Sahbaa Al-Barbari: ‘The breeze that softened the harshness’

Sahbaa Al-Barbari was a Gazan woman who, despite societal pressures and political upheaval, clung to her communist ideals, a lone ember in a society increasingly defined by religious authority. The bearer of the carbuncle, the first communist activist and political prisoner in Palestine, Sahbaa remains a potent symbol of resilience, intellect, and an unyielding spirit that continues to resonate, writes Jamshid Ahmadi

From the sun-drenched alleys of old Gaza, a singular voice arose, a woman whose life echoed with a resonance unlike any other. Sahbaa Al-Barbari, a name that would become synonymous with unwavering conviction and quiet strength. Mahmoud Darwish, the poet of Palestine, saw in her a relic of a bygone era, a “dinosaur” whose example had long vanished. Yet, to her fellow inmates within the harsh walls of Qanat prison, she was nothing less than “the breeze that softened the harshness,” a testament to her enduring spirit.

Her story began in the 1930s, in the al-Daraj neighbourhood of Gaza Hashim, a place steeped in the scent of spices and the rhythmic creak of ancient olive presses. Here, young Sahbaa, with her brothers, would seek out her grandfather at his sesame mill, the air thick with the nutty aroma, a small hand reaching for his, a coin for her pocket before the school day began. This idyllic childhood, however, was soon fractured by the seismic shift of the Nakba. The sea brought with it waves of refugees, and young Sahbaa, alongside her grandmother, aunt, and mother, became a silent witness to their plight, their nimble fingers sewing clothes, their hearts offering what little solace they could. From that moment, the Palestinian cause etched itself onto her young soul, a defining mark.

Illness steered her family away from Gaza, towards the bustling metropolis of Cairo. There, within the walls of Princess Fawqia School, her intellect blossomed. The words of Mikhail Naima and Gibran Khalil Gibran opened new vistas, igniting a thirst for knowledge and a broader understanding of the world. This intellectual awakening deepened when she enrolled in the Faculty of Literature at Cairo University, her focus settling on sociology. It was through her brother, Farouk Al-Barbari, that the seeds of political consciousness truly took root. She joined the Palestinian Students’ Association, a crucible where her communist ideals were forged. A visit to a Palestinian refugee camp in Cairo with fellow students solidified her commitment, bringing the abstract realities of displacement into sharp focus.

Fate, it seemed, had a dramatic script in store. During the March 1955 uprising against the proposed settlement of refugees in Sinai, Sahbaa, along with other university students, visited the detainees in al-Qanater prison. It was there, amidst the stark reality of confinement, that she first encountered Mouin Bseiso. The poet, his eyes holding a depth that mirrored her own burgeoning convictions, inquired about her future. “I want to return to Gaza,” she declared, her voice imbued with purpose, “because I want to benefit the female students and Palestinian society with what I learned.” Within a year, their paths intertwined further, culminating in their engagement.

Returning to Gaza, Sahbaa embraced her calling as a teacher in the very school where she had once been a student. She envisioned herself as a catalyst for change, striving to cultivate the minds of young girls, nurturing their cultural awareness and instilling in them a profound sense of national identity. Her aim was to forge a new generation of women, equipped to champion the Palestinian cause. Yet, the political winds were shifting, and her communist beliefs soon cast a shadow over her aspirations.

Following the failed coup in Mosul in 1959, a wave of anti-communist sentiment swept across the Arab world, reaching even the Gaza Strip. The very students she sought to empower turned against her, their youthful voices chanting denunciations, their gestures laced with disrespect. The ensuing crackdown led by Nasser ensnared Palestinian communists in Gaza, and Sahbaa found herself imprisoned alongside her fiancé, Mouin.

Forty-two harrowing days in solitary confinement in a men’s military prison followed. The walls echoed with the moans of fellow prisoners, the chilling sounds of dogs a constant reminder of the brutality inflicted just beyond her cell. This isolation was a torment in itself. Then came the transfer to the women’s prison in Qanater, a place that, paradoxically, became a crucible of unexpected growth. Surrounded by Egyptian communist women – Engy Aflatoun, Thuraya Shaker, Jane Sedaros, and the actress Mohsena Tawfik – Sahbaa found camaraderie and intellectual stimulation. Jane Sedaros taught her English, while Sahbaa, in turn, shared the intricate art of Palestinian peasant embroidery and the flavours of her homeland, preparing Maqlouba and ingeniously transforming their meagre milk rations into buttery richness. These women became her companions, her teachers, and she, in their eyes, their “balm.”

Upon her release, Sahbaa returned to a Gaza that had shifted. Rejection from neighbours and dismissal from her teaching post were harsh realities. Yet, her spirit remained unbroken. With quiet courage, she faced a society that sought to ostracise her for her unwavering beliefs. Her life with Mouin took them from Gaza to Cairo, then Beirut, a nomadic existence dictated by the political currents, yet she remained the steadfast anchor of their family, creating a haven where Mouin could nurture his poetic gifts. To their close friends, she was the “unknown soldier” in the poet’s life, her strength a silent force enabling his creative endeavours.

Najah Awadallah’s documentary film beautifully captures the essence of Sahbaa’s journey. Through evocative imagery – the gentle hues of sunrise and sunset, the changing seasons, the familiar streets of Gaza and Cairo – and the poignant voice of Souad Massi, the film weaves a tapestry of a life lived with fierce conviction. The director’s initial struggle to separate Sahbaa’s identity from that of her famous husband underscores the very essence of Sahbaa’s story: a woman whose individual strength and unwavering commitment deserve recognition in their own right.

Sahbaa’s initial reluctance to be the sole focus of the film, her insistence on the integral role of Mouin in her life, speaks volumes about her humility. Yet, as she delved into her archives, sharing faded photographs and yellowed clippings, she began to understand the power of her own narrative. The year spent recording her memories onto cassette tapes became the foundation for the film’s structure, a testament to the richness of her experiences.

In the end, Najah Awadallah’s perseverance ensured that Sahbaa Al-Barbari’s story would not be lost to the relentless march of time. The film stands as a powerful testament to a Gazan woman who, despite societal pressures and political upheaval, clung to her communist ideals, a lone ember in a society increasingly defined by religious authority. Sahbaa, the bearer of the carbuncle, the first communist activist and political prisoner in Palestine, remains a potent symbol of resilience, intellect, and an unyielding spirit that continues to resonate.


This article first appeared in Liberation journal.

Adapted from a longer Arabic language article by Tamer Fathy on Sahbaa Al-Barbari, dated 2012, and incorporating other sources of information.

Photos: With thanks for permission to publish from the family of Sahbaa Al-Barbari

The views expressed in the articles published on this website do not necessarily represent those of Liberation.

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