• DOI:10.1525/CAN.1996.11.2.02A00010
• Corpus ID: 143605458

The Writing on the Walls: The Graffiti of the Intifada

@article{Peteet1996TheWO,
  title={The Writing on the Walls: The Graffiti of the Intifada},
  author={Julie Peteet},
  journal={Cultural Anthropology},
  year={1996},
  volume={11},
  pages={139-159}
}

• Julie Peteet
• Published 1 May 1996
• Art
• Cultural Anthropology

One of the most striking features of the cultural landscape of the occupied West Bank at the height of the intifada, in the late 1980s and early in 1990, was the writing on the walls.' The eye was immediately drawn to the hastily inscribed, but on occasion rather painstakingly painted, graffiti splashed on nearly every stone wall in the area. Usually, each graffito carried the signature of a Palestinian political faction, either its full name or its acronym. Large blotches of black or white paint, either brush or spray painted, overlaid some graffiti and were intended to prevent their being read. One could read the battle of the walls much the way an archaeologist reads stratigraphy-layer by layer-each layer of paint indicating a partial and temporary victory in an ongoing battle. (See Figures 1 and 2.) Popularly dubbed a "war of stones," stone-throwing images dominated the intifada's public presentation.2 Indeed it was a war of stones, but stones were more than weapons of defense: they were print weapons as well. With its preponderance of stones and stone walls, the landscape provided ready made, easily accessible weapons of communication, assault, and defense. As an anthropologist intent on exploring cultural production during a moment of intense political contest, I had given little, if any, thought to graffiti. But upon arrival in the occupied West Bank in 1990, I could not avoid it. In streets utterly devoid of movement or noise due to a general strike, the blotchy, hurriedly splashed red or black words on an otherwise fairly monotone landscape drew the eye. Once I got a sense of the process of graffiti's production and their content-which was humorous, demanding, threatening, chastising, and resistant-I started writing them down on index cards. A young woman who worked as a research assistant with me was assigned the task of writing down as many graffiti as she could. I had the good fortune to reside in Beit Hanina, a small suburb of Jerusalem particularly rich in graffiti. This article explores graffiti as a form of cultural production during a sustained political contest. I take one particular cultural artifact, graffiti (shi'arat), to suggest that forms of cultural production deployed as a means of resistance