Another year, another April. The weather keeps confusing, but on the 22nd of April, around 7 pm, a beam of light dominated Berlin again. HAU 1, built in the early 20th century and located in Kreuzberg, is witnessing a crowd buzzing around its doors: People hugging, happy to see each other's faces again. The murmur of friendly conversation and the sunlight on the broad pavement and staircase of the theater create a warm atmosphere. 

Inside the building, there is a familiar tumult and chaos. Festival accreditations are being picked up, press members are coordinating, childcare is being checked at the entrance, and there is a large crowd in front of the ticket booth, adding names to the waiting list for possible empty chairs and unpicked tickets. The festival buzz is in full motion, the 17th ALFILM edition is fully underway. 

One of the biggest Arabic-speaking film festivals in Europe is taking place in the heart of the capital, Berlin. The space seems full of spirit and anticipation for an important event that brings together ambassadors and diplomats, dressed in elegant evening gowns and suits, political activists, press representatives with cameras flashing from every angle, alongside members of the community and beyond, some dressed chic, others casually. 

Entering the unadorned but stylish wood-paneled, warmly-lit auditorium that offers space for the audience across three floors, the seats fill up slowly. In the opening remarks, executive director Pascale Fakhry and Iskandar Abdalla, the artistic director of the festival, welcome everybody to this year's edition. He starts by referencing one of the films in the spotlight section of the festival, which is dedicated to Sudanese films. Drawing from a frame in the film The Lions by the River Tigris, Abdalla uses that image as a mirror, comparing our current situation to the predicament portrayed in it: standing among rubble, confronted by a rift we cannot ignore. He later asks, how can we still function, and how should we react when disasters in front of us are being projected and rendered as ordinary and insignificant?

He continues that the curatorial theme has actively queried for films that confront such questions – questions of damage, defeat, trauma. Many of these films show how protagonists resist against them, and how these films collectively function as a body standing against erasure, to at least document and memorialize the defeat, the loss, and the disasters, and not stand indifferent and numb in the face of them.

He quotes: "One has to at least die loudly, if one is to die under the horizon of the colonizers." 

“Free Palestine”-chants from members in the audience begin, and more and more people are joining in until they are stopped by a round of applause. 

Afterwards, Pascale Fakhry speaks about the 17th edition, happening at a time when it seems as if hope has vanished. When grief has taken over, a grief so strong that it should be visible: “Let us grieve loudly” becomes the credo of her speech. 

To some, it might have felt like a speech about defeat; to others, it was an invitation to unmask and show vulnerability without shame or guilt. As if grief itself possesses its own potential and power to bring people together through the common experience of loss. The community enables each other to show and act on their feelings, no matter how unbearable they might be. An unusual but bold perspective: to allow, enable, and even encourage grieving together.

Around 7:30 pm, Pascale Fakhry and Iskandar Abdalla apologize in advance for planning to take extra time before the screening of Palestine 36, the opening film. The reason? Introducing ALFILM’s entire team and calling each member by name, inviting them to join on stage one by one. Starting with the programming team: Talal Afifi, who curated the spotlight program: “Sudan: New Projections – Retrospectives, Revolutions, and Restorations”, Hana Khalil, Rand Abou-Fakher, Hosam Fahmy, Marc Bogoslaw, and Madlen Feuerriegel.

Giving credit to the whole team, including countless volunteers, takes its sweet time, filling the vast stage until it feels almost too small. An act of gratitude and respect that the audience patiently sits through with smiles on their faces. Once everyone is on stage, a shower of flashlights rains down from every angle and level of the theater on the proud, sometimes anxious or shy faces of this year’s ALFILM team. 

Finally, when it was time to screen Palestine 36 – a film shortlisted for this year’s Oscars – a video message from director and screenwriter Annemarie Jacir appeared. She apologized for her inability to attend in person due to “the dark state of the world.” Thanking ALFILM for selecting their film for the opening ceremony, she stressed the importance of continuing to screen Palestinian films, especially in Germany, where the silencing and oppression of pro-Palestinian voices persists. 

After Jacir’s message, the audience will be captivated for two more hours by Palestine 36 before witnessing a live Q&A with one of the main actors, Karim Daoud Anaya (playing Yusuf Bassawi). 

The film tells the story of the uprising against British colonial rule in Palestine from 1936 to 1939. This biographical historical drama intertwines historical events with individual life stories. It arrives with a certain freshness – firstly, it brings into focus a buried chapter of Palestinian disenfranchisement that is largely overlooked: how British colonial rule laid the foundation of what is now an ongoing catastrophe that has come to define our times. In her opening remarks, Annemarie Jacir mentioned that the production took about ten years and was riddled with obstacles. 

To our eyes, it looks like a well-crafted, expansive film – one with numerous characters, subplots, and a dramatized style. What felt unfamiliar was seeing stories of colonial history and crimes depicted in the grammar of a big-budget historical epic. This, in fact, suggests that such narratives are equally deserving of this kind of treatment, and underscores how unusual it is for them to be portrayed this way. Fast forward to after the screening. Many people are approaching the bar and the balcony: drinking and smoking feels much needed right now. 

A lot of chatting about the movie, a lot of hugs between people who didn’t get the chance to great each other earlier on. Overall the atmosphere is vibrant and warm – alive with energy yet comforting. As one audience member puts it, such events and the connections they foster give her hope. Apart from providing an insightful and inspiring program, perhaps this is precisely what makes ALFILM’s opening night so meaningful and crucial. 

As the evening draws to a close, clusters of people linger on the building’s front stairs, almost refusing to leave. There’s that sudden sense it ended too soon, and a reluctant farewell to a space that, for one evening, felt like both a celebration and a sanctuary. 

 ¹ COMING SOON! A conversation with Karim Daoud Anaya in one of our upcoming episodes for RAWY TALKS