Split lens: Selective portrayals of the Palestinian Nakba in cinema

For years, Palestinians and Israelis have employed cinema to depict contrasting narratives of Palestine. But to what end?

Marta Kochanek

Split lens: Selective portrayals of the Palestinian Nakba in cinema

In 1895, the French brothers Louis and August Lumiere “invented cinema”.

Their pursuit began as a simple novelty, but the gargantuan cultural impact of their inventions – a revolutionary camera and projector – has proven to be anything but a short-lasting gimmick.

Soon after their inventions, the brothers began sending cameramen to various corners of the world to shoot what we now recognise as documentaries.

These short films covered subject matters that were simple, commonplace: the aftermaths of earthquakes and fires, perhaps, or famous marketplaces and archeological sites.

But they also included some of the first ever depictions of Palestine on film.

By 1896, the cameramen landed in Palestine – Jerusalem, to be exact. Only two of their films from that time remain today.

The first, titled ‘Arrivée d'un train à Perrache’ (1896) – a train arrives at Perrache station – has a reported runtime of just 1 minute, though in actuality, it’s only seconds-long.

In it, director Louis Lumiere installs a camera on the station’s platform to capture a train’s safe arrival, along with the debarking of passengers and their loved ones waiting nearby.

In another, “Départ de Jérusalem en chemin de fer” (1987) – leaving Jerusalem by railway – the Lumiere brothers shoot from inside the train, setting up in the last locomotive and capturing passersby and the surrounding area.

A train slowly trudges along, as the camera captures men and women on the platform, waiting for another train or bidding a companion farewell.

If we watch closely, we see no kippahs or other signs of Jewish affiliation. We only witness the typical Palestinian Arab dress and Turkish fez headdresses.

Propaganda, politics and sensationalism

At first, cinema might seem like a distant, insignificant relative of the 1948 Nakba. How does film relate to the catastrophic displacement of Palestinians that still ripples through the diaspora today?

But it’s crucial to note that the circumstances which precede, and follow, a historical event are inextricably tied to the event itself.

The presence of Palestinians on their own land – often reduced by Israeli politicians and leaders to no more than uncivilised desert tribes – is blatantly clear in documentaries of the time, even in films that promoted the establishment of the state of Israel.

Nonetheless, Palestinians failed to utilise cinema and its exceptional powers of persuasion to support their cause. All the while, Zionists employed cinema – both before and after the Nakba – to propagate their vision.

Since then, no decade has passed without the release of films that focus on the Palestinian cause and Israeli occupation.

But such films often fall short of effectively conveying their message to the masses.

For its part, the Israeli propaganda machine relied on two key elements in promoting its “testimonies” and narrative.

Firstly, the presence of Jewish cinematographers across the Western world, who could produce films that served the Zionist agenda.

This included portrayals of the Holocaust to discussions of the Promised Land and the right to establish a Jewish nation. Secondly, Hollywood itself, of its own volition, was making films that promoted that Jewish “right”, as seen in titles such as Otto Preminger’s “Exodus” (1960) and George Sherman’s “Sword in the Desert” (1949).

Both films were politically motivated. In their own ways, they attempted to depict the conditions of post-Nakba Palestine in a manner that justifies the usurpation of land from a religious perspective.

Like any form of propaganda, such films might seem disconnected from their political agendas at first. Upon closer inspection, however, their intentions become patently clear: to convince viewers, westerners especially, that the existence of the state of Israel is an undeniable truth.

Like any form of propaganda, such films might seem disconnected from their political agendas at first. Upon closer inspection, however, their intentions become patently clear: to convince viewers, westerners especially, that the existence of the state of Israel is an undeniable truth.

This repeats with "The Juggler", directed by Edward Dmytryk in 1953. In it, American film star Kirk Douglas portrays a Jew who survives a Nazi concentration camp and arrives in Palestine, where he wishes to find a sense of belonging.

However, he suffers from psychological traumas despite the fair conditions and new opportunities that the Israeli state affords him.

Douglas, a staunch supporter of Israel, also starred in Melville Shavelson's "Cast a Giant Shadow" (1966). In it, he plays a former US Army officer, who arrives in Palestine one year before the Nakba to take part in the establishment of the Jewish paramilitary Haganah forces.

Cast A Giant Shadow

These forces defend the Jews against Palestinian "aggression", following Great Britain's decision to divide the land between the Jews and the Arabs.

A picture begins to emerge. Cinema was no longer just an abstract reality that intended to entertain. Instead, these fictions were born of historical and political unrest, shaping public opinion both deliberately and effectively.

