The Human Cost of Concrete: Why 'Concrete Land' is More Than Just a Film
There’s something profoundly unsettling about the phrase ‘Concrete Land’. It’s not just a title; it’s a metaphor for the relentless march of urbanization and the human stories it leaves in its wake. Personally, I think this documentary, directed by Palestinian-Jordanian filmmaker Asmahan Bkerat, is a wake-up call disguised as a film. It’s not just about a family losing their land—it’s about the erasure of identity, heritage, and the very essence of what it means to belong.
What makes this particularly fascinating is the way Bkerat frames the story. She doesn’t just document the struggle of the Najar family, one of the last Afro-Palestinian Bedouin families on the outskirts of Amman; she becomes a part of it. Her journey from non-filmmaker to director is as compelling as the narrative itself. In my opinion, this isn’t just a film—it’s an act of resistance. Bkerat’s words, ‘Their erasure is my erasure’, resonate deeply. They highlight the personal stakes involved in telling stories that are often overlooked or silenced.
The Najars: A Microcosm of a Global Crisis
The Najar family’s plight is heartbreakingly universal. As luxury villas encroach on their agricultural land, they’re forced to confront a stark reality: their way of life is under threat. What many people don’t realize is that this isn’t an isolated incident. From indigenous communities in the Amazon to rural villages in China, the story of displacement in the name of progress is a global one. The Najars’ struggle is a mirror to the world’s obsession with development at the expense of humanity.
One thing that immediately stands out is the role of Eman, the family’s 10-year-old daughter. Her dreams and struggles are a poignant reminder of the intergenerational impact of displacement. Eman’s fight to preserve her heritage while navigating discrimination at school is a testament to resilience. If you take a step back and think about it, her story is a microcosm of the larger battle for cultural survival in an increasingly homogenized world.
Urbanization vs. Identity: A False Dichotomy?
Martina Droandi, founder of Odd Slice Films, nails it when she says, ‘Urban development is never simply about buildings, it is about the people whose histories risk being erased.’ This raises a deeper question: Can progress and preservation coexist? From my perspective, the answer is yes—but only if we prioritize people over profit. The Najars’ story challenges us to rethink the narrative of development. Is it truly progress if it comes at the cost of erasing entire cultures?
A detail that I find especially interesting is the international support ‘Concrete Land’ received. Funding from organizations like the IDFA Bertha Fund and Sundance Documentary Fund underscores the global recognition of this issue. What this really suggests is that the world is waking up to the human cost of unchecked urbanization. But recognition alone isn’t enough. We need action—policies that protect marginalized communities, not just their stories.
The Power of Storytelling: Preserving What Matters
Bkerat’s decision to pick up a camera wasn’t just about making a film; it was about preserving a way of life. Her passion for storytelling is deeply personal, and it shows. In a world where narratives are often controlled by the powerful, films like ‘Concrete Land’ are acts of defiance. They remind us that every culture, every tradition, every story matters.
What this film really highlights is the role of art in resistance. It’s not just about documenting the present; it’s about safeguarding the future. By telling the Najars’ story, Bkerat ensures that their beauty, their knowledge, and their love for the land are not lost. This, in my opinion, is the ultimate power of cinema—it immortalizes what might otherwise be forgotten.
Looking Ahead: What ‘Concrete Land’ Leaves Us With
As ‘Concrete Land’ premieres at the Locarno Film Festival, it’s more than just a debut feature—it’s a call to action. It forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about development, displacement, and identity. But it also offers hope. The Najars’ resilience, Eman’s dreams, and Bkerat’s dedication remind us that even in the face of erasure, there is beauty and strength.
Personally, I think this film is a turning point. It’s not just about one family or one community; it’s about all of us. It challenges us to ask: What are we willing to sacrifice in the name of progress? And more importantly, what are we willing to fight for? ‘Concrete Land’ doesn’t provide easy answers, but it sparks a conversation that’s long overdue.
In the end, what stays with me is Bkerat’s belief that ‘the love of the land and the people who belong to it can never be extinguished.’ It’s a powerful reminder that even in a world of concrete, humanity’s roots run deep. And that, perhaps, is the most important story of all.
