Due to its historical role as a bridge between Egypt and Syria, Palestine gradually cultivated a kaleidoscopic culture. Almost every Palestinian cultural component could be analyzed and understood as a certain compound or mixture of Egyptian and Syrian elements. Being placed amidst these two powerful poles, Palestinians naturally adopted either or both as a mother culture. Music, moreover, is not to be excluded. While moving through Palestine from north Galilee to Gaza, one will definitely experience a transition between two subcultures, which is evident in costumes, traditions, colloquial dialects, cuisines, or musical tastes. The Palestinian coastal strip that stretches from Gaza to Jaffa and Acre has been more affected by Egyptian culture, whereas the Galilee mountains were naturally under Syrian influence. Although post-World-War-I considerations do not fall within the scope of this article, suffice it to say that the very poor chances of finding a decent mansaf meal beyond the northern gate of Jenin or a kobbeh nayyeh dish south of Nazareth make you wonder: Can we expect a homogeneous cultural or musical scene?

Completely detached from their mother culture after 1948, abandoned by their urban aristocracy and bourgeois political and religious leaderships, and paralyzed by fear and ignorance, the remaining Arabs of Galilee began to face a very ‘successful’ long-term master plan, which aimed to turn them into a marginal, inert section of Israeli society. In order to achieve that goal, the state of Israel continuously injected into the Arab community the magic potion that lessened its dependency on Arab neighbours. The fear of any collaboration or contact between the local Arab minority and ‘enemy’ Arab states drove the state of Israel to involuntarily encourage a semi-self-contained Arab civil society. Listening to Egyptian radio was prohibited by law. Alternatively, controlled Arabic broadcast and print media were soon established. Egyptian and other Arab literature was selectively pirated and re-printed in Tel Aviv. Central educational, health, and welfare systems were established and even electoral rights were promptly granted. Within a few decades, a brand new upper-middle class emerged on the surface of a completely rural peasant class that was left behind after 1948. In addition to this new class, there stood a lower-middle class that consisted of the remainder of Arab society. Both classes very soon learned two realities: 1) Unlike the temporary Ottoman rule and British Mandate, the state of Israel was of an ‘everlasting’ nature and hence their defeat shared the same quality; 2) Once they gave up any national/political or other ‘security-related’ aspirations, their economic situation would be quite stable. Their secured ‘life quality’ was at stake if and when they might oppose Israeli existence in any way. When compared to the godforsaken Palestinians who were left behind in the West Bank or Gaza and tossed over from British to Hashemite or Egyptian régimes, the 1948 Palestinians felt themselves ‘lucky’! Very soon they absorbed the rules of the game and started on their prescribed long journey of slow decay.

One way or another, the doomed and isolated Arab minority in Galilee clung to certain components of their Arabic culture. Literature, poetry, and journalism were protected by the legitimate channels of the communist party. Music seems never to have been interrupted due to the 1948 occupation. On the contrary, musicians were re-activated not only through mingling with Jewish musicians who were newcomers from Iraq, Syria, and Egypt, but also through wedding parties, official Israeli media bands, and participation in a formal music curriculum in Arab schools. Both Sephardic and Arab wedding-feast traditions were quickly transformed into very active music-oriented events. The possibility to earn a living as a music teacher and/or musician of the various local bands left no room for ‘personal voice’. Musicians continued their careers by echoing the main music currents from neighbouring Arab states while never feeling any need for original expression.

Unlike the Israeli theatre scene, the Israeli music scene failed to inspire Arab musicians to any kind of innovation; on the contrary, the Israeli music scene preferred touristic, stagnated Arabic music formats. Double exposure and adaptation of Egyptian as well as Syrian/Lebanese music styles saturated the musical space and left little or no room at all for Western musical influences.

The social composition of the West Bank was a bit more complicated. Stronger shades of ‘aristocracy’ survived even until 1967, and a wider, more pragmatic slice of the bourgeoisie became activated and even more powerful. Parts of this upper class felt and acted as natural inheritors of the British Mandate intelligentsia. They imposed their cultural leadership over society and used their familiarity with British/Western language, culture, and manières to maintain their elite status with respect to the relatively very poor and uneducated lower class.

The absence of a formal music education system led music lovers onto alternative paths (mostly Western): either quasi-classical music training through church schools and monasteries or Western pop music practice, which flourished mainly in some private schools (the Friends School, the Frères School, the Rosary Sisters’ School, etc.) and some community centres such as the YMCA. Although the above-mentioned options suited narrow elitist fragments of Palestinian society, the remaining majority was shut out of this scene. Their love for the ‘oud and nai ‘folksy’ sounds did not fit in to the elegant Franco-Arab space, nor did their colloquial dialects match the refinement of the prevailing bon ton. Although several testimonies indicate the presence of habitual ‘oud and artistic musical gatherings in some well-established family houses, such as the famous ‘women’s receptions’ in Nablus, these non-public traditions seem to have lost their appeal too soon, leaving very little impact on the younger generations.

By the mid-seventies, West Bank society began to loosen up after the double shock of the 1967 War and the 1970 Black September massacres. Seasonal and occasional music and dance parties flourished again. This time, several musicians from the Galilee took part in these fairly rewarding musical happenings, and some even switched their living places to cities in the West Bank, where the lack of serious competition added to the fame and recognition they had gained as Israeli media stars, and made them act and be treated as local megastars.

