Sawt al Niswa | صوت النسوة - Palestinian Fairies Project

نوستالجيا المخيم

deema kaedbey — Sun, 03 Apr 2011 21:00:00 +0000

by Mozzoom 2010

لين هاشم Leen Hashem

ما كانت أول مرة بفوت على مخيّم فلسطيني بلبنان. من أنا وزغيري عندي أصحاب وصاحبات بمخيم برج البراجنة، وكنت روح زورهن بما انو بيتي بالضاحية مش بعيد عنهن. كان البابا يوصّلني على باب المخيّم وعلى وجّو علامات القلق والريبة، ويقلّي “انتبهي منيح بابا” ، بنبرة جدية قليل ما كنت اسمعها منو. كنت امشي بين شرايط الكهربا الهابطة من شي مطرح بالسما ومشربكة ببعضها، واتفرّج على صور كبيرة لرجال لافف الكفية حول راسو مع ضحكة عريضة، كنت دايما اتساءل عن سببها بهيك مكان. ما كان يعنيلي شي بوقتها الا اني أوصل ع بيت “ناديا وطارق” تا نلعب بالبيسكليت بالزاروب الضيق تحت البيت، ونلعب “مونوبولي” ع“البلكون” المطل على باقي المخيّم واللي كانت جارتهن “أم عمار” تضل قاعدة عليه عم تتسمع ع“الراديو” ناطرة يعلنوا موعد العودة.

بعدين كبرت، وعرفت مين الرجال اللي عم يضحك بالصورة بلا سبب، وعرفت ليش في شرايط هابطة من السما، وليش البابا كان يقلي بنبرة جدية “انتبهي منيح“. صرت افهم ليش في صور كتير لشهدا وأسرى وأبطال والذي منو، وأعلام لفلسطين على الحيطان وعلى الأرض، ومجسمات للقدس. بطلت روح عند “ناديا وطارق“، بس صرت روح مع “الرفاق” من أجل “النضال” داخل المخيّم. بهالفترة، زرت مخيمات البرج، وعين الحلوة ومار الياس والبصّ والبداوي. تحولت علاقتي بالمخيم من علاقة صداقة، لعلاقة سياسية اجتماعية نضالية عنوانها “القضية“. كنا نروح نعمل ندوات، ونوزع اعانات، ونحكي مع الأطفال وننظم ورش عمل متنوعة، كان كل شي هونيك عن فلسطين وبس. كان المخيم بالنسبة لالي امتداد لفلسطين اللي مش قادرة أوصل الها، اللي بشوفها ع التلفزيون وبحس بالشلل والعجز وكل أنواع فقدان القدرة قدامها. باختصار، كان “النضال بالمخيم” فشّة خلق يسارية.

بيوم من الايام، وعيت، لقيت انو “الرفاق” تفرطعوا نتيجة مؤامرة امبريالية رأسمالية صهيونية، وبقيت لوحدي أنا والمخيم. واكتشفت بوقتها انو في جوات هالمخيم، حدا أنا عم كنّلوا مشاعر أكيد كمان كانت نتيجة مؤامرة، لأن مش معقول هالاحساس كان يكون ناتج عن حالة طبيعية. تحولت علاقتي بالمخيم من علاقة نضال سياسي، لعلاقة حب. صرت اكتب قصائد عن ريحة المخيّم وارسم لوحات لسوق الخضرة، وكل ما اسمع فيروز ما يطلع براسي الا زواريب المخيم وهيداك البيت اللي فيه هيداك الحدا. ايه، لسخرية القدر، بدل ما انغرم بالشخص، انغرمت بالمخيم.

بعدين، هب الهوى وبكاني الهوى وبطلنا سوا، وصارت علاقتي بالمخيم علاقة جفا بتشبه العلاقة بين اتنين كتر ما حبوا بعضهن، ما خلّوا شي سليم ببعضهن. صارت زياراتي لهونيك نادرة جدا، متل ايمان “أم عمار” بالعودة.

