TW: discussion of violence
We often hear the phrase “art imitates life” and that life is reflected in art. But what do we say when art documents the dreams, destruction, and day-to-day struggles of a people during an ongoing genocide?
Produced by Mashrawi Fund for Films and Filmmakers in Gaza, in collaboration with Coorginies Production, From Ground Zero (2024) is a uncompromising anthology of 22 short films by Palestinians living in Gaza, during the current genocide being committed by Israel.
The films range from documentary, experimental fiction, docudrama, animation, marionette acting, and video art, and were directed by different filmmakers, with Palestinian director Rashid Mashrawi overseeing them from abroad.
From Ground Zero was initially set to be screened by the Cannes Film Festival only to be cancelled to keep the festival free from politics and polemics; a euphemism for silencing Palestinian voices. Masharawi responded by organising a protest screening outside the festival in a tent to force people to see the film.
Naturally, the filmmaking process saw challenges when it came to maintaining consistent communication, internet connection to upload and edit footage, and working with the constant sound of drones buzzing above. Many filmed on cameras but others filmed on their phones. Filmmakers tried to edit and complete post-production on their own, but it often required edits from abroad for the final cut.
“Working on the project was a real cinematic production, and we were training, nurturing, consulting, and directing filmmakers in order to qualify them, establish them, and teach them to present films without making artistic or technical concessions,” Mashrawi said to +972 Magazine.
It also meant that many filmmakers or participants in this project were simultaneously grappling with the need to secure food, water, shelter, medication, access to ambulances, and a personal sense of ‘safety’, at least for the night.
“We had to keep the noise because most of the films are documentaries, so we can’t deny this reality, but we also needed to edit things well for 5.1 surround sound.”
We have seen much of this footage on social media, yet viewing it in a collated manner and not being able to scroll past is a different experience and one that must be felt. The voiceover narration personalises each story, and centres Palestinian voices both in front of and behind the camera.
Mashrawi noted that “now, 8 of the 22 are making more films for another project I’m working on. Meanwhile, others who were not involved in From Ground Zero, are making films because they’ve been inspired and want to tell their story too. I’m so proud of this feat of Gaza filmmaking.”
In Selfie, Reema Mahmoud addresses a friend in a letter as she attempts to establish a daily routine amidst a genocide, including volunteering to help refugee women and keeping up with the news in case a ceasefire is announced. We are told and shown of the dire circumstances, with food prices higher than Paris or London, and people having to consume canned goods that have expired past their date. Mahmoud conveys gratitude for seeing that her home is “partially destroyed” but also grappling with the difficulty to recognise the home anymore. We are taken by the hand through the rooms and the chaos, knowing that destruction has yet to stop.
No Signal by Muhammad Alshareef depicts a young girl as she is given a phone to try to call her father but the battery dies as soon as she reaches him. She says, “We’ll come back tomorrow”, even though tomorrow is not promised.
Sorry Cinema by Ahmad Hassouna follows Hassouna’s dream of being a filmmaker which was thwarted by the inability to travel to a festival abroad and accept an award for his film Istrupya (Senseless Loss). Because of the genocide, Hassouna’s only priority has been to stay alive, and find wood to keep warm and cook. This is seen by the simple act of gathering flour from the ground, and filming drones filled with humanitarian aid, only for it to look like something out of The Hunger Games. There is a cruel irony in making a short film about making films during a genocide, and then declaring “forget me cinema”.
Islam Al Zrieai’s Flash Back reminds the viewer of the necessity to have a backpack ready to go and be prepared for a bombing. We see firsthand moments after instead of footage of the dropping of a bomb or the destruction of infrastructure or people running to help and find medical assistance. Acknowledging that she has no time to cry or react, the protagonist is still able to find moments of solace and relief in art.
Stand-up comedian in Everything Is Fine, Nidal Damo refuses to let war stop him from continuing, and is amplified by the upbeat loud music and his big smile once he finishes performing his set. Charm by Bashar Al-Balbeisi, is a silent save for the music playing as a young girl’s past and present interlap, looking back on the days where she could dance and play karate more freely than now. Ya Tale’en by Palestinian-Jordanian artist Dana Saleh plays which inspires her to dance again.
