What has continued to influence your work as a photographer?

The bravery of our people. I feel a responsibility as somebody in a more privileged position as a Palestinian American to document as much as I can when I can. 

How did the impulse to begin photographing scenes of resistance emerge? How has your approach to imaging these moments changed over time?

Since I was a child I was told stories of resistance, whether about my family or about our people at large. Photographing the West Bank means inevitably photographing acts of resistance, large or small. I feel like I’ve developed a rhythm of photographing in the West Bank, despite how unpredictable it can be. You have to be on your toes at all times.

Which camera do you find yourself reaching for most often and why?

It changes honestly subconsciously. In America I find myself relying mainly on a 35mm point and shoot. In Palestine I prefer a digital camera so that I have the best chances of making a strong photo, but some more beautiful and stiller scenes usually have me shooting on 120. It changes all the time. 

How would you describe the ethics of your images?

I don’t photograph objectively. A successful image in my opinion is one that tells a story that someone can relate to or take something from without being any more extractive than a photo has to be. In the West Bank, consent is extremely important and can have extreme repercussions on whoever I’m photographing.

I also want my work to complicate people’s expectations of something. I like for my work to fill in the space that people either haven’t seen or don’t understand. That to me is one of the best things I can do as a photographer. 

What precipitated your essay “On Being A Loser”? 

The essay was precipitated by the American responses I saw to the genocide in Gaza. I found that people either considered Palestinians as barbaric terrorists or as absolute heroes with very little in between the two. I wrote this essay about the feeling of being perpetually on the back foot as a Palestinian. That our victories are often small with potentially large consequences. It isn’t necessarily a life of glory or one of despair, but of perseverance and ingenuity and a lot of the time, stupidity (at least speaking for myself). 

In the essay, you articulate a spirit of utopian nihilism (the full firepower of the West has been unleashed on the people of Palestine; they completely dominate our life and its living; yet they have lost and we will win). I’m curious about whether and how this sentiment shows up in your own work, inside and outside of Palestine; I am thinking in particular of how you imaged Midway Blitz and Delaney Hall.

I think it’s impossible for that feeling not to come through in the work. We live in particularly tragic times where our enemies seem to get their way more often than not. It’s hard not to feel spiteful or hopeless and sometimes I absolutely do feel those ways. Photographing moments that show how much potential our moment in time has, whether it’s in Palestine or in the U.S. helps me remember that a better future is possible, that it has to be possible. 

What was the last thing you changed your mind about?

What flavor of hookah to get. I tried to convince myself that double apple was good but unfortunately I still don’t think it is. Lemon mint supremacy. 

Who is a photographer whose work should be talked about more often?

Boris Apple. A close friend of mine who is immensely talented and brings so much care and attention to every single one of his photos. I aspire to be as good as he is. 

Could you share some recent or current projects that you’re working on?

Right now I’m working on a number of things, but the one I’m most excited about is a film I’m developing with a close friend of mine. He is originally from the city of Qalqilya in the West Bank but grew up as a second generation refugee in Jordan. We feel that we have very similar photographing styles so the idea is that I’m photographing his city the way he would even though he cannot. 

What do you collect?

I’m a very sentimental person.I have pieces of an olive tree that Israeli soldiers destroyed in Al-Mughayr, a tear gas shell from Abu Fallah, rocks from my hometown of Jemma’in, all sorts of things. In America I’m the same way, collecting rocks and beer caps and drawings from wherever I go. 

Interviewed by Seth Nguyen. Artist portrait photographed by Studio Farah in Sinjil, Palestine.