The interview was first broadcast on Waseem Ahmad Siddiqui's Hüsnükabul program on Open Radio.
Building on her work “Refugee Legacy, Guest Room and Permanent Transience” with Palestinian architect and activist Sandi Hilal, we examine how refugee camps were established as a result of political failures and how people live in them.
Waseem Ahmad Siddiqui: Hi, Sandi. Thank you for standing with me in this solidarity and friendship of our radio program, Hüsnükabul.
Sandi Hilal: Nice to be with you.
Waseem Ahmad Siddiqui: Sandi, I also want to mention that the word “Hünsükabul” is our program name, which means “kind reception” or “kind acceptance”. It is a concept that reinforces the voices of asylum seekers and refugees in Turkey. Today, my ambition is to propose a record extension, 30 minutes of our political imaginaries.
So while we are recording this podcast in privileged conditions of confinement, we keep in our thoughts of the multitude of people around the world who do not share similar conditions or have no choice but to risk being affected by the war or climate catastrophe because of criminal policies that we have to do with neoliberalism, carceralism, and colonialism.
Sandi, you have been in my heart and mind for a long time, and I have followed your work very closely for four years.
Please permit me to start by asking you questions about you and your husband, Alessandro Petty's work, “Refugees Heritage, Living Room and Permanent Temporariness.” You write in your introduction; refugee camps are established with the condition of being demolished as a paradigmatic representation of political failure. They are meant to have no history and no future. They are meant to be forgotten. Can we talk about it? It is very crucial. What do you mean by when you use the word “forgotten”? Because I also remember Alessandro Petty in one of his conversations saying: Do refugees have a history?
Sandi Hilal: Yeah, I mean, thank you first of all for having me and for this very, very kind invitation. It's always very nice to talk with friends. And, indeed, we do believe that camps are a crime in history. They should not even exist in the first place. I mean, people should not flee from their houses. This is the failure of politics indeed. But in some ways, I think we are very much behind. So, let me bring you back a little bit to the camp where we have worked for so long time, which is called Dheisheh refugee camp in the south of Bethlehem.
And also, we work in the area south of the west bank. One thing that when we arrived there we realized, for example, Dheisheh refugee camp is less than half a square kilometer, but has 40 nonprofit organizations, 40 active, I would say active community, active people that are carved outside of the state and that began indeed to create their life.
But it seems that we are living in a world order that doesn't recognize that life because it is out of the state order. Indeed, I mean, even in UNESCO, when you think heritage in UNESCO only states could apply to recognize heritage.
And because they are carved out of the state, it feels that as if you don't have history until you become a citizen or in that sense, as long as your life is temporary. And this is where “permanent temporariness” comes from, as long as your life is temporary.
And some people are born and die temporarily, Palestinian refuge is 75 years old and that means the generation that was indeed born in exile, dies in exile, dies in temporariness.
In that prolonged temporariness. It's what we call permanent temporariness. And it feels as long as you are a refugee, you have a sort of world-order sickness and they should treat you with aid and other things until you become a citizen. And once you become a citizen, then you enter and be part of history. Well, we say that is not the case. I mean, almost the contrary, the heritage and the history that has been produced in refugee camps in the last 50-60 years are extremely important because we are stuck with the order we are living in at this moment.
And if there is a place that we should look very closely to is these people that manage to carve a life outside of that order that is not working in this moment. And they manage to keep very tight and very important practices, such as neighboring, such as supporting each other, extending families, building their own political structure.
If you look, for example, at a Palestinian refugee camp in the West Bank, at least where we worked, I mean, many refugees and, in many refugee camps. Indeed, the violence rate is so low because people are managing themselves, and their own politics, they are defending, their rights in some way.
So when we arrived there, both of us, me and Alessandro with Western universities, amazing PhDs, we didn't have any references to understand what is it that we were in front of.
And how can we understand that kind of practice of exile? And that is not to romanticize exile, because it's extremely important not and this is why we say, you know, these are crimes. We are not romanticizing life in a place that should not exist in the first place.
But it's also a crime if we don't recognize the value, the history and the heritage of this life in exile, because means that we are denying people both their history, which is, you know, their places of origin and their presence in exile. So I guess the challenge here is to understand “how that kind of history is crucial history for our future understanding of the world?
