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 Asmahan Bkerat, is a wake-up call disguised as a film. It’s not just about a family or a piece of land—it’s about the invisible threads that tie us to our heritage and the brutal cost of severing them.
A Family’s Struggle, A Global Story
What makes Concrete Land particularly fascinating is its ability to zoom in on the intimate while simultaneously capturing a universal struggle. The Najar family, one of the last Afro-Palestinian Bedouin families on the outskirts of Amman, Jordan, is facing a battle that echoes across the globe. Luxury villas are encroaching on their agricultural land, forcing them to abandon their traditional way of life. But here’s the thing: this isn’t just about eviction. It’s about erasure.
From my perspective, the most heartbreaking aspect is the generational divide. While the adults grapple with the loss of their land and livelihood, their 10-year-old daughter, Eman, navigates discrimination at school. She dreams of a future that doesn’t require her to leave her heritage behind. This raises a deeper question: Can we preserve identity in a world that values progress over people?
The Birth of a Filmmaker, The Birth of a Movement
One thing that immediately stands out is Asmahan Bkerat’s journey as a filmmaker. She wasn’t a director before meeting the Najars. This film was born out of necessity—a response to the brutality and destruction she witnessed. What many people don’t realize is that stories like these often go untold because there’s no one to tell them. Bkerat’s decision to pick up a camera is an act of resistance, a refusal to let her people’s stories fade into obscurity.
In my opinion, this is where the film transcends its documentary roots. It’s not just a record of events; it’s a testament to the power of storytelling as a form of preservation. Bkerat’s words, “Their erasure is my erasure,” are a chilling reminder of the personal stakes involved. This isn’t just a film—it’s a lifeline.
Urban Development: A Double-Edged Sword
If you take a step back and think about it, urban development is often framed as progress. Skyscrapers, luxury homes, modern infrastructure—these are the hallmarks of a thriving society, right? But what this really suggests is that progress comes at a cost, and that cost is often borne by the most vulnerable.
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 is the crux of the issue. We’re so focused on building the future that we forget to ask: Whose future are we building? And at what expense?
The Global Network Behind the Film
A detail that I find especially interesting is the extensive network of international partners that supported Concrete Land. From the IDFA Bertha Fund to the Sundance Documentary Fund, this film is a testament to the power of collaboration. But it also raises a question: Why does it take a global effort to tell a local story?
In my opinion, this speaks to the broader issue of representation in media. Stories like the Najars’ are often overlooked because they don’t fit the mainstream narrative. It’s only through the dedication of filmmakers like Bkerat and organizations like Odd Slice Films that these stories see the light of day.
What’s Next? The Future of Stories Like These
As Concrete Land premieres at the Locarno Film Festival, I can’t help but wonder: What happens after the credits roll? Will this film spark a conversation about the human cost of development? Or will it be another poignant story that fades into the background?
Personally, I think the impact of this film will depend on how we, as viewers, choose to engage with it. It’s not enough to watch and feel moved—we need to act. Whether it’s supporting similar projects, advocating for marginalized communities, or simply questioning the narratives we’re fed, Concrete Land is a call to action.
Final Thoughts: The Beauty We Risk Losing
What makes Concrete Land so powerful is its ability to humanize a global issue. It’s easy to talk about urbanization in abstract terms, but this film forces us to confront the faces and stories behind the statistics. Bkerat’s hope—that the love of the land and the people who belong to it can never be extinguished—is both a challenge and a promise.
In my opinion, this film is more than just a documentary; it’s a reminder of the beauty we risk losing in our pursuit of progress. And that, I think, is a story worth preserving.
