Nicholas Baer

From Film Quarterly, Fall 2018, Volume 72, Number 1

The terrain of history is perhaps nowhere more fraught than in the Israeli/Palestinian context, a highly charged force field of ethno-religious identities, political ideologies, and conflicting territorial claims. Overlaid with collective memories and symbolic meanings, the landscape has borne witness to war and imperial conquest, shifting regimes and borders, perpetual occupation and injustice, and overlapping yet seemingly irreconcilable narratives of past experience. Take 1948: celebrated by Zionists for the establishment of the State of Israel in the wake of the Holocaust, the year is remembered by Palestinian Arabs as the Nakba (“catastrophe”), given the forcible dispossession and expulsion of an estimated 750,000 native inhabitants. And where many Israeli Jews have cast their nation’s founding as a return to political sovereignty after nearly two millennia in the diaspora, Palestinians have sought to assert a counterhistory in a condition of subjugation and exilic dispersal from their land.

Insofar as the Nakba and subsequent displacements have been systematically concealed and disavowed by hegemonic forces, the imparting of Palestinian experience requires a degree of dissidence, challenging ahistorical conceptions of the population and drawing attention to traumatic, unresolved aspects of its past that have been effaced in the service of settler colonialism. As Edward Said wrote, “Perhaps the greatest battle Palestinians have waged as a people has been over the right to a remembered presence and, with that presence, the right to possess and reclaim a collective historical reality, at least since the Zionist movement began its encroachments on the land.”¹ For Said, an acknowledgment of Palestinians’ historical and geographical plight—including the dual assaults of military incursion and land confiscation that they have faced over the past century—would be requisite for any peaceful resolution to the devastating, intractable conflict in the Middle East.

Palestinian Cinema in the Days of Revolution (2018) analyzes films of the Palestinian national liberation movement (a.k.a. al-thawrah al-filastiniyah, or the Palestinian revolution) that constructed what author Nadia Yaqub, with a nod to Said, calls an “imaginative Palestinian geography” during the era of armed struggle for independent statehood (7).² Between 1968 and 1982, a small unit of young, politically committed filmmakers operating under the auspices of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) created works (primarily documentaries and shorts) that, in Yaqub’s words, “treated Palestinian encounters with violence, militant response to that violence, and difficulties related to Palestinians’ status as a stateless people” (7). Made with limited resources and under highly precarious circumstances, these important yet largely unknown films emerged in the context of political cinema movements (e.g., alternative Arab cinema, Third and Third World Cinema) and screened for Palestinian and regional Arab audiences as well as at festivals and other venues across the globe.

PLO filmmakers were acutely aware of the archival significance of their work. By shooting the militant political activity as it unfolded, they hoped not only to lend their movement greater visibility among contemporaries, but also, as Yaqub notes, “to capture and store history so that it would be available for others to see and understand at a later time” (162). This anticipated future, however, would soon be foreclosed: the Israeli invasion of Beirut in 1982 led to the departure of the PLO from Lebanon, thereby ending the Palestinian revolution. In the process, the organization’s archive also vanished, heightening the sense of loss and causing a major rupture in the history of Palestinian film production. Drawing from extensive research and personal communication, Yaqub positions her book as a contribution to ongoing efforts “to preserve, disseminate, and interpret this work before its traces in archives around the world disappear and while its producers—the filmmakers of the 1970s—are still alive” (3).

Divided into six chapters, Yaqub’s book places cinema of the Palestinian revolution in a broad trajectory extending from the Nakba up to the present day. Chapter 1 concentrates on the period between 1948 and 1967, when media depictions of Palestinian refugees came almost exclusively from external sources (e.g., journalists, international relief agencies) and encouraged what Yaqub terms a “humanitarian gaze, one that depoliticizes the Palestinian narrative even as it seeks to speak for its protagonists” (17). Though lacking the means of collective action and cinematic self-representation, individual Palestinians were able to process their experiences of the 1948 Arab–Israeli War and subsequent exilic life through literature and painting. In Yaqub’s account, writers and artists such as Samira Azzam, Ghassan Kanafani, Ibrahim Ghannam, and Ismail Shammout expressed an incipient political consciousness that would assume the form of an organized resistance movement by the late 1960s.

