MIFTAH
Monday, 1 July. 2024
 
Your Key to Palestine
The Palestinian Initiatives for The Promotoion of Global Dialogue and Democracy
 
 
 

Seeing the refugees fleeing Syria and their refugee camps, and hearing their pleas for solidarity, mercy or for God’s help to end their suffering, one finds eerie similarities between their experience and that of the Palestinians, Lebanese and Iraqis. The worse part of the tragedy is when it is so prolonged that video footage, photos and personal accounts meant to describe a grave reality wind up becoming the ever-present state of affairs, a painful and humiliating status quo.

But is there a line of demarcation that people cross, where they cease to represent a real crisis — humanitarian, political or any other — merely subsisting in their anguish, simply counting days in their UN-supplied tents as they await salvation? What is the use of a photo when the human conscience has grown numb and merely appreciates the artistic expression of the photo, not the moral and political crisis it represents?

These thoughts and more occupied my mind when, on February 15, Paul Hansen, a Swedish photographer from the Swedish daily Dagens Nyheter, won The World Press Photo of the Year in 2012. It was, according to Reuters, “the world’s largest annual press photography contest”.

The winning photo documented an event that has been repeated hundreds of times in Gaza in the last few years. Bereaved families and neighbours filled with pain and despair carry the frail bodies of little children who died in one Israeli strike or another. They walk shoulder to shoulder in the alleyways of their towns or refugee camps, weeping, chanting and praying to God to send their little ones to Paradise. Photographers snap numerous shots, selected ones get published and the most prized wins awards. Sadly, even then, nothing changes the persistently agonising reality.

Almost a trademark demand that most victims have is for the world to know of their plight. There is a pervading impression that when the “world” knows, the “world” will not allow injustice to perpetuate. Of course, it is not so simple, especially in the case of the Palestinians.

Referring to the winning photo, jury member Mayu Mohanna said: “The strength of the picture lies in the way it contrasts the anger and sorrow of the adults with the innocence of the children. It’s a picture I will not forget.”

Photos taken in Palestine often reflect that very experience, a contrast between, say, a woman crying because her house was demolished while settlers celebrate a new conquest, a family terrified by a raid on their home as soldiers enthusiastically destroy their furniture, and a million more. Needless to say, they are often bloody, and ever “artistic”.

Of course, it is not exactly the responsibility of the photojournalist, nor that of the photography award judges, to ensure that the meaning of the photo is disseminated in such a way as to affect political and humanitarian outcomes. It is still disturbing, however, that painful conflicts are reduced to photos, footage and sound bites, and eventually are appreciated for something other than the urgent and utter need to compel whatever action is needed to bring people’s suffering to an end.

There is a photo of Samer Issawi, a Palestinian political prisoner who has reportedly staged the longest hunger strike in modern history, as he is wheeled to and from an Israeli courtroom.

It was taken by activestills.org, whose work has left an important mark in terms of disseminating powerful imagery pertaining to the Palestinian struggle, the Israeli occupation and more. In the photo, Samer looks like a shadow of his former self (the already slim young man lost 35 kg), his hands clasped at his chest, his beard long and untrimmed, yet his face glowing as if he were grateful to the man or woman who snapped his photo while being dragged somewhere by impatient Israeli prison and court officials.

Samer naturally hopes that the photo, and many others, will be used as a tool to spread a message of his critical situation, but, more importantly, of the collective cause he represents. His supporters want to achieve a similar end. But without political will, real action and pressure, that photo is likely to end up in some archive with little consequence for Samer’s fate and for the freedom of thousands of Palestinian prisoners in Israeli jails.

Starting most noticeably with the first Palestinian Intifada in 1987, Palestine offered incredible photo opportunities for journalists. It was not exactly common that a whole nation should take to the street where youth battled well-equipped soldiers with slingshots and empty fists for several years in a row.

Even a random photo that involves barefooted children at war against Israeli tanks would have many “contrasts” and artistic worth.

Back then, many Palestinians were convinced that once these images reached the world, the tide turned in favour of Palestinian rights. To a degree, it did, as if it had suddenly been discovered that Palestinians do exist beyond whatever stereotypes Israel had managed to concoct about them through its media influence. However, the barrier between public sentiments and government action remained erect.

It would have made little difference whether US officials viewed Intifada photos, for the US government’s position on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict was never determined by values such as human rights, freedom and the right to self-determination.

All the photos of all the dying children do not alone alter even a single footnote in the US’ “unconditional support” of Israeli doctrine.

These images must be coupled with passionate political activism, decided public pressure, legal action and numerous other methods to hold Israel accountable for the gory images and the US for allowing Israel free range in murdering Palestinians.

A photo on its own, no matter how artistic, compelling, captivating, even incensing, is not enough. It must be combined with or followed by solid actions and a clear strategy to ensure that someday no such tragic contexts exist for photographers to freeze them in time and place.

Palestinians — and Syrians — are not mere opportunities for award-winning photos to be snapped.

“My people are not animals in a zoo” is the famous quote from Palestinian novelist and intellectual Ghassan Kanafani to a Danish journalist who later became his wife, as she requested to visit refugee camps in Lebanon.

“You must have a good background about them before you go and visit,” he said. Kanafani was assassinated in an Israeli Mossad car bomb, along with his niece, in July 1972, but his words endure.

Palestinians, as well as other people who are undergoing protracted tragedies, are neither “animals in zoos” nor only mere subjects of artistic expression, no matter how noble. Their tragedies deserve resolutions and tangible remedies.

All that victims in photos hope to achieve is for their oppression to end, not for the victimisation itself to become an accepted state of affairs and an end in itself, detached from any serious political dynamics that could compel change.

 
 
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