The 1988 Intifada was much more than a natural resistance reaction to 21 years of Israeli occupation. It indicated a profound internal transformation in beliefs, national priorities, and social/political hierarchy. Palestinian streets and backyards became the ultimate sources of this new, internationally respected, straightforward, and non-rhetorical strategy. The old, constantly defeated patriarchal system could not but give way and later on try to join or ‘adopt’ the new breed of street leadership. The political strategies and performances of the past, as well as national and social conduct, were carefully re-examined and evaluated according to their real contributions and roles in crystallizing a genuine national and cultural identity. Naturally, the soft-music and dance happenings slipped into irrelevance as did the five o’clock tea gatherings.

The post-Intifada Palestinian artist had to be much more than a mere musician, actor, etc. That fatal, yet evasive, difference between entertainment and art began to take its first steps into Palestinian awareness. Music became a highly valued manner of self-expression rather than a luxurious hobby that was restricted to the wealthy. As part of their claim to a decent place under the sun, the young generations began to search for Palestinian sound and rhythm. And as ‘ouds, qanuns, nais, and other previously neglected Oriental instruments gained appreciation and occupied the heart of every relevant music hall in the West Bank, Western instruments such as pianos and guitars were sidelined as they failed to cope with the ‘fresh’ tones and expressions.

The Arab World had already witnessed the birth of such a gap between the stagnant ‘old’ and the vibrant ‘new’ back in the 1980s. The Bashir brothers, Jamil and Munir, had injected a potent dose of ‘Iraqism’ and talent into the music scene in order to redeem the ‘oud from its previous ‘sleepy’ image. The young and proud Lebanese musicians, Zeyad Rahbani and Marcel Khalifah, with their Arab instruments and simple, meaningful lyrics, swiftly overshadowed the great Fairuz legacy. It was only natural for Palestinians in the 1990s to embrace such models and to have a stronger affinity to Sabreen’s music than to Majida el-Roumi’s angelic voice. The amazing fact is not only that Palestine started its own wave of music innovation but also that this spark started in the West Bank and not in the allegedly saturated and ‘well-experienced’ Galilee. The mixture of Galilee artists who knew the ‘how’ and West Bank artists who knew the ‘why’ was crucial.

The 1990s witnessed a second wave of Galilee musicians who chose the West Bank as their field of work. Unlike the waves of the ’70s and ’80s, economic considerations played no role. An Israel-free atmosphere and the awakening thirst for fresh art invited many Galilee-born artists to experience the authenticity of their artistic as well as national identities.

While the Galilee went on chewing the same pointless tarab-drugged music, the pathetic image of a musician in the Galilee as a craftsman who was subordinated to the taste of his nouveau-riche audience became obvious. On the other hand, West Bank musicians smartly bypassed the shackles of Arabic music heritage, choosing only what suited them most in order to express their personal voice and environment as loudly and boldly as possible.

Palestinian music and art experienced a few golden years during the ’90s - to be more accurate, between the first and second intifadas. The free space that enabled such prosperity was created due to the physical retreat of the defeated Israeli army from Palestinian cities, the euphoric expectations of change that were created by the Oslo agreements, and the absence of an actual, active ministry of culture. Hence, no interference or censorship was implemented. Ramallah became a cultural model to be imitated in Nazareth and Haifa. Booming with almost every possible musical style and dialect, the city attracted musicians and audiences from all over Palestine, in addition to Western musicians, who seemed fascinated by the oriental lure and decided to try their chances in the country. Surprisingly enough, even world-class musicians such as Daniel Barenboim spared no efforts in order to seize a niche in the Palestinian musical scene!

The military reactions to the second Intifada were more than a cruel blow to Ramallah’s short spring season. Many musicians and talented youths fled from what became huge, secluded dungeons. Yet the years 2002--2007 witnessed the circulation of no less than 25 new Palestinian CDs, most of which contain original music compositions with various degrees of ingenuity. This could not have been achieved without the very inspiring years of the ’90s.

The unique ‘Ramallah experience’ may have been a once-in-a-lifetime successful musical development. The history of developing countries in our region does not include many such fortunate chiasms, but rather the gradual taking-over by some kind of central bureaucracy such as the overriding ministry of culture in some neighbouring countries or the palace-affiliated conservatories and art-school directors in others.

A few minutes after writing these last ‘gloomy’ sentences, I was informed that the Palestinian Ministry of Education had initiated a procedure of burning and destroying copies of a book of Palestinian folk stories! I could not help wondering, Are my last phrases too gloomy? And is it the inevitable nature of pessimist prophecies to turn into dark realities that soon? How long will it last until some ministry decides to destroy another book or perhaps even a CD? Or imprison a poet, a painter, or a composer?

Arab culture and history teach us that every caliphate inherited three of the Prophet Mohammad’s belongings: the prophet’s gown, ring, and sword. These three items became the most important symbols of any caliphate, including that of Abdul Hameed II, who was the last Ottoman caliph. During the twentieth century, Arab kings, sultans, and dictators replaced those ancient holy symbols with modern, very unholy, ones: a ministry of culture, an opera house, and a symphonic orchestra. My last personal ‘pessimistic’ prophecy for this article is: may I not live long enough to witness any of them being realized in Palestine.