December Issue
By Sarina Soleymani
February
Art encapsulates emotions whether it be joy, pain, love or anger. This encapsulation of emotion serves as a catalyst for conversation — conversations that can lead to de-mystification and promote open-mindedness. As it concerns the capacity to cause political change, art’s ripple effects are needed to cultivate solidarity and foster empathy. The latter explains why art simultaneously exists as a form of resistance. In highly politicized and deeply polarized contexts, art can be used to resist stereotypes, occupation, and cultural erasure by reinstating an identity and experiences. The creation and diffusion of Palestinian artwork accomplishes exactly that.
In “The Origins of Palestinian Art,” Bashir Makhoul notes that a politicized context makes it absurd to distinguish a ‘political art’ when a simple cactus can be read as a nationalist message or certain colors risking placing somebody in jail. The latter is a reference to the banning of the gathering of the colors of the Palestinian flag from 1967 to 1993 leading artists such as Fathi Ghablan to be put in prison for this simple ‘crime’. Such inherent politicization reflects every aspect of Palestinian life, thus a focus on individual lives represents a form of resistance and solidarity. The vast ocean of artistic resilience in Palestine extends from the traditional Dabke to the Arab Futurism of Sansour. In order to limit our scope, this article will be oriented primarily on the seventh art, the combination of visuals, sound, dialogue and emotion to glimpse into the realities of Palestinian life and humanize the population globally: cinema.
“When you live under occupation, you have different resistance than those in normal regimes and one of the ways is culture.” These were the words of Rawan Odeh, the co-founder of the association “Cine-Palestine” in Paris and Marseille who kindly offered her insight and experiences relating to her work organizing cinema festivals and the manner in which they play a role in creating crucial conversations but also the difficulties they faced. As she explained, it is rare to find Palestinian films in France. Having an association dedicated to shedding light on the Palestinian experience creates space for an alternative narrative. Cine-Palestine’s work allows audiences to speak to the directors, in which productive exchanges can be made with those unfamiliar with the extent of political struggles in daily Palestinian life and those who have lived through it firsthand. Through a compilation of this enriching interview alongside an analysis of some beautiful Palestinian films, I hope to convince the reader to consult this gem which lies in the cinematographic world.
“When I left, I realized that people do not know anything about my country, all the time it is stereotypes,” Odeh explained. This relates to a misconception of Palestinian people through the word association game used by the media to paint civilians as “terrorists” or as “barbaric” and diminish their occupation to a “conflict.” Cinema is the stage, which can give back the voice to the voiceless, fight stereotypes and allow solidarity through humanizing said people. “Gaza, Mon Amour,” the impressive work of the Gazan brothers, Tarzan and Arab Nasser, which was nominated for three awards in the Academy of César among winning several other awards, reflects this. It follows a simple love story told through comedic undertones of two middle-aged individuals in Gaza after the main protagonist is arrested for finding a statue of Apollo by Hamas who wished to sell the statue for money, the latter subplot is based on a real story. The beauty of this film is that it shows a real story, a simple story, an authentic story. It illustrates the obvious: Palestinians are also people, they also experience love even in a politicized context. It exemplifies a concept expressed by Odeh: films portray universal feelings, allowing one to humanize the Other, through love, birthdays, and experiences of women. As she expressed, “That is what makes us human, we have so much in common even if we experience them from far away.” I had the pleasure of watching this phenomenal film in a screening where one of the directors (Arab Nasser) was present allowing an exchange with him afterward. He explained the significance of the film's subtleties, such as the choice of two middle-aged lovers as opposed to the common romantic trope of focusing on young protagonists. This small detail was to capture a tragic reality that causes the young people in Gaza to flee, to look for a life elsewhere in a safe environment that allows them the human rights they deserve alongside opportunities that should be available to any person. He explained that this film used this simple story to highlight all the layers of oppression and injustice in Gaza starting from the internal struggles whether political or economic to the harsh laws of Hamas to finally, and only at the end, the Israeli occupation. This enriching film allows one to understand the true dynamics of living in Gaza, the political dust which surrounds the place and how said injustice hinders a human in a “normal” life but also how people manage to find laughter, love and joy within difficult times. I would recommend it to everybody to watch as it allows non-Palestinians to witness a lifestyle that they would otherwise be unfamiliar with, notably as this is not a political narrative but a film that seeks to increase understanding. In other words, it shows us elements that one can never find in research, through articles or in the media. This humanization causes people to care and mobilize for their cause.
Palestinian cinema allows filmmakers the option to choose their own story instead of needing to operate within the limits of any imposed narrative from any party. Found in the work of Elia Suleiman, “It Must Be Heaven”: a captivating, satirical film that received the Jury Special Mention award at the 2019 Cannes Festival. In this piece, this Palestinian director plays himself and travels from Nazareth to Paris to New York silently observing absurd scenes taking place which in my eyes shows a certain irony in the heavenly-painted West. Although not a biographic piece, the director explained that every sentence included in his film was based on phrases he actually heard. Moreover, he highlights his idea of a “Palestinisation of the world” in which the violence of his home is reflected everywhere, on larger or smaller scales, and his trauma follows him. In other words, he illustrates how Palestine is a global issue, a global struggle against violence or discrimination which can be manifested even in “heaven”. The choice of a silent film is especially interesting as it begs us to ask why he is muted throughout the film, was it a conscious choice or was his voice taken from him, forcing him to be silent? His comedic depiction of the authorities belittles their power but also comments on the lack of true freedom in the West. As an immigrant from the Middle East, I truly felt the depicted difficulties present in these “free” countries (which are nonetheless more free than our country of origin) where their hypocrisy and de-politicization of political experiences—that of injustice, power imbalances, discrimination— acts as a frustration which can only truly be expressed comedically.
It must be heaven because it was told to us that this is heaven. It must be heaven because we must have gone through hell to wish to be here. It must be heaven, but it is not heaven—and if it is, then maybe it is only in the very broad sense of the term—and our countries were not hell—at least not in the strict sense of the term. He commented on the mythicization of Palestinians through a scene in which a New York taxi driver gave him a free ride after finding out his nationality, claiming that he is the first Palestinian he ever saw as though he is a mythical creature. He spotlighted the discrimination faced by Palestinians in the diaspora through a chilling yet nonetheless artistic and in part comedic scene where the police chase after a Palestinian woman in an angel costume for wearing her flag. The theme of being constantly on the move with persistent shots in which characters or vehicles are moving comments on the freedom of movement that is not available to those living in occupied Palestine whether that be in Gaza or the West Bank. The theme of the Western perception of the Middle East was depicted through a character expressing that a film about peace in the Middle East is “funny already” pretending as though the Middle East was made inherently unstable to the point that peace is only a far-fetched idea. Ignorance was depicted through other visual symbolism in which his character merely witnesses but never intervenes, a comment I found to be reminiscent of Western individualism where one can observe but continue with their day, ignoring the chaos and bloodshed in Palestine. But the pinnacle of the film was when he was in Paris and a French producer did not pick his film idea as he found it to not be “Palestinian enough.” It is an ironic criticism of how people try to stick a narrative onto Palestinian stories, how some people are forced to be outwardly political and that their life experiences are not seen as “enough.” Elia Suleiman reclaims his story and identity through this film, bringing out conversations that may not seem evident yet are nonetheless crucial to understanding these realities on the individual level.