The book’s middle three chapters center on filmmaking by Palestinians and allies that served the project of national liberation following the 1967 war. Chapter 2 chronicles the development of the Palestine Film Unit (later the Palestine Cinema Institute) and spotlights a founding member, Mustafa Abu Ali, who directed films such as Zionist Aggression (ʿUdwan sihyuni, 1972) and They Do Not Exist (Laysa lahum wujud, 1974). The following chapter traces the rise of alternative cinema in the Arab world, examining the range of Palestinian-focused films made within Syrian public-sector cinema and television between 1969 and 1974. In the fourth chapter, Yaqub charts the solidarity networks (e.g., the Third World Cinema Committee) that shaped Palestinian filmmaking and facilitated transnational coproductions. While these networks restricted the formal experimentation that distinguished earlier Palestinian films, they offered institutional support and a wider media circuit for the PLO unit, particularly in Arab and socialist countries.

The last two chapters consider the afterlives of PLO cinema on social media platforms and in contemporary visual culture. Chapter 5 profiles two Facebook groups that commemorate the 1976 siege and fall of the Tall al-Zaʿtar refugee camp, where thousands of Palestinians died at the hands of right-wing Lebanese militias during the country’s civil war. These online groups include survivors and their descendants, who share photographs, news footage, and films of the event. In the sixth chapter, Yaqub addresses the cinematic legacies of the Palestinian revolution in the twenty-first century. Although Palestinian directors like Michel Khleifi who rose to prominence in the 1980s and 1990s were largely unfamiliar with cinema of the liberation movement, a younger generation of artists, curators, filmmakers, and scholars has sought to restore PLO films to the historical record, facilitating new understandings of images that have been both inaccessible and obscured by “ideological layers” (218).

Complementing these recent archive-based projects, Yaqub’s book helps to recover a period of revolutionary activity whose hopes and promises have been left unfulfilled. Palestinians continue to confront forms of dispossession and state-sanctioned violence, and the prospects for national liberation appear significantly diminished. “Today,” Yaqub notes, “the political landscape for Palestinians is as fragmented as it was in the immediate aftermath of the 1948 war” (8). The following conversation took place shortly after the seventieth anniversary of the founding of Israel, on May 14, 2018—a day that included the opening of the new U.S. embassy in Jerusalem along with the Israeli killing of over sixty Palestinian protesters (and the wounding of twenty-seven hundred more) taking part in the six-week “Great March of Return” in Gaza. Such developments provided a grave reminder that the historical narratives of 1948 remain radically incommensurable and the Nakba persists as a traumatic feature of our time.

Nicholas Baer: At the outset of your book, you write, “Palestinian archives are continually being erased, and resisting that erasure is a key component of Palestinian activism” (2). Your own study is especially significant given the disappearance of the PLO archives in 1982. What sources proved most useful in piecing together this filmic history, and can you speak more generally about how the Palestinian context challenges traditional approaches to the archive?

Nadia Yaqub: I relied heavily on the research, publications, and programming of others. In particular, the extensive work of the Palestine Film Foundation and its 2014 program “The World Is with Us” was fundamental to the book. Through the screenings and gallery installation of that program, I was able to study more than thirty films by Palestinians and solidarity activists. Some of that material has become available on YouTube, and a few titles can be purchased from distributors, but many others remain very difficult to see. While my book includes discussions of a number of films that were not included in that program (e.g., the Syrian material and the films that Kais al-Zubaidi made in the late 1970s), it would not be an exaggeration to say that the project would not have materialized without “The World Is with Us.” The library of the Institute for Palestinian Studies in Beirut was another crucial resource since it contains copies of almost all publications of the PLO and various Palestinian political organizations.

It is true that the loss of the PLO archives during the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in 1982 meant that I had to do quite a bit of sleuthing to track down information and documents. The libraries and archives I used, as well as the individuals who generously shared information, images, films, documents, and publications, are listed in the book, so I won’t repeat that information here. As is common with this type of research, one source often led to another, and my work involved following those threads. In my experience, people who participated in Palestinian filmmaking of the 1970s and the scholars, artists, and curators working on this material today are eager to share what they know and have. They want information about the Palestinian revolution and its films to be widely known.

The loss of the PLO archives is not trivial, but Palestinian filmmaking of the 1970s was a global affair, and information about this work can be found in numerous film periodicals, publications by activists, and archives of relevant film festivals and coproduction partners. The work was also well documented by the filmmakers themselves in books, articles, and pamphlets. Finding this material is not terribly difficult if one has the resources of an excellent research library and relevant language skills.