مضى وقت طويل، وزرت من كم يوم مخيم شاتيلا لتقديم جلسة من جلسات برنامج “غيري عادتك بتزيد سعادتك” يللي عم تنظموا “المجموعة النسوية” بمختلف الأماكن والمناطق للتعريف بالأدوات النسوية الممكنة للتغيير. وصلت، وحسيت فجأة بشي غريب، كأن أول مرة بفوت على مخيّم. فجأة، صارت الشرايط الهابطة من السما، والمساحات اللي فجأة بتختفي بين زواريب ضيقة وبيوت معتمة ورمادية، والناس اللي ما عم يلاقوا مطرح يمشوا فيه، والشمس المحجوبة بباطون ع وشك يوقع، وصور الشهدا والأسرى والأبطال، وصورة الرجال بالكفية اللي عم يضحك بلا سبب، صارت كلها غريبة. كأن ما شفتها من قبل. كانت أول مرة بوقف وجه لوجه مع المخيم بلا مساحيق تجميل باسم الصداقة، أو القضية أو النضال أو الشعر أو فيروز أو الحب. كنت أنا، مرا حاملة كاميرا ولابتوب ع كتفي، واقفة قدام مشهد طويل عريض من المأساة الكارثية اسمو مخيم، وبس. تحولت علاقتي بالمخيم لعلاقة غضب. كان بدي ابكي، أو صرّخ أو اهرب، بس ما قدرت. صرت اطلع عالولاد اللي أكثر شي موجودين بالشوارع، عم يضحكوا ويركضوا، بس أنا مش مقتنعة انهن ولاد عم يضحكوا ويركضوا.

وصلت ع مكان الجلسة، وتفاجأت انو الحاضرات كانوا مجموعة نساء كبار بالعمر، أمهات وجدات وربات منازل. حسيت بالخجل. خبيت ال“لابتوب” والكاميرا، قدام عيونهن اللي كانت عم تقول “اجت فيلسوفة جديدة مع كاميرا ولابتوب“، وقعدت معهم بشكل دائري، وقلتلهن انو ما رح احكي اليوم ولا كلمة، لأن قدام حضورهن ما فيني الا اسمع. مضى شوية وقت، وبلشوا يحكوا عن حالهن ومخيمهن وقديش قرفانين من الجمعيات اللي بتزورهن لتتصدق عليهن. حكيوا عن ولادهن اللي ما بلاقوا مساحات يلعبوا فيها، والأجور اللي سقفها بيوصل لل 250 ألف، وقانون العمل اللي ضحكت دولة الحمص العظيمة فيه ع ضمير المطالبات بالحقوق المدنية الفلسطينية بلبنان، وحالات الزواج المبكر، والبنت اللي ربحت سفرة ع ايطاليا، بلدها المفضل، وما قدرت تروح بسبب عدم حيازتها الأوراق اللازمة بكونها فلسطينية. حكيوا كيف ما فيهن يملكوا غرفة معفنة فوق شي سطح بالمخيم لأنهن فلسطينيين، بوقت صاروا سواح النفط رح يعلنوا مملكة الصحرا بجبل لبنان قد ما اشتروا أراضي. حكيوا كتير عن قهرهن، بس ما بعرف ليش ما شفت الا قوة. وفكرت، معقول شو وقحات؟ معقول الأمل والقوة الوقحة بعيونهن؟

