WASHINGTON WATCH
The scene at the Paul VI chapel in the Vatican’s St Peter’s Square was quite moving. Pope Francis had come to thank those who had donated the chapel’s Christmas tree and the carved life-sized figures that depicted the birth of Jesus that had been set up at the foot of the tree. As the Pope sat in silent prayer contemplating the scene, one thing stood out: the manger on which lay the figure of the baby was covered with a keffiyeh serving as a blanket. The symbolism was powerful. Here’s why.
In a sense, Christianity, from its beginning, had an ornery message. Instead of worshipping riches and power, it starts in a cave in a manger.
The birth of Jesus, as related in the Christian Bible and tradition, tells us that because his parents couldn’t find room in a Bethlehem inn, they were forced to find shelter in a cave that housed animals. After his birth, his mother Mary placed him in a manger, where he lay as common shepherds came to pay homage and kings from the East came bearing gifts.
When King Herod, the Roman client who governed this region, became aware of this birth and the prophecies about how, despite his inauspicious origin, this child would rise to lead his people, Herod felt threatened and in a rage ordered the massacre of all little children in the area. Warned in advance, Jesus’ parents and their newborn fled to Egypt until it was safe to return.
Palestinian Christians see echoes of the plight of their Palestinian nation in this story. They are outcasts living under occupation. The birth of Jesus we are told from the beginning was to herald a new order that would promise freedom for captives, to bring low the mighty, send the rich away empty, and reward those who persevere for the sake of justice. Palestinians know that their very existence and steadfastness threatens to upend the established order.
When in later years, the Christian faith was adopted by the Empire, images of Jesus took on the trappings of royalty. He came to be portrayed as a king in an earthly sense, clothed in regal garments and crowned in gold. In this transformation, the profoundly unsettling upside-down message of the original story is lost. And so, the manger scene in the Vatican is a powerful reminder of Jesus in the beginning— an outcast, born humbly, under occupation, his parents fearful for his safety. In this context, the keffiyeh is a perfect touch.
Not everyone agrees, of course. The head of the Anti-Defamation League has termed the keffiyeh an anti-Semitic symbol and has called for sanctions against those who wear it. Building on this, one US congressman denounced the Pope for falling victim to the antisemitic propaganda lie that equates the plight of Palestinians with the Christmas story. This requires a response, because the story of the symbolism of the keffiyeh is itself something that must be understood.
Seen in this light, it is an insult to Palestinian history and humanity to attempt to reduce the meaning of the keffiyeh to an antisemitic act. And it is perfect to merge the two symbols—the manger and the keffiyeh—to give hope to those who’ve lost hope, comfort to those who are suffering, and recognition to those who’ve been abandoned.
In the mid-1930s, Palestinians were living on the edge. They had been severed from the rest of the Arab East with their new rulers, the British Mandatory government, having promised their land to the Zionist Movement. The British had opened the door to a massive influx of Jewish immigration to Palestine. In an effort to regain control over their lives, land, and futures, they launched an uprising from 1936 to 1939. During this Great Revolt, they succeeded in liberating almost 80% of the land. It only ended with an agreement made between the British (who needed to free themselves of this conflict given their concerns with impending war in Europe) and a number of Arab leaders, with the Palestinians concurring. In the agreement, the British pledged to convene a commission to study the problem, to suspend immigration, and in the end to respect Arab aspirations in Palestine. This, they did not do.
During the three years of the revolt, the British exacted a heavy toll. They killed more than 5,000 and arrested more than 12,600. Because the leadership was urban-centred, the way some Palestinian leaders sought to escape arrest and repression was to take on the garb of the peasant population, in particular the checkered keffiyeh.
When Yasir Arafat launched the Fatah movement, despite the fact that its leaders were also urban elites, they too adopted the keffiyeh as a symbol of the movement, its attachment to the land and those who work on it.
Seen in this light, it is an insult to Palestinian history and humanity to attempt to reduce the meaning of the keffiyeh to an antisemitic act. And it is perfect to merge the two symbols—the manger and the keffiyeh—to give hope to those who’ve lost hope, comfort to those who are suffering, and recognition to those who’ve been abandoned.