Hanna K

Slogans to split the masses

But one shouldn't believe that Arab filmmakers were oblivious to their role in promoting the Palestinian cause.

Indeed, they attempted to. But it was their methodology that was flawed.

In the 1960s, and early 1970s,  poorly made and poorly promoted films emerged, produced mostly by entities such as the PLO, the Popular Front, and other such Palestinian and Lebanese organisations.

The films were made with good intentions, but their lack of artistic mastery meant that they failed in their mission to amplify the voice of the Palestinian cause to an international arena. The only audience they drew was that of the Arab public (not in its entirety, of course) and of some Eastern European film festivals (Leipzig, Moscow, etc.)

The era also brought in numerous documentary films that contested the Israeli narrative. They raised the slogans of resistance and martyrdom for the sake of Palestine.

It was only natural that Palestinians and Arabs born before, or shortly after, the Nakba clung onto such slogans, rallying with the Palestinians who had lost their homelands and peace virtually overnight.

But the belligerent nature of these films worked against them, and the depiction of misery in refugee camps inspired pity at best, contempt at worst.

The belligerent nature of these films worked against them, and the depiction of misery in refugee camps inspired pity at best, contempt at worst.

One such film came in 1967. The late Christian Ghazi's "Fidaiyun" undoubtedly intended to support the Palestinian cause. But the film only served to inspire the production of films that exploited the audience's sympathy to generate profit.

There were countless others, too. "We Are All Fidaiyun" by Gary Garabedian, "The Revolutionary Palestinian" by Rida Myassar, and "My Life Is Yours, Palestine" by Antoine Remy, all three of which were produced in 1969. Then there was "The Bells of Return" by Tayseer Abboud in 1970, and "The Infiltration" by Kanaan Kanaan in 1974.

The Revolutionary Palestinian

Today, modern filmmakers are dissecting what this era of cinema represented.

As recently as 2017, filmmaker Mohanad Yaqubi produced a movie titled "Off Frame Aka Revolution Until Victory", in which he goes through an archive of these films, dubbed 'militant' by some, from the period of the Palestinian revolution.

He explores the works of well-intending directors from Palestine, Iraq, Lebanon, and Jordan, such as Samir, Mustafa Ali, Hani Jawhariyeh, Rafik Hajjar, and Adnan Mdanat. (It should be noted that Mdanat's films were more documentative in nature, with less exploitation of the masses' sentiments.)

Yaqubi's film recalls history through various documents, from newspaper clippings to archive photos, but does not stray far from the audience's acceptance of the abovementioned cinema landscape.

Directors strike a more resonant chord

Despite the failure of these films to make a widespread impact, all was not lost.

Sure, a plethora of films focused too heavily on dissent and discord and alienated audiences. But there were also movies that managed to strike a more resonant chord. Directors began to understand that in order to convey their message, they had to simulate a viewer's intellect, rather than simply play on the temporary sentiments of the masses.

In 1974, Lebanese director Burhan Alawiyeh released "Kafr Kassem", which tells the story of a massacre committed by the Israeli army in the eponymous village in 1956, a few days after Egypt's nationalisation of the Suez Canal.

A middleman collaborates with a village dignitary to persuade a group of Palestinians to work for an Israeli employer. But the Israeli Army sets a trap for the Palestinian farmers as they leave their fields.

By declaring a state of emergency, the army arrests them under the pretext of violating the law, then executes them in cold blood. Dead or alive, the perpetrators of the crime escape scot-free and without trial. 

The film criticises how some Palestinians exploited the status quo by collaborating with the occupation, becoming its henchmen and assimilating within their new reality.

They took on intermediate roles to appease Israeli officials and exploit their own compatriots, who were, at the time, reduced to either workmen or farmers. In both cases: poor.

Alawiyah's film condemns the massacre but without the overplay and extreme sentimentalism typical of other films of that era.

It also sheds light on the local atmosphere of Palestinian villages and the mostly working-class villagers, oppressed by an occupation determined to make their lives impossibly difficult, in order to seize their land and property and deprive them of any legitimate rights.

The story told in "Kafr Kassem" was not an isolated one, however. The occupation set this oppressive precedent within the first days of the 1948 war and continually reinforced it.

Film and literature became intertwined in the telling of these never-ending stories.

In fact, Alawiyeh's film was inspired by a novel written by author Asim Al-Jundi. Two years prior, Egyptian director Tawfik Saleh released "The Dupes," inspired by famed Palestinian author Ghassan Kanafani's "Men in the Sun".

Published in 1963, Kanafani's tragic novel focuses on the aftermath of the Nakba, as three young Palestinian men attempt to sneak into Kuwait, an increasingly rich country at the time, with its vast oil reserves.