كنت عم بسمع وجواتي خجل عم ياكلني، كنت خجلانة من الكفية اللي ع رقبتي والأسوارة الفلسطينية اللي بايدي. حسيت انو فلسطين والمخيم لالي هني قضية ونوستالجيا، بينما لالهن هني فقر وجوع وتمييز عنصري وتهديد وخوف واهانة، واصرار ع الحياة ما بعرف من وين بيضل يطلع. حسيت بدي وطّي بوس ايديهن، حسيت بدي قلهن قديش أنا بكل نظرياتي عن الجندر والتغيير، زغيرة قدام كل يوم هني بيعيشوه. شو بدي قلهن؟ ثوروا على شو؟ ثوروا ضد مين؟ ثوروا عشان شو؟ ما كان فيني الا اسمع، وأي نظرية عن التغيير والثورة من جهتي، كان ممكن تخسّرني أي علاقة بالواقع عم بطمح ابنيها معهن. شو بدي قلهن؟ انو أنا بعرف شو الحل؟ لأ، أنا ما بعرف شي، كنت ناطرة هني يعلموني شوي من يللي بيعرفوه. شو بدي قلهن؟ اشتغلوا معنا تا نحصّل الحقوق؟ لأ، هني أذكى بكتير من هيك.

بخجل، حملت اللابتوب والكاميرا ومشيت طريق العودة لبرّا المخيم، بعد ما سمعت من شي خمس ولاد جملة “ما بدك تصوريني؟“. كل الطريق كنت عم فكر قديش انسانة فقيرة وهلقد مقهورة وما بتملك شي، قادرة تحسسني اني زغيرة قدامها لمجرد انها ساكنة بالمخيم. فكرت انو المخيم مش امتداد لفلسطين، ولا ساحة نضال، هو صورة وحشية، حقيقة بشعة كتير، فضيحة للقضية وللدولة العليّة وللرفاق اليساريي.

قعدت بالسيارة واطلعت ع مدخل المخيم، فيه صورة كبيرة لرجال بالكفية ، بعدني لهلق، ما بعرف ع شو عم يضحك.

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البنت فلسطينية

Lamia Moghnie — Mon, 25 Oct 2010 07:45:17 +0000

امل كعوش

http://meiroun.blogspot.com/

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Teta Sabra and Falasteen: this is a randomly generated history

deema kaedbey — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 21:00:00 +0000

سارة اميلين ابو غزال

Teta Sabra

It was 1992, in a small apartment in west Beirut. I had developed an attachment for men with thick beards surrounded by the yellowiest flowers one’s memory could preserve. Later I learned it was called “marj el zohor.” Much later I realized it was the first understanding of an extended Palestine I had developed, that my own little small existence continues in reverse, passing through these men in the fields, all the way to Palestine. I had composed a song for these men, a song that my mother made me entertain her guests with, a song about Marej El Zohor.

These are some of the early memories I have about connecting with the bigger and more extended Palestine. And for many years Palestine was about going in the Eid to visit “Teta Sabra”, my grandmother who lived somewhere around Sabra and Shatila, not really in the mokhayem, but not completely out of its range.

Teta Sabra’s version of Palestine had remained a sealed mystery, something that I still regret . How come I never asked her about her own version of the story? All I know about Palestine was narrated by my Sidi (grandfather) to his children, in which I assume they have passed it along, censoring many of the inconveniences that made their lives easier and their traumas lighter. Everyone must survive in the end of the day.

Falasteen

I find myself in need of not losing these memories, in connecting them together, building a narrative of where I come from. Sidi had told the story to his children, and his children never shared it again. I don’t know if the story was too complicated to be re told, if it was a humiliating burden on them. What I know of my history is details in incomplete bits and pieces, few sentences stolen from conversations here and there. I remember that Baba, despite his love of Falasteen, had this fear of those who worked for its liberation, including his sister.

I’m Palestinian and like all Palestinians, when I say her name, I get a choke-like feeling in my throat, and most probably my shoulders widen and my face gets a serious expression. I don’t know what that means though, being Palestinian. I know it means that I experience the world differently, I can shift through many stereotypes, from a victim all the way to a freedom fighter, that my sense of nationalism doesn’t serve only Palestinians but it serves one of the greatest battles of this world, the battle between good and evil. But I don’t what it means to be Palestinian away from these constructions, off TV screens, speeches, gadgets and songs. I don’t know what does being a Palestinian between oneself and to one’s self.

