Books

Shrouds: those cocoons that finally show the bodies

"We cannot live without the names of those killed," says Paola Caridi, journalist and Middle East expert claiming the need to name all those killed in Gaza, to whom she has dedicated a modern elegy

Amsterdam, Paesi Bassi - 19 aprile: la foto "Una donna palestinese abbraccia il corpo di sua nipote" di Mohammed Salem è stata nominata foto dell'anno durante l'annuncio dei vincitori del World Press Photo alla Nieuwe Kerk di Amsterdam.  (Foto di Mouneb Taim/Anadolu via Getty Images)

6' min read

6' min read

Three books in three years. The urgency to explain, to narrate, to give voice, to restore historical and human depth to the Israeli-Palestinian question while the counter of the dead keeps turning. We meet her at Festivaletteratura, in Mantua, Paola Caridi, journalist and expert on contemporary political history of the Arab world, of the Middle East, where she moved in 2001, first to Cairo and then to Jerusalem. The phone does not stop shaking, the agenda is full, and the feeling is still not to do enough. In 2023, she reissued an updated version of Hamas, a 2009 essay that has now become Hamas. From Resistance to Regime, which starts from the foundation to the 7 October attacks and tries to explain why it gained so much acceptance in Palestinian society. Then in 2024 came out The Mulberry Tree of Jerusalem, 'the history of the Mediterranean and the Middle East told through trees. A manifesto of political botany'. And finally these days Sudari. Elegia per Gaza (all published by Feltrinelli), a sort of funeral chant, a torrent of words that starts from white 'cocoons' and envelops the reader, holding together the facts, thoughts, experiences, emotions, of the author and of many other people: victims, other writers, activists, friends, those who have let themselves be crossed by what is happening. A historical, political, aesthetic reflection and also a heartfelt appeal.

La palestinese Abu Maamar, 36 anni, abbraccia il corpo senza vita del figlio di 5 anni ucciso da un raid israeliano. La foto è stata scattata dal fotografo di Reuters Mohammad Salem il 17 ottobre scorso a Khan Yunis. (REUTERS/Mohammed Salem/File Photo)

When I saw the title of your book, Sudari, I immediately thought of a photo of Gaza that has remained in my mind's eye, the one by Mohamed Salem that won the 2024 World press photo. A woman wrapped in a veil whose face, which cannot be seen, rests on another veil, which hides and contains a slimmer body, which we know is that of her granddaughter. The mother of this no longer five-year-old child died with her. There are two shrouds on that photo, which I later found out you talk about in the second chapter. Why did you decide to dedicate a book to the shrouds?

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They suggested it to me, they made me realise its importance, Palestinian photographers from Gaza like Salem, but not only him. Photographers who flooded our virtual Gaza scene with those very white spots. And so, by hiding them, they showed the bodies. The symbol of the genocides are the shrouds because they do not conceal the bodies, but exalt them. The shroud speaks of us, of not having saved them when they were alive, of only discovering them once they were killed and wrapped.

In your conversation with Adania Shibli here at Festivaletteratura, you pointed out that in her books people have no names. 'If people who are killed can have no name, then everyone can have no name, even my characters,' you replied. You, on the other hand, claim the need to give a name, can you explain why?

I claim it here as an Italian, European and Westerner (although there is a dimension of mine that I would call Mediterranean). As Omar El Akkad writes in his book Un giorno tutti diranno di essere stati contro (Gramma, Feltrinelli), we all know the names of those killed in the Twin Towers attack, while we do not know the names, not least because of an automatic racism, not only of those killed in Gaza but of those we consider not like us, of those killed in Sudan, in Myanmar, in places we do not consider to be our own. So the name is important for this reason, for those who look from the West to Gaza. At the same time I understand Shibli's point of view, I understand it deeply. It is exactly the mirroring of my position. Not to give a name is to make humanity universal.

Journalist Omar El Akkad, who was born in Cairo and grew up in Doha, like her makes it a categorical imperative not to forget a single name... 

Yes, not only in the beautiful book One Day Everyone Will Say They Were Against, but also in an earlier, dystopian short story, published in a Bompiani anthology (How We Will Come Out), which is entitled The Shadow Commission: it claims the act of naming, after the end of the genocide, as fundamental. Naming means living with these names. We cannot live without the names of those killed.

