Emad Burnat’s documentary 5 Broken Cameras chronicles the lives and final moments of each of his first five video cameras (2005-2010) alongside the lives of his four sons, his brothers, and the entire village of Bil’in as its people experiment in non violent resistance against an illegal Israeli settlement and occupation which grows more violent by the week. The children in this Palestinian town are forced to grow up quickly; at the end of the film’s peek into Emad’s family his youngest son Gibreel is “coming of age” at 5 years old. He begins attending weekly protests at the wall of the settlement which encroaches upon his family’s farm at age 3, when he is old enough to understand what is going on.
Two things strike me in this film: the first is the persistence of the people protesting against the total destruction of land they have peacefully cultivated for hundreds of years. The film opens in 2005 when construction begins outside of Bil’in and a barrier wall is built which annexes the farm land of many families. In order to lay legal claim to the ground, the settlers place trailers in the contested area, effectively rendering it an Israeli settlement. Men from the village first arrive by night to stand beneath the trailer as it hangs from a crane waiting to lower it to the ground. Soldiers allow this to continue for a while, then beat the men into submission and lower the trailer. Unfazed, the villagers decide to bring in their own trailer to claim their own land back. When it is removed, they simply bring another and lock themselves in. Next, a law is passed making it illegal for soldiers to destroy concrete buildings in settlement territory. When the settlers build a concrete outpost, retaliation comes at night when settlers burn their olive groves. Throughout the rest of the movie, the people of Bil’in are seen planting new olive trees near the barrier wall.
In stark contrast, this film also offers a first-hand observation of the fundamental cowardice of war. We see generals making haughty gestures and offhandedly giving orders to drop more teargas upon crowds of children or to “shoot him again” while dazed-looking young men senselessly obey. In a scene where two Israeli soldiers come to Emad’s house in the night to inform him that his home and possessions are part of a “Closed Military Zone”, the young man reading the order looks young, weary, and unsure of himself. His more confident partner continually and loudly repeats, “This is a Closed Military Zone. Stop filming this.” in a way that sounds pre-programmed. The tragedy of this film for me is not the plight of the Palestinians; they have hope that stays alive and sustains them. The soldiers who continue on a path of destruction and plunder with the pretense of establishing freedom through a Zionist state, however, appear to be resigned to the idea of violence and show no reaction when Emad’s brother pleads with them and asks, “Where are your hearts? Don’t you have a family?”.
A woman in the audience after the film, and many people I discuss this conflict with, will generally argue that the view presented by this film and others is imbalanced and defend these soldiers’ actions by claiming that the Jewish people “deserve” Israel because of their oppressed past. They also point to the violence perpetuated by Palestinians living in the West Bank, mostly the throwing of rocks at tanks and police vehicles. First off, oppressing others is not the way to receive reparations for your past oppression at the hands of others. Many religions, races, political groups, and one gender have been systematically oppressed throughout history and most of them do not receive a state for themselves based on racism afterwards. About the rocks: you might be throwing rocks too if after years of non-violent protest you saw your family members arrested and killed for attempting to defend the land they lived with for generations. Many of those throwing rocks are children and teenagers. Emad says at one point that his boys have had to quickly become “tough men…[and] while we erase every piece of our childhood, only our anger remains….”
After seeing this film, my existing notions on war and violence have been completely confirmed. There is nothing more barbaric, idiotic, or cowardly than using guns and force to dominate, steal, and destroy the earth and each other which we depend on for survival. Each person who participates needs to be held accountable for his actions without the crutch of a system, army, or party to hide behind. The same is true for my notions about peace and compassion. Freedom isn’t something that you receive from a piece of paper or a lack of physical restraint, you’re born with it and no one can take it away without killing you. I was surprised to see so much laughter, dancing and happiness in this film; these are important assets for the survival of Bil’in’s citizens and any humans wishing to remain sane in a society that’s gone mad. As Emad says near the end of the film, “by healing, you resist oppression.”
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