Twinn Swan

The film Ghodwa (which translates to “tomorrow”) by Tunisian actor and director Dhafer L’Abidine is a tender, melancholic social drama that explores trauma through the lens of personal and political upheaval. It tells the story of Habib, a human rights lawyer whose health is deteriorating, and who carries the heavy burden of a past marked by political repression during the Tunisian dictatorship. His relationship with his 15-year-old son Ahmed becomes central as they reunite after a bitter divorce and navigate their reversed roles—Ahmed as protector to his ailing father—in a society still grappling with the aftershocks of the 2011 Tunisian Revolution.

Trauma

Habib’s physical decline mirrors the emotional and psychological scars left by years of fighting for justice in a repressive political environment. This past haunts him, complicating his present and threatening his future. The film does not focus solely on the explicit political events, but rather, captures how these larger societal traumas permeate intimate family dynamics. Through Habib and Ahmed’s evolving relationship, the film reflects on how trauma is inherited, processed, and potentially transformed across generations.

L’Abidine’s Ghodwa is rooted deeply in Tunisian history and memory—it is set in a modern Tunis still reeling from the Jasmine Revolution’s aftermath, a movement sparked by demands for political freedom and social justice that led to the toppling of a dictatorship. The revolution’s promise of a better tomorrow, symbolised in the film’s title, remains unfulfilled for many, adding a layer of collective trauma to the personal struggles depicted. Habib’s story, therefore, acts as a microcosm for a society in transition, where wounds are still fresh and justice elusive.

At its core, Ghodwa is about trauma seen through the intricacies of family bonds, the reversal of roles, and the quest for dignity in the face of systemic injustice. It’s a story of survival, memory, and hope, as Habib’s son Ahmed embodies the possibility of carrying forward lessons from a painful past to build a better tomorrow.

This nuanced portrayal offers a universal tribute to the human cost of political repression and the enduring strength found in familial love and resilience. Dhafer L’Abidine’s directorial debut uses this intimate story to reflect on the broader social and historical context of Tunisia’s unfinished revolution — underscoring how trauma shapes both the individual as well as entire societies.

Political Trauma and Its Aftershocks

Habib’s role as a human rights lawyer under Tunisia’s dictatorship exposed him to years of tension, moral conflict, and danger. This type of trauma is not a single event, but a prolonged exposure to systemic injustice, intimidation, and possibly violence, leaving behind an invisible, but corrosive residue.

Even after the fall of the regime, the psychological presence of oppression lingers — in habits of distrust, heightened vigilance, and an ingrained sense that justice will always be precarious. The revolution brought change on paper, but Habib’s lived reality suggests that liberation has not erased the scars of the old order. For him, the past is not just a memory; it is an ever-returning weight that intrudes on the present.

Physical Decline as a Manifestation of Emotional Wounds

Habib’s deteriorating health mirrors his internal collapse. This is a form of somatic trauma, where emotional and psychological stress have tangible effects on the body. Exhaustion, chronic illness, or physical frailty become embodiments of the years of battles — both legal and moral — that have worn him down. His body becomes a quiet testimony to how long-term oppression doesn’t just end when the regime falls; it continues to manifest in the survivor’s private life.

Moral Injury and Identity Loss

As someone who fought for justice in a deeply unjust system, Habib may suffer what psychologists call moral injury — the deep guilt, grief, and disorientation that occurs when a person’s core values are repeatedly violated by reality. Watching the revolution fail to deliver on its promise compounds this suffering: the “tomorrow” he fought for never arrived. His declining health forces him to confront a painful question — who is he now, if he is no longer the fighter, the protector, the one who could make a difference?

The Trauma of Disconnection

Habib’s estrangement from his son Ahmed adds another layer: the trauma of fractured family bonds. Years lost to political obsession, legal battles, and possibly the fallout of state persecution have left emotional gaps. Now, as Ahmed must care for him, the father-son dynamic is inverted, and this reversal forces them to confront unspoken resentments and regrets. The intimacy between them is fragile — built on love, but strained by shared pain that has never been openly processed.

Intergenerational Transmission of Trauma

The film subtly suggests that trauma is not contained within a single life — it can seep into the next generation. Ahmed has not lived through dictatorship in the way his father did, yet he feels the weight of its consequences: economic instability, political disillusionment, and now the emotional responsibility for a parent who is both physically ill and psychologically burdened. Just as Tunisia struggles to find its footing in the aftermath of its revolution, Ahmed must figure out whether he will inherit his father’s wounds or learn to carry them differently.

In Ghodwa, trauma is depicted as a complex ecosystem of memory, body, and relationships. It is a lingering state — one that shapes identity, dictates emotional responses, and hovers between past and present. This makes the title, “tomorrow,” bittersweet: it is a longing for a future freed from the shadows of yesterday, even as the past refuses to let go.