Voices in the Resistance Movement (1917–1967)
“Yama Mawil al- Hawa” (Oh song of longing)
Eighty kilometers northwest of Amman, along Jordan’s northern border with Syria and Israel, lies the small village of Umm Qais. Nestled atop a small mountain at the very edge of the East Bank plateau, Umm Qais overlooks the intersection of the Jordan and Yarmouk River valleys, each framed by the biblical Sea of Galilee (also known as Lake Tiberias). From the village’s surrounding olive and fig orchards, one can easily look out over the hills of the Galilee, the Golan Heights, and the West Bank. De-scending down to the mountain’s base one finds the intersection of three international borders (Israel, Jordan, and Syria), each reinforced by a net-work of barbed- wire fences, patrol roads, and watchtowers. The signposts of these borders line the summits of each hill and the edges of the two valleys. With a basic set of binoculars one can watch Jordanian, Syrian, and Israeli border guards making their rounds on patrol, sequestered be-hind chain- link and barbed- wire fences.
For tourists the trek to Umm Qais is rewarded by some of the choicest olives in the region and one of the kingdom’s most elaborate archeologi-cal sites. The Roman Decapolis city of Gadara remains one of the most beautifully preserved ruins in the Middle East. A well- managed tourist center and excellent fine- dining restaurant have earned Umm Qais the reputation of a must- see destination for any tourist visiting the kingdom.
However, upon my first visit to the area in the summer of 2002, I quickly understood the cultural importance of this village to the local population.
Far more than archeology, Umm Qais offers some of the most beautiful panoramic views of historic Palestine: Galilee, Tiberias, and the Beisan valley (see figure 2.1).
When I arrived at the main gate of the ruins I found the tourist center’s parking lot overrun with picnickers, people playing soccer, and children running wildly, dragging kites through the summer winds. Friday after-noons are typically when families spend time relaxing outdoors, barbe-quing, or otherwise enjoying their time together. On this particular Friday perhaps fifty families had decided to enjoy the summer’s day by having their afternoon meal atop the mountain. Small makeshift grills roasted kabobs in the summer sun as groups of men and women sat in relaxed conversation. Walking among the crowds I realized that the weather was perhaps not the only reason so many decided to stretch out and enjoy the view. In talking with my friend and companion Daoud ʿAbbasi, a twenty- something Palestinian from the al- Husseini refugee camp in Amman, I learned that the majority of Palestinian Jordanians who now live in Umm Qais and the surrounding areas were originally from the Palestinian vil-Figure 2.1. ✹ Lake Tiberias, the Galilee, and the Israeli city Teveria as seen from Umm Qais. Photograph by the author (2003).
36 ✹ Poets, Singers, and Songs
lages of Tiberias, Farwana, Masil al- Jizl, Beisan, and others. Today, over sixty years later, the original refugees from these villages and their de-scendants gather periodically on this spot to look out over their ancestral lands, lands they are prohibited from ever visiting. On clear days, these panoramic views are all that remain for these picnickers as they try to re-connect with their ancestral villages.
Making my way through the crowds to the main gate of the ruins with my friend, I noticed a small group of young girls sitting together on a blanket singing with an older relative, perhaps a great- aunt or grand-mother. I lingered momentarily to better hear their song and quickly pulled Daoud, a budding folklorist, over to help me with the lyrics. He immediately identified the well- known Palestinian folk song as “Yama Mawil al- Hawa.” The melody was incredibly beautiful and immediately caught my attention (evia 14- s9039).1
Oh my song of longing
It is better to be killed by daggers than ruled by the unjust.
I walked under winter’s sky and it quenched my thirst,
And summer became hotter from the fires which burn inside of me.
My life will continue through sacrifice for freedom Oh song of longing
The night cries out in dew to witness my wounds.
The army of the enemy came from every direction.
The night witnessed the destruction and learned from the martyr2 Oh song of longing
Weapons on the hills are higher than the highest.
They open the path of hope and the hope in my men.
Oh heroic youth, I sacrifice myself for your sake.
