Gaza: A Painter’s Tragedy Toolkit

As if his works were from distant crumbling past, Gaza artist Ahmad Mahna documents the aggression on his little enclave. He uses the aid boxes dropped from the parachuted air to feed the starved to draw on and tell a painter’s story of the ongoing Israeli genocide.

Mahna says the goal of drawing is not only to document Israeli crimes but to send a message to the world, there are people in Gaza who love life and have needs beyond food and drink and want to tell the world of the need to stop the criminal actions against them meted by Israel and their forced forced displacement while the world looks on in silence as narrated in Al Mayadeen.

As a citizen living in a besieged enclave, Mahna has always been accustomed to difficult circumstances and never felt bound by the routine methods followed by world artists to see their creations come to light.

When he does not find the appropriate tools, he turns to whatever is available to him. Such may include paper, pencil, wall, piece of cloth, glass and even an old, neglected wooden board. In the artist’s eyes, these “worn-out” things can be transformed into inspiring artworks.

“Being across from an UNRWA school is a major incentive to draw,” Mahna pointing to the scenes of displaced people running to shelters as the aggression thickens combined with people fleeing guns and bombs thrown on displacement camps, queues to obtain water, bread and firewood, and scenes of the wounded carried on shoulders.

These tragedies become sad but rich material for Mahna to transfer such oppression and grief onto paper and from there on pass to the world.

Today the Gazan artist left his mark everywhere through his works and murals, saying it was difficult to stand idly by amidst the horrors he was witnessing, so he armed himself with his charcoal pen, and divided the “carton” into four paintings beginning with “A Four-Year-Old Girl Carrying a 16-Liter Gallon of Water”, and published it on the social media.

It became an instant hit, generating much and unexpected interest with many asking him to draw more about the sufferings of the displaced. Today,  Mahna is a “beacon” for many artists, and the owner of dozens artistic pieces which tell the world, through simple lines, the meaning of the ethnic cleansing that is taking place in Gaza, through such titles as “Escape from Death”, ” Last Embrace” and others.

Mahna says the painting comes out of a “first-time situation I experience” with emotions flooding whether its love, fear, anger or sadness. He fills his painting with details that convey a reality of interconnected circuits surrounding the lives of residents including death to provide basic needs daily, movement of passersby to and from hospitals that has become a daily routine due to the bombs and air-raids, and the incessant spread of diseases that is everywhere.

Because the tent has become the main “hero” in the story of Palestinian displacement, Mahna transfers the canvas into a painting with rich details, focusing on the scorching temperatures that melt the people inside, the insects, scorpions, and snakes that surround them like a barbaric army from every direction, and the sounds they hear from every corner, nullifying the individual privacy and the human need for rest and calm.

Coffee and Painting

“There is no one left who has not been affected by the war,” says Mahna, a former employee in one of the art institutions in Gaza. He lost his job and had to look for an alternative to provide him with his daily bread, so he opened a tea and coffee kiosk whilst making wall paintings where passersby would stop not only for the coffee but contemplate the paintings with respect for the skilled maker, as if directing words of thanks to him for what he conveys for their suffering.

Like others, Mahna did not comprehend the ongoing war of extermination till three months after the massacres when he shook off the cloak of despair and decided to stand up again. Thus, he opened his own studio under his downtrodden house. Only then did he feel he returned to the world he belonged to, amidst the looks of children escaping the boredom of the shelter that now surround him from every direction, reminding him of his societal role in managing workshops to relieve their psychological stress through art.

Mahna describes himself as a street artist because his drawings express the state of society and its conditions. From drawing destroyed homes and the color of the rubble, Mahna gives passersby hope in a city reduced to ruins. He has plenty to draw from images of corpses, limbs, mass graves, grief of bereaved mothers over their sons and their screams over those who remained under the rubble to the depiction of the ungodly famine in north Gaza.

Mahna faces difficulty in obtaining drawing materials. Charcoal pencils can run out at any time. Aid boxes have also become difficult to obtain in light of the increasing gas crisis, as residents prefer to burn them to prepare food instead of producing several paintings to look at while they are starving. He pointed out he faces the same problem that forced him to set fire to the wood that supports his paintings, but he is still trying to keep art alive in Gaza despite everything.

CrossFireArabia

CrossFireArabia

Dr. Marwan Asmar holds a PhD from Leeds University and is a freelance writer specializing on the Middle East. He has worked as a journalist since the early 1990s in Jordan and the Gulf countries, and been widely published, including at Albawaba, Gulf News, Al Ghad, World Press Review and others.