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Open Editorial

deema kaedbey — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 21:00:00 +0000

Sawt al Niswa

At the Palestinian Fairies Project we show the Palestinian Women’s experience for what we believe it to be: a tapestry of thoughts, feelings, memories and day-to-day realities that extend in various directions both in space and time. There are several principles that support our weaving together of the project. The first is our commitment to narrative as an essential function of the liberation struggle. The second is our belief that our largely diasporic existence as Palestinians makes it essential that diverse voices are consciously brought into the fold of the liberation struggle. And lastly, we believe that Palestinian Women’s voices have for too long been resigned to the margins of our histories and that there is a dire need to end this condition. These three principles interact with one another in the making of the Palestinian Fairies Project in ways that are potent and intricate. For example, while we believe that women’s voices are a large and important part of the diverse voices that make up the Palestinian experience, we also realize that there is a great deal of diversity that is inherent in Palestinian womanhood, too. Facilitating a rich relationship between these things is what we aim to do here.

Our reasons for taking on this project are both abstract and concrete, both personal and political, both long-term and immediate, both feminist and Palestinian… Our aim is to break down these conceptual and practical boundaries that cage our notions about Palestinian Womanhood so that we may arrive at a more effective and more fair course for the struggle. There is no mutual exclusivity between the fight for women’s rights and the liberation of Palestine – our submissions hammer into this wall with incisive analysis and sensual artistic renderings of the situation. Woman’s roles in the fields of development are unique and catalytic; the same can be said of her experiences in the resistance movement – the fertile area that these experiences offer for the greater fields and projects that they are part of will also be explored by our articles.

One might question whether we are overstating the role of such a narrative in the wider framework of the liberation struggle. To that we answer that the role of narrative, its functions and its effects, are indeed very difficult to gauge. But we can say with total confidence that these stories a necessary, an intrinsic part of the struggle. The history of our region and the fight for liberation is a testament to this. We have for so long tied our fight to the written word, and in particular, to the articulation of our identities…Sajjel!, Mahmoud Darwish famously once roared, Ana 3arabi…Our project recognizes this tradition and believes that we must revive it. But we must also restore it with the dynamism necessary to reflect our changing realities, and we do this by widening the net that the narrative casts on voices of Palestine. We subscribe to to teachings of Edward Said, Frantz Fanon, Audre Lorde that tell us that we must engage in a deep examination of the oppressive confines that are placed on language, by colonialism or sexism or heteronormativity, or all three, and to extract these confines in order to recreate and actualize our potentials. We understand this is as long process that can only be done through collective and conscious efforts. With that we bring to you our first issue…

We hope that you’ll enjoy and reflect on the exciting collection of articles that this issue offers. Chime in on the richly multifaceted conversation that Ghadeer Malek recreates with Palestinian rap artist, Sabreena da Witch. Let us know what you think about Yasmine Hmayel’s perspective of the new film by Just Vision, Budrus, which she examines from screening rooms in two very different geographical locations. Join Jehan Bseiso on a lyrical tour of her Palestinian childhood in the US. Finally, check out what Sawt’s Editor-in-Chief, Sara AbuGhazal, has to say about her very personal experience with the Palestinian Fairies. We hope you’ll join this conversation with your feed-back, your support, and most importantly with a contribution – written, audiovisual and otherwise– to the narratives we’re building.

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A Feminist Encounter: Sabreena Da Witch

deema kaedbey — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 21:00:00 +0000

Salma al Atassi

Ghadeer Malek

It had been long since I had connected with where I come from, when I came across a very special feminist encounter…

I met Sabreena Da Witch on women’s day 2010, and it all came together very nicely. I had watched her perform the night before at the closing fundraiser for Israeli Apartheid Week in Toronto. And now, a bunch of us sat together talking about what feminists coming together usually talk about: politics, which leads only to the most personal.

