“Are they expecting another wave from Russia?” Shadi sarcastically asks his father as they drive past a block of blandly designed Jewish Settlements. This is one of the few direct mentions of the Zionist colonial project in Annemarie Jacir’s latest film Wajib (2017). For the most part, the plot of the film is quite reduced. It follows the very simple story of a Palestinian expatriate who returns home to Nazareth to help his father prepare for their sister/daughter’s wedding by delivering invitations to family and friends. In this sense, the film is a quirky mixture of a family drama and a road movie. What makes the film particularly illuminating is the varied thematic conflicts that arise throughout their journey, especially because of its setting within a Palestinian community in Israel proper.

Shadi cannot seem to see eye to eye with his father about a range of issues: Abu-Shadi’s insistence on buying ugly plastic chairs and green tarp, his smoking against doctor’s orders, the city’s crumbling infrastructure, the varied societal expectations; the list goes on. Each passing visit brings new tensions into the car, as Shadi argues with his father about his traditional, old-school attitudes. Even though the two disagree on numerous things they continue to visit families and joke as they drive, even stopping for hummus, cappuccinos and, in one instance, jointly flipping off a militarist Bishop.

There’s only one thing that Shadi finds too disagreeable to continue: his father’s decision to invite an Israeli Jew to the wedding. Abu-Shadi, a teacher in line to become the School Principal, described Avi as a friend, in fact he is his superior, a member of the Israeli education ministry. Shadi accuses his father of seeking a promotion by collaborating with the Zionists. His frustration is further put into context by the fact that Shadi’s girlfriend’s father is an ex-PLO member. Shadi’s description of the man, as a fierce and worldly intellectual, comes in stark contrast to how he views his father, especially in terms of his attitudes and actions towards the state of Israel. To Shadi and his intellectual idols living abroad, the struggle is against Zionism, but the Palestinians who stay have to face the oppressive reality of the state of Israel itself. This dissonance is the main point of contention between the two: the son’s accusation of his father’s collaboration and therefore lack of resistance to Zionism, and Abu-Shadi’s accusation of his son’s idealism and naivety. There are only two of these direct confrontations in the film. Otherwise, the rest of the dialogue, especially with their hosts, mostly have nothing to do with Zionism, exploring avenues of Palestinian life that are often ignored by Western media and news coverage.

Aside from the tired depiction of Palestinians as terrorists, which needs not be addressed here, most media coverage of Palestinians usually exclusively frame them as merely victims of Israeli aggression. Although this is definitely true, it limits Palestinians simply to their relation to Zionism and doesn’t reveal the the rich and vibrant culture of the Palestinian people. Mahmoud Darwich expressed this exact sentiment in the most concise way when he said, in an interview with an Israeli Journalist (in Godard’s ‘Notre Musique’), “Do you know why we Palestinians are famous? Because you are our enemy. The interest in us stems from the interest in the Jewish issue. The interest is in you, not in me.” The refreshing thing about Wajib is that it manages to convey both sides of the same coin: the Palestinians as a vulnerable and oppressed people but also as a people with a historic, vibrant culture, independent of their respective rulers.

Wajib’s depiction of Palestinian society within Nazareth is both a celebration and a thorough exploration. It’s hard to count just how many houses Shadi and his father enter, but each one is rich and distinct, and reveals another facet of the society. Most houses are designed very traditionally, with the sitting rooms well-kempt and arranged especially for guests. Just as Shadi and his father sit down, in comes the endless amounts of coffee, almost as though it’s been prepared in advance. The conversation at each household is slightly different, but usually within an accepted traditional framework: Shadi’s much-extended bachelorhood, his life and work abroad, familial matters, etc. The depiction of these traditional visits, known in Arabic as a “Ziyara”, are all extremely, almost painfully, true to life.

This is the official traditional culture, full of formal and redundant conversations. Even the title of the film, Wajib (Duty), is emblematic of this official culture. Shadi, for one, doesn’t understand why his father insists on navigating these social obligations so meticulously. He constantly questions his father’s adherence to these obligations, complaining that they’re old-fashioned or unnecessary. Shadi in this instance, with his resistance to the official culture, his long hair, his colorful clothes, exemplifies the counterculture. No depiction of a culture is complete without the depiction of those members within the community who exist outside of the official model. Here Edward Said’s words are informing in detailing what constitutes a culture:

“Cultures are not the same. There is an official culture ... It provides … what I’ve called belonging. … in addition to the official culture there are dissenting or alternative, unorthodox, heterodox strands. These can be called the counterculture.”

