On the site of the former Saadnayel train station, three Lebanese short films dealing with ecological issues were screened as part of the third edition of the “Buzur wa Aflam” Festival. (Credit: Charlotte Joubert, courtesy of Buzuruna Juzuruna)
“Ah, there's no battery, we'll have to start backwards!” At the Buzuruna Juzuruna (Our Seeds Our Roots) agroecological farm in Saadnayel, Ferdinand Beau and Marwan Sarout had already emptied the van of several kilos of pumpkins to fill it with a mobile cinema structure and peasant seeds. But before reaching the old Saadnayel train station to screen three Lebanese short films on ecological issues, a final effort was required. Marwan goes down to push the machine for over a 100 meters before it finally roars to life. The third edition of the "Buzur wa Aflam" ("Seeds and Films") Festival, organized by the agroecology association, could now get underway.
The effort required to care for a vulnerable and endangered nature is the common thread running through the three films screened outdoors in the public square of the farming village. The screening is open to all, in keeping with the experimental and generous spirit that characterizes this association, made up of Lebanese, French and Syrian people passionate about the challenges of food sovereignty and agroecology in a country fed on chemical fertilizers and industrial seeds.
The screening is also an opportunity to present the Lebanese peasant seed network “Hobob” and distribute seeds from their farm. While Ferdinand, its co-founder, struggled with volunteers to hold the screen up against the autumn squalls, Foda Youssef and other Syrian women members of the farming movement prepared a hearty meal for spectators to taste their organic vegetables at the end of the screening. Gradually, the plastic chairs and carpets began to fill up, the lights dimmed down and the black screen lit up.
From left to right: Moussa Shabandar, Serge Elia and Chadi Saad. (Credit: Charlotte Joubert, courtesy of Buzuruna Juzuruna)
'Same trigger, different opportunities'
An injured stork appeared on the screen. A doctor explained that it will have to be amputated or sedated. Whoever brought it in knows what it's suffering from. It was a hunter who shot it. Well, almost, because "in Lebanon there are no hunters, only assassins," said the man with a full beard who spends 300 days a year in the wild, observing, photographing and studying migratory birds in Hammana.
If he can afford such a comment, it's because he was once a hunter himself and knows that most don't respect the rules. The film "Shift" shows Chadi Saad's transformation from inveterate hunter, capable of killing 15 storks in a single day, to passionate bird lover. "Same trigger, different life opportunities," he tells the camera, explaining that photography now enables him to see a 1,000 birds a day without killing any. But "if man is not capable of preserving his environment, it is he who will end up being threatened," he prophesies.
The change exemplified by Chadi Saad is urgent, because "due to excessive hunting, certain bird species are on the verge of extinction, as Lebanon is located on the world's second largest migratory corridor," Serge Elia explained to L'Orient-Le Jour. The environmentalist worked alongside director duo Moussa Shabandar and Sherine Raffoul on the short film. This encounter was made possible by the collaborative project Biodiversity and Cinema, led by Hammana Artist House, REEF (Rencontres environnementales et filmiques) and Aflamuna, which in December 2023 brought together cinema and ecological activism.
The three films shown at Saadnayel were born of this fruitful encounter. "Our film has one thing in common with The Snake Hill: They both deal with a disappearance caused by human activity," said Shabandar, who was present at the screening along with the other directors and environmentalists.
'Finding a solution together'
"Snake Hill" is the nickname given to the land at Ferzol in the Bekaa, where Joelle Abou Shabkeh and her husband Melhem cultivate the plot of land he inherited from his grandparents. Organic. All around him, a sea of ploughed, pesticide-laden fields. A cohabitation filled with prejudice and unease, which his gentle, poetic camera sets out to deconstruct, one shot at a time.
"They say Melhem and I are 'special' because we refuse to use pesticides," said the documentary filmmaker from Jounieh, who left everything behind to practice permaculture in the Bekaa, before discovering the practices of local farmers.
With the help of herpetologist Rami Khachab, whom she met during the Biodiversity and Cinema project, she and Melhem scoured the hillside to track down the infamous snakes. But to no avail. What if pesticides were responsible for their disappearance? The question, posed to the people concerned, some of whom confess to abusing banned pesticides such as glyphosate, leads to a dialogue that is hesitant at first, before becoming more constructive.
In the last shot, Melhem and Rami sit alongside Nicolas, the former's uncle, and Hicham, two farmers who abuse chemical fertilizers. To Joelle, the dialogue opened up by her film is invaluable, and so is the way it is disseminated: "Showing films in an open space allows these kinds of debates to continue. Maybe a conventional farmer who sees the film will go home with a little seed. Nicolas, Melhem's uncle, is seeing it for the first time today. This is important to me, because rather than attacking these farmers head-on, I want us to find a solution together," she said.
At the end of the film, Nicolas confesses that he intends to stop using banned fertilizers and will do his utmost to find alternatives to chemical fertilizers, which could be responsible for the disappearance of snakes, even though they are precious allies of the ecosystem.
Farmers' seeds harvested by Buzuruna Juzuruna and distributed free of charge during the Saadnayel screening, Sept. 11, 2024. (Credit: Charlotte Joubert, courtesy of Buzuruna Juzuruna)
'The Tree of Hell'
Hadi Awada's land was contaminated by white phosphorus. A young organic farmer who had decided to take over his family's land in Kfar Kila, his dream was shattered when Israel began bombing Lebanese border villages on Oct. 8, 2023. The first scene of Raed Zeno's film, "The Tree of Hell," shows a white phosphorus bombardment filmed by the farmer and environmental activist.
From his apartment in Furn al-Shebbak, the filmmaker is depressed as he watches the destruction from a distance, to the point of neglecting his garden. When Hadi comes to visit, he helps him tend to his plants, only to discover that an invasive tree is growing on his terrace, nicknamed the "tree of paradise."
The director's fascinating investigation into this insidious ecological threat reveals how this plant, native to China, is colonizing whole swathes of the slopes of Mount Lebanon to the exclusion of all other forms of life. The comparison drawn between this “tree from hell” and the threat posed by Israel to southern Lebanon serves to link Lebanon's ecological challenges to the other urgent issues facing a country at war and in financial crisis.
An ecological awareness campaign that's anything but off the grid, which will continue on Saturday Sept. 14, at 5:30 p.m. in Saida* (on the Sikka site) with the screening of three other short films... Let's hope the van's battery holds out until then.
The "Buzur wa Aflam" Festival will make a stopover on Friday, Sept. 20 at the Bsharri Cultural Center and on Saturday, Sept. 21 at Majdlaya Tallet al-Dahab, starting 5:30 p.m.
This article was originally published in L'Orient-Le Jour.
