A Talismanic Poetry:

Martyrdom Iconography and Mahmoud Darwish

Lisa Wolk

ENG5110

Casmier

5 May 2015

Note: Portions of this essay were previously submitted as the Mid-term essay for this same

course.

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“Every beautiful poem is an act of resistance”

–Mahmoud Darwish

It has been conservatively estimated that 3,800 Palestinians were killed between 2000

and 2005 during the second intifada (uprising) (Allen 113). Rather than merely just burying the

deceased and quickly moving on in a spirit of defeat and victimhood, Palestinians have created

an entire culture revolving around the powerful iconography of martyrdom. The lowly victim has

been transformed into the robust mythical martyr, manipulated to espouse nationalist and

collectivist sentiments, uniting the Palestinian people under a banner of shared suffering and

hope for a better future—something of which the weak, despairing victim is incapable. Since the

Palestinian people do not have the same vast array of military equipment as the Israeli Defense

Forces, they have used the one weapon that is readily available: their bodies. Commemoration of

martyrs can be found in many forms, including movies, television, literature, and poetry, but the

two most popular (and public) have consistently been martyr funerals and posters (Allen 107).

Though deep respect is still attached to martyrdom itself, these commemorations have

nonetheless become a commonplace, dulling Palestinians’ reactions, and recently have even been

criticized by some as “boring” (113). Despite their ubiquity however, the martyrs’ posters still

enact the religious folk traditions that have formed the bedrock of Palestinian culture, especially

that of the talisman. The power of the Quranic word displayed on the posters cannot be

underestimated, and the words of poetry, such as in the poems of Mahmoud Darwish, one of the

most-respected Palestinian poets of recent memory, share the same mystical power. Uncovering

the power of the talisman, therefore, reveals a way of reading Darwish’s poetry.

After multiple fruitless attempts to write an elegy for the deceased writer Ghassan

Kanafani, Darwish asked the question, “Can ink achieve the status of blood?” (Abu Hashhash

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403). Borrowing concepts from vernacular theory, specifically Henry Louis Gates’s The

Signifying Monkey, I will show that Darwish’s poetry, as a poetic talisman, can indeed become

the life-giving blood of the martyr, unlike the martyrs’ posters which merely perform the

representation of the martyr’s sacrifice. Though Hussain Hamzah explores Darwish’s use of

martyrdom in his 2014 essay, “Resistance, Martyrdom, and Death in Mahmoud Darwish’s

Poetry,” he does so on a thematic, rather than semiological, level—so this essay will be my

attempt to do just that. While Hussain explores examples of individual and collective death,

glorification of death, and martyrdom in Darwish’s poetry, he does not explore how these themes

engage with Palestinian culture or the ways in which the poetry enacts certain elements of

Palestinian religious practices.

What the Western press calls “suicide operations,” the Palestinian press (and, generally

the Arab press as well) prefers to term “self-sacrifice” or “martyrdom” operations (Whitehead

and Abufarha 395). Though a seemingly subtle difference in semantics, the very act of calling a

suicide operation a self-sacrifice is a galvanizing move designed to increase support for

resistance against Israel, both within the Palestinian community itself and within the global

community at large (399). Far from being considered repulsive, the violence that occurs through

such operations is welcomed as a viable alternative to simply standing by and doing nothing. As

Whitehead and Abufarha suggest in “Suicide, Violence, and Cultural Conceptions of Martyrdom

in Palestine,” “[In Palestine], violence is considered ennobling, redeeming, and necessary to the

continuance of life itself” (396). Of course, in order for them to have any effect on the greater

community, these acts of violence cannot occur in a vacuum. In his 2009 article, “Poetics and the

Performance of Violence in Israel/Palestine,” David McDonald argues that any act of violence

finds it power in its “capacity to communicate meaning,” not merely in its resulting casualties

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(59). It is this “capacity to communicate meaning” which gives the act of stone throwing its

power; though typically not resulting in death, this act does result in fear on behalf of the Israeli

soldiers and a sense of empowerment on behalf of the Palestinians. Acts of violence then,

McDonald asserts, must “draw from a common lexicon or vocabulary of symbolic action” and

“be performed for an audience in order for [them] to have any social meaning” (59). While the

stone is not necessarily an intimidating weapon, the symbolic action of throwing one in the face

of an IDF soldier reminds both parties of the Palestinian’s unwillingness to discontinue their

resistance against the state of Israel. The performance of violence in the case of martyrdom

operations is then commemorated and memorialized so that it becomes a self-seeding and self-

sustaining phenomenon: today’s martyr begets ten more martyrs tomorrow. In summary,

martyrdom represents a form of resistance against the perceived injustices of the Israeli

occupation and is considered one of the highest ideals a Palestinian can aspire to. As Whitehead

and Abufarha write in a “Suicide, Violence, and Cultural Conceptions of Martyrdom in

