Ana Falastin
Last Monday, I took the day off to get some much needed rest after an intense start to the year. I had every intention of doing as little as possible, but I’m not really good at sitting still, there’s always something going on in my mind. And for the past few months, it’s usually about Palestine. I sat doing nothing, when I started to think that I needed to do something. There hadn’t been any protests lately, but this group Aksjonsgruppa for Palestina was - and still is - doing some really strong work with creative actions to draw attention to the situation. They had made this digital social media campaign called Ana Falastin, to highlight the double-standards and hypocrisy in regards to the killing of so many Palestinian journalists. Referencing the well known line “Je Suis Charlie”, that every reporter and every head of state so readily rallied behind after the attack on the French magazine Charlie Hebdo, “Ana Falastin” means “I am Palestine”.
In their campaign, and in my series, there are four journalists: Bisan Owda (b.1997/98), Wael Al-Dahdouh (b. 1970), Hind Khoudary (b. 1995), and Motaz Azaiza (b. 1998/99).
I regularly make paste-ups as part of my art practice. I started making them some years ago, using my old journals as the starting point and foundation of each piece. I wanted to challenge my self and the things I keep hidden. Working as a therapist for so many years, the thing that I learned about us, humans, is that we are so often separated by the idea that we are alone in what we are experiencing and who we are, and that nobody else can ever understand, or even bear to know our true selves. So we hide parts of our stories, our feelings, desires and needs. We have different and unique experiences, different coping skills and preferred models of making sense of something and so on, but at the core, we are pretty much the same. We all just want to feel connected to other people, you know. We really are that basic, every single one of us.
And so I wanted to see if I really meant it. Did I really mean it, when I say that there is always - ALWAYS - someone out there who is going through what you are going through? Did I really mean it, when I say that shame needs to be looked straight in the eye, and confronted? Did I really mean it, when I say that I try my best to accept and carry my full story, and take responsibility for the things that I’ve done for better or worse, and hold my self accountable for learning from my mistakes, and try to make better choices now because of them?
I am a more private person than most people realize. There’s a difference, after all, between being private and personal. Whenever I’m out photographing, I usually avoid taking the “best” shots, because they are often of people who are having a private moment in public. Sometimes you can see people spilling out from behind their personas, their masks:
A persona (plural personae or personas) is a strategic mask of identity in public, the public image of one's personality, the social role that one adopts, or simply a fictional character. (...)
The word derives from Latin, where it originally referred to a theatrical mask. (…) The Latin word derived from the Etruscan word "phersu," with the same meaning, and that from the Greek πρόσωπον (prosōpon). (…) Latin etymologists explain that persona comes from "per/sonare" as "the mask through which (per) resounds the voice (of the actor)."
Its meaning in the latter Roman period changed to indicate a "character" of a theatrical performance or court of law, when it became apparent that different individuals could assume the same role and that legal attributes such as rights, powers, and duties followed the role. The same individuals as actors could play different roles, each with its own legal attributes, sometimes even in the same court appearance.
I try not to take advantage of people’s private moments in public just to get a “good” shot. Sometimes though, the story being told is about something more than just that one person.
I painted Bisan in this series to be happy, and blooming. Her storytelling to me is always in this intersection of the private/personal sphere, and she tells us in no uncertain terms just how complete their suffering is. She tells her story, shares her feelings, while telling the story of her people. And so using my private and personal journals, revealing my most inner and raw thoughts and feelings for this series, felt more appropriate than ever. I made two posters of Bisan that Monday, and put them up Tuesday. And then on Wednesday, I made one for Wael Al-Dahdouh.
