Adios Beirut (1983)

Directed by: George Sluizer | 45 minutes | documentary

In 1983 George Sluizer goes to Beirut for a third time for his documentary ‘Adios Beirut’ to meet the two families who have been expelled from (later) Israel. Or at least as far as possible. For example, several children of the families have gone to work or study abroad and, above all, there is little left of the camp or area where they used to be, as a result of the 1982 Israel-Lebanon War.

Tragically, it wasn’t just the Israelis they wanted to kill, but also several (Christian) Lebanese militias they supported. And even among the revolutionary Palestinians there is no unanimity, as Sluizer discovered. For example, the enterprising, cheerful Adnan was killed in France by radical Muslims, who considered him too moderate.

It has clearly led to despondency and greater hopelessness among the family members, where they had previously been very combative and hopeful. Adnan’s sister, Saada, who has lived in Italy for seven years, gives a different answer to the question of what the word ‘future’ means to her for the first time. While during the first two meetings with Sluizer she answered ‘revolution to victory’ as standard, smiling and determined, she is no longer so sure.

“It seems like the future is getting more and more difficult for the Palestinians,” she now replies. And ‘As you grow up, the picture of the future becomes more blurred. Even if you get more serious and know better what you want from life’. We feel what she means. When you are young everything is still possible, and you still dare to dream. Then you can say absolutely anything. But later on, reality comes closer and the realization that many of your dreams are not achievable.

Then when you see how relentlessly the various parties continue to wage war, and see horrific images of the victims – men, women, children -, destroyed buildings and the continuous presence of military personnel, it seems very unlikely that a peaceful solution can be found. . Not in the short term anyway.

At the end of the film, we see how Mother Hamad is able to make the trip to Israel to visit her family there, for the first time in 35 years. As an elderly person, she could finally get a visa. It is beautiful and emotional to see how she reacts during the car ride to the rolling hills, the olive groves where her brother lives. Only to find out that her childhood home and much of what she knew is gone. Fortunately, seeing her family again in Israel/Palestine feels like coming home again.

‘Adios Beirut’ feels just as nostalgic and sad as the title suggests. It stands not only for the farewell to Beirut, which has become unlivable and far too dangerous, but also – half against his better judgement – ​​for the farewell to Palestine. Or maybe not quite, because this is an intolerable thought for the Palestinians. But at the very least, the film symbolizes holding on to one last straw. And the very human longing, the yearning for a home.

Regardless of political alliances, everyone can identify with these emotions. And luckily there are no too polemical or propagandistic scenes in this film (unlike the final part of this series: ‘Homeland’). In that respect it has just become a pure and sincere film. It is a pity that almost half consists of film material from the previous two parts in this series, but beyond that it has certainly become a compelling portrait.

It had originally been Sluizer’s intention to give the Palestinians a face. To be able to give people, against all one-sided reporting, an image of sympathetic, intelligent, three-dimensional persons who have the same emotions as everyone else. At least that is what Sluizer has achieved.

There is one moment of about five seconds that perfectly shows the very human longing for a home (and a motherland). Ihmad, who is now head of the PLO embassy in Cuba, tells in ‘Adios Beirut’ about his father who was imprisoned – wrongly – by the Lebanese army. When Sluizer asks if he doesn’t want to go home, referring to Lebanon, Ihmad looks at him (almost) with tears in his eyes and asks: ‘to Palestine?’, to add a few seconds, without any irony or calculation. add… ‘That’s my only home’. The word ‘home’ or ‘home’ is so emotionally charged for Palestinians, it immediately hits a nerve when you say it, and immediately stirs emotions. That such an ultimate basic need has to be fought so brutally remains an eternal shame.