Palestine,” “Through their performance and wider representation such acts [as suicide bombings]

generate collective conceptions among Palestinians and at the same time continue a violent

dialogue with the Israeli state” (395). They continue, “[A] new discourse of ishtishhadiyeen

(martyrous ones) has been articulated in a way that highlights the intentionality of martyrdom as

an act of heroism” (398). The importance to Palestinians of calling these acts of violence

martyrdom operations versus suicide attacks cannot be underestimated. As McDonald explains:

The salient meaning of suicide bombing is not found in the devastation wrought

(number of casualties, buildings, or buses destroyed), but in the act of sacrifice

itself. The willingness to offer one’s body to the cause carries far more

significance simply because it resonates with the subversive poetics of violence

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and self-sacrifice articulated across various performative domains. […] Martyr

operations, perhaps the most iconographic form of Palestinian violence/resistance

against the occupation […] carries incredible symbolic meaning for many

Palestinians due in large part to its usage of the body itself as the instrument of

attack (80).1

As McDonald suggests above, the martyr’s body itself carries significant symbolical

weight in the Palestinian conception of martyrdom iconography. Borrowing Constantine

Kalokyris definition of icon from “The Essence of Orthodox Iconography,” “iconography seeks

by means of symbols, shapes, and forms largely withdrawn from reality to speak to the soul of

the faithful” (42). As icons, then, the martyr has a “worshipful purpose” (43).We see these

elements in play in the Palestinians’ deep valorization of the martyr. As an icon, the martyr

achieves the status of myth, and, in Barthes’s taxonomy, the physical body of the martyr

becomes that myth. As Susan Raine writes in “Body, Emotion and Violence: Palestinian Suicide

Bombing/Martyrdom,” “The martyr’s body becomes a medium of communication—a symbol,

that paradoxically, must disintegrate in order to impart its message” (2). This physical

disintegration of the martyr’s body during the bombing operation facilitates two processes of

metaphorical regeneration: first, “the blood is ‘water’ that nourishes the fields where streams

would flow and birds would sing.[Secondly,] the human flesh is ‘soil’ where flowers bloom […]

Thus the sacrifice creates a new ontology through metonymic reconstitution of body-as-

landscape” (Whitehead and Abufarha 401-02). Going back to Barthes’s conception of myth, we

see that the martyr’s body has “a double function: it points out and it notifies, it makes us

understand something and it imposes it on us… “(Barthes 83). The physical destruction of the

1 I know on my mid-term you said to indent .5” but the MLA handbook says “one-inch from the left margin,” so this

is what I did.

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body points out to us that it represents the Palestinian conception of the cycle of life and in its

very act of destruction, imposes on us its mythical meaning. The un-martyred body does not

recall the same life-generating properties of that of the martyr. Furthermore, there is, of course,

nothing inherent about the body’s destruction to lead us to make this connection—it is an

arbitrary assignment determined by the Palestinians’ attempts to grapple with constant death. As

Corina Daba-Buzioanu and Christina Cirtita-Buzoianu describe in “Myths Beyond and

Throughout History,” “[Myths] resolve a problem: the conscious return of man towards a role

model which becomes known and understood due to the way in which the social culture relates

to it. Therefore, myths are milestones of thought, answers communities would give to

fundamental themes” (125). Summarizing Barthes’s arguments on myth, Daba-Buzioanu and

Cirtita-Buzoianu write that, for Barthes, “myth is a true instrument of social communication and

of interpreting reality” (126). Therefore, the Palestinians have created this myth of the martyr to

understand and cope with their situation of violence and displacement.

Lining both the exterior and interior walls of shops, cafes, and even in some cases homes,

the martyr’s poster is a constant visual reminder of the unfortunate ubiquity of death in Palestine.

As Abu Hashhash explains in “On the Visual Representation of Martyrdom in Palestine,”

“Martyrs’ posters are loaded with classical, religious, and national references [...] In general

there are three indispensable and consistent elements […]: the photograph of the martyr, the

‘obituary’ text that usually includes a Qur’anic verse, and various symbols” (392). Each political

faction2 has their own set of design elements that are used to identify the martyr with that

particular group, in an attempt to establish its validity and popular support (Allen 117-18). The

2 While I am limiting my discussion to groups within the Palestinian territories (Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigades, Hamas,

Palestinian Islamic Jihad, etc), the same can be said of resistance groups such as Hizbollah operating within the

borders of Lebanon.