Waseem Ahmad Siddiqui: Really, that’s where the effective time comes in, you know, and I'm trying to think about it also, because how can we really explain the concept of time? Because denial is a very spatial term. Please, correct me if I'm wrong, because time is something which you cannot forget. In the same text, you have written two words, “violation” and “humiliation”. I think these two words are really referring to something which has very effective ways of feeling. And it's all about time and coming to this permanent temporariness, I can see two opposite words, actually, permanent and temporary. I also feel the affective tension between these two opposite words, the effective tension or ambiguity that is embodied in our time and perhaps less in spatial terms. So what would you say about this effective understanding of time?
Sandi Hilal: Yeah, in some way, I think. So look, let me begin with this way. We are not claiming that refugees are not victims or that what is happening to Palestinians is, it is an injustice by itself. Right? I do believe that it's extremely important to recognize the injustice situation we are in. It's extremely important. What separates me from so many leftist friends in Europe is that they are not at this moment recognizing the right of Palestinians to resist. And that is extremely a point where, you know, because for 75 years, they are comfortable with looking at Palestinians as victims. And victims normally don't react; No, they are victims.
You put them within the box of victims and suddenly, if you see these victims resist, you cannot anymore understand your order. So, they disturb you that these victims actually have agency, are acting, and are willing to.
So let's begin from there, right? And in that sense, we are working in refugee camps, we did not see. That is something that was very clear to us. We didn't see only victims, we saw people that actually, on the contrary, and here I want to come to time, on the contrary, their struggle since 75 years is not to normalize their life, right? And in that sense, it's quite impressive on how and all the discussions that happened through time, because in some way in the 48, 49, 50’s, Palestinians were convinced that they were coming back to their homes. Their homes were still almost hot places with the flowers that they left with the jars of olives that were there waiting for them, their trees were still waiting. And actually, indeed, in the first years, many of them managed to escape, to go back for a few days and come.
So they still have so strong relation with the right of return as effectively a right of return that will come in. But with years they were struggling with how they would live their life in the camp and still not normalizing it, because they want to return back home.
Right? So that was the majority sort of contradiction of time, because they were living in a time. They were living a time in a space that they did not want to be in.
The whole idea was how we return back to our villages and houses and cities to a point that in the ’50s, first years of the 53, 54, they were actually, until three, four years insisting on attending even because they were: “We come back home.”
Right? At the beginning, at a certain point, there was this whole discussion, but, you know, I mean, we have to protect our kids. We cannot live in a tent forever. But they decided to live in a tent forever, conceptually. Right?
So in some way, it's true that they began to build walls. And, indeed, there is very interesting literature on when Palestinians built four walls and decided to begin in camps, to begin to put up the roofs. And many of them were insisting that the roofs should be in Zinkos, they should not be in cement or something solid. So that is a way for us not to settle, not to feel at home. Their whole idea was how can we live that life, a temporary life for as long as we can, as a way to return back home? And what is impressive is that they managed indeed, I mean, the camp is carrying the history of these 45 of these villages, before 48 villages in Palestine and cities, the neighborhoods of the camp are called behind these names. It is the place, the most place in Palestine where you will feel that the heritage of what was Palestine before the 48th is still carried by many of them. So what the permanent temporariness is really, I would even call it a “political struggle” because they managed for 75 years to build cement houses of three, four, five floors of houses. Yet conceptually they managed to still be living in tents as a way of defending their right of return.
They are still believing that the right of return is crucial. And here the question of time becomes even trickier because, you know, a lot of until now, maybe the political discourse is that we will leave the camp behind and return back to our homes. But when any of these camps were destroyed, like Nahri al Bhairid camp in Lebanon, Jenin camp, now Jabalia camp in Gaza, or whatever, people began to want to return back also to the camp. Right? And that makes it very clear. This is where history and heritage come in, because as in the permanent temporariness, they thought that we could delete or deny the history of the camp and return back to the 48th. That is impossible. That will never happen. And if we do not recognize the camp of the history of the camp, we will not be able to return because we need that history. We need that heritage in order for it to be a recognized history. That will be the bridge to return us back to the heritage of the 48. So what we are claiming that permanent temporariness is a political struggle, is a political struggle against normalization, is recognizing that condition, embracing that condition as a way to resist. And here I would still insist on resistance, a way to resist life in a refugee camp, to resist normalizing life in a refugee camp in order to return back. Now, the task is to recognize that heritage and to understand that heritage as a bridge of return rather than as a fear of return. And there is where time is extremely important, time and space, I would say.