Oh song of longing
The elegantly slow- paced melody of “Yama Mawil al- Hawa” remained with me for several weeks. After some basic inquiries among friends I managed to find a slightly modified recording of this song, on an old cas-sette tape by the famous ensemble Firqat Aghani al- ʿAshiqin (The Songs of the Lovers Ensemble). More than a year later, on a return trip to Jordan, I began working with al- ʿAshiqin as they began performing once again in support of the second intifada. An ʿudist and the conductor of the group, Adnan Odeh was not at all surprised when I told him the story of my first
experience with this song (see example 2.1). He cites “Yama Mawil al- Hawa” as one of the most widely known Palestinian folk songs, and per-haps one of al- ʿAshiqin’s most important.3 In one of our first interviews together he sang “Yama Mawil al- Hawa” beautifully for me, and explained the meaning of the lyrics (see figure 2.2).
“Yama Mawil al- Hawa” is one of the best songs in the national movement [al- ḥarakat al- qawmīya] simply because it is purely 100 percent Palestinian [filisṭīnī mīya bi- 1 - mīya]. Although we [al- ʿAshiqin] changed the lyrics, and I think Hussein [Nazak]
modified the original melody [from bayyati to ʿajām] and meter, it is a folk song [aghnīya min al- shaʿb] that every Palestinian knows from the time they were children. It sings about the people and their struggles, no matter where they were scattered. When we perform it, it is one of the only times in the concert when people would stop dancing and just listen, [simply because] it had the most beautiful melody and powerful text . . . everyone knew the lyrics . . . and it was the same [whether we were playing] in Bei-rut, Damascus, anywhere. Everyone knew it because everyone could identify with it . . . the winter’s walk of 1948 [mashaīt taḥt al- shatāʾ], the summer heat moving [from Palestine] to the [Jor-example 2.1. ✹ “Yama Mawil al- Hawa.” Transcription from author’s field notes.
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danian or Syrian] desert, the loss of our land, the sacrifice of the martyrs, these were all things that Palestinians knew and experi-enced everywhere [wayn makān].
For Adnan Odeh songs like “Yama Mawil al- Hawa” narrate a personal history of the Palestinian al- nakba (catastrophe) and provide powerful markers of a distinct national identity in exile. As I observed in Umm Qais, families shared this song with their children while evoking collec-tive memories and experiences of dispossession. As they overlooked the now- empty fields where their ancestral villages once stood, “Yama Mawil al- Hawa” was sung to best communicate the feelings of the moment and to further inculcate in the lives of these young girls foundational aspects of their Palestinian identity. In a similar fashion, Firqat Aghani al- ʿAshiqin has been performing this song for over thirty years because of its capacity to index uniquely Palestinian experiences of dislocation, struggle, and
Figure 2.2. ✹ Adnan Odeh, ʿudist and composer for Firqat Aghani al- ʿAshiqin.
Photograph by the author (2003).
sacrifice. On picnic blankets, in political rallies, and on the national stage,
“Yama Mawil al- Hawa” has played an important role in narrating a col-lective national history and identity in exile.
To this end, Palestinian artists throughout the diaspora have developed vast repertories of music, poetry, drama, film, and dance in support of the Palestinian national movement and the struggle for self- determination.
Such artistic projects have given voice to a subaltern nationalist ideology and have promoted powerful sentiments of national identity both within and between communities in ’48 (Israel), in the occupied West Bank and Gaza Strip (al- bilād), and in exile (al- ghūrba) (Jordan, Syria, Lebanon).
Within the near Palestinian diaspora (in Jordan, Syria, Lebanon), musi-cal performance has been especially important in the formation of cul-tural meanings in two distinct ways: first, by providing a forum for the expression of subaltern/nationalist ideologies from within dominant host nations, and second, by facilitating performative interaction and be-longing between diaspora communities. It is this lateral awareness, the hallmark of diasporic signification and identification, that has enabled and encouraged Palestinians throughout Bilad al- Sham (Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, Israel/Palestine) to collectively experience the pains of occupa-tion: as national pride, hope, and shame.
In this and the following chapters I seek to trace the broad history of Palestinian resistance song to better understand how and why certain singers, songs, poets, and ideas have come to define the Palestinian nation and its struggle for self- determination. What are the foundational songs that narrate the nationalist movement, and how have these songs influ-enced, reflected, or otherwise generated the ways Palestinians conceptu-alize themselves and their struggle for self- determination? In particular I am interested in revealing how this repertory has been both constituted by and constitutive of the myriad poetics and politics of dispossession and resistance. What role have music and performance played in the de-velopment of the Palestinian liberation movement? And how might a topography of the major performers and performances illuminate wider sociopolitical boundaries, cracks, and fissures within its ranks? Is there a relationship between the poetics of song and the politics of resistance?
