This film review was submitted by a London Friend. Have you watched a film that you’d like to share with Quakers in London? Email quill@quakersinlondon.org to share it on The Quill.
Directed by Annemarie Jacir, Palestine ’36 is set during the Arab Revolt of 1936–39 against British rule, a period most of us in Britain were never taught about. That absence from our education is uncomfortable in itself. It raises questions about whose histories we learn, whose suffering we recognise and how readily we confront the part Britain played in shaping the world we see today.
The film doesn’t follow one hero. Instead, it moves between several households and communities, bringing villagers, rebels, townspeople and officials into the same unfolding events. What struck me most was how ordinary life feels at the beginning. People farm, argue, read the paper and worry about money. Jacir takes time to show us people living their lives before history sweeps them up, and because we have spent time with them, what happens later hurts all the more.
One of the film’s real achievements is the way it makes a largely overlooked period of history feel immediate and human. The revolt is not presented simply as a series of political events or military confrontations, but as something that reaches into homes, relationships and everyday decisions. We see how people respond differently to growing injustice, how difficult choices become unavoidable, and how the consequences of political power are lived by ordinary people. The film also makes clear that Palestinian history did not begin with the events we might hear about most often today. It gives us a chance to understand something of the longer roots of Palestinian dispossession and resistance, and to see the people involved as more than symbols in a political argument.
There is a strong sense of place, too. The landscape and villages feel integral to the story, not simply a backdrop against which history unfolds. Knowing that the film is set in Ramallah brought this closer to home for me. Ramallah is also home to the Ramallah Friends School, where Quaker educational work began in 1869, long before the events depicted in the film. This longstanding connection between Quakers and Palestine is a reminder that the region is not simply a subject of historical study or political debate. It is home to communities with their own histories, relationships and hopes for the future. The school’s existence also reminds us that these connections have endured through periods of profound upheaval.
The film tells this history firmly from a Palestinian point of view, bringing to the foreground experiences and perspectives that have too often been marginalised in Britain. For me, that is part of what makes it valuable. It asks us to pay attention to a history we may know very little about, and to consider what we might have missed by not knowing it. It also made me think about this year’s Salter Lecture, The Middle East: a moral catastrophe?, delivered by Rachel Shabi. Her reflections on the erosion of international law and the failure to uphold universal human rights consistently resonate with the questions raised by the film. Both invite us to look beyond immediate events and consider the histories and choices that have shaped the present. They also challenge us to ask whose experiences are recognised, whose suffering receives attention, and whether we apply our moral principles consistently, even when doing so means confronting our own country’s history.
As a Friend, the film made me think about what it means to bear witness. The Quaker peace testimony is not simply an opposition to war; it asks us to look at the conditions that make violence possible, to recognise the humanity of those caught up in it, and to resist the idea that suffering is inevitable or somehow deserved. The testimonies to truth and equality matter here, too. Truth asks us to face histories that may unsettle our own national story, while equality challenges us to consider whose lives, voices and losses are given weight. These are principles that must be applied consistently, rather than according to political convenience or familiarity. Watching Palestine ’36 felt like a reminder that bearing witness begins with being willing to look, to listen and to learn, even when what we encounter is difficult. It also raises the question of what responsibility follows from knowing more than we did before.
So, would I recommend it? Yes. It makes a neglected history accessible without losing sight of the people who lived through it. If you know little about the 1936 revolt, it is a worthwhile place to begin. If you already know the history, it offers a moving opportunity to sit with its human consequences. It invites us to reflect on our own country’s past, on the stories we have inherited or ignored, and on what peace, truth and equality ask of us now.
