on the more nuanced ways that oppression manifests in today's society, the real kicker for me is that, as Macrinus' character unfolds, I am confronted with an unavoidable tension. Is Macrinus the hero who rises above the oppression he once endured, or the idealist who unknowingly perpetuates the very structures he claims to detest?
Lucius: The Lost Prince
Lucius' character provides a poignant perspective through which we can explore the concept of forced migration. His life illustrates the liminal space that forced migration creates, often varying in scale. Gladiator II offers a front-row seat to this concept with Lucius, the former prince who finds himself enslaved due to a series of events that lead to his forced relocation from the places he considered home, not once but three times, given Lucius' experiences, it is impossible to overlook how forced migration can be weaponized during wartime. International criminal law and international humanitarian law describe such forcible transfers as crimes against humanity and war crimes. As I contemplate this more concretely through Lucius's life, it highlights the economic systems and power structures that strip people of their humanity, homes, hopes, dreams, and families, reducing individuals to mere numbers on a ledger or, worse, props in someone's gladiator ring - where each day is literally about fighting to the death.
This theme is starkly relevant today. Refugees fleeing war, migrants seeking better opportunities, and workers trapped in exploitative conditions all encounter systems that dehumanize them. The international legal framework, though robust in theory, often struggles to address the root causes of displacement and exploitation, often focusing on managing the symptoms, leaving the underlying power structures unscathed. As I conceive it in the movie Gladiator II, Lucius's story serves as a powerful allegory for modern challenges.
Interestingly, Lucius' interactions with Macrinus reveal the complexities of justice and redemption. By offering Lucius the hope and possibility of confronting his oppressor, Macrinus compels him to grapple with the tension between vengeance and forgiveness. For someone who had seemingly lost everything–his position as a prince, his homeland, and his wife–Lucius conceived his approach to being unlike his oppressors as dismantling the Roman establishment that created the liminal space he had occupied for so long. It was a space defined by displacement, one he had endured his entire life, and his goal became to reconstruct a new society – one that is fair and just.
But here's where it gets juicy: The real injury isn't the forced movements themselves or even the chaos of war that initiates the narrative. No, the real damage lies in broader systems and structures that shape the conditions leading to displacement. It's the collective shrug of the world proclaiming; It's the kind of moral failing that makes you want to throw your popcorn in frustration.
Because let's face it, this isn't just ancient Rome's issue - it's ours too.
Juxtaposing the lanista and the lost prince
This point is starkly relevant today. Forced migration and economic exploitation are not relics of ancient Rome - they are realities in modern conflicts and globalized economies. Refugees fleeing war, migrants seeking better opportunities, and workers trapped in exploitative conditions all face systems that dehumanize them. The question we must ask is: How can we break these cycles?
I choose to juxtapose Macrinus and Lucius based on how their experiences as gladiators influence their decisions regarding revenge for their injuries. What makes this movie - and Marcus' philosophy - so relevant in the broader context of humanity is how it flips the script. It challenges us to ask: What if injury isn't just what happens to the victims but also what occurs to those who perpetuate the harm? Those who dehumanize, displace, and determine who gets a seat at the table - or no seat at all? What if, by failing to see humans and instead treating them as problems to be solved, we injure not only them but ourselves? Ultimately, the message isn't solely about Lucius, war, or the movement of people. It's about us. Because how we treat others - especially the most vulnerable - reflects the moral character of the world.
The juxtaposition of Macrinus and Lucius highlights the cyclical nature of oppression and the challenges of achieving true justice. In his quest for empowerment, Macrinus becomes an exploiter in the very system that exploited him. Lucius, as a victim of these systems, grapples with the question of whether to seek vengeance or redemption. This tension exemplifies some of the broader struggles within international law. How can we address historical injustices without creating new ones? How can we ensure that efforts to empower marginalized groups do not inadvertently reinforce existing hierarchies? These questions are not merely theoretical; they have real-world implications for our approach to issues like labour rights, migration, and global governance. Forced migration and economic exploitation are not relics of ancient Rome; they remain pressing realities in contemporary conflicts and globalized economies. The experiences of Macrinus and Lucius urge us to confront these issues directly. They inspire us to envision a world where justice is not a zero-sum game and where empowerment does not come at the expense of others.
Watching the Characters Macrinus and Lucius unfold was incredibly thought-provoking. It's hard not to see the connections to the real-life systems of exploitation and injustice we face every day - systems that dprofoundlyimpact the lives of the oppressed and those heroically fighting for justice. It challenges us to reflect not only on how we can dismantle these harmful systems but also on how we can prevent creating new ones in the process.
Ultimately, if justice is what we aspire to, can we truly pursue it without risking complicity in the very harm we seek to eliminate?