By Bassam Haddad
When I left Washington, D.C., in June 2006 to continue filming a documentary on the war on terrorism, I hadn’t thought I’d be so close to an F-16 jet fighter, much less within its firing range. On the dawn of July 14, the third day of Israel’s air raids on Lebanon, it felt as though the jet was going to ram directly into my ten-story building in southeast Beirut. The thundering of the Israeli F-16 was beyond frightening, even to someone who had witnessed the 1982 Israeli invasion of Lebanon, as I did as a teenager.
This time, twenty-four years later, I happened to have a video camera. More than that, all the satellite channels in the Middle East and beyond were well positioned to document every raid, every missile, every corpse. Not only was the war hypertelevised, but the media were part and parcel of it. I was in the middle, capturing a simultaneous glimpse of both the war and its representation.
My apartment is in Christian “east Beirut” but on the dividing line with southern Beirut, known as al-Daahyeh (suburb), Hezbollah’s stronghold. I was awake all night — as was everyone else — listening to air raids and the anti-aircraft missiles. I could hear the planes approaching, right above us. The first two raids I got ready to capture what I could with my camera, but then got scared and went inside. These planes were terrifyingly loud, and the bombs were landing nearby, shaking the entire building. By the third raid I was desensitized, and stayed on the balcony, capturing the missile hitting near Mar Mikhael (St. Michael) Church right down the street, with my video camera. I ran from one balcony to the other to catch glimpses of the planes, missiles, explosions, smoke . . . anything to determine whether human beings in planes were indeed striking other human beings. In the silences between explosions, as I zipped back and forth, I couldn’t help but notice that the al Jazeera reporters on TV were announcing more impending Israeli air raids. They would then show footage of distant smoke and explosions. I would then go to the balcony, film the air raid, and then go inside and watch live Jazeera and Arabiyya satellite coverage of the same action.
I ran from the balcony to the television about twenty times, filming outside and filming the TV screen, often simultaneously through the window. Reporters would announce that Israeli jet fighters were approaching Beirut, then I would hear the thundering jet fighters, then I would see them, or their traces, and finally I would film their missiles destroying bridges, buildings, roads, and churches, killing scores and injuring dozens.
After 7 a.m. I finally went to sleep, with one thought on my mind: What will I wake up to? How many people will die while I sleep? (Okay, two thoughts.)
What I remember most is the unbelievably close sound of the explosions, then the smoke directly in front of me. Israel is real; the bombing was real; millions of people were terrified, held under siege, and cut off from the outside world by the destruction of airports and main roads to neighboring countries. This is not TV. It is the hyperreality of state violence documented by the ubiquitous media, which are in turn being documented by another layer of representation, including mine, and others. I was at once subject and participant, observer and observed, witness and survivor.
Bassam Haddad is an assistant professor of political science at St. Joseph’s University in Philadelphia and a scholar-in-residence at the University of Pennsylvania. He is co-producer/director of the documentary film, About Baghdad, and is directing a film series, “Arabs and Terrorism.”
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