Review: In the Shadow of the Martyr — a portrait of the Palestinian psyche in crisis

The stage lights rise on a restive character, Nidal Abdul-Latif, whose unblinking kohl-framed eyes dart nervously from side to side.

He occupies the stage alone. Accompanying him is a sparse stage set — six spindly wooden chairs, a medical screen, shabby lab coat, and a full rack of medical masks. The tone is set for the single-act, Arabic language play — In the Shadow of the Martyr — which premiered this month at London’s Teatro Technis, supported by PalArt Collective.

Palestine on stage

The star of the one-man show is Palestinian actor Waseem Khair, a renowned actor, director, and member of Palestine’s El-Hakawati National Theatre. He welcomes the audience while fumbling around, clumsily arranging the chairs to form a lecture hall in the mental asylum where he works as a porter. Clearing his throat, he prepares to deliver his research on the human mind. English subtitles are projected on the back wall for English-speakers. But even Arabic-speakers struggle to keep up with his rapid-fire monologue and lofty words.

He wears a Hannibal lecter-style hand stitched mask and a large chain sways around his neck. It holds the keys to the asylum — an unmissable symbol of the unfulfilled right of return Palestinians have demanded for eight decades.

This ambiguous start is intended. The play’s full meaning is revealed only in its final minutes — a slow burn that finally builds up to its a-ha moment.

Exploration of trauma

Khair takes on the delicate task of bringing to life the final major work by esteemed Palestinian-French theatre pioneer François Abou Salem (1951 – 2011) — the Godfather of Palestinian theatre. The play deals with adult themes of civil strife, political violence, suicide bombing, and trauma through a uniquely philosophical and neuroscientific lens.

Khair delivers a visceral performance of a character teetering on the brink of madness — delirious and consumed by his inner turmoil — spilling out words that carry the weight of Palestinian trauma.

The precision of Khair’s performance is in no small part due to his deep connection with Abou Salem, whom he calls his ‘spiritual father.’ In conversation with the Canary, Khair reflected on his relationship to his mentor:

He adopted me artistically and I learned everything he knows about theatre.

Khair characterises the play’s tour as his “calling” to “cement Abou Salem’s legacy and approach” — itself described as a type of “post-modern dramatic travelogue” in art circles. The premise, in the true El-Hakawati tradition, is to capture raw, human emotions or in the words of Abou Salem’s counterpart, Radi Shehadeh:

to put one’s fingers in the bleeding wound.

Inner demons

The script, finalised in 2011, resulted from the collaborative efforts of Abou Salem and German writer and director, Paula Funfeck. In the months that followed Abou Salem would tragically end his life. Khair, who at the time was assistant director, would eventually revive this swan song. ‘In The Shadow of the Martyr,’ as Khair discussed with the Canary, encapsulates Abou Salem’s inner demons, mercurial psyche, frustrations, and dreams for a better, free Palestine — the capstone of his 40-year career — his last goodbye.

Abou Salem’s play is not interested in political correctness. It ultimately critiques how Israeli violence and occupation corrupts everything it touches, including the mind — our inner sanctum. This is best captured by the line “my soul is in a coma” — conveying the psychological paralysis felt by Palestinians, who, despite the toll of Israeli occupation on their lives, bodies, and futures, refuse to capitulate.

One of the more important themes in the play is complicity. Abdul-Latif asks if one is a collaborator for going to school — possibly in reference to his academic pursuit over martyrdom. What about his mother who works at an Israeli rubber factory? She loses her eye while at work and by virtue of being Palestinian is denied work injury compensation by the Israeli occupier. “Ever asked yourself what the rubber is used for” Abdul-Latif asks, in reference to the Israeli state’s use of Palestinian labourers as a pacification tool.

The incident galvanises his brother into carrying out a suicide mission, underscoring the futility of violence. The brothers represent opposite ends of the sliding scale of nationalism — healthy patriotism on one side and violence and fanaticism on the other.

These interlocking events are crucial for understanding the play. The twin themes of disillusionment and self-doubt are as much about Abou Salem’s own struggles as they are about the broader Palestinian experience of occupation.

Individual and collective struggle

Ultimately, the play’s critique of the Israeli occupation and the destructive chain reactions it triggers is less pronounced than some theatre-goers might expect. It remains a vital contribution to Palestinian theatre, highlighting the complex and fraught relationship between individual and collective struggles within Palestinian society.

Commenting on the cryptic nature of the play and its subtle messaging, Khair tells the Canary:

This is my language, my vernacular. Israeli violence is not only waged against our bodies.

The strongest metaphor of all however is the human mind — portrayed as a home, a prison, a reservoir of memory, a contested site, and a bleeding wound. As the porter reminds us, “No memory means no progress, and no society” — a poignant message which remains just as salient today as when it was written.

Featured image via PalArt Collective