On March 2, I was honored with an Academy Award for Best Documentary for the film I co-directed, "No Other Land." The moment was indescribably powerful — one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life.
Yet, just three weeks later, I was violently attacked in my own home and subsequently detained. In that instant, it felt as though the Oscar recognition had vanished into thin air, as if the award held no protection or meaning in the face of the harsh realities I endure.
I hail from Susiya, a small village located at the southern edge of the West Bank, home to only a few dozen families. Shepherding sustains our community. Life here is modest, defined by simple homes and routines. However, the near-daily harassment and violence from settlers and the Israeli military enforcing the occupation consume much of our time and energy. The opulence of Los Angeles and the grandeur of the Oscars stage stood in sharp contrast to the world I know — towering buildings, speeding cars, and pervasive wealth surrounded me. Yet, there we were, my three co-directors and I, standing on one of the world’s most prestigious platforms to accept this award.
Our stories, our communities, and our voices were finally illuminated. The struggles and hardships we face were shared with a global audience, garnering support and attention. For years, we have sought to raise awareness of our plight. This achievement exceeded all our hopes.
When my name was announced and our film’s title appeared on the screen, I was overwhelmed. My hands went numb, my surroundings blurred, and though people were nearby, I felt detached. I walked to the stage almost on autopilot, my mind blank.
The purpose of our film was to spotlight the conditions in my homeland and inspire change for our people. Yet, after the attack, it became painfully clear that despite international recognition, we remain caught in a relentless cycle of violence and oppression.