Sabreena had so much to say and we were all ears – we had all obsessively watched her movies and listened to her music for about a year now. And as expected, what she had to say resonated with us all; she was so raw in her expression on women’s issues, the meaning of justice and a national revolution. She carried a piece of home with her that was a part of all of us as Palestinian, Arab, women and feminist. There was a very special feeling to this gathering… almost like a coincidence.

Sabreena is part of a strong hip-hop movement happening all over the Arab world and especially in Palestine. Music is being used as a medium for speaking out and is now becoming a growing influence in Palestinian cultural resistance. It has become a popular avenue for self-expression to young people during a time when most spaces are sealed off to Palestinians. It also plays an important role in attempting to build bridges between the isolations suffered by Palestinians as a result of apartheid policies. Artists from Gaza, the West Bank and the Diaspora are using this common passion for speaking into the mike to sound voices of Palestinian struggles.

Hip-hop as a political force started to develop and take shape specifically during the second Intifada, a moment considered most crucial and defining amongst our generation in reviving a sense of national political struggle and identity. Sabreena’s own political awakening around Palestine also came in the wake of the second intifada:

“I didn’t know what Palestine is, I never was told what it is to be a Palestinian – the 2^nd intifada put that in my face. 13 Palestinians inside of Israel were shot – it just comes to show you that having an Israeli passport doesn’t make you any special.”

Of course once Israel was mentioned, we all started ranting about the hypocrisy of Zionism in preserving an image of itself as democratic, liberal and free to the West. Especially in issues related to women and queer people where Israel claims tolerance and equality but only uses these issues to showcase tokenistic gestures that are intended to mask Israel’s racism and spite towards Palestinians.

“I got fired from my work for speaking Arabic in Israel – democracy, it is not. If you live there for just 2 days, you will realize that if you are not Jewish then you are a nothing… this is what the state of Israel is for me, I’m always treated as a Palestinian, as an Arab, they make sure they remind you of that everyday. There isn’t even the illusion of a democracy.”

When it comes to speaking on women’s issues and Israel in the west, as feminist Palestinians living in the Diaspora, we all shared the experience of being asked numerous times why we thought critically of Israel where women have much more rights than women in Palestinian societies. It felt incredibly refreshing to have a Palestinian woman who lives in Israel and experiences it first-hand to respond to this:

“Israel never protected Arab women when it comes to honor killing; they know what is happening but they use it against Palestinians. So, if it is very obvious that a woman is to be killed, they just step out of it saying that it has nothing to do with us. It is not a country that is equal to all its citizens. They say to you these tribes have their own tribal issues. They don’t care about me.”

The issue of silencing Palestinians is very familiar to us as Palestinians living in the Diaspora. Israeli propaganda has infiltrated all mainstream media as well as popular cultural and academic spaces. The power of their lobby has succeeded in erasing out the existence of an alternative Palestinian voice. A famous example of this is the spotlight on Tel Aviv in the Toronto International Film Festival in 2009. Palestinians were outraged that after the brutal attack on Gaza a few months prior, Israel would be allowed to showcase itself as a modern developed state. This constant wiping out of Palestinian experiences not only plays to normalizing the state of Israel as an occupying colonizing force but also claims to speak of the Palestinian experience of this violence as well.

“I live what I live and no body can cancel that. You be an Arab woman and a Palestinian woman and come tell me what it is like, don’t tell me what my experience is! Don’t speak for me. Speak of your own experience as an Israeli or an American, and I will speak of mine.”

The intersection of women and Palestine proves to be challenging even within the hip-hop movement itself. Similar to national Palestinian resistance movements, national resistance through hip-hop contains a great deal of sexism and misogyny. Women artists face pressure to sing about Palestine before they can talk about their issues as women. Being Palestinian and a woman are perceived as mutually exclusive issues; together they are too distracting from the main nationalist agenda. Notice as well that this strand of thought is very similar to what we face when attempting to speak on justice for Palestine in mainstream queer rights spaces.

