Walls Between Us| Fame or victory for Palestinians
"I am the son of a people still waiting for full recognition. Do you know why we Palestinians are famous? Because you are our enemies. The world’s interest in us is born of its interest in the Jewish question.”
“Yes, the attention is on you—not on me. So we are unfortunate to have Israel as our enemy, for it has boundless allies across the globe. And yet we are also fortunate to have Israel as an enemy—for the Jews are at the center of the world’s gaze. You defeated us—and with that, you gave us fame."
These words, uttered by Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish to a character portraying an Israeli journalist in Jean-Luc Godard’s 2004 film “Notre Musique”, resonated strongly with me over the past few weeks.
They first came to mind when the Palestinian-Israeli documentary “No Other Land” (2024), co-directed by Palestinian Basel Adra and Israeli Yuval Abraham, won the Oscar for Best Documentary Feature.
They came to mind again while following the death of Nobel laureate Mario Vargas Llosa, who some branded a “Zionist” due to his repeated visits to Israel and former admiration for its leftist movements.
After “No Other Land” won, many observers, myself included, noted that its Israeli co-direction contributed to its international success, lending legitimacy to its message and to the Palestinian director—if we look at the Oscars through Darwish’s lens.
However, this isn’t the sole reason.
As I noted in a previous article, the film came out amid a global reckoning sparked by the genocide in Gaza, which galvanized artists and intellectuals worldwide. Moreover, the film portrayed the Palestinian and Israeli not as enemies in Darwish’s dichotomy, but as colleagues, even brothers, co-creators of a shared cinematic truth.
To call the film “normalization,” as some did after its win, simply because of the collaboration between Palestinian and Israeli directors, seems disconnected from this layered reality. Darwish, after all, delivers that line to an actress playing an Israeli journalist. In real life, he was interviewed by Israelis many times. Yet, cultural sectors supportive of the Palestinian cause, whether during his time in the occupied territories or after exile, never demanded justifications or self-criticism from him.
Similarly, we still revere Tawfiq Ziad’s poem “I Call on You,” without questioning his membership in the Israeli Communist Party/RAKAH, which included both Jews and Palestinians from 1948 territories. Nor did anyone question the party affiliation of Emile Habibi, a Palestinian writer who consistently advocated coexistence, arguing that Jewish and Palestinian futures are inextricably linked.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wl3R-x-fzA4The solitude of the defeated
A profound sense of defeat, tinged with helplessness and smoldering anger, can push some of us towards a particular kind of extremism—one that takes many forms. In this case, it manifests as a wholesale rejection of any interaction with anyone holding Israeli citizenship, as in the case of filmmaker Basel Adra’s collaboration. It also includes the reflexive labeling of anyone who doesn’t fully and unconditionally align with each of our personal political stances as a Zionist, a Zionist sympathizer, or even an “Israelized” figure—as happened with Mario Vargas Llosa.
This isn’t a uniquely Arab phenomenon. Since the start of the current genocide in Gaza, it has echoed across continents. One prominent Cuban activist in solidarity with Palestine, for instance, criticized my celebration of the documentary’s Oscar win by declaring, “Zionism is Zionism,” and that any film about Palestine that doesn’t begin with a clear, unequivocal rejection of Israel’s very existence is, by default, Zionist propaganda—even if made by a Palestinian.
This is a collective condition. Last year, some Spanish university students protesting the genocide chanted “Progressive government... Zionist government” in frustration at their leftist government, which they had supported at the ballot box, for not severing ties with Israel.
Such anger may be justified, but it is often steeped in a youthful fervor that breeds political rigidity. In the case of the Spanish campus protests, that rigidity led to their eventual decline and alienated many students. Accusing individuals or institutions of Zionism should be based on clear criteria—chiefly, whether they explicitly support the Zionist project. But criticizing Israel, recognizing the State of Palestine, and describing Israeli actions as genocide (as Spain’s government has done) don’t align with a Zionist ideology.
The cases of Basel Adra and Vargas Llosa are even more complex. They go beyond youthful anger and into the realm of mature political posturing. Some film festivals quietly excluded “No Other Land” to avoid controversy, never publicly explaining their decisions and lacking either the courage to reject it openly or the political clarity to defend it. Similarly, many ignored Vargas Llosa’s death, or dismissed him as a Zionist because of his visits to Israel.