I can think of little as intimate and private as the grief one feels loosing a child. At four occasions, I’ve seen this type of grief up close, and watched fathers bury their child. As someone who has carried another life in my body, I learnt that mothers also carry their children’s deaths. But for the other, the person who receives the child as the mystery and not the very physical process of creating another human being within your own body, their child’s death seems unthinkable to them in a way that I’m not sure if I can put into words. Maybe it’s because they are usually the ones who are charged with being the one who is supposed to fight off any and all threats. But how can a father do any that when buildings and bombs are targeted at their sons and daughters? The first paste-up I made after October was the one of the little boy, photographed by Robert Croma during the first Intifada. The text reads “Let the children live”. It shouldn’t be too much to ask.
Then on Thursday, after I got home from work, I made a poster for Hind Khoudary, who moved back home to Gaza in august of 2023 with her whole life, only to have it bombed to pieces a few weeks later. Separated from her family and husband now, she won’t leave. And I have so much respect for that, and for her. That sort of integrity is very moving to me. I value loyalty as one of the most important virtues, but integrity even more. I will have your back, I will fight other people for you without you even knowing that I am, and probably never tell you if I think it would hurt you to know, but I will also fight you if it comes down to it. I am no one’s follower, subject or disciple. We are equals. When Hind shared my video of making the poster of her, and all of a sudden hundreds and thousands of people saw my artwork on social media, and people started to ask me if they could buy it from me, I had to decide what I wanted to do with that.
I decided to give it away.
The work that I make for the street is meant to be free. Every piece of paper is a protest. I don’t ask permission, because I give myself the permission necessary. I think things through, I ask myself what I’m serious about, and if I’m serious about doing it. Because talk is cheap. So many people just talk and talk and talk, and other people are so impressed by the talking and the visions and the ideas, because they feel good listening to it, but coming up with a good idea is easy. Everyone can do that. It’s the doing-part that’s hard. When you have something real to lose.
I refuse to ask permission to protest injustice. It’s the people who tries to stop people from fighting injustice that needs to be faced with the (im)morality of their own choices. It’s them who needs to live with trying to stop people like me; not I who should beg their permission to let me do what’s right. We are living through a time where people seem to believe that the killing of innocents is justified if you are just scared or self-righteous enough about it.
I remember a few years back, I was talking to some friends of mine who were psychologists. And we were talking about the diagnostic systems, and in particular the diagnosis psychosis. I argued that it was a problem with the manuals and how we administer especially psychiatric diagnoses, because they weren’t really prepared to take into account culture, and overlooked how society and power structures impacted who was considered “sick” or in need of treatment (re: Foucault, for instance). I used as an over-simplified example that an individual who say they hear voices are considered insane, while people who gather in churches and believes that the one guy at the pulpit can hear the voice of god and has been given the power to tell them all how to act out god’s will, are considered not only sane, but as good and upstanding citizens. I asked why followers of western religion wasn’t considered as being part of a mass psychosis, and why this hearing of gods voice claimed by prominent politicians in the US for instance, with the responsibility of deciding wether or not to use nuclear weapons, should not be considered grounds to get them the fuck out of office asap. And I don’t think I got a real answer from them, but the answer is about who has power. Who has the power to define the truth.
I asked people to donate to organizations that worked in support of Palestine in exchange for my posters. And they did. I’m sending out posters to different locations now in Norway, Denmark, Germany, France, UK, USA, Finland, Canada. Yesterday several people told me how ashamed they were of their governments withdrawal of support to UNWRA, and that’s why wanted to give their donations to them. And together they raised around 500 euros to UNWRA, which is the organization Motaz Azaiza have been working for, and donations made by others to Inara, Norwac - Norwegian Aid Committee, and Palestinakomiteen.
And how do I even start to describe what I think of Motaz, what he has done, and how he has done it. I don’t think I can at the moment. I made this poster of him on Friday. Five days, five posters.
If you want to take part in this exchange I am doing, where you donate directly to an organization of your choice who works in support of the Palestinian people, and I give you a piece of art for free in return, let me know.
No one can do everything, but everyone can do something.
And to use the words of Motaz:
Never forget to say: Free Palestine.