“I recall going to events were I was told that I’m not allowed to speak of women issues – politics first, they said to me, women rights are not our main subject. But I am Palestine. I’m a Palestinian person – whenever I speak, I speak of Palestine – whether it is right here or not, when I speak of women’s issues, I speak as a Palestinian woman – there is no such thing as we’ll take care of women’s rights later”

Women artists also have the added challenge of navigating cultural boundaries to be able to perform. Sabreena recalled difficult struggles with her family to accept her as a hip-hop artist. As she spoke, it seemed very obvious that at the core of her resistance for Palestine was her own struggle for her right to exist as a woman making her own choices, and somehow to the outside world the two couldn’t co-exist. The fight for a just and free Palestine excluded her as a woman.

“I was disappointed because I was treated as a woman first and then Palestinian. Even singing for Palestine gave me trouble, I would sing for Palestine and then my parents would yell for hours when I come home. I had to convince them every day to please let me perform.”

It was very obvious that the depth of our struggles as women is tied to this idea of women upholding the honor of our entire societies and culture. However, in order to be truly full in our analysis, we could not ignore the grander scheme of things and as feminists, we could not but point out how racism and sexism intermingle and inform one another to fulfill greater agendas of patriarchy existing everywhere.

“Up until I came to American, I had issues with the men in my community, they were the problem, Arab people don’t know how to deal with women especially if they are strong. I come here and it is worst because here they think that women are free”

We talked about the growing BDS movement (Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions) as a powerful and hopeful opportunity for resistance. We find it empowering because it is mass-based, calls for the participation of the entire world and gives agency to the individual as a contributing force towards achieving Palestinian liberation.

“I believe it brings results; take note on how many cities took part in IAW this year. It shows you where we were and where we are. You know that Zionists are freaking out when they pay attention to us and say: boycott these boycott events!”

We also talked about the complexities of BDS as Israel tries to cut corners in its process of normalizing their presence as an apartheid and colonialist state. It is also a difficult strategy to nuance and, while it is broad enough to fit any context and place, it needs to reflect the specificities of each locality.

“I was asked once what I thought of Palestinians taking part in Eurovision with an Israeli artist. I was completely against it. We don’t have a country! Don’t play this game with us, to have us representing ourselves in a show as Palestinians but we are not really Palestinians – I can’t even tell you here is my country, you can’t give a Eurovision spot and expect me to say thank you very much for letting me sit next to the Israeli representative.”

But our discussion didn’t end sorely – we somehow were celebrating each of our presence and mostly learning from Sabreena about what it takes to lead revolutions:

“Sabreen in Arabic with a double E means patience. If you study revolution, you realize that without patience you are not a revolutionary because if you expect things to change with a finger point you are down to a losing battle. It takes a long time to change generations of sexism, apartheid and racism. But I am not only Sabreen or patient but also a witch that is powerful and can rock your world”

In hindsight, this was a lot more than just a coincident gathering of women with similar experiences of resistance…it was a feminist one, like the kind that you attract to yourself. It was revolutionary like most of our choices have been. This was in fact a feminist encounter, one that we paved our path to, one that is as deliberate as encounters come.

NOTE: Information included in this piece and all quotations are taken from an interview done by Kan Ya Ma Kan – a women-run Arab radio show that airs in Toronto, Canada every Tuesday on CKLN.

Sabreena’s Newest Album “Women under the influence” includes 15 songs written and composed by her. You can purchase her album online.

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Hamayel Budrus: The Documentary