Waseem Ahmad Siddiqui: “El-Sumud,” you know much better than me the word Arabic, “El-Sumud,” to resist, to stay there, to remain there. It really resonates, you know, returning back, as you are saying, it's a kind of recognition, but it's also a kind of resemblance, or maybe you want to see or you want to remember what you have forgotten. I don't know; it's something where you want to remember again, your past or maybe what you have left behind. And I think this “forgetting” is not so possible. But in the political sphere, it's somehow working. I mean, this denial which you are talking about, it's somehow working in the political sphere but the struggle, the political struggle; you're completely right that it's not that possible. And I'm trying to also think about it while you are talking. And in that part, I want to ask you also, what is for you, a moment of true decolonization? What would you say about it?
Sandi Hilal: Yeah, first of all, I think it's extremely important before even I answer this question, because we have been working for 20 years on this same mantra norm. And it feels almost like some people say, 20 years, almost insisting on the same sort of path.
And I have to say, by doing that, they ask us, so how you will define decolonization?
What is decolonization? First of all, I have to begin by saying there is no universal way of thinking about decolonization. Because in a way, there is modernity. colonize us by making us believe that there is a universal set for every one of us. And that is how we are still colonized by Western culture and knowledge. So in that sense, definitely, to think decolonization is there is no one solution and there is no one way of decolonizing. And indeed, I will even add more. I mean, I worked with Alessandro. He's my husband. We work together in a super fruitful, amazing way. We always managed to think together, to live together, to practice even life in decolonization together. But definitely, we don't come to decolonization through the same bath, and we don't have even those moments of decolonization in a similar way.
Right? So in that sense, if with one's own husband, and not only husband, work partner, and I would say strongly intellectual partner, we would not have the same path of decolonization. How can we even say that decolonization can be taught or thought about together? I mean, decolonization is a collective. That most probably it's. hard to be alone, to do it alone, but it cannot have one universal answer. I mean, it's a collective thinking where we embark on an individual process and a collectivity. And that is a very important point. So when you would ask me, what is decolonization or moment that I recognize as moments of decolonization? Because, of course, you know, in Palestine, for example, decolonization is very clear. You have a military colonial power structure. And you have simply to dismantle that. In that sense, it is a collective resistance. A collective struggle against a physical colonial presence in Palestine. And that is quite a clear physical decolonization. Or struggle against colonization, I would say. But what is that we are more behind is these moments of mind decolonization; Not physical decolonization. But the moment that you begin to free yourself. Because the moment that you would recognize. And that is where we were living in Palestine. And our bodies were completely controlled by borders, by Israeli presence, by settlers, by so many things. Yet in somehow I think that we were very much behind understanding. If they are occupying our bodies. Can we begin to free our minds? Because that is something that they cannot control. And that is something where once you do it you will understand that it's possible. And the moment you understand that is possible is really incredible.
And I think for me each time I understand, I break a frame. Because somehow in modernity, and that is why I really believe modernity and colonization are very much linked together. And that is an issue I think for many people somehow that have a hard time accepting in many ways that, I mean when colonizers arrive to other places to colonize it. They didn't say we are coming to steal your land. They promised us modernity and civilization. You know, they come and until now, if you look at Palestine, Israel and what is how they describe that. That is the war between barbarians and civilization. And that is, you know, I mean, no matter where we stand, no matter what we do. If you are civilized, you come with us. And that is the moment where, you know, this is the closest moment of that link between modernity and colonization. Because, you know, still someone like the prime minister of Israel promises people with all that they are doing; He still believes that he's carrying the card of civilization.