One of the consequences of the precariousness of Palestinian archives more generally is that researchers must rely at least in part on non-Palestinian archives—those of Israel and other governments, institutions, organizations, individuals, and so forth. They must often read these archives against the grain in order to uncover a Palestinian perspective on events and conditions. In this regard, research on Palestine resembles that on many other colonized peoples. On the other hand, because of global interest in Palestine for political and religious reasons, Palestine and the Palestinians are substantively represented in many, many archives.

Israel holds some of the most comprehensive archives of Palestinian material. Its archives include materials that archivists and librarians have collected systematically as well as the Palestinian archives that Israel has seized during the past seven decades. Access to this archival material is limited.³ Most Palestinians cannot even visit the Israeli institutions that house these archives, and for much of this material, access is highly restricted or prohibited to all scholars.

Baer: Aside from gaining access to the PLO films and relevant textual materials, what were some of the greatest difficulties in researching and writing this monograph, particularly with regard to historical method? What was the process of devising the study, and how did you decide on the book’s scope, overarching structure, and division of chapters? Were there aspects of your project as originally conceived that you excluded from the final version?

Yaqub: The biggest difficulty for me, and one that I did not manage to address adequately, concerns the received narrative of how Palestinian cinema began in the late 1960s and developed through the 1970s. The basic contours of the narrative of the founding of the Palestinian Film Unit and the later formation of the Palestinian Cinema Institute were written in the 1970s by members of those units—Hani Jawhariyah, Mustafa Abu Ali, and Khadijeh Habashneh—and have been repeated in several subsequent writings.

This narrative ends in 1973. The history of the mid-1970s through the early 1980s and that of other film units (e.g., those of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine and the Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine) have not been systematically recounted. Even that of the early years is relatively thin. Little is known about personalities and almost nothing about relationships between individuals. What types of conversations did the PFU members have about filmmaking or the events they experienced? Attempting to answer these and many other questions requires access to private papers (if they have survived the various dislocations that have defined Palestinian history) and the type of close relationships with survivors (of whom there are very few today) that are likely to elicit intimate memories through oral interviews. I found interviewees to be very forthcoming with information and material, but memories of long-ago events are often shaped by received narratives, such that aspects of an experience that fall outside that narrative may be difficult or impossible to recall.

There was not space in my book to discuss fully solidarity filmmaking from the West, and for a number of reasons (lack of time and linguistic expertise, to mention just two), I did not address Palestinian films by Eastern European filmmakers at all. I am not trained as a historian, and while the historical context of the films I discuss is crucial to my analysis, my main goal with the book is to understand the films themselves and their place in the world both at the time they were created and first screened and today.

The structure for the book evolved out of my research process and questions that arose from that research. Initially, the study of film from the 1970s was going to be one chapter in a book about Palestinian engagement with images of violence and victimization, but I found myself needing to understand an expanded range of issues that eventually shaped the structure of the book. I needed to know what types of images preceded the revolution before I could define what the revolution contributed to Palestinian image making. (This led to the first chapter of my book on literature and art of the period between the 1948 and 1967 wars.)

The imbrication of PLO and Arab public-sector cinema led to my research into early Syrian cinema and a chapter about Palestinian films produced there in the early 1970s. I needed to know how and where films circulated in order to understand their intended effects. The result of that research is the chapter on film circuits and institutionalization. Once I realized that my chapter had grown to become a book, I needed to think through the relevance of this filmmaking to Palestinians today. This led to the last two chapters: one about Tall al-Zaʿtar that focuses on contemporary uses of images from the Palestinian revolution at a grassroots level, and another describing the revolution’s effects on filmmaking today.

Baer: Yours is the first book-length study of 1970s Palestinian cinema available in English. How would you situate your monograph in the field of Palestinian film scholarship, including Hamid Dabashi’s Dreams of a Nation: On Palestinian Cinema (2006) and Nurith Gertz and George Khleifi’s Palestinian Cinema: Landscape, Trauma and Memory (2008)? And could you share your broader thoughts on the current state of Palestinian cinema studies?

