The Human Cost of Concrete: Why ‘Concrete Land’ Is More Than Just a Film
There’s something profoundly unsettling about the phrase ‘Concrete Land’. It’s not just a title; it’s a metaphor for the relentless march of urbanization and the human stories it leaves in its wake. Personally, I think this documentary, directed by Palestinian-Jordanian filmmaker Asmahan Bkerat, is a wake-up call disguised as a film. It’s not just about a family or a piece of land—it’s about the invisible violence of progress and the erasure of identities that few people pause to consider.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Bkerat frames the story. She doesn’t just document the Najar family’s struggle; she embeds herself in it. Eight years in the making, Concrete Land follows one of the last Afro-Palestinian Bedouin families on the outskirts of Amman, Jordan, as luxury villas encroach on their agricultural land. The irony here is palpable: in the name of development, we’re demolishing not just homes but entire ways of life.
The Najars: A Microcosm of a Global Crisis
The Najar family’s plight is both specific and universal. Forced to give up their animals, facing eviction, and watching their daughter Eman grapple with discrimination at school—their story is a snapshot of what happens when tradition collides with modernity. But what many people don’t realize is that this isn’t just a local issue. It’s a global phenomenon. From indigenous communities in the Amazon to rural villages in China, the same narrative repeats: progress at the expense of people.
One thing that immediately stands out is Bkerat’s personal connection to the story. She wasn’t a filmmaker before meeting the Najars. This film was born out of necessity, out of a fear that their beauty, their knowledge, and their existence would be erased. If you take a step back and think about it, this is what art should do—it should force us to confront uncomfortable truths. Bkerat’s camera isn’t just a tool; it’s a weapon against forgetting.
Urbanization and the Illusion of Progress
Martina Droandi, founder of Odd Slice Films, nails it when she says, ‘Urban development is never simply about buildings, it is about the people whose histories risk being erased.’ This raises a deeper question: What kind of progress are we pursuing? Skyscrapers and luxury villas might symbolize economic growth, but at what cost? The Najars’ story challenges us to reconsider the metrics of success.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the international support this film received—from the IDFA Bertha Fund to the Sundance Documentary Fund. It’s a reminder that while local stories are often overlooked, they have the power to resonate globally. What this really suggests is that the struggle of the Najars isn’t just theirs; it’s ours. It’s a mirror reflecting the choices we’re making as a society.
Eman’s Dream: The Heart of the Film
Eman, the Najars’ 10-year-old daughter, is the emotional core of Concrete Land. Her dreams of a future that doesn’t require abandoning her heritage are both heartbreaking and hopeful. From my perspective, Eman represents the next generation caught between two worlds. She’s the embodiment of resilience, but also of the impossible choices we’re forcing young people to make.
What this really highlights is the psychological toll of displacement. It’s not just about losing a home; it’s about losing a sense of self. Eman’s story is a quiet rebellion against a system that devalues her identity. Personally, I think her character is what will stay with audiences long after the credits roll.
Why This Film Matters Now More Than Ever
Concrete Land isn’t just a documentary; it’s a call to action. It forces us to confront the human cost of our decisions. In a world obsessed with growth, it asks: What are we growing toward? And who are we leaving behind?
What makes this particularly timely is the global conversation around sustainability and equity. As cities expand and rural communities shrink, we’re at a crossroads. Do we continue down this path, or do we pause and reconsider? Bkerat’s film doesn’t offer easy answers, but it does something more important—it makes us ask the right questions.
Final Thoughts: The Power of Storytelling
As I reflect on Concrete Land, I’m struck by the power of storytelling to preserve what might otherwise be lost. Bkerat didn’t just make a film; she created a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Her words—‘Their erasure is my erasure’—are a reminder that every story matters, every voice counts.
In my opinion, this is what cinema should strive for: not just to entertain, but to educate, to provoke, and to inspire. Concrete Land does all of that and more. It’s a film that will linger in your mind, not because of its visuals or its plot, but because of the questions it leaves you with. And in a world that often feels indifferent, that’s no small feat.
So, when Concrete Land premieres at the Locarno Film Festival, don’t just watch it—experience it. Because this isn’t just a film; it’s a conversation we all need to be part of.
