Knights of Cinema: The Story of the Palestine Film Unit
Towards the middle of a chapter on “The Palestine Film Unit’s Cinematic Experience” in her book Knights of Cinema: The Story of the Palestine Film Unit, Khadijeh Habashneh notes: “The film unit decided to avoid using two languages: one for the people, and one for the world.”
In its context, this seems hardly more than a passing observation, but in fact, it is central to the philosophy behind the Palestine Film Unit (PFU). For what the author is really describing is the revolutionary nature of Palestinian cinema, how it sought to bridge the local and the global, not by diluting its message for international audiences, but by allowing the true objectives of the Palestinian people to speak directly to the world.
Does cinema really have the power to communicate the depth of a national struggle without compromise? In the PFU’s case, the filmmakers believed that it did. They rejected rigidly defined roles and embraced a participatory approach, where each member contributed to every stage of production, from the initial idea to the final edit. This collective, fluid approach was not just about filmmaking; it also reflected the solidarity and unity at the heart of the Palestinian revolution.
As quickly becomes clear, Knights of Cinema: The Story of the Palestine Film Unit is as much about the intertwining of national struggle and cinematic storytelling as it is about the technical craft of filmmaking. This is the central tension that the book returns to again and again: the role of cinema as both a tool of documentation and an instrument of resistance.
In the late 1960s, as Palestinian filmmakers like Mustafa Abu Ali struggled to establish a cinematic presence, the field of battle was both literal and metaphorical. On the one hand, they faced the physical and political challenges of documenting the struggle for liberation. On the other, they had to carve out a space for Palestinian stories within a global cinematic landscape that often sought to marginalise or distort their narrative. Abu Ali’s journey from Al-Malha to becoming a leading figure in Palestinian cinema exemplifies this dual struggle. His personal experiences of displacement and loss gave him a unique perspective on the importance of authentic storytelling, making him a central figure in the creation of a Palestinian cinematic identity.
Yet, it is Sulafa Jadallah’s story that lingers long after closing the book. She was not just the first Arab woman cinematographer, but also a pioneer in every sense of the word. Her boldness, her drive to push boundaries in a male-dominated world, made her a revolutionary both behind and in front of the camera. As the narrative details, she was preparing for an exhibition in March 1969, commemorating the first anniversary of the Battle of Al-Karameh, when she was shot in the head by an Israeli soldier.
The details surrounding Jadallah’s injury, including a cracked skull, are heart-wrenching. Israeli soldiers, saw the lens of a camera as a threat and targeted her. Despite this near-fatal wound, she returned to Amman within three months and resumed her work, a testament to her determination and resilience.
Jadallah’s injury feels all the more significant as we witness the ongoing targeting of journalists and media workers in Gaza by the Israeli occupation army. The parallels between her injury and the ongoing attacks on media workers highlight a pattern of violence aimed at silencing those documenting the realities of the Palestinian struggle. Today, as in 1969, the act of capturing these stories on film remains fraught with danger, making Jadallah’s experience not just a historical footnote but a reflection of ongoing threats to Palestinian media workers.
The weight of these personal stories became even more tangible during the siege of Tal Al-Za'tar and the events of Black September in 1970. In these moments, the book doesn’t just show the logistical or technical challenges of filmmaking in war zones such as limited access to the camp and the risk to personal safety. It also brings to life the emotional devastation faced by the Palestine Film Unit which was part of the very revolution being documented, no matter the cost.
Readers can feel the weight of that responsibility in the book’s descriptions, as the filmmakers grappled with the emotional toll of watching a community being decimated, yet knowing the importance of preserving those moments on film.
The upheaval of Black September forced Mustafa Abu Ali and his fellow filmmakers to confront the brutal suppression of Palestinians in Jordan. Mustafa’s film, With Soul, With Blood, reflected this, illustrating the life-threatening situations and displacement they faced as Palestinian forces were expelled from Jordan.
The book does a remarkable job of humanising these filmmakers, showing them not just as documentarians but as participants in the struggle themselves. They weren’t detached observers; they lived and breathed the conflict, and their films became extensions of their resistance. The economic hardships and emotional strain they faced are detailed in a way that makes their resilience even more awe-inspiring. For filmmakers like Hani Jawharieh, who dealt with financial difficulties while continuing to capture the plight of Palestinians, the work became both a survival mechanism and a revolutionary act.
The book also emphasises the role of cinema in shaping collective memory. As Habashneh explains, the PFU’s films were not simply recordings of events; they were tools for ensuring that the Palestinian struggle remained alive in the hearts and minds of future generations.
What is most striking about Knights of Cinema… is its commitment to authenticity. Habashneh draws heavily on oral histories, allowing the filmmakers’ voices to resonate throughout the book. This approach gives the narrative a raw, unfiltered quality that makes the reader feel as though they are hearing these stories first hand. The emphasis on unembellished storytelling ensures that the sacrifices and achievements of figures like Abu Ali and Jadallah are honoured in a way that feels both personal and universal.
In the end, Knights of Cinema… doesn’t just chronicle the history of the Palestine Film Unit; it also gives you a sense of the people behind the cameras, their hopes, their fears and their sacrifices. Against all odds, they kept the cameras rolling, the fact of which leaves readers with deep respect for these filmmakers for what they documented, as well as for how they lived.