Yaqub: Mine is the first book on 1970s Palestinian cinema in English, but I relied heavily on the work of earlier scholars in other languages, including La Palestine et le cinéma (edited by Guy Hennebelle and Khemais Khayati), which first appeared in French in 1977, and several works in Arabic by filmmakers and critics such as Hassan Abu Ghanimah, Adnan Madant, Walid Shamit, Kassem Hawal, and Kais al-Zubaidi. The two books you mention include important sections on cinema of the 1970s, although neither work focuses exclusively on this time period. Joseph Massad’s chapter in Dabashi’s book lucidly traces the formation and expansion of Palestinian cinema in the late 1960s and early 1970s but is very brief. Gertz and Khleifi’s treatment of the 1970s material is somewhat longer and benefited from access to several films from the period in addition to the documents that both they and Massad used. I disagree with their analysis of the PLO films as traumatic renarrations of the Nakba, however. That reading ignores the ongoing nature of the Nakba and the very real experience of a new encounter with violence that each of the films they analyze addresses.⁴

In general, the amount and variety of filmmaking about Palestine and the Palestinians far outpace the scholarship about it. Both books you mention are now more than ten years old (Gertz and Khleifi’s book first appeared in Hebrew in 2005), and the study of significant developments since then in documentary, narrative, and experimental cinema, not to mention the various types of video circulating through social media, has been quite uneven. A number of excellent articles or book chapters have appeared about a handful of filmmakers—Kamal Aljafari, Hany Abu-Assad, Michel Khleifi, and Elia Suleiman come to mind immediately—but many trends in Palestinian cinema of the past decade and a half have yet to be systematically studied, among them the explosion in the number of films being made (including a large number of student films), the expanding network of Palestinian film festivals, the social and therapeutic uses of filmmaking, and developments in film narratives, video art, film essays, and documentary.

Baer: In your book, you explore the possibilities of film as a medium of collective political struggle, highlighting “an as yet understudied aspect of third cinema, namely, the degree to which it is shaped by the compromises that necessarily accompany revolutionary belonging” (2). Can you say more about how Palestinian cinema sheds new light on political filmmaking?

Yaqub: My goal with the book is to contribute to our understanding of political cinema through close readings of films and attention to contextual details that illuminate some of the complexities inherent in this type of engaged creativity. How constraints, contingencies, and opportunities all shaped this film movement and the works that emerged from it expands our understanding of how cultural production works in the real world. Because filmmaking is complex, expensive, and collaborative, it is marked by compromise. This is particularly true of political filmmaking. Film scholars often focus on visionary filmmakers whose primary commitment is to their art. By treating the works of filmmakers who were committed to both filmmaking and a political project, I have attempted to offer an alternative understanding of compromise as a mode of film production. Compromise certainly limits expression, but it is also a necessary force that produces certain types of texts that deserve to be studied seriously and understood on their own terms.

Baer: You embrace a “generous, perhaps even humble viewing practice” (12), abstaining from evaluating the films and their political project, and I was struck by the contrast between the militant tone of the content you analyze and the fact-bound sobriety of your own prose. Could you explain the decisions you made in positioning yourself vis-à-vis the material?

Yaqub: Most of the films I analyze in the book are by definition works of advocacy. In my analyses, I don’t hide that fact, but I also strive to illuminate other aspects of these works: their rhetorical force, how they may be engaging with both Palestinian lived experience and concurrent global trends in filmmaking. A great deal has been written about the political and military side of the Palestinian revolution. The urgency of politics can be seductive, drawing researchers into its orbit to the exclusion of everything else. The “sober” prose you describe is the result of a great deal of editing and rewriting. I knew that readers would need some contextual information to understand the films I analyze, but giving the films their due required that I avoid delving into the arguments for and against particular political ideologies, structures, and tactics. To do so would have shifted the focus of the book away from the films themselves and how they work as films. Adopting a restrained tone when recounting painful or controversial historical events is one method I consciously deployed in order to retain that focus.

Baer: As you observe, films of the national liberation movement often link the Palestinian cause to other historical struggles and atrocities. In my own experience teaching Abu Ali’s They Do Not Exist, some are troubled by the invocation of Nazi genocide before images of Israel’s bombing of a Palestinian refugee camp (a juxtaposition that recalls similar moments in the Palestinian work of Jean-Luc Godard, whom Abu Ali had assisted on Until Victory [Jusqu’à la victoire, Dziga Vertov Group, 1970]). I’d be curious to hear your take on the politics and potential problematics of such comparisons.