Fragments by Basil Al-Maqousi is a series of vignettes with footage interspersed with drawings. Out of Frame by Nidaa Abu Hasna shows us the power of art through painting, sculptures infused with pearls and mirror shards, and how even if you fear going to the sea, you can bring the sea to you by painting it.
Similarly, Awakening by Mahdi Karirah reaffirms the creativity and commitment when making and performing with paper mache puppets, while also paying homage to the puppeteers and artists involved.
Soft Skin by Khamees Masharawi employs sequences where children are filmed doing arts and crafts and turn into animated figures. Beautifully capturing the complexity of childhood, we are confronted by the fact that children are forced to grow up quickly as they recount how their parents write their names on their bodies, so they can be identified if their organs and body parts are blown apart.
The short film that I still think about is A School Day by Ahmed Al-Danf. It follows a young boy as he gets ready for school, picks up his belongings and bag and walks through the camp. He then sits down at the graveyard where a cardboard sign says “Here lies Kamal Yousssef, Teacher, Martyred 12/01/2024”. Communicated with no dialogue, Al-Danf trusts that the reality of the ground needs no further explanation and that being able to mourn the loss of education and educators in Gaza is an effort in and of itself.
Similarly, respect for teachers is on display in The Teacher by Tamer Najm, where a teacher attempts to charge their phone at a makeshift charging station and people have to wait to charge their phones.
Intrinsic to every Palestinian in this anthology and beyond is the ability to still feel gratitude and say, ٱلْحَمْدُ لِلَّٰهِ, or “praise/thanks be to God”. Echo by Mustafa Kallab consists of a man sitting on the beach, with a recording of a phone call with his wife playing over the scene. We see the clash of the serene shore with the violence inflicted upon Gaza. 24 Hours by Alaa Damo follows a man who was targeted 3 times in 24 hours, alternating with footage of him under the rubble, and him speaking to the overall experience and work of the civil defense teams.
Overburden by Ala’a Ayob gives voice to the stream of consciousness as one is forced to move from place to place, and pick and choose what belongings they can take, if they can take any. The protagonist faces difficulty in picking books to take with her: comfort reads or books she has not yet read, asking the silent viewer, “What is heavier than my grief?” before answering “How could I have thought for an instance that my books weighed more.”
Hell’s Heaven by Kareem Satoum shows what is the most shocking but powerful image of a man choosing to sleep in a body bag, not only because he has no mattress, pillow, or blanket but to welcome the opportunity to go from hell (on Earth) to heaven.
We witness the reminiscing on a lost future that is forcibly buried with loved ones in Aws Al-Banna’s Jad and Natalie. Taxi Waneesa by E’temad Weshah shows the speed of filming during a genocide, with Weshah’s brother Nafaz and his children being killed. Weshah stops the footage to speak to the camera, stating that she lost desire to continue the film despite having a planned ending. Ahmad, the taxi driver, would die and Wanissa, the donkey which functions as a taxi, would return home alone. “You see my testimony instead,” she says.
Offerings by Mustafa Al-Nabih show stories beyond pain, recounting personal narratives and reaffirming the need for collective therapy. Though it remains a painful reminder that those who were killed are all numbers, despite the fact that we know they had lives of their own that were cut short.
In Hana Awad’s short No, she is making a film within a film and is on the lookout for a subject that inspires hope and joy, posting like many filmmakers before her of the imperative to continue to express oneself “even when another event can return them to zero” or when one’s current ambition is to find a safe place to sleep.
Rabab Khamees’ Recycling confronts the necessity to be sustainable and forage for items to find ways to survive, whereas we the audience can choose to recycle and many times, choose not to. Farah and Mirayim by Wissam Moussa displays what it means to feel and articulate the utter despair: “I can’t go on living like this. We are so tired.”
On April 16, Palestinian photojournalist and artist Fatima Hassouna was targeted by an Israeli airstrike on her home, killing her and her nine family members. Why? Because her voice was to be heard as a subject of the documentary Put Your Soul on Your Hand and Walk which had been announced for the Cannes Film Festival ACID section a day prior.
It is imperative now more than ever that we as audiences fulfill the responsibility of bearing witness, and materially supporting artists and their works so that even if the artist (and human being) dies, their voice lives on.
From Ground Zero is screening at the Palestinian Film Festival Australia.
