How Writing Inspires Action

Since I wrote my last post, I can confidently say that I put in the hours to grow, improve, and work. I felt my blood flow through the blessing of movement and exercise under the Levantine Khamaseeni weather of February, clouds passing by quickly to say hello. I developed my website, this ever growing virtual space that needs to be created and verbalized to communicate with the world. I added my prints page, where people can purchase physical and virtual prints to be able to hang some art in their spaces. I added a services pages, where I figured out what I, Suhayb, can specifically provide help with to others. I included the famous Sohype as a service to whoever needs any hyping. I collected my gear and put it to functional shape to make videos and photos whenever duty calls. I welcomed a fellow Arab American photographer who also is doing a project on her Palestinian grandmother into my home. I met with several schools to explore possibilities of working together, both in Jordan and abroad.

I watched a few films. Drive My Car (2021) by Ryusuke Hamaguchi was notable for its character stories, its themes of loss and performance, and its portrait of Hiroshima. Exit Through the Gift Shop (2010) was the most random find that I could have encountered, but it was one that I was eternally grateful for. Searching for 2010 documentaries, I happened to be pulled by this film’s description. The film was a gift in a way I could never have imagined. The story of a French man who was a true artist: mysterious in their intentions, but adamant in their practice, creating a story for some of the most famous street artists and for himself that came out of sheer determination and curiosity. Resistance - Why (1971) is a film explaining the reasons why Palestinians decided fight oppression and occupation through armed resistance. Palestinians who were the main victims of the 1948 Nakba were incredibly eloquent in English, which allowed for this powerful film to be presented to the western world. Hirokazu Koreeda’s Monster (2023) showed intentional subtle camera movement and told the story through the points of view of several characters, allowing for an enticing buildup until the end of the film, where all the stories lined up. I am now a quarter way through Chloe Zhao’s incredible Nomadland (2021), where she puts people living on the margin of society into the main light through the eyes of the courageous and delicate character played by Frances McDormand. Her ability to weave the stories of these people in the film feels like an optical needle, allowing for these stories to be expressed genuinely, honestly, and without any right for me to hear them.

I watched Jordan’s men’s national football team reach where they never dreamt of reaching, the final of the Asian Cup. I watched the final at home with my sister. My heart never totally satisfied with our success, only because it was rightfully muted by the excruciating tragedy that is happening just several hundred kilometers away. I spent time with my grandmother, eating her lunch everyday, always with soup, salad, and her homemade juice that will always increase in sugar as she gets older. We also watched the news after lunch with a cup of green tea everyday, which resulted in a daily meditation of listening to military and casualty updates while my eyes drifted into another world trying to understand it all.

Until one night I felt that instead of watching all these films, I should be learning about Palestine. I quickly changed my browser tab to a film that a friend shared online of a collection of interviews of ex-IDF soldiers sharing their stories of occupation and violence. That night I passed out thinking about those soldiers, and woke up to a voice note reading a story. I listened to the story once and then listened to it again. I then opened my laptop to read it in English. And then I read it again in Arabic. The first four times I encountered this story my eyes would tear up. A Letter from Gaza was the title of the short story, written by the Palestinian writer, Ghassan Kanafani. The story moved me so much it took my mind for the next week. How can a book published in 1962 with a story entrenched in reality be so exactly and precisely true today, 61 years later?

I felt that this was a story that needed to be heard. Rather than me sharing what other people have done, or just sending a link to the social media universe, why can I not share my own voice and render it through a person living in today’s world? I recorded the story in Arabic and found that it was important to do it in English. Everyone I know should be able to hear it and understand it directly through my voice. I learned about internalizing the language of a text, about personalizing the writing to be able to perform to how I understand the text. The writer of the letter is speaking to a man who has left Gaza to “greener” plains. Will I be the man who goes, or the man who remains? What is the thought process of a man who has decided to stay and go against “better opportunity.”

I explored the world of translation and looking at how meaning changes between languages. How is performance affected by language? What is important to a reader in each language? Impeccable understanding of grammar was essential to a correct and understandable reading of the Arabic text. I depended on my grandmother and other readings to make sure my reading was correct. English lacked the deeper capabilities of poetic language that Arabic has. How do I convey the right feeling through intonation rather than language? It was an eye opening experience in my makeshift recording studio that consisted of me facing my open closet to reduce the echo of the concrete while I read, one chapstick, and my handy green water bottle.

I wanted to keep the visual narrative simple, allowing the viewer to focus on the story and the words being said. I could not find long shots of Gaza’s Mediterranean beach, only summer techno shots of Israeli beaches. I found a livestream of Gaza that surveyed the skyline for any bombs or smoke three weeks after the 2023 war began. You could hear life happening, but no one moving. Only a few cars pass by during the 15 minute film. You hear cars beeping, sirens yelling, kids shouting, chickens clucking, and bombs exploding. I did not want anything to happen in this film. I only wanted to see the buildings standing, the water moving, and the sun slowly disappearing as the night takes over in this stable shot. I felt something dignifying about this shot. I found it perfect for what I was looking for to accompany the narration of this story.

Choosing a simple visual narrative, I resorted to my creative use of captions to convey meaning visually. Change of color of the text meant a different feeling or a different character speaking. The pacing of the reveal of the words and their configuration on the screen were also tools to convey meaning. I wanted the viewer to feel like they could screen shot the film when the language was poetic.

Writing is an incredible tool to mobilize action. Story is an incredible tool to mobilize emotion. Film is an incredible tool to mobilize attention. I hope that this film mobilizes you towards something. The simple act of doing it was enough for me, and I am happy to share.

Click on the photo below to see the films.