UNDER THE OLIVE TREES OF PALESTINE Over the years, tornapart lives and uprooted olive trees have both found place as markers of history in Palestinian poetry

ften the question of the role of art is raised when human lives are at stake. Artists, creatives, intellectuals, you and me, pour all our thoughts into the endless vessel of conversations when we ask ourselves: what significance does art hold in the presence of unfathomable atrocities inflicted upon humanity?

In his book Memory of Forgetfulness, which delves into the 88day siege of Beirut in 1982, poet Mahmoud Darwish recounts a conversation with his friend, the renowned Urdu poet Faiz Ahmad Faiz. It is regarding the role of art amidst the turmoil of the siege.

“Our great friend from Pakistan, Fayiz Ahmad Fayiz, is busy with another question: ‘Where are the artists?’

‘Which artists, Fayiz?’ I ask.

‘The artists of Beirut.’

‘What do you want from them?’ ‘To draw this war on the walls of the city.’

‘What’s come over you?’ I exclaim. ‘Don’t you see the walls tumbling?’”

When our surroundings lack physical barriers, the practice of art can become seemingly impractical — an aspect that may

Ocontribute to the scarcity of Palestinian poetry in the well of the Internet. What does art then mean for us at this time as we witness a genocide unfold from the comfort of our bedrooms? Art is used to amplify voices, honour narratives, and uphold the dignity of those whose stories demand to be heard, especially in the face of cultural erosion.

Piece of heritage

One such erosion is the uprooting of olive trees. Since 1967, Israel has uprooted around a million Palestinian olive trees alongside an unprecedented number of human lives. These revered trees not only form the backbone of the Palestinian economy but also hold deep cultural significance in Palestinian heritage. Olive trees serve as living chronicles of Palestine and are passed down through generations as family heritage.

Some of these ancient trees, from centuries ago, endure harsh conditions such as drought and poor soil, reflecting their inherent resilience. Rooted deeply in history and tradition, they are the testament of the Palestinian land.

Palestinian poetry intricately maps the multifaceted meaning of these trees. In her poem ‘Different Ways to Pray’, AmericanPalestinian poet Naomi Shihab Nye invokes the pain of people who have died on the land of the olive trees:

Under the olive trees, they raised their arms —

Hear us! We have pain on earth! We have so much pain there is no place to store it!

But the olives bobbed peacefully in fragrant buckets of vinegar and thyme.

At night the men ate heartily, flat bread and white cheese, and were happy in spite of pain, because there was also happiness.

Despite the pain, the olive persist, bearing fruit as a testament to resilience and fortitude in the face of occupation. The olives they yield serve as symbol of hope and strength, offering a source of joy amidst surrounding turmoil — a balm wounded spirits, a healing potion in a landscape scarred by conflict.

Politician and poet Tawfiq also looks at olive trees as a