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posters are an important preservation of the martyrdom myth, enabling the Palestinians to “start

representing themselves as courageous heroes rather than victim” (Abu Hashash 393). Lori

Allen, in “The Polyvalent Politics of Martyrdom Commemorations in the Palestinian Intifada,”

explains this process of martyrdom to myth:

“Posters were an important part of the process through which martyrs became

icons. In semiotic terms, the posters would be considered iconic signs, insofar as

they represent their ‘object’ (martyr) by means of resemblance, just as any

photograph does. The posters are semiologically complex, representing both the

person who was killed and the martyr that person has become. [...] Thus the

posters capture what, in religious terms, is the kind of eternal life of the martyr

who is not believed to be dead (in a literal sense). […] Posters also created social

icons, representations of heroism and idealized sacrifice. Adding to the iconic

power of posters is the indexicality of the photographic portrait on them. While

the ultimately unstable meaning and political force of the posters is a product of

the social and political exigencies of the second intifada, it is the photograph’s

casual and physical relationship between signifier and signified that lends it an

extra layer of authority.” (117).

Like the martyr’s body, the martyr’s poster participates in the “hidden semiology” of myth,

imposing martyrdom as an acceptable—nay, an ideal—form of resistance for Palestine.

Like both the martyr’s body and the poster, Darwish’s conception of martyrs and

martyrdom in his poetry is a positive one. As Hussain Hamzah explains in “Resistance,

Martyrdom, and Death in Mahmoud Darwish’s Poetry,” “The word ‘martyr’ (shahīd) in

Darwish’s poetry is associated with manifestations of life and revival” and “martyrdom turns

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into the equal of life and fertility” (171, 172). An example of this “life and revival” through

martyrdom is Darwish’s continued use of the metaphor of a wedding to represent the martyr’s

“marriage” to the land of Palestine. In “Blessing for Something which has Not Come” (1989),

Darwish writes: This is the Palestinian wedding/ The lover does not come to the beloved/ Except

as a martyr or wanderer” (qtd in Hamzah 172). As a marriage typically begets life, the martyr’s

blood begets life for Palestine, as explained earlier. In “Diary of a Palestinian Wound”

(Quatrains for Fadwa Tuqan) (1987), Darwish further elaborates this trope:

This land absorbs the skins of martyrs.

This land promises wheat and stars.

Worship it!

We are its salt and its water.

We are its wound, but a wound that fights… Ah my intractable wound!

My country is not a suitcase

I am not a traveller

I am the lover and the land is the beloved. (qtd in Salti 43).

Like the martyrs’ posters, Darwish’s poetry speaks of both the individual and the

collective (Alshaer 92). Both are steeped in a uniquely Palestinian aesthetic of “liberation and

hope” (96). Where I think Darwish’s poetry surpasses the posters, however, can be found in his

use of somewhat enigmatic language. The posters rely on a common, even over-used, set of

symbols to perpetuate the myth of the martyr. The predictability of these posters dulls their

effects on the viewer. As Allen writes, “Palestinians point to these practices [of martyr

memorialization] as symptoms of superficial patriotism and empty politics said to characterize

the uprising […] and this symbolic, spatial and visual deluge has led so many people to the

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distraction, boredom, and ennui that are elements of zahaq (weariness, a state of being ‘fed up’)”

(110). Contrarily, Darwish’s poetry is unpredictable, and remains novel even after multiple re-

readings. As Mustapha Marrouchi elaborates in “Cry No More for Me, Palestine—Mahmoud

Darwish,” “There is no style that can quite match his poetry’s combination of carefully

subordinated clauses with occasional bursts of monosyllabic simplicity. It is a daunting task

trying to decipher the meanings and double-meanings the poems carry within them. They need to

be read time and again” (22). Darwish’s great talent, Marrouchi writes, “make his readers want

to supply the tragic emotions that he does not directly represent” (21). This gap in Darwish’s

poetry—meaning the reader has to supply his or her own emotions—is in direct contrast to the

posters, which elucidate a specific, calculated response over and over from the viewer, no matter

which specific martyr is depicted. In fact, many of the design elements of the posters are carried

over from one to the next, with only the photograph of the martyr changing.

An important element of the posters we cannot overlook, though, is the inclusion of

verses from the Quran. Both secular and religious parties tend to include at least one verse of the

Quran on their martyrs posters, along with a reiteration of the Quranic promise of Paradise to

those who “die for Allah.” This practice of including Quranic verses stems from the Palestinians’

folk religious practices, and its effect is akin to hanging framed calligraphic Quranic verses in

one’s house. As Tawqfiq Canaan explains in The Decipherment of Arabic Talismans3, “Qoranic

[sic] verses hung up in houses have to be regarded not only as a decorative feature, but also as a

protective measure” (70, emphasis added). The writing, Canaan argues, has “intrinsic power”

(71). These physical representations of the Quranic verses act as talismans for the viewer—they

3 Dr. Tawfiq Canaan began collecting and examining talismans and amulets that he noticed his patients wearing in

the beginning of the twentieth century. He collected more than 1400 items from countries such as Egypt, Syria,

Lebanon, Jordan, Saudia Arabic, Iraq, and Yemen. For more information about his collection, see al-Ju-‘beh, Baha’,

“Magic and Talismans: The Tawfiq Canaan Collection of Palestinian Amulets.” Jerusalem Quarterly. 22.23: (2005):

103-108. For Canaan’s analysis of the items, see his The Decipherment of Arabic Talismans.

