Written by Shreya Gupta
As a ex-competitive swimmer, I’ve always been fascinated by the sport’s ability to represent more than just physical endurance or speed. Swimming, for me, has always symbolised control — a rare, almost meditative form of order in a world that often feels chaotic. That’s what struck me most when I first watched The Swimmers on Netflix, now one of my favourite true story films.
The film, made with the assistance of the real Yusra and Sara Mardini for authenticity, tells their remarkable journey from the swimming pools of Damascus to the open waters of the Aegean Sea and, finally, to the Olympic stage. But The Swimmers isn’t simply a story about athletic triumph or survival: it’s a study of how swimming becomes a tool of control and self-determination amid the uncontrollable turmoil of war and displacement.
At the start of the film, Yusra’s dream of becoming an Olympic swimmer feels impossibly distant. Once a rising star in Syria’s national team, she becomes “nationless” overnight. The Olympics — an arena where athletes carry the pride of their nations — suddenly seems closed to her. The film forces us to confront a question we rarely ask: what happens when an athlete no longer has a nation to compete for?
The creation of the Refugee Olympic Team at the 2016 Rio Games, which Yusra later joined, was a historic moment for both sport and global politics. It was introduced by the International Olympic Committee, marking the first time stateless athletes could compete under the Olympic flag. This represented not only inclusion but also recognition, making it a symbolic moment where sport transcended national borders. In that sense, Yusra’s participation carried a message far beyond competition: that athletic identity can exist without a nation, and that the pool itself can become a form of belonging.
Yet, in the film, her initial reluctance to compete under the refugee flag reveals how deeply identity and belonging are tied to national representation. It’s only through her sister Sara’s words of encouragement (“Swim for us all,”), that Yusra accepts her new role. Throughout the film, swimming becomes the one realm Yusra can control, in stark contrast to the instability of war-torn Syria. “Swimming is home for me,” she says in one of the film’s most poignant moments. “It’s where I belong.” In that line, the pool becomes a sanctuary — a place untouched by politics. One of the most striking scenes shows the sisters walking through their neighbourhood in Damascus, passing a wall graffitied with the words: “Your planes can’t bomb our dreams.” It’s a haunting reminder that, even amid destruction, ambition and identity survive. For Yusra, the very act of swimming becomes defiance — a rhythm of control against the chaos of war. By the time she reaches Germany, helped by a generous coach and Sara’s unwavering belief, her discipline and skill carries her from refugee camps to the Olympic pool. This is further emphasized by the inclusion of Sia’s Unstoppable and Titanium in the soundtrack — songs that perfectly capture her transformation from survivor to athlete, from powerless to powerful.
As someone who’s spent countless hours staring at the black line on the pool floor, I understand that calm she finds. In swimming, your world narrows to the sound of your breath and the precise rhythm of your stroke. The outside noise fades. I adore the film’s cinematography, mirroring this internal world beautifully. The slow-motion bubbles, Yusra’s dive into the race and the muffled cheers surrounding her. Every swimmer can relate to these sensations before a race begins.
The Swimmers captures something few sports films achieve — the full spectrum of what swimming can represent. It’s not just a competitive discipline defined by split seconds and technique, but a life skill, a means of survival, and ultimately, a form of freedom. The film turns the act of swimming into something deeply human: a way of reclaiming control when everything else is uncertain. Through Yusra’s story, we see that swimming can carry you through both literal and metaphorical waters — from saving lives to chasing dreams. By blending the physical with the political, The Swimmers transforms swimming from a sport into a language of endurance and belonging.