deema kaedbey — Sun, 22 Aug 2010 21:00:00 +0000

Yassmine Saleh

In its third successful film-making, after Control Room and Encounter Point, Just Vision won multiple awards for its documentary on Budrus’ non-violent resistance against the construction of the Separation Wall on its land. Just Vision’s director is Julia Bacha, who directed her first award-winning documentary about Al-Jazeera network in Control Room. Just Vision defines itself as a “non-governmental organization supporting Israeli-Palestinian peace-builders through media and education.” Without going through the details of the lessons learned from the Budrus example in resisting the construction of the Separation Wall, suffice it to say that the experience is indeed valuable and important. It is important to have that struggle documented as the film did, to make it a historical record and a testament to a crucial period in the continued Palestinian resistances against Israeli colonial measures, in all its forms. Yet this article attempts a meditative look at the way that the Palestinians and the Israelis in the film were portrayed and represented. The film begins with Ayed Morrar, who is a Palestinian man in the village of Budrus and the leader of the non-violent resistance in Budrus, directing a statement to the camera. We don’t hear the question posed to him. The form of the film is made in a way that lets the those who are in the film speak in a free flow, not in a question and answer form. Ayed organizes a meeting with the men of the village to brainstorm ideas for the best course of action against the Wall’s construction. In his own words, Ayed explained to the gathered men that they have to decide whether they want to resist the Wall’s construction or accept their fate as a given. After a few male-only demonstrations against the Wall occurred, it was time for Iltizam and the rest of the women in the village to join the resistance. According to Iltizam, the time had come for her to join the resistance, just like her earlier generation of family members did before her in the First Intifada. Resistance should not exclude women’s participation with her fellow men, Iltizam told her father. Iltizam’s courage surpassed her fear of the Israeli soldiers. At some point we see her crawling inside a hole dug by an Israeli bulldozer to stop the bulldozers from uprooting more trees. No one would have imagined that a girl would do that, but here she did it, and other women joined her, she said. Ayed was able to gather Israeli, Hamas, and Fatah activists in the demonstrations and marches. We also see a group of international peace activists from South Africa and other countries come to support the resistance.

The most memorable moment of the film occurred after Salam Fayyad came to visit the village. In preparation for the visit, the people of Budrus made extensive arrangements befitting a presidential welcome, where the people welcome Fayyad and a Scout troupe of boys and girls played on their musical instruments. A tense moment arises between Mr. Ayed and one of the advisors to Mr. Fayyad about the latter’s lack of concern to the threatening Wall on Budrus land. A frustrated Ayed said, “they cannot act like they own a tent that they want to control. A leader under occupation does not sit at his office; he should be among his people in the field attending to their needs.” In Ayed’s view, Fayyad’s visit and the accompanying welcoming celebration served the latter’s PR image and did not in any way help or show any sympathy to the plight of the villagers. Even more than that, the statement also reflected a general disappointment with the Palestinian Authority for not supporting the people of Budrus in preventing the uprooting of the olive trees, the theft of lands and the construction of the Wall.

This last statement made a good impression on the audience in Ramallah attending the premier of the film. Some cheered and clapped. In addition to documenting the escalation of violence on the side of the Israeli border army and the daily demonstrations that Budrus’ men and women held for nine months, the film also zoomed in on the story of a female Israeli soldier. The film focused on her life, in addition to interviewing other Israeli soldiers one of whom was an American-speaking soldier who was the representative of the Israeli Army in Budrus. The film producers put the spotlight on this aspect of Palestinian-Israeli interaction as a way to put a human face to the Israeli bulldozer machine as they are razed the olive trees to the ground. The second effect of incorporating the Israeli soldiers’ narrative was to lessen the impact of the brutal acts on the Palestinian civilians. Indeed, Yasmina the soldier explained to the camera that she chose to join the Border Police Army unit because it is “on the front line and it ensures the most equality between male and female soldiers.” We see her beating up Palestinian men and women with a baton. The film credit stated that Yasmina finished her military service, got married and made a family. Watching this entire account in New York City had a different feeling altogether. The US context of the soldier’s lives that was shown by the film, served to create an intimate, humanizing image of the Israeli soldier that strikes a sharp contrast with the image of her beating up the Palestinians and oppressing them, as if the latter image were the exception to the norm. As though this account is not what Palestinians live and see in their daily interactions with the Israeli soldiers. Thus showing the extra-military context that worked to find a common denominator between the Israeli military persona and the American audience, deprived the reality of a Palestinian context, in essence a propagating a myth – that beneath the military machine lies a human face. But the film also showed other cases of Israeli men who opposed the Wall’s construction and stood with the Palestinians to protect them against the Israeli soldiers’ beating of Palestinians. One particular man chose to go to prison for his support of the Palestinians and for posing as a human shield in front of Israeli violence. The biggest pitfall in the film is that it portrayed the Budrus experience as a victory, when in fact the only victory that happened is that it was no longer built on Palestinian Budrus lands but on Green line lands – the Palestinians were able to save 95% of the land. But what about the remaining 5%? Neglecting this fact and brushing it aside reflects the entire agenda and the tone of the film, which essentially celebrated the means (Palestinian non-violent resistance) as an accomplishment, regardless of the ends’ outcome. The viewer concludes that using non-violent resistance was a remarkable achievement that deserves congratulation. Portraying this as a victory essentially perpetuates an injustice. As much as the film succeeded in portraying the insidious designs of the Israeli army and soldiers, there still is some criticism to be made here. At the outset, the Israeli soldiers overall were portrayed as mere robots coming to Budrus’s land to “construct the Wall no matter what” for the security of the state of Israel.

