This is a painting about Shadia Abu Ghazala School massacre on 13th December last year.
In the UN's Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights in Occupied Palestinian Territory, it is said "between 2000 and 2300 hours, IDF reportedly surrounded and raided Al Awda building, also known as the “Annan building”, in Al Remal neighborhood, Gaza City, where three related families were sheltering in addition to Annan family. According to witness accounts circulated by media sources and EuroMed Human Rights Monitor, while in control of the building and the civilians sheltering there, the IDF allegedly separated the men from the women and children, and then shot and killed at least 11 of the men, mostly aged in their late 20’s and early 30’s, in front of their family members. The IDF then allegedly ordered the women and children into a room, and either shot at them or threw a grenade into the room, reportedly seriously injuring some of them, including an infant and a child."
As someone living far away from Gaza Strip, I am aware this is not my story. But I was moved to paint this after coming across Massacre in Korea, a 1951 painting by Picasso. It depicts the scene of what is assumably the No Gun Ri massacre or the Sinchon Massacre. Although Picasso was a Spanish man, he was equally moved by the news of the massacres as anyone and remembered through art.
The title, "Purity of Arms" is derived from The Spirit of the IDF. Under the section, 'Purity of Arms', it says, "An IDF soldier will only exercise their power or use their weapon in order to fulfill their mission and only when necessary. They will maintain their humanity during combat and routine times. The soldier will not use their weapon or power to harm uninvolved civilians and prisoners and will do everything in their power to prevent harm to their lives, bodies, dignity and property."
This is in their Ethical Code Pamphlet which is put into the pocket of every soldiers during their basic training. This blue pamphlet carries 4 fundamental values and 10 additional values, with Purity of Arms being one of the latter. You can see at the bottom left of the painting, this pamphlet is being dropped.
On the green chalkboard, in Arabic, "لماذا لم تدقوا جدران الخزان؟" is written twice. It means "Why didn't you knock on the walls of the tank?" This is a famous line from Men in the Sun by a Palestinian writer, Ghassan Kanafani.
In this novella, three Palestinian men are smuggled to Kuwait by a truck driver in order to look for jobs elsewhere. These men are forced to hide inside the truck's large tank through the desert's various check points. Just before arriving at their destination, the driver is delayed by the officials at the border who probe him about a prostitute named Kawkab. The truck finally passes through the check point after a while, and the driver enters Kuwait. He opens the tank but he only finds the three men's corpses; they have already died from the extreme heat. The driver tosses the bodies into a trash heap. In the final line, he yells: "Why didn't you knock on the sides of the tank? Why didn't you bang the sides of the tank? Why? Why? Why?"
On 6th December, Refaat Alareer, a late Palestinian writer and poet, was surgically bombed in his home by an Israeli airstrike along with his brother, brother's son, sister, and her three children. This came about after weeks of death threats he received. I have read Light In Gaza after this. From the book, I learned that this line "Why didn't you knock on the walls of the tank?" became a popular metaphor in Palestine. As written by Jehad Abusalim, it stands for "reclaiming collective agency, and that the people’s existence, or life, depends on disrupting the unjust status quo through resistance and uprising".
We know today that Palestinians have been knocking on the walls of the tank. We hear them on social media. Although many of us are powerless to stop the Israeli aggression in a single day, but we are powerful enough to hear their knocks and do what we must as our consciences compel.
In Gaza: Stay Human by Vittorio Arrigoni, he wrote, "I want the truth to redeem these dead." If my conscience insists that I paint something for the people in Gaza Strip, then I hope what it does is the same as what Arrigoni wanted through telling the truth.
At the bottom middle of the painting, there is a child whose hands are tied. His hands are dirty. This is a reference to a childhood event Refaat Alareer talks about during an interview with Haymarket Books. Him and his friends were playing soccer in their neighbourhood. Suddenly, Israeli soldiers chased them and they ran into his home. They were forced to stand against a wall and the soldiers checked the children's hands to see if they were dirty. They were trying to see if they threw stones. They were children. Of course their hands were dirty, and their hearts were racing.
In Lights in Gaza, he writes about a similar incident that happened to his 13 year old friend: Lewa "was chased by an Israeli settler who shot him dead from point - blank range in front of his classmates. The Israeli settler did not want to punish Lewa for throwing stones, for Lewa did not throw stones. The settler wanted to teach those who threw stones a lesson, by killing a kid. In front of the eyes of scores of little scared kids going back home from school. And a few meters away from Lewa’s home. His mother’s shrieks still ring in my ears."
In a Haaretz article written in 2020, one Israeli sniper brags on how his pair shot "42 knees in one day", breaking the then "knee record" during the demonstration on May 14th, 2008. This is the continuation of the policy set during the first Intifada, by Yitzhak Rabin’s orders in January 1988. Israeli soldiers were ordered to break the bones of the protesters. This was meant to cripple the Palestinian youths before their growth. There is one famous incident that was captured on camera on February 26th, 1988. In the video, the soldiers are seen beating and breaking the bones of then 17 years old Wael Joudeh and his cousin Osamah for 30 minutes.
In the painting, the child on the right is missing a leg. An older woman below him is shot in the foot and is being bandaged by another woman. These are the results of deliberate attempt at crippling them.
On the right side of the painting, there is a poster with a black olive tree. Images of olive trees are often used to represent 'Sumud', meaning "steadfast perseverance". But it is also used to symbolise Palestinian national identity in general. In the painting, its roots are being shot, signifying the erasure of Palestinian family lines by the army.
In The Drone Eats with Me: Diaries from a City Under Fire by Atef Abu Saif, he writes: "wars stand as markers in a Gazan’s life: there’s one planted firmly in your childhood, one or two more in your adolescence, and so on . . . they toll the passing of time as you grow older like rings in a tree trunk. Sadly, for many Gazans, one of these wars will also mark life’s end. Life is what we have in between these wars."
No more lives should be marked by wars.