Yaqub: I don’t see Abu Ali’s comparative perspective as particularly troubling. Liberation movements of that time, including that of the Palestinians, rightly saw their struggles in a global context. This was a foundational tenet of third worldism and the various transnational initiatives (including the Third World Cinema Committee and the New World Information and Communication Order) that evolved from it. There are differences between various struggles that relate to specific local conditions and particular experiences, but a short film like They Do Not Exist is not the place to elaborate on those differences.

I am not bothered by Abu Ali’s juxtaposition of the Nazi genocide with images of the 1974 Israeli bombing of Lebanon. Of course there is a vast difference in scale. However, Israel’s repeated and disproportional attacks on Palestinian and other Arab civilians are rooted in a worldview that is very similar to that which produced the genocide against European Jews. In both cases violence is made possible by dehumanizing the Other, understanding his or her life as less valuable than one’s own. As we speak in May 2018, Israeli soldiers are wounding or killing thousands of protesters participating in the “Great March of Return” in Gaza. This violence is the logical extension of the 1970s bombings of camps and villages in Lebanon in the sense that all residents of a region (Palestinians and Lebanese in South Lebanon in one case and Palestinians in Gaza in the other) are categorized as combatants or potential combatants and hence legitimate targets of deadly violence.

It is important to remember that the official policy of the PLO from 1969 to 1974 (at which time the organization began working within the framework of a two-state solution) called for the creation of a democratic, secular state in Palestine.⁵ That ideal may not have been practicable, and the actions of some organizations under the PLO umbrella at times contradicted it, but it was the ideological framework within which Abu Ali was working when he created They Do Not Exist, and it was a vision shared by many working within the PLO and in solidarity with it. Within this framework, to compare the Nazi Holocaust to Israel’s bombing is not meant to trivialize the former, but rather to point to what is similar in the worldview that gives rise to violence and to argue for an alternative, more inclusive politics.

Baer: John Collins’s Global Palestine (2011) emphasizes the ambivalence of Palestinians’ “hyper-visibility,”⁶ whereby the population has remained the object of media attention but has been perpetually reduced to acts of terrorism (e.g., the 1970 Dawson’s Field hijackings, the 1972 Munich massacre). Could you elaborate on the “different type of visibility” (3) fostered by Palestinian films of the 1970s, and perhaps identify some of the misconceptions of Palestinian history, activism, and cultural production that you hope to correct with your book?

Yaqub: This is a very difficult question to answer succinctly, given how many misconceptions there are about the Palestinian question. In addition to Collins’s book, one must also consider Gil Hochberg’s work on invisibility and the deployment of strategies of opacity (as conceptualized by Édouard Glissant) by some Palestinian filmmakers today.⁷

I think the gravest, most pervasive, and most persistent misconception about Palestine is the notion that the struggle is outside of history—that Arabs and Jews have always hated each other and that there is therefore nothing to be done to ease that enmity. The history that Palestinians and Israelis have together is an entirely modern phenomenon, born of European colonialism in the region and of European anti-Semitism. It is the result of a very modern reorganization of the region whereby what had been overlapping categories (on the one hand, Arabs who practiced various religions including Judaism, and on the other, Jews, many of whom were Arab) were violently wrenched apart in the immediate aftermath of World War II.⁸ In addition, the Palestinian struggle and its cultural production have had their own very dynamic history. This is reflected in the films themselves—in the differences between works of the early 1970s and the late 1970s.

Baer: Gender is an issue of sustained concern in your study, especially as you indicate the ways in which Palestinian loss has been experienced as a form of “emasculation” or “sexual and social impotence” (38, 108) and as you foreground the crucial contributions of women. Can you speak more about gender as a category of historical analysis for the Palestinian revolution?

Yaqub: There is a long history of Palestinian women’s activism and social work beginning during the Ottoman period and continuing to the present. During the Palestinian revolution, gender equality was foregrounded as a concern of some of the constitutive organizations of the PLO. This concern is evident in several films by European solidarity activists in which women’s participation in armed struggle and political education is highlighted.