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Jerusalem Signs: Identity and Political Power

At a recent lecture hosted by the Council for British Research in the Levant (CBRL), Yasir Suleiman, professor of Modern Arabic Studies at the University of Cambridge guided the audience through the intricate linguistic landscape of Jerusalem. Exploring the Holy City’s street signs, Suleiman revealed how these seemingly mundane markers act as silent witnesses to history and power struggles, charting the evolution of identity and conflict in the region. 

“Language is important, not because it gives you information, but because it stands for something that is beyond language,” Suleiman explained. “Road signs, anywhere in the world, do tell a story. They present you with a narrative, a cultural map, a linguistic map, and a political map.”

Language Layers of Jerusalem 

Jerusalem’s street signs have long served as a battleground for identity and political power, reflecting the city’s historical transformations, from the Ottoman period through the British Mandate and into the present day. Suleiman traced this history, showing how language has shaped and been shaped by competing claims over the city’s public space. 

https://twitter.com/CBRL_news/status/1878758921340678444

Before the fall of the Ottoman Empire in 1917, Jerusalem’s signs prominently featured Ottoman Turkish (written in Arabic script) alongside English and occasionally French. Hebrew was largely absent. For instance, an original 1892 sign at the Jerusalem-Jaffa train station displayed the name of “Jerusalem” in English and Ottoman Turkish, with Hebrew was only added post-1948. 

This marked a time when Hebrew was largely absent from Jerusalem’s linguistic landscape, reflecting its limited presence in the population’s daily life, while Arabic script was present, but the Arabic language itself was absent.

However, the rise of the Zionist movement sought to change this, prioritising Hebrew revival as a cornerstone of its political and cultural agenda. 

Three Languages, One Hierarchy

Under British Mandate, it was decided that English, Arabic and Hebrew were all required on street signs. Yet, their arrangement revealed the prevailing power dynamics: English appeared at the top, Arabic in the middle, and Hebrew at the bottom, as stipulated by British authorities. 

This vertical hierarchy symbolised the ruling power, with English taking precedence and Arabic reflecting the majority population (around 90% of the people in Palestine were Arabic-speakers, including the Jews and Christians). Hebrew’s lower placement underscored its marginal status at the time. 

The Zionist movement, unhappy with this arrangement, lobbied for horizontal signs, where all three languages appeared side-by-side. Even so, Arabic retained a visual advantage because its right-to-left orientation naturally positioned it above Hebrew in terms of linguistic flow, as any right-to-left script placed on the right takes visual precedence over one positioned on the left.

Three Languages, Three Names

Suleiman highlighted how different languages on street signs often tell different stories about the same location. For instance, the famous Damascus Gate is labelled in Arabic “Bab el-’Amoud,” referencing Roman pillars in the area, while in Hebrew, it is called “Bab Nablus,” acknowledging Nablus’s religious significance for Jews, and in English, it is “Damascus Gate,” reflecting the trade connexions to the Syrian capital. Each language offers a distinct historical or cultural claim to the place, underscoring the city’s layered identity. 

Three languages, Two Boxes

The 1948-1967 Jordanian control of Jerusalem brought changes to Jerusalem’s signs. With almost no Jewish presence within the Old City’s walls, the Jordanian authorities only put street signs in Arabic and English. 

Arabic was placed above English, with the English text mirroring the Arabic perfectly (e.g., “Al-Malak Road”). This reflected a shift in status: English was no longer the language of the ruling power but had become merely a lingua franca, while Arabic took precedence as the dominant language.

However, after the Israelis occupation of East Jerusalem in 1967, the linguistic order shifted again. New signs were introduced, with Hebrew taking the top position, symbolising Israeli sovereignty. Arabic and English were relegated below it, marking a significant reordering of visual and political priorities. 

By 1980, when the Israeli Knesset declared Jerusalem the capital of Israel, the street signs further evolved to reflect political realities. A single box now contained all three languages, with Hebrew firmly at the top. Arabic began to diminish in influence, with English morphology increasingly aligning with Hebrew rather than Arabic conventions. For instance, “Ha-Malak Road” replaced “Al-Malak Road,” subtly asserting Hebrew’s dominance over Arabic. 

Signs of Power

This dynamic became even more pronounced in 2018 when the Israeli Knesset stripped Arabic of its status as an official language. On modern street signs like “Nablus Road,” Hebrew now appears on top of the three languages and often in its fully pointed form, a form traditionally reserved for sacred texts, emphasising its elevated status in Israel’s narrative of Jerusalem. 

Suleiman underscored how Jerusalem’s street signs are not just tools for navigation, they are symbols of power. “These signs are not about informing you where you are, they tell you who owns the place, who calls the shots.”

Street signs of Jerusalem have become a linguistic archaeology, with layers of history etched into their evolving forms. From the Ottoman period to the present day, they quietly tell the story of a city at the centre of competing claims over its identity. 

This article was written by Sophie Constantin and appeared in the Jordan Times

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