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are, as Canaan explains, “prayers” for people “seeking protection” (73). An informal survey of

several martyrs’ posters reveals many of the same Quranic verses described by Canaan in his

study of Arabic talismans. Where does this modern talismanic practice come from? As M.C.

Hughes argues in “The Evolution of Islamism in the Palestinian Territories,” modern Palestinian

culture is built on the past. Hughes writes, “The roots of modern Palestinian Islamist movements

such as Hamas are deeply set in history, reaching back farther than the establishment of Israel as

a state and the resulting expulsion of Palestinians into the outlying territories” (15). Hughes gives

a detailed history of modern Palestine, beginning with the 1900s when Palestine was subjected to

British rule under the Mandate of from the League of Nations. As Hughes describes, “Life in

mandatory Palestine remained rooted in patriarchal tradition, family and clan loyalty, and a

talismanic approach to Islam” (24). By talismanic approach, he means that “practitioners took to

praying and fasting as supernatural spiritual duties that brought emotional comfort and social

acceptance” (25). Therefore, including the Quranic verses on martyrs’ posters today, Palestinians

are reminded of the magical power of those verses to comfort the living and assure them the

deceased has entered Paradise.

We can see how powerful the spoken Quranic verse can be as well in Nasra Hassan’s

article, “An Arsenal of Believers,” from The New Yorker. In Hassan’s re-telling of a would-be

martyr who failed at first to carry out his mission, we see how reciting the Quran works in the

same way as a visual talisman:

“All he [the young Palestinian, referred to only as ‘M.’] had to do was unzip his

bag of explosives and press the detonator. ‘But at the moment he was to press the

button he forgot Paradise,’ one of his former cellmates recalled. ‘He felt a split

second of fear, a slight hesitation. To bolster himself, he recited from the Koran.

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Refreshed and strengthened, he again began to think of Paradise. When he felt

ready, he tried again.’” (Hassan n.p.).

Though his mission was not ultimately completed due to technical difficulties, the young

Palestinian was clearly “re-charged” to continue his work by the mere recitation of Quranic

verses. He attributes his ability to press the button of the detonator to the powerful and

stimulating act of reciting the Quran—clearly, the words had functioned in a protective way for

him, and, as such, is a talismanic belief. Borrowing again from Hughes’s description above, we

can transfer Canaan’s theory of talismanic power from a physical object (the talisman) to a

bodily movement (prayer and fasting). We can also connect this to the performative utterance, a

la J.L. Austen. In Austen’s terminology, the performative “does something” (qtd. in Crary 61).

Therefore, the martyr is not merely saying something with his words—the statements are

actually performing a function. In this case, they are performing the action of being a talisman,

of providing supernatural assurance to the would-be martyr.

The point of analyzing these Palestinian cultural practices—the valorization of the

martyr, the commemoration of the martyr, the recitation of Quranic verses—is to provide a way

of reading Darwish’s poetry, in the same vein that Henry Louis Gates, Jr., in The Signifying

Monkey uses elements of African culture to read black texts in the “New World.” As Gates

argues, black slaves relied on oral literature to preserve African traditions and practices while in

the New World (5). In his discussion of the trickster and “Signifying Monkey” of slave culture,

Gates stresses the importance of examining these items to reveal elements of black aesthetic and

literary culture today. As Gates writes, “We must remember that the Signifying Monkey tales are

the repositories of the black vernacular tradition’s rhetorical principles, coded dictionaries of

black tropes” (63). This same type of coded language forms the structure of Darwish’s poems,

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recreating the talismanic practices of Palestinian folk culture. As Tawfiq Yousef writes in

“Mahmoud Dariwsh and the Quest for Identity,” [Darwish] viewed history as giving the

individual a sense of pride and belonging in addition to providing him with a sense of self-

definition […] Sometimes Darwish resorted to the historical past as an attempt to attach the

Palestinians to their heritage in order to overcome their feelings of isolation, aloneness, and

uprootedness” (679). In addition to incorporating historical elements in his poetry, Darwish

consistently used his poems to explore solutions to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. In a 1996

interview, Darwish states “I built my homeland, I even established a state, in my language”

(Yeshurun 5). Darwish’s interviews reflect the power his poems have. Darwish’s words, then,

become the magical talisman that instills feelings of protection and calm…they become the life-

generating blood of the martyr, the “‘water’ that nourishes the fields where streams would flow

and birds would sing,” and cultivates the minds of the Palestinians. To answer Darwish’s

question posed at the beginning of this essay, his poems most surely achieve the status of blood.

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