And if so, how and why might this be so? What potential does music have for expressing meaning within wider sociopolitical frames over-determined by violence and trauma?
At their core, however, the following chapters provide a basic
intro-40 ✹ Poets, Singers, and Songs
duction to the field of Palestinian protest song. Throughout I trace the historical development of this repertory from its earliest known and re-corded antecedents to its present- day transnational manifestations, high-lighting foundational figures, groups, songs, and ideas. Through careful musical, textual, and performative analysis I explore many of the domi-nant signs, myths, and meanings inherent in this repertory, deconstruct-ing the indexical associations that constitute the poetics of Palestinian resistance. In the course of drawing out this history, however, it becomes apparent that the performativity of nationalist song and of nationalist politics are coterminous. In effect they inhabit the same social spaces, play on the same lexicon of associations and ideas, and are mutually con-stitutive in the articulation of large- scale group identity formations. The performance of Palestinian resistance music across space and time has in essence narrated the history of the Palestinian nation, its triumphs and failures, its pride and shame. Within its melodies, rhythms, and poetics is a uniquely textured cultural performance of Palestinian history. Situated within larger fields of meaning, these songs provide a truly fascinating historical record of the Palestinian condition as it has been conceptual-ized and embodied over the last eighty years. To perform this music, in many ways, is to perform the nation.4
The story that unfolds, however, is not necessarily one of unilinear soli-darity. Far from it, the story of Palestinian resistance music that emerges in the following chapters is beset with contradiction, complication, and points of contention between and among performers and audiences. This is an extraordinarily complicated story, where imaginings of the body and body politic move in counterpoint with myriad social forces, constantly affirmed and contested in performance. The presence of such contradic-tions, however, need not call into question the very existence of Pales-tinian identity, nor should they detract from the legitimacy of the Pal-estinian cause of self- determination. Rather the twisting and turning of Palestinian protest song, weaving its way through history, replete with points of blockage and disagreement, reveals the performativity of re-sistance itself and the processes through which imaginings of the nation are constructed and articulated. Focusing on the fractures and fissures in Palestinian nationalism allows for cultural meanings and experiences to be opened up, examined, and interrogated in interesting ways, revealing a more nuanced topography of resistance itself.
At issue are the various ways resistance is interpreted and performed
at different points in Palestinian history. How is resistance interpreted over time and across the landscape of Palestinian experience? Who are the targets of such resistance? As the popularity and influence of resis-tance songs ebb and flow, coming into and out of fashion, what does this say about the nature of resistance music at times of state building when very little active and organized fighting is taking place? Following Lila Abu- Lughod, the concept of resistance must be employed specifically as a “diagnostic of power,” as a means to map social relations and to better understand the “complex inter- workings of historically changing struc-tures of power.”5 Here I seek to use protest song as a tool for understand-ing the dynamics of power within the Palestinian nationalist movement.
In telling the story of Palestinian protest song it is essential to under-stand each performative act, song, poem, dance, or gesture as a means for understanding the field of consequence from which it arose.
Pre- 1948 Indigenous Palestinian Protest Song
Archival sources on the performance of protest song prior to 1948 are found in various Palestinian, British, and Israeli sound archives and per-sonal collections or within the literature of Palestinian folklore, poetry, and oral history. A careful reading of these sources reveals a vibrant tra-dition of protest song throughout the British mandate period reaching a climax during the Great Arab Revolt of 1936−39. Under stiff British mili-tary occupation, songs performed at local events provided an important forum for political discussion outside the reach of colonial censorship.
Among the rural fallāḥīn (peasantry), folk songs were a powerful tool for mobilizing the masses in support of the labor boycotts and the armed conflict against British forces. Traveling musicians and poets, hired to perform at weddings and other life- cycle events, brought news of the volt to the villages, debated pressing political issues, and glorified the re-sistance and its leadership as heroic soldiers for the nation.6 Most impor-tantly, these performers sowed the seeds of nationalist discourse itself, carrying the idea of Palestinian nationalism from the cosmopolitan urban centers to the rural towns and villages.