Women were very active within the Palestinian revolution. They engaged in extensive social and organizational work. However, they were largely absent from organizational leadership and did not wield political power. PLO leaders had no interest in documenting the critically important work of the General Union of Palestinian Women on behalf of Palestinian refugee communities. The organization had no periodicals, for instance. Moreover, the interest of various organizations in gender equality was often limited to showcasing the participation of women in roles that were traditionally identified with men (e.g., as fighters). For a number of reasons, they did not systematically address social structures that were disadvantageous to women and girls.

It was widely accepted that national liberation had to precede so-called secondary issues such as women’s liberation. This, by the way, was not a specifically Arab or Palestinian perspective. It was a common position within liberation movements globally. Palestinians and others have been producing extensive, high-quality scholarship on women and gender since the 1970s. Diana Allan, Frances Hasso, Jehan Helou, Julie Peteet, and Rosemary Sayigh are just a few of the scholars who have written substantively about the experiences of Palestinian women refugees in exile.

Baer: In your book’s final chapter, you write, “Since the Oslo Accords, the PLO has largely abandoned any claim for refugees to return to their homes. … There is little space for Palestinians to imagine any sort of collective political solution, although, remarkably, some continue to strive toward that goal. In this context, the ethos of collective belonging and revolutionary action feels quite distant” (198). What struck you in revisiting films of the Palestinian revolution today, against the backdrop of recent developments in the Middle East?

Yaqub: Definitely the most striking quality of the earlier material is its optimism. One still encounters expressions of hope in relation to Palestinian activism—a belief in the ultimate triumph of justice, for instance—but there is no organized political project today like the Palestinian revolution of the 1970s. Individuals and groups are conducting important work for Palestinian rights, but there exists no unifying vision for how to arrive at a better future or what that future should constitute—whether the goal is an amelioration of conditions on the ground, an end to occupation, one, two, or no states, and so forth. Already in the 1970s Arab states were using the Palestinian cause for their own political ends that had little or nothing to do with the Palestinians and their needs. Today, Palestinians must contend with the residue of five decades of that instrumentalization and the cynicism it has engendered. The Palestinian cause has also been affected in complex ways by various Islamic political movements in recent decades.

Contemporary Palestinian activism has been shaped by neoliberalism and its effects on concepts of selfhood and one’s relationship to community. All of this is reflected in one way or another in the films Palestinians are making today, and in particular in the various ways in which they engage with the Palestinian revolution, with nostalgia, anger, and resignation. However, my book should not be read as an elegy. This is a bleak time politically and economically not just for Palestinians but for the Arab world as a whole, and it is difficult to imagine how conditions in the region might improve anytime soon. Nonetheless, there is a tremendous degree of cultural and political dynamism in the Arab world. People are very active at the local level, and a wealth of innovative art, film, literature, and music is emerging from the region. We must not lose sight of that work and the promise it contains.

Notes

1. Edward W. Said, “Invention, Memory, and Place,” Critical Inquiry 26, no. 2 (Winter 2000): 184. See also Edward W. Said, “Zionism from the Standpoint of Its Victims,” Social Text no. 1 (Winter 1979): 7–58; W. J. T. Mitchell, “Holy Landscape: Israel, Palestine, and the American Wilderness,” Critical Inquiry 26, no. 2 (Winter 2000): 193–223; and Judith Butler, Parting Ways: Jewishness and the Critique of Zionism (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), 205–24.
2. On Yaqub’s use of the term, see also p. 73 and 235–29 in her book. On Said’s notion of “imaginative geography,” see his Orientalism (New York: Pantheon, 1978); Culture and Imperialism (New York: Knopf, 1993); and “Invention, Memory, and Place,” 181.
3. Rona Sela, “The Genealogy of Colonial Plunder and Erasure: Israel’s Control over Palestinian Archives,” Social Semiotics 28, no. 2 (2018): 201–29.
4. Nurith Gertz and George Khleifi, Palestinian Cinema: Landscape, Trauma and Memory (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2008), 60.
5. Rashid Khalidi, The Iron Cage: The Story of the Palestinian Struggle for Statehood (Boston: Beacon, 2007), 154–55, 192.
6. John Collins, Global Palestine (London: C. Hurst & Co., 2011), 6.
7. Gil Z. Hochberg, Visual Occupations: Violence and Visibility in a Conflict Zone (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2015); Édouard Glissant, Poetics of Relation, trans. Betsy Wing (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1997).
8. Ella Shohat, On the Arab-Jew, Palestine, and Other Displacements: Selected Writings (London: Pluto, 2017).