Palestinian-Jordanian filmmaker Asmahan Bkerat’s new documentary Concrete Land is an intimate story about three generations of a Palestinian Bedouin family in Jordan, that facing displacement, racism, and internal conflict, After its premiere, Shahran Morshed spoke with Bkerat about what the title represents, her film being both history and memory, and the story the land itself would tell about those who lived upon it.

SM: Concrete Land follows three generations of a Palestinian Bedouin family. Can you tell us where the journey of this film began?

AB: That journey started with a friendship I already had before the film. I met the Najar family by coincidence with my colleague Ban, who is a producer andeEditor on the film. We became friends with the family. Two years later, we made a short film about Hakima (the grandmother) and her pet sheep Badrya. When the eviction threat started, Concrete Land was born. We decided with the family to document the eviction in the hope that it might change something; the story developed, and years later it became the story of the film.

SM: The title, Concrete Land, carries a strong image. How did you come up with this title, and what does it represent for the world of the film?

AB: In the beginning the film was called Hakima after the grandmother’s name, but as time went on we saw how the concrete was swallowing the city and the land. We saw the striking juxtaposition between the bareness and coldness of the concrete, and the richness and beauty of the land. So that is the origin of the title comes: the reality that we all face.

SM: The film explores the lives of three generations. How did you approach the way memories, displacement, and experiences are passed on from one generation to the next?

AB: The film takes an intimate look at each character’s story. The grandparents carry deep trauma from being forced out of Palestine. The middle generation sacrificed their futures and hard labor just to survive. The youngest generation struggles with their identity because of social pressure and racism. Today, all three generations share the pain of losing their connection to their homeland. Even after starting over in Jordan, they remain pushed to the margins of society, far from their tribe.

SM: The relationship between the Bedouin community and land is at the heart of the film. What drew you to explore this connection?

AB: This is the connection of every Palestinian. There is a deep connection that intensifies when you are removed from your land, and that’s what happened with every Palestinian. But to Bedouins especially it’s even stronger, because Bedouin live directly off the land, they tend to it and graze their sheep in it, so their existence is tied to the land. Once it is lost, it is a major disruption to their lives.

SM: The characters in Concrete Land feel incredibly intimate. They never appear as distant subjects; rather, they feel like people you have spent a long time with. How did you build this relationship and trust with them?

AB: I would say it’s because the project started with a real friendship before it ever became a film. The decision to shoot was made together with the family, and they were part of the process from the very beginning. Because I was filming continuously over a long period of more than eight years, they grew completely used to me being around and comfortable with presence of the camera. Most importantly, they were living their normal daily lives without ever being asked to stage something or do anything for the camera. Most importantly, I knew what their red lines were because I come from the same community, so they trusted me to respect these unspoken rules.

SM: The film deals with displacement and racism, but through everyday lives and personal relationships. How did you approach portraying these experiences on screen?

AB: I wanted to show these experience from the perspective of the family, and what they have gone through, how they experienced it without exaggerating or over-dramatizing it. We see the displacement happening to them in real time, and they talk about the racism in their own words to each other.

SM: With three generations at the centre of the story, how did you think about time in the film — as history or memory, or as something more personal?

AB: I tried to build the distinct world of each generation, weaving them together as the story unfolds. While the grandparents remain stuck in time, the grandchildren are growing up and trying to adapt to a society and a life that doesn’t feel like their own. Meanwhile, the middle generation is trapped in a continuous cycle of survival just to make ends meet.

The grandparents represent the last generation of the family to live an authentic Palestinian Bedouin way of life. They remain a living memory, for all of us witnessing a lifestyle that is slowly disappearing. So for me this film is both history and memory. It is also deeply personal, having spent more than eight years with the family; their story has become intertwined with my own.

SM: Palestinian cinema has always had a long conversation with themes of exile, belonging, and identity. Where do you see Concrete Land within this cinematic landscape?

AB: I see Concrete Land as a direct continuation of these long standing themes. At its core, this is the story of every Palestinian exploring what it means to carry home, memory, and belonging inside you, wherever you are in the world.

SM: The film had its world premiere at Locarno. What does it mean for you to share this family’s story with an international audience?

AB: There are no words to describe how happy I felt to have the film premiere at Locarno. The premiere was sold out, we had a 5 minute standing ovation, and the audience response to the film was incredibly emotional. I’m so happy to be bringing this story to such an important festival, and to continue its journey in other festivals.

SM: If the land in Concrete Land could speak, what story do you think it would tell about the people who have lived upon it?

AB: If the earth could speak, the stones would utter more compassion than humans.
If it could breathe, it would rage in anger at being burned and buried.
It would rage in anger at the monsters who traded it for greed.
Yet the earth remains for the good people, and the good people remain for the earth.
Anything less than that brings no virtue to man, nor any benefit from the earth to mankind.
It exhaled its last breaths with the scattered dust until concrete came, and silence blanketed the place.
No place remains for the wind among the branches, nor a place for the birds to sing; and the good have strayed, for hope has vanished.
But their footsteps will remain engraved in the land, and in their hearts the earth remains the light of their path.
For if the light goes, the generations will lose their path, and they will be lost no matter how long they live.

لو تكلمت الأرض لنطقت الحجارة بعطف أكثر من البشر
لو تنفست لثارت غضبا على حرقها و دثرها
لثارت غضبا على أشباه البشر الذين رثوها بالرماد و شروها بالطمع
و تبقى الأرض للناس الطيبة و الناس الطيبة للأرض
و ما دون ذلك فلا للإنسان فضيلة ولا للأرض نفع للبشر
تلفظت أخر أنفاسها بالتراب المندثر الا ان جاء الاسمنت و عم الصمت في المكان
فلا مكان بعد للريح بين الأغصان ولا مكان للعصافير لتغني والطيبون تياها فقد زال الأمل
لكن ستبقى في البلاد وطئتهم محفورة و في قلوبهم الأرض نور دربهم
فإن ذهب النور ضلت الأجيال طريقها و تياها هم مهما طال العمر

(c) Image copyright: Claudia Campoli, Locarno Film Festival