It’s a sorry state of affairs when words such as conflict and bloodshed are bound with iron chains to the word ‘Palestine’; a word which, to many refugees and their descendants who have long since escaped the area, still carries the breath of home. Selma Dabbagh is Palestinian and British. She is both an author and a lawyer. She grew up in Kuwait, and was a Guardian Book of the Year winner in 2011 with her novel ‘Out of it’, which plays with perspective by being set in the Gulf, Gaza and London. She, as an English-language author, represents part of the diaspora of Palestinians who have to ask themselves difficult questions about responsibility, identity and homeland.
‘Poetry, Prose and Palestine’, a talk chaired by Alice Guthrie, was an engaging, lively hour-and-a-half discussion with Dabbagh that not only covered her novel but also interrogated the questions of identity politics, Palestine-related literature itself, and the role that Palestinian authors play, that this topic so strongly poses.
Dabbagh began by vividly colouring in the Arab world’s past and present with stereotype-defying facts not commonly known in the Western world. For instance, pre-Islamic Arabic poetry was strong, erotic and powerful, was often written by women, and still has a revered place in the current literary canon of the Arab world. It is only after the 20th century that Middle East-based literature has become synonymous with death and war. Dabbagh interestingly stated that when writing today, ‘politics is a burden as well as a liberator.’ It is, after all, impossible to imagine a completely apolitical Middle Eastern novel, since religion, and the politics it generates, manages to weave itself into everyone’s lives.
The discussion took a truly fascinating turn when the relationship between the occupier and the occupied was brought up. In her novel Dabbagh paints Israel as as an ever-present but ever-absent shadow. She explored how this notion affects identity for many Palestinians living under siege; for example, the effect on the traditional family unit when fathers are unable to take care of their families. But the novel is far from an idealised depiction of Gaza, as serious divisions within the society are laid bare.
Next on the dissecting platter was feminism in relation to literature. Guthrie and Dabbagh added new fire to the age-old debate by bringing up the fact that when it comes to non-Western women’s literature, there is a fixation on the ‘lifting the veil’ memoir form as opposed to what is expected from white, male writers. Dabbagh counters this with her novel, which is told from multitudinal perspectives. It is a defiance of the futile search of ‘the one authentic voice of truth’ in literature, a voice that simply doesn’t exist. She spoke about the double responsibility of being a woman, and also a Palestinian, in documenting conflict and events that don’t directly impact us in the West (yet).
Dabbagh stated, ‘the definition of Islam has been stolen.’ Words are used in the media, at negotiating tables, and to write novels. A Guardian review of ‘Out of it’ praises Dabbagh for her ‘exact and precise images’. This exact prose style communicates her desire for people to be aware of the power of words and the events that they can cut, shape and create.
It is the West’s sorely needed reality check, an assault on dominant narratives propagated by headlines, and a reminder that real life is made up of a kaleidoscope of individuals with their own narratives, and their own right to speak, to live and to exist. In fact, my own copy of ‘Out of it’ has just arrived.