Mohammed el-Kurd: ‘Palestinian youth have managed to transform the terms of the debate’

It was May 2021. During a spring revolt, Mohammed el-Kurd and his sister Mona were propelled to the forefront of the international scene.

In the space of a few weeks, they were elevated to the rank of icons. Arrested by the Israeli army and then released on June 6, their pictures were making the rounds on social networks.

The media was all about the twin brother and sister who are seen as an embodiment of a generation, and a reflection of their own time.

The violence, arrests, and expulsions that usually take place in general indifference were now being replayed in the open, in front of the world.

Through social networks, the Kurds took advantage of this attention to redirect it to whatever they wanted. In parallel, the Palestinian revolt was rumbling. For the first time in years, the resistance seemed to have found a new lease on life.

From Sheikh Jarrah to Lod, Haifa, Nazareth, and then Gaza and Qalandia, Palestinian cities were rising up one after the other, on both sides of the Green Line, behind a common rallying cry.

From Jerusalem, this “intifada of unity” chanted for the renewed union of the Palestinian people.

But 16 months later, the fever subsided. The journalists have looked away.

The majority of Palestinians have returned to their normal lives.

Kurd, on the other hand, continues his path, between writing and activism — between New York and Jerusalem.

The student, who published his first book of poetry in 2021, titled Rifqa, in which he questions the role of the Western media, the power of words, and the failure of the Palestinian leadership.

L'Orient-Le Jour met Kurd on the sidelines of the International Magazine Festival in Ferrara, Italy, held from Sept. 29 to Oct. 3, to talk about the long silence after the storm.

L’Orient-Le Jour: A year and a half later, what remains of the “unity uprising?”

Mohammed el-Kurd: It is difficult to say. On the one hand, the sense of unity that prevailed in 2021 has faded. We have become aware of this fragmentation, which stems from geographical obstacles, but not only that.

It is also the diversity of the means of oppression that has separated us. We were already aware of this at the time. But we were overcome by a form of collective euphoria.

Later we realized: We are good at mobilization, but not at long-term organization. We know how to manage the storm, but we don’t know how to anticipate it.

We work in an emergency. Outside of these emergency moments, we don’t know what to do. Or at least, the crisis never goes away enough to give us enough space to do something other than just responding to it.

But this is also a natural phenomenon. The spontaneous impulses of popular uprisings dry up, and the attention is gradually shifted to other things.

Let’s take today: Our attention is scattered between what is happening in Masafer Yatta, Sheikh Jarrah, Silwan, Gaza, or in Negev.

The sense of unity is wavering. We continue to encourage people to support the communities that need it and to go there. But there are also logistical constraints.

The events in Sheikh Jarrah were very different because of a set of circumstantial factors that are difficult to replicate — an area that is both symbolic and central and very accessible. In most other cases, access to endangered communities is much more difficult.

There were regrets and disappointments, but we also learned a lot. We made a few gains and victories.

First of all, the Palestinian youth has proved, until today, its audacity.

The way we approach the media has changed radically. We have managed to transform the terms of public debate.

With the exception of a few “hot” episodes still invading the international news, the media cycle has now moved on. How can we continue to talk about Palestine when the world looks away, when bombs are no longer raining on Gaza and when Sheikh Jarrah has regained a calm appearance?

One of the biggest challenges I face is the idea that our word — as Palestinian journalists and artists — is reactive. There is always a crisis that we have to respond to.

Let’s say I'm writing about an eviction taking place in a village. Meanwhile, the news catches up with me — a demolition is taking place, or a child is killed by an Israeli soldier. We are torn apart.

The question that arises is how to reclaim the rhythm of the news.

Writing is not a choice: I am forced to do it because it is the reality in which I live. But I don’t want to simply suffer the media cycle. I want to direct it intentionally. To divert it, to recreate it, rather than let it control me.

This is done in different ways. By taking to the streets. Or by redirecting the discussion with a journalist: Whatever question is asked, I take the conversation to a place I choose. But not everyone can do that.

Staying present and active in the media is not easy, if not impossible when you don’t have many connections and when you don’t have influence or a voice that is compatible with these hegemonic news giants.

Overall, the 2021 sequence underscored the limits of a model aimed at creating iconic places and figures; The life expectancy of this kind of phenomenon is extremely limited.

How do we continue the mobilization beyond the immediate circle, the family, and the neighborhood? How to overcome the sense of urgency? How to mobilize without having to rely on one or two voices that will sooner or later run out of steam?