'Of Gaza, of the multi-millennial Gaza, nothing or almost nothing has been told', you write....

It is a mea culpa, it is to say that we have failed to reknit the threads of a knowledge that was there before, of a bond that was there before, and instead we have put it aside. And this also happened when, conceptually speaking, we enclosed Gaza in the Strip. We think of Gaza as the Strip, but this is a minimal, very brief history, dating back to 1948, compared to a multi-thousand-year history. Gaza was something else, it was the port at the end of the incense route and the spice route, it was the theological school of Gaza, it was Samson. Samson who then also flooded our artistic iconography. We put all this history aside because Gaza became part of the Israeli-Palestinian question. If you reconstruct the historical dimension, you can no longer objectify people.

Polls released in recent days state that 67%, even 80% of Israelis want an end to the conflict and an agreement with Hamas. And yet we go ahead.

Yes because there are also other polls that say instead that Israelis support Netanyahu's line. It depends on what kind of questions you ask, which Israelis you interview and what you mean by the end of the conflict. That it is not a conflict: using words for what they mean is crucial to coming to terms with it. It is a question. If it is called an issue, then 7 October is a fault, it is a fracture, which must be inserted into a sequence of over 100 years. It is a genocide, it is a war on Gaza, not on Hamas: we forget the West Bank, where in recent days they destroyed a minaret near Hebron, where there are tens of thousands of displaced people. What does ending the conflict mean? Does it mean bringing the hostages home and then expelling 2 million Palestinians from Gaza? I believe there is a profound process of removal in Israeli society: the removal of genocide, despite the fact that scholars of genocide, writers like David Grossman, journalists like Gideon Levy, speak openly of genocide.

The Global Sumud Flotilla prepares to reach Gaza...

They are doing the right thing. There is a now very clear disconnect between the decision-makers and what we can call public opinion, society as a whole, both politically and in terms of the professions, a distance between the decision-makers and the powerless, echoing Václav Havel, which comes back powerfully in this time of genocide. The powerless are not powerless, they do what they can do, but above all they do what is right to do. What is the only goal now, to break the siege, to bring food, to open Gaza, to end the genocide. It sounds crazy, something completely unachievable, but it is not true. In recent months, the presence of the powerless has posed a political and consensus problem for the decision-makers. When I speak of the decision-makers, I am not just talking about the national government. There has been a disconnect between the local authorities and the national government, between the grassroots Church and the leadership of the Catholic Church, there is a disconnect between the workers and the national trade union: we see that the powerless would like to do something else and do not feel represented by those who would like to represent them. There is a sidereal distance, what happened in Genoa is the confirmation of this distance: when the Global Sumud Flotilla was preparing to leave, people brought 200 tons of aid, 50 thousand people took to the streets and went to the port. This happened because we have been educated, over the past half century, to stop genocide, to make sure it never happened again. And that is what the powerless are saying. What's more, we must never forget that Genoa was a gold medal city for resistance, one of the most important. For me it was decisive to go to the march from Marzabotto Montesole, in mid-June, made by 10,000 people at the sites of the Nazi-Fascist massacres to say 'enough, never again genocide!' They did it on the margins of this town, on the hills of Bologna. It is the margins that say enough, that realise what is happening. Gaza is also on the margins.

The Israeli government has said that Global Sumud Flotilla activists will be treated as terrorists...

There is no definition of terrorism from an international point of view. No one can say who is a terrorist and who is not, but one can say who commits crimes and who does not commit crimes. What crime are the peaceful people who bring food to Gaza committing? Coming not to Israel, but to Gaza, which is Palestinian territory, part of the state of Palestine that 140 countries in the world have already recognised? Then if we think that this word was said by one who an international arrest warrant for war crimes and crimes against humanity by the international court...

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  • Lara Ricci

    Lara Riccivicecaposervizio curatrice delle pagine di letteratura e poesia

    Luogo: Milano e Ginevra

    Lingue parlate: Inglese e francese correntemente, tedesco scolastico

    Argomenti: Letteratura, poesia, scienza, diritti umani

    Premi: Voltolino, Piazzano, Laigueglia, Quasimodo

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