They persuade a truck driver travelling from Amman to Kuwait to let them hide inside his tank. The Egyptian-made film shows the tremendous suffering the three youngsters endure, ending with them dying from the heat inside the tank.

"The Dupes"

The Nakba forgotten, or remembered?

Like Saleh, several non-Palestinian film directors contributed to the Palestinian cause through their lens.

However, Palestinian directors, especially those who personally experienced the aftermath of the Nakba, are rightfully the key storytellers in today's industry. They include Rashid Masharawi, Hani Abu-Asaad, and Michel Khleifi.

In his 2021 film "Reminiscences", which premiered at the Red Sea International Film Festival's first edition, Rashid Masharawi presents a nostalgic view of Palestine through a memoir-like voice-over.

The film includes an interview with a native of Haifa, Taher Al-Qulaybi, who paints a comprehensive picture of the city's social and cultural life before the Nakba.

The interview, conducted by the calm, articulate director himself, takes us back to the pre-1948 coastal city with its people, streets, sea, fishermen, and patrons of restaurants, cafes, and cinemas. These memories unfold as if they happened yesterday, as the film pays homage to Haifa, where Masharawi's family lived before they were forcibly displaced to the Gaza Strip.

Rashid Masharawi 

Throughout, the Haifa resident recalls beautifully ordinary activities. City people flocking to Al-Sharq, Nabeel, and Hamra cinemas to watch Egyptian films, like 'Song of Hope', which featured the famous Egyptian singer Umm Kulthum. Or maybe buying a ticket to a 'A Blow of Fate' by Youssef Wahbi, another favourite amongst Palestinian cinemagoers.

These recollections unfold against the backdrop of Masharawi's understated cinematic style, which is void of the sensationalist, politically loaded heavy-handedness of films past. Instead, he gives space to the sprawling, collective Palestinian memory to unfurl naturally, decorated by commonplace and mundane scenes of a daily life.

These recollections unfold against the backdrop of Masharawi's understated cinematic style, which is void of the sensationalist, politically loaded heavy-handedness of films past.

Masterfully employing sound to add to the film's vividness – waves crashing, songs in cafés, and the rhythm of daily life – he's able to depict just how good life was at the time.

Palestinian director Michel Khleifi

Some three decades before Masharawi, another Palestinian director, Michel Khleifi, focused more on the aftermath of the Nakba and the Israeli occupation in his two films, "Fertile Memory" (1981) and "Wedding in Galilee" (1987).

In many films made by Palestinians and Arabs, the Nakba itself is no longer the main theme, but rather, its aftermath. More recent examples of this include Hany Abu Asaad's "Paradise Now" (2005) and Elia Suleiman's "Divine Intervention" (2002).

But the phenomenon of focusing on the aftershocks of the Nakba's is not new, nor is it restricted to Arab filmmakers.

Greek-French director Costa-Gavras' 1983 film, "Hanna K", attempted the very same. Through a legal framework, the film delves into the fractured sense of Palestinian belonging to Palestine after the Nakba.

The late Oscar-nominated American actress Jill Clayburgh plays a lawyer representing a Palestinian man (played by Mohammed Bakri), who is seeking to regain his property, upon which lies his demolished house.

This, after an Israeli judicial order is issued to seize said land. Irish Golden Globe-winner Gabriel Byrne plays the opposition lawyer who defends the Israeli order, attempting to obstruct the Palestinian man's plight for justice.

But despite its big stars, the film's commercial screenings were limited. Foreign film distributers grappled, perhaps, with a fear and reluctance, unwilling to face the consequences of releasing such a pro-Palestinian title.

But despite its big stars, the film's commercial screenings were limited. Foreign film distributers grappled, perhaps, with a fear and reluctance, unwilling to face the consequences of releasing such a pro-Palestinian title.

It appears, then, that it matters little whether Palestinian and non-Palestinian directors are willing to tell these post-Nakba stories in an effective manner, whether sensationalist or grounded, when their attempts either fall on deaf ears or remain stifled by an industry unwilling to acknowledge them.

In the opening scenes of one of his films, French director Jean-Luc Godard holds up two 1948 photographs that condense the vast Palestinian tragedy of the Nakba into small pieces of paper.

In the first, a boat carries Palestinians fleeing the port of Haifa (likely to Lebanon). In the second, a steamship arrives at a Palestinian seaport with Jewish immigrants onboard.

Two photographs, which can be summed up in one simple sentence: One group of peoples replaces another.

But in cinema, it seems, one image remains more prevalent, and the other forgotten.

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