ARAB FILM FESTIVAL: Marked with traces of poetic wonder, filmmaker Dahna Abourahme’s documentary about the women who rebuilt their homes, lives and ultimately a community in southern Lebanon after the 1982 Israeli invasion is a study in dedication and perseverance. The ageing, lined faces that recount their struggles are matter of fact in their storytelling, as if they still can’t quite believe what they achieved and don’t want it all to come tumbling down.
Not quite three decades ago Ein el Hilweh was a Palestinian refugee camp in the city of Sidon that was besieged by Israeli troops as they marched north; at one stage over one dozen artillery shells per minute fell on the densely packed settlement. 'We walked towards the unknown," remembers one of the seven women whose stories form the basis of the film, recounting the end of hostilities. Large parts of the camp were flattened, and in the days afterwards bulldozers continued the task as every man between the ages of 14 and 60 was taken into detention.
Young women such as Um Mohammad became matriarchs by virtue of having to fill a void, and what they discovered was a resilience and leadership. In a community without infrastructure or institutions, the women created their own from the ground up and soon found themselves collectively rebuilding houses or clearing rubble out of schools by hand. It was a matter of empowerment by necessity, and in struggling against the initial Israeli occupation – a force seen in almost abstract terms beyond the problems they caused – women such as primary school teacher Nadia and young mother Amal unwittingly undercut the rigidly masculine traditional power structure.
With her handheld aesthetic and preference for marking domestic routines, Abourahme doesn’t dwell on how the situation created dual acts of defiance, and the return over the years to a male hierarchy is mentioned in passing; stories are told, but few questions are asked. The movie is focused on celebrating the achievements of its protagonists, but it is wary about suggesting that their leadership has been lost as Ein el Hilweh was reconstituted.
What saves that outlook from narrowing the narrative is the extensive animation that allows the images to take the leap of imagination that the storytellers will only suggest. With expressive, thick black lines that morph and merge, with splashes of colour slowly added, the animation gives a visual element to the struggle: as a letter from the era is read out, the reproduction of a husband’s identity card transforms into an imprisoned face, before the words melt the bars and he flows towards his wife’s image and they become as intertwined on the screen as the words suggests they already are emotionally.
Kingdom of Women hints at failings in contemporary Ein el Hilweh life, but it also captures the soothing spread of domestic stability. It is, in terms of both gender empowerment and politics, aiming to be optimistic, and thankfully the story is so strong that the lack of inquisition doesn’t irreparably damage the movie. Final images show children and grandchildren dancing in a community centre, their expressive movements at odds with the burden carried by their forebears. That is a victory for the picture’s subjects, but they also wonder if the next generation can understand what was sacrificed on their behalf.