So in that sense, for me each time I, being, you know, in schools and universities. We are all civilized in that way. Even if we didn't, we were not within a process of colonization, physical colonization. I think that all of us except a few people who managed to keep themselves outside of everything are colonized mentally. And I think for me each time. I begin to understand it. You know, it's becoming. In the beginning, maybe it passes this way. But now each month, each time my mind is clicking. I feel this moment of decolonization is clicking. It’s disturbed by the frame. It’s rejecting the frame. I really feel and I give you one very quick example also to understand what I mean. A lot of time, I mean, a person like me, considered women of color, coming from Palestine, I'm quite good for so many frames. You know, I suit many frames and many colors. So a lot of time, I feel, there is this whole rhetoric. We would like to include your voice, include your voice, include your voice and I actually, reject this very strongly.
Lately, I went through this for so long time, but now I understand a lot of time. It depends, how is it? Is it a collective sort of coming together or it's inclusion?
Because they need to include people like me, and I'm still actually feeding in that frame to continue surviving. So I guess, you know, the moment, for example, a moment of decolonization for me is a moment that I say, wait a minute, you don't include me.
Why do you think that you are entitled to that moment of inclusion, whenever someone includes you, I mean, are you ready to include and be included, then I am with you.
But if you think that you are the only one that is entitled to be, to include colors, then I actually, my decolonization struggle is to destroy your frame. So these moments, and each time I live these moments, understand it better, build my words, make it understand to others why I am struggling that way, why I'm resisting that way. These are all a very important moment of decolonization for me.
Waseem Ahmad Siddiqui: What is very, again, crucial; I think, the confrontation of oneself. And I really believe, again, because of the way I have started, the word “forgetting” or “forgotten”, there is something which we are not forgetting, and we are trying to resist that humiliation is something which we don't forget. And that's where the resistance comes in.
That's where the decolonization, or whatever it is, comes in because you want to confront it. But in some ways, it seems like very primitive. It seems very, very backward, you know, because when you start resisting something that really disturbs you, it doesn't look as white as Israel looks right now. I think it is more white than what Hamas is doing.
So that's maybe the reason. One of the very important figures in our own life.
I don't know; How would you think about that? Edward Said has already written a lot, and I'm not romanticizing it, but the idea of “orientalism” is something that is embodied still. I think we are still confronted with it. I think we have very little time, a very quick, a very small question, and the last question I want to ask is, what does it mean to be at home? And I can add a small question to it. What do you think? What forms of solidarity and alignment can be made possible by living side by side with other differences and alternatives? Must we live in the shadow of sovereignty or can we overcome it, or are we trapped in this ambiguity? What do you think? What does it mean to be at home?
Sandi Hilal: I actually want to take you very much on the moment of humiliation that many, many of us actually went through and that we sort of, I would say, almost recognize each other's pains, but also recognize each other's sort of resistance, moment, anger and it's more than ever. Somehow, I still remember very, very early in my life in Italy when I went there, and I was a little bit under that moment of being included in Italian public space. And I still remember I was on the train and met with a South African young man. And we began to talk and it felt so home. I didn't know that person. It was half an hour, but I felt it. And then later on, after ten years, it hit me why I felt this way with that person. But we began to talk and we didn't have to say so much. We immediately felt like the straightforward being home on the train with that person. But because I think we felt each other's pains and maybe moments of humiliation, but also strongly I was coming back from the first intifada.
For him, it was a moment when South Africa was going out from apartheid, and I think that felt like home. I was not home in Italy, and it felt like home for half an hour. So I carried this moment for me and I thought about it a lot. I think solidarity, home is the moment and sometimes you don't even need to live it strongly, but you have to feel that pain, and if you don't feel that pain, if you don't understand it, if you pretend you do it, then I don't know how much it's possible to feel home. And maybe I began my talk by saying that what separates me from many friends where I do not feel at home, is the moment I feel that my resistance is not seen because they put me in a box of only people that can be victims and they want to defend me. So I guess people who would understand my pain and resistance are the people I understand theirs, and they are more and more always, which is an optimistic note in the very dark time we are living in. So I guess that is where I really feel at home.
Waseem Ahmad Siddiqui: Sandi Hilal, thank you so much for joining me. We are ending up and I really hope to see you soon. Maybe in Istanbul. Thank you so much.
Sandi Hilal: Or maybe in Palestine.
Waseem Ahmad Siddiqui: For sure. Anytime, I'm hugging you.
Sandi Hilal: Yes, same here, take care.
(WAS/DT)
