This article appeared in Being Samia Halaby Issue #68 dedicated to spotlighting the journey of Samia Halaby, a Palestinian-American artist whose resilience shines through despite challenges like the cancellation of a significant exhibition at Indiana University. Halaby’s remarkable year, marked by global exhibitions and well-deserved acclaim, underscores her ability to transcend borders with art that prompts reflection on themes of identity, belonging, and social justice, serving as a bridge across cultural divides.
As an artist, Samia Halaby has sought to infuse her creations with the vitality and essence of life itself. With a profound connection to nature, she embarked on a journey to explore the very properties that animate the world around us. Through her art, Halaby delved into the intricate interplay of light, colour, and form, drawing inspiration from the organic rhythms of the natural world.
Central to Halaby’s vision has always been her deep-rooted and troubled Palestinian identity, which found expression through themes echoing the land, soil, and olive trees of her country. In her quest to evoke the spirit of her homeland, she looked to the earth itself, finding inspiration in its rugged beauty and timeless resilience. By incorporating these elements into her work, Halaby not only captured the essence of her heritage but also celebrated its enduring vitality, even as the world witnessed Palestine’s ongoing struggle to exist.
Yet Halaby’s art is not purely nostalgic, or confined to serene landscapes and idyllic scenes. Unapologetically confronting the harsh realities of history, she boldly addresses the atrocities inflicted upon her people. One such haunting chapter is the Kafr Qasim massacre of 1956, where Israeli forces brutally massacred innocent Palestinian civilians. Her visceral depictions of this tragedy serve as a stark reminder of the ongoing struggles faced by the Palestinian people.
In her pursuit of truth and justice, Halaby employs a diverse array of mediums, from traditional painting techniques to unconventional materials like paper-mâché and knit clothing. Through each stroke of her brush or weave of her fabric, she breathes life into her art, infusing it with raw emotion and unwavering conviction.
In essence, Samia Halaby’s art transcends mere representation; it pulsates with the vitality of nature and the indomitable spirit of Palestine. Through her uncompromising vision and unyielding dedication, she invites us to bear witness to the beauty, resilience, and struggles of her people, while forging a powerful testament to the human experience over a period of decades. She simultaneously provokes, challenges and inspires us.
The Kafr Qasem Massacre of 1956
46 x 146 in, (120 x 370 cm) Samia Halaby.
During less than two hours on 29 October 1956, Israeli Border Police killed forty-nine people in the Palestinian village of Kafr Qasem. They were mostly workers and children returning home in the evening. Most were killed on the western entrance; while inside the village it began when eight-year old Talal Easa went out to retrieve a goat after the suddenly-announced curfew. Talal’s father, Shaker, heard the shots and dashed out looking for his son. He was shot as was Talal’s mother, Rasmiyya, and right after her Talal’s teenage sister, Noor, ran to their bleeding family and suffered the same fate. They remained where they fell, bleeding until morning when they were hauled off by truck to a hospital. Talal died. The grandfather, Abdallah Easa, then ninety years old, was left alone after seeing the massacre of his family. The following morning, he was found dead.
(14.7 x 21 cm) Samia Halaby.
Both Ahmad and Ali were quarry workers coming home after a long day of hard labour. Both were mature men with small children at home. They were a group of four men returning home in the evening not knowing that a curfew had been announced twenty minutes earlier. As they were habituated to sudden searches by the Israelis, they immediately offered their identity cards, but this time they were executed with the infamous order of this massacre given by the military unit leader: “Harvest them.”
This was an early rendition of the father and son shepherds Uthman and Fathi. After a lot more research I abandoned this rendition for one that reveals the use of an automatic weapon given to the Israelis by the British who used it in the Second World War as a combat weapons. The tripod forced the Israeli soldier to lie on the ground as it was long and heavy and had a short tripod to hold up the tip. Fathi was leading the herd in traditional technique while Uthman, the father, was bringing up the rear. Three Israeli soldiers, one flat on the ground with an automatic combat weapon, all opened fire execution style on the child Fathi.
When the village crier announced the curfew less than thirty minutes in advance, two children, eight-year-old Riyad Dahoud and eleven-year-old Jamal Taha, were sent to inform their kin. Thus, the workers of the Seventh wave of killing knew of the curfew. After some indecision and a lot of walking, the workers found and persuaded the truck driver, Ata Sarsour, to take them home although he had no permit to transport passengers. The Border Police stopped the truck and forced the workers into a line. After the first shower of bullets from the submachine guns, they all fell to the ground. Raja Dahoud, it was said, was bringing his son Riyad down from the truck when the shooting began. Riyad died. The other child, Jamal having not been hit, raised his head asking his wounded brother if he was alive at which point a soldier shot him twice in the brain. His brother Abdal-Raheem said, “Jamal hugged my waist with all his ebbing might and died.” Of the nineteen workers, ten died immediately, many were wounded, while some managed to run away.
(56 x 76 cm) Samia Halaby.
The twelve-year-old shepherd boy, Fathi Easa, was leading his family’s herd of black goats home after pasture. His father was driving the herd from the rear having heard of the curfew and had come to hurry his son home. There were three weapons in the hands of the Israeli Border Police all aimed at the boy, an Uzi, a Bren, and a rifle. All were fired and the boy collapsed and died.
When the soldiers showered bullets on the workers of the Seventh wave all fell to the ground desperately seeking shelter. Some tried to hide under the truck itself. Abu Ayyoub managed to squeeze his young body over the spare wheel under the truck. He told of how in due time all those under the truck were shot and their bodies pulled out but he remained hidden. About the Israeli Border Police soldiers he said, “When they finished they sat resting their backs on the truck’s rear and were so close to me that I could have extended my hand and touched their backs. They were smoking and laughing.” Later when the soldiers had moved on to the next project of killing, one worker, Abu Fareed, who had escaped returned wanting but unable to squeeze next to Abu Ayyoub, he balled himself up near a rear wheel. The soldiers eventually found and killed him.
(76 x 11 3 cm).
Night had fallen when the truck arrived at the location of the massacre. Among the victims of the Ninth wave were two men in the cab of the truck and fourteen women with two boys in the back. The driver, seeing the scattered corpses, tried to escape at high speed. This interrupted the women who had been singing after a long day of work and who then unwittingly began to scream thus alerting the recumbent soldiers resting at the school well. The alerted soldiers then ran after the truck that had nearly escaped, shot its tires and gas tank, and stopped it. Safa Sarsour, having just seen her sixteen-year-old son, Jum’a, dead on the side of the road, now witnessed her second son, fourteen-year-old Abdallah, being killed in front of her eyes with the men. The women, some pregnant, elders and girls, pleaded for their lives. The only survivor was Hana’ Amer, fifteen years of age, who said that the women clung to each other for protection. Even the two girls who had managed to escape returned to the circle. As they were being shot, the women rotated as one big group and one by one they fell. The soldiers continued shooting into their heads to insure their death. How does it measure western civilization when soldiers of the Israeli border police line up defenceless women, some pregnant, tired, returning home from work, and kill them with cold deliberation?