When you were 11 years old, you questioned the members of the European Parliament in Strasbourg. At 14, you were the subject of a documentary about the daily life of your community in Sheikh Jarrah. At 23, you were arrested with your sister, Mona, after campaigning against the forced eviction of East Jerusalem residents. Over the years, you have become one of the leading figures in Palestine. Is this a good thing?

Let’s be clear: I am not made for the camera. I don’t like it. I always wanted to be behind the scenes, writing speeches that others would give. So, all this media coverage happened by itself. It didn’t happen because I’m exceptionally intelligent, but rather because I was extremely well-advised. My entourage guided me to redirect all this attention and use the media tool to our advantage.

More generally, we are now at a historic turning point.

The media coverage around Palestine, in the press but also on platforms like Netflix, is unprecedented. At the same time, if you take even a moment to question this representation, it seems that we as Palestinians are now content with a mere role as extras.

That’s the problem: we can’t be satisfied with a few seconds on CNN.

There is another problem. In Palestinian circles, some of those who have been able to circumvent censorship and conquer a small media space internationally continue to reproduce the same discourse of individualizing what is happening to them.

They focus on a personal tragedy without linking it more generally to the system that is at the root of it all.

I don’t know if it’s careerism, where some people are more interested in getting ahead than in the cause, or if it’s related to the educational system and the way it is run by the Palestinian Authority (PA).

So, the public stature of some Palestinian media figures is built at the expense of something else?

Yes. When we create icons, we offer a kind of consolation prize. Palestinians have historically been excluded from the media space.

By pouring all their energy into my sister and me, we are being told in a subtle way, “Look, we’re repenting, we’re giving you a space.” Our overexposure has become an excuse, a kind of cover put forward to justify silencing others. When you find yourself in this position, you are forced to challenge the media that looks for you.

To reclaim the discourse by becoming the subject, not the object, of the conversation.

When my sister and I were named one of Time Magazine’s 100 Most Influential People of 2021, we issued a statement to reiterate our position that this is a symbolic gesture that has no impact on the ground and fails to mention the hundreds of people who work for this cause every day.

In the end, we remain, whether we like it or not, an object in the discourse of others. But we have done our best to refuse this objectification and to impose our own red lines.

I believe today that it is possible to keep all these principles, to be aware of the problematic aspect of making an icon, and to continue to speak publicly.

The generation of activists to which you belong has openly questioned the legitimacy of the Palestinian leadership that emerged from Oslo. The PA is now, in many ways, seen as a subcontractor of the Israeli occupation. At the same time, no political alternative has emerged. Has your generation given up on “political work?”

If you are talking about “political work” in the traditional sense of the term, that is, centralized leadership, regulated around an electoral system and institutions, then yes, you are right, no project, no strategy has emerged on a national scale.

I think this has to do with our lack of resources and the hegemonic control of finances by certain stakeholders. The PA now controls every aspect of the organizational process.

For example, the Palestinian Ministry of Media’s budget is being swallowed up, while our media presence is still minimal. This makes it even more amazing that we are able to make a splash in the media, without any form of institutional support.

Imagine if we had access to training or funding.

On the other hand, Israeli propaganda is extremely well-developed, thanks in particular to the action of the Ministry of Strategic Affairs.

Millions of shekels are invested to teach “influencers” how to talk about the Israeli regime. On the internet or in embassies abroad, they have paid employees to represent them. We are a long way from that, and I blame the PA for that.

But political, and organizational work no longer looks like that today. It has become more dislocated, more autonomous. It is crossed by a multitude of movements created and animated by the communities concerned.

All these groups share a certain political vision of the struggle for national liberation — even if this vision is not systematically translated into action.

Have these local mobilization structures evolved since the 2021 uprising?

We have done a lot to develop the organizational part of our action. It wasn’t just about creating new rhetoric in front of the camera.

We have created campaigns and taken action with the International Criminal Court.

Internationally, groups like Students for Justice in Palestine are doing exceptional work. New forms of organizing have also emerged on the ground.

One of the most impressive events of the 2021 uprising was the general strike of May 18, 2021 — a movement not seen since the 1930s.

It occurred spontaneously, with an extremely high level of coordination between areas and groups. Collectives, popular coordination committees, and entire communities emerged from the events of May 2021.

Sandouq al-karameh (The Dignity Fund), an initiative to facilitate bail, was set up in the “1948 territories” to help the families of prisoners after the massive crackdown following the uprising. All of these structures, which are highly connected to each other, continue to exist today. The question remains whether they are capable of replacing the traditional systems that have long tried to keep us out of power.

This article was originally published in French with L'Orient-Le Jour. Translation by Sahar Ghoussoub. 

Mohammad el-Kurd : la « jeunesse palestinienne est parvenue à transformer les termes du débat »