The film depicts Palestinian society as being florid and diverse, not simply reduced to boring and worn-out, monolithic, Orientalist orthodoxies. What’s important here is that all the families we see, the conversations we hear, the food and drinks they consume, are all elements of Palestinian life completely irrespective of the presence of the Zionists. We see the culture and traditions as independent phenomena, as they were before the Zionist colonists ever set foot in Palestine.

Wajib is especially crucial in the context of one of the main strategies of settler colonial societies: the Zionist strategy of erasing Palestinian history, culture and society (and ultimately the Palestinians themselves). Through an orientalist depiction, Zionists have reduced Palestinians to a brutish and inherently violent people, thereby justifying their aggression towards them. In that context, the film itself does a service in countering and resisting that narrative. The film as a whole does this, but resisting erasure is also a crucial, although implicit, part of the argument between the father and son.

Towards the end of the film, Abu-Shadi directs his son to the same Jewish settlement. Again, Shadi refuses, initiating the climactic argument between the two. Shadi accuses his father of collaborating, of simply laying down and allowing the Zionists to colonize his land and control his every movement. “I’ve grown up watching you ask for permission to work, to live, to breath!”. Abu-Shadi gets out of the car, begins yelling and for the first time in the film, really expresses his feelings and motivations. He asks his son a serious question, “Where is this Palestine you want to liberate? Where is it?!”. Here he’s accusing his son of pure idealism, of neglecting the material conditions of Palestinians living under Israeli authority. What else can ‘liberating Palestine’ mean if not to provide the Palestinians themselves the ability to work, to raise children and ultimately to live in dignity? Abu-Shadi claims that this is all he’s done, implying that the notion of Palestine is nothing if not for the Palestinian people themselves. All of Abu-Shadi’s achievements are not made possible because of the presence of the Israeli state but in spite of it, and Abu-Shadi is well aware of this fact. In the middle of his rant he retorts something that sounds like a confession, when he says to his son: “You don’t know what they are capable of!”. His actions were conducted under the tacit threat of violence, that he had limited choice: fight or raise his children and survive.

If the discussion of decolonization doesn’t take into account the experience and struggles of the people living under the oppressive, colonial regime, then it inevitably ceases to be of any value to those same people it’s trying to help. Here we have an informing and original insertion into the discourse from Abu-Shadi’s perspective. If it’s true what Shadi says, that the Zionists are their enemies, bent on their destruction, then ultimately, is Abu-Shadi’s continued existence, and his efforts to preserve the Palestinian traditions and culture, not in themselves forms of resistance? It’s a popular phrase, and Abu-Shadi exemplifies it: existence itself is a form resistance.

They indeed are two sides of the same coin. Shadi orients himself as an anti-Zionist, from his safe haven in Italy he theorises and criticises the the ideology behind the State of Israel. One could imagine him being part of BDS-Italia, or writing opinion pieces on the history of Zionism. His father, on the other hand, is resisting the state in another way, by staying where he is and surviving. Without Abu-Shadi, Shadi and people like him would have nothing to liberate, in that, the concept of Palestine is nothing if not the Palestinians themselves (including their culture, traditions, etc.). Without Shadi and foreign allies, fighting the state from afar (away from the constant threat of violence) those living in Palestine will have a far more difficult time trying to affect change.

The film closes with an uplifting rock song by Jowan Safadi, ‘Who’s Gonna Ride Us Next’. The lyrics are mostly satirical but do reinforce the theme of existence as means of resistance. Loosely translated it begins “The Turks came, The Turks left, The English came, The English left, The Jews came, And tomorrow we’ll see, What will happen, When they leave, Who’s wants to ride us, When they leave us”. Although comical, and with that lacking nuance, the song indicates that, by persevering, the Palestinians have outlived numerous rulers and one day will see a Palestine free of Zionism. The lyrics supplement the previous point by depicting the Palestinians, not simply as a people threatened victims Zionism, but as a historic people. On this point, both Abu-Shadi and the film as a whole are doing the same thing, they are preserving and empowering the Palestinian culture. By doing so they both serve as a force of resistance against the Zionist colonial strategy of erasure. Through this preservation, Palestinians have survived all it’s previous conquerors. This, if nothing else, is a hopeful message for the future.