In Vargas Llosa’s case, the backlash involved silence at best, and denunciation at worst. Critics cited his repeated visits to Israel as proof of Zionist sympathies, ignoring his far more significant 2016 trip—against Israel’s wishes—when he used his Nobel-won visibility to tour the occupied West Bank and publicly call the Israeli presence what it is: an occupation.
It’s as if, in response to our defeat, we punish ourselves with more isolation, driving away real or potential allies by placing them hastily in the camp of the enemy.
Hope in front of the cameras
Darwish repeats his closing line in “Notre Musique”, but rephrases it: “You defeated us. But you made us famous.” The Israeli journalist replies, astonished, “So we are your Ministry of Propaganda?” Darwish answers without hesitation: “Yes. You are our ministry of propaganda—because the world cares more about you than it does about us. I have no illusions about this.”
Darwish, indeed, had no illusions. But the unnamed Hamas fighter, whose face we’ve never seen, who may or may not still be alive, and who likely never heard Darwish’s words in Godard’s film—that fighter did harbor illusions. He spent months guarding an Israeli soldier, taught him Arabic, gave him a certificate of learning, shook his hand during the prisoner exchange, and accepted a kiss on the forehead from him. He did all this with illusions.
That fighter knows full well he’s not a normalizer. He’s immune to such an accusation. He knew the truth Darwish captured so powerfully may no longer hold—or at least, that it is changing. Today, a new world is opening up for Palestinians: one where they are seen not just as enemies of Israel, but as people whose lives matter in their own right. Even if this fighter, like Darwish and like us, knows we are still defeated, he also knows this new world demands new rules of resistance, new forms of solidarity—and we don’t yet possess them.
It is ironic that Darwish, who explored the poetics of defeat, never lived through the total, shattering defeat we are experiencing today—a defeat that may flip his equation entirely. For the first time, the world seems to care more about Palestinians than about Israelis, not out of solidarity with our cause, but out of horror at the scale of Israel’s brutality.
Genocide has revealed the blood-soaked foundations of the Israeli state. Large swaths of young people in the West refuse to inherit the burden of Holocaust guilt, especially when it’s used to justify the slaughter of Palestinians.
The contours of this “new” moment are not yet fully clear, but its core is taking shape. The Palestinian cause is embedding itself in the minds and consciences of millions across the globe, becoming a moral anchor for a generation. It will remain so until justice is done. These millions may be diverse, scattered, even ideologically incompatible, but their positions are not inherently contradictory. The challenge is to nurture their alignment with Palestine, and deepen their commitment.
The late singer Rim Banna once told me something I already knew about her before we met: she refused to perform with Israeli artists under banners of “coexistence” and “peace.” She saw through the charade, those post-Oslo American-Israeli-Arab youth camps and musical initiatives that posed as “dialogue,” but served only to reinforce Israeli domination and the Zionist project.
And yet, her position need not conflict with Basel Adra’s, son of Masafer Yatta town in the occupied West Bank. When he took the Oscars stage alongside Israeli co-director Yuval Abraham, their win ensured “No Other Land” would become one of the most widely viewed documentaries on Palestine. Even if Yuval called October 7 a “crime” in his speech, and even if the two men shook hands afterward, does that invalidate their project?
Have any of us, Arabs or Palestinians, asked those closest to us how they would describe Operation Al-Aqsa Flood? Some might call it a crime; yet they are not Zionists, and we must make room for them to stand beside us. One of the urgent questions today and for years to come is how to widen our ranks, how to bring new people into the fold with each passing day, and how to gradually converge around a shared, strategic opposition to Zionism, until it collapses.
Yes, we want Yuval Abraham with us—more and more. We need to help him grow in his understanding. We need to deepen the cracks in the Israeli wall in this coming era, which will be more difficult than anything we’ve ever lived through.
(*)A version of this article first appeared in Arabic on 7 May, 2025.
Published opinions reflect the views of its authors, not necessarily those of Al Manassa.