As a South American immigrant, Unwelcomed struck me in unexpected ways. I didn’t just watch it; I felt it. Every frame, every footstep, and every breathless climb through the Andes evoked echoes of our continent’s struggles and resilience. While my own migration was less perilous, the emotions—displacement, longing, and hope—are universal. This is what makes Unwelcomed such an extraordinary and urgent film: it transcends borders while remaining rooted in the specific pain and beauty of those it follows.

I watched Unwelcomed at Sheffield DocFest, where it screened to a packed theatre and left the audience in a stunned, reverent silence. The film lingered with me long after the lights came up. Directed by Sebastián González Mendez and Amílcar Infante, Unwelcomed follows the harrowing journey of Venezuelan migrants travelling on foot from their collapsing homeland through the punishing terrain of the Andes and the Atacama Desert into northern Chile. In 2021, amidst Venezuela’s worsening political and economic collapse, hundreds of thousands fled southward, many with only the clothes on their backs. Unwelcomed captures this movement not as a statistical event but as a deeply personal and communal exodus.

What sets this documentary apart is its commitment to nuance. The migrants portrayed are not a monolith. Among them are families with small children, young men searching for jobs, and Indigenous Venezuelans whose displacement also carries cultural erasure. Each brings a unique story, a different urgency. By recognising this diversity, the film challenges reductive narratives that often dominate media depictions of migration, where complexity is flattened and individuals are anonymised.

Chile currently hosts around 728,586 Venezuelan migrants and refugees, making them the largest immigrant population in the country. This figure, supported by official estimates from Chile’s National Institute of Statistics and the National Migration Service, reflects a remarkable surge, with Venezuelans now representing roughly 38% of all immigrants living in Chile. Despite their numbers, many face hostility and systemic exclusion, particularly in cities like Iquique and Santiago. Xenophobia, legal precarity, and economic marginalisation persist, turning the end of the journey into a new frontier of struggle.

Where many headlines and policy reports fail, What Unwelcomed achieves a human-scale, emotionally resonant portrait of migration. Through immersive, observational filmmaking, González and Infante immerse themselves in the journey, walking beside migrants, sharing their silences, and witnessing their moments of collapse and courage. The result is a documentary that feels raw, compassionate, and profoundly alive.

Visually, Unwelcomed is staggering. The film’s aesthetic visual structure enhances its emotional and thematic power. Sweeping aerial shots capture the enormity of the Andes and the haunting desolation of the Atacama Desert, with migrants appearing as tiny silhouettes against vast geological backdrops. This emphasises their vulnerability, yet also their unyielding resolve. These moments are punctuated by tactile, ground-level sequences: blistered feet, wind-chapped faces, and the shuffle of plastic bags. The editing alternates between epic scale and intimate detail, creating a cinematic rhythm that mirrors the physical and emotional oscillations of the journey.

Co-director Sebastián González aptly describes the mountains as a character in the film “Unwelcomed”. Indeed, they are. The landscape is not a passive backdrop but a protagonist in its own right, a sentient force that tests, shapes, and witnesses the unfolding human drama within it. The Andes and Atacama become sacred spaces, both beautiful and brutal, imposing silence and demanding respect. Their vastness magnifies human vulnerability while also reflecting a kind of spiritual endurance.

image host Directors: Sebástian González and Amilcar Infante (with mic).

As I watched “Unwelcomed”, memories of other stories came rushing back—Tibetan refugees in northern India, Syrian families in Iraq, and Kurdish women escaping war. Despite different borders, languages, and experiences, these narratives share a common thread: suffering and the unwavering will to survive. What unites them is not only their hardships but also their fight to retain humanity in the face of dehumanisation.

Crucially, the film doesn’t stop at the physical crossing. It also delves into the psychological and social toll that follows. In Iquique, we witness exhausted families attempting to make temporary homes in public squares. However, local protests erupt in violence, with residents setting fire to the migrants’ tents and belongings. These scenes are devastating, but the directors resist the temptation to sensationalise. Instead, the camera remains still, bearing witness with quiet dignity, allowing the viewer space to reflect.

This critical restraint is key. “Unwelcomed” avoids framing migrants as either heroes or victims. Instead, it portrays them as fully dimensional human beings—flawed, resourceful, afraid, and kind. The film restores their agency, showing how they organise, comfort one another, maintain rituals, sing, and pray. Migration here is not merely a physical ordeal but a spiritual journey.

By exploring the movement of people and the systems they flee, the film prompts us to reflect on the failure of these systems and the borders they encounter. It critiques the binary narratives often found in state discourse, such as “legal” versus “illegal” and “deserving” versus “undeserving”. Instead, it suggests that belonging is a question of humanity, not paperwork.

As someone who understands the challenges of leaving one’s country, carrying culture, grief, and hope across oceans, I found myself deeply connected to this film. “Unwelcomed” reminded me that migration is never solely about geography; it’s about identity, loss, faith, and the ongoing quest for home.

Ultimately, this film goes beyond simply crossing mountains; it’s about crossing thresholds—of fear, faith, and the known into the unknown. It highlights how people, even when labelled “unwelcome”, continue to walk with purpose, hope, and dignity.

“Unwelcomed” is not merely testimony; it’s a powerful protest, a poetic expression, and a testament to the vital nature of cinema.