This tradition of Palestinian resistance song was operationalized through the performance repertory of the indigenous shaʿr al- murtajal (poet- singer). Colloquially called al- shāʿr, al- zajjālī, or al- ḥādī, these poets were hired to perform at celebratory gatherings, life- cycle events,
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calendar festivals, or diwānīn (village guesthouses) throughout the re-gion. At these events traveling poet- singers would entertain participants by freely extemporizing stanzas of poetry based within prescribed indige-nous folk- tune archetypes. Texts were improvised based on myriad con-textual criteria, local politics, proverbs, folklore, and history, following precise rhythmo- poetic rhyme schemes. Once performed, variations of a particular song would spread very quickly among neighboring villages.
Prominent performers became famous for their unique social and politi-cal commentary, raising many to the status of folk heroes in the nation-alist movement.
Given the improvisational character of this repertory, coupled with a dearth of reliable recording technology in pre- 1948 Palestine, this tradi-tion of political performance has been difficult to document. However, Palestinian fallāḥī singers were periodically broadcast on local radio, and many of their performances routinely dealt with quasi- political issues and themes. The literature reveals that such broadcasts were an extremely effective means of reaching out to the people, but rarely do such sources provide more than topical discussion of well- remembered texts. In rare cases collections of well- known folk poetry were published, largely with-out musical analysis or commentary.7 However, careful examination of these texts often suggests its musical rendering. Based on poetic struc-ture and rhyme scheme it is possible to approximate the manner of its original musical rendering based on contemporary performance practice.
Many of the more famous songs of this period, however, have survived through continued performance and widespread popularity (see below).
These songs, first composed between 1920 and 1939, now serve as the foundation for new repertories of resistance songs over eighty years later.
In most cases, the composer of the song is unknown, or it is attributed only to “folklore” (fulklūr) or “popular heritage” (turāth al- shaʿbī). How-ever, in rare circumstances, the identity of the poet becomes embedded within the song itself. One such poet, Nuh Ibrahim, is routinely cited as having had the largest grassroots impact on the development of Pales-tinian resistance music and literature. His many compositions remain a vital part of this repertory, having survived through the generations in various publications and continued performance since the time of the Great Arab Revolt (1936–39).
nuh ibrahim
Born in Haifa in 1913, Nuh Ibrahim developed a passion for poetry as a young boy working at a local printing press. Performing publicly at social clubs, labor syndicates, and other professional unions, Ibrahim became quite famous as a captivating young poet. His local fame later led to fre-quent performances for cosmopolitan elites in Cairo, Damascus, Beirut, and other Arab cultural capitals. In his many poems Ibrahim would de-liver impassioned rhetoric against the British mandate, escalating Jewish colonization under the aegis of Zionism, and the unwillingness of the Arab world to come to the defense of the Arabs in Bilad al- Sham after the First World War. Returning to Palestine in the early 1930s, he joined an anticolonial resistance movement, led by the infamous imam ‘Izz al- Din al- Qassam.8 Known by the alias talmīdh al- Qassām (Pupil of al- Qassam), Ibrahim spread the imam’s message of popular resistance to British colo-nial administration and Zionist expansion via repertories of indigenous poetry. Though al- Qassam was killed in an ambush before the revolt for-mally began in 1936, a series of murabaʿ poems (see below) composed and sung by Ibrahim in his honor were instrumental in memorializing the famed leader and drawing popular support for the cause that bore his name.9
While there are many interpretations of sung murabaʿ based on sty-listic and regional variation, in this example the introductory quatrain of poetry follows a prescribed rhyme scheme where the first, second, and fourth lines must rhyme, while the third is free. Then, in the subsequent quatrain the poet uses the rhyme from the third line of the first quatrain as the basis for the subsequent three lines, and then cadences the fourth line with the dominant rhyme from the first quatrain (that is, aaba, bbba). All subsequent quatrains then maintain the dominant rhyme of the first quatrain in its cadential line (ccca, ddda, and so on). Between each quatrain participants sing one of several responsorial lines (lāzama),
While there are many interpretations of sung murabaʿ based on sty-listic and regional variation, in this example the introductory quatrain of poetry follows a prescribed rhyme scheme where the first, second, and fourth lines must rhyme, while the third is free. Then, in the subsequent quatrain the poet uses the rhyme from the third line of the first quatrain as the basis for the subsequent three lines, and then cadences the fourth line with the dominant rhyme from the first quatrain (that is, aaba, bbba). All subsequent quatrains then maintain the dominant rhyme of the first quatrain in its cadential line (ccca, ddda, and so on). Between each quatrain participants sing one of several responsorial lines (lāzama),