The soldiers were interviewed extensively to explain what they are doing. “Just following orders.” The spokesman of the IDF in Budrus was an American-looking soldier speaking in his perfect English to the camera about the necessity of constructing the Wall. The power disparity between Palestinians and Israelis did not seem to be a central issue in the film dynamics. We see that the Israeli Army opted not to use violence against the Israeli and international activists on site. In fact the Israeli soldiers ordered the citizens of their country to leave the site so that they can beat up the Palestinians who stand in the way of the bulldozers. Although we see that an Israeli activist gets arrested violently and later put in prison for not complying with the orders of the Israeli soldiers. Aside from feeling that Palestinians have to settle for less with regard to their just cause and rights, the film left much to look for in terms of accurately representing the issue of the Separation Wall. This occurred particularly when Ayed addressed the camera to explain his reasoning for resisting the construction of the Wall. At one instant Ayed stated that “even though he believes that all states and nations have the right to defend themselves and protect the security of their borders, including Israel, yet Israel cannot build a wall on other people’s lands.” This reflects another dilemma with the representation of the Palestinian cause and Palestinians generally in the film. It mainly reflects the way that the Palestinian leadership distorted the Palestinian liberation strategy for resistance.

Another critical issue in the film is the way the Palestinian non-violent resistance was portrayed to have happened solely as a result of Ayed’s leadership and ability to gather IDF in Budrus and other Fatah activists together against the Wall. This is a point to be debated much, as it purports to show that it was an extraordinary feat to have a Hamas and a Fatah activist come together to resist the Occupation. But in fact, all Palestinians, of all walks of life and political affiliations fight and resist in different ways. The last point to mention here is that local Palestinian cinema is able and willing to represent the Palestinian voice accurately and in a nuanced way. The problem, however, is that this cinema does not get endorsed abroad the same way that Just Vision’s Budrus became famous and was received in major international and American festivals. Palestinian cinema suffers from a lack of representation abroad that is on par with films about Palestine that are made by non-Palestinians and feature a select few Palestinians stars (most famous of them Hiam Abbas).  Without giving an exhaustive list of Palestinian film-makers and Palestinian cinema in general, suffice it to say here that Palestine has a lot of talented filmmakers and excellent films that portrayed the conflict and the resistance that ordinary Palestinians face and conduct on a day-to-day basis. These films include Rae’d Hilou’s Hopefully for the Best, a documentary about the lives of ordinary Palestinians in the city of Ramallah and their reaction to the impending war on Iraq. They also include films made by Mai Odeh that are never mentioned. Palestinian voices documented by Palestinian film-makers need to be endorsed more abroad to show the reality of the Palestinians in their own contexts.

Publisher:

Sawt al' Niswa

Section:

Opinions

Category:

Palestinian Fairies Project

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