Sakir Khader’s wrenching, resilient portrait of Palestinian life

Content warning: This article contains images that some readers may find distressing.

In her 2003 essay, Regarding the Pain of Others, American writer Susan Sontag observed: “Ever since cameras were invented in 1839, photography has kept company with death.” The work – her final published book – considers more broadly the role of image-making in warfare, examining closely the part played by the person behind the camera, typically in scenes extreme in their horror. In the context of Palestinian-Dutch photographer Sakir Khader, whose current show at Foam highlights a particular strain of the brutality of the Israeli occupation, the weight of Sontag’s words is revisited. One later passage, especially, helped inform the making of the show:

“Let the atrocious images haunt us. The images say: This is what human beings are capable of doing. Don’t forget.”

This sentiment, effectively a call to action to bear witness, is echoed in Yawm al-Firak (an Arabic phrase meaning Day of Separation), Khader’s first institutional show. It foregrounds the stories of seven young men killed in the West Bank, and the mothers grieving their loss – men and women Khader befriended in Jenin and Nablus on visits between 2021 and 2024. “They’re not subjects for me,” he clarifies. “They’re people, friends. I try to see what’s in their heart, to connect, and that’s the moment I like to photograph.”

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Shot in black-and-white, many of the photographs exhibited at Foam first appeared in last year’s monograph Dying to Exist, which highlighted – via 500 images including baby photos and Polaroids – the harshness of daily life for Palestinians living in the Jenin refugee camp. “Khader’s camera functions as both a witness and a tool, recording Palestine in real-time,” offers Foam curator Aya Musa. “His work is not merely a documentation of events but a confrontation with absence, loss, and memory.”

The gallery space additionally features a series of video interviews made on a Hi8 camcorder, ‘Mothers of Martyrs’, as well as a bloodstained t-shirt of a grieving father, Kosay’s dad, which proposes a tangible understanding of the loss pictured. “By focusing on individual narratives, Khader creates a bridge between personal tragedy and collective memory,” continues Musa.

“Aya’s like a big brother to me,” the photographer notes separately, reflecting on how the collaboration shaped the exhibition. “So I felt very comfortable working with Foam. It’s a Western museum, and I was scared [initially] that it was going to be a battle – how many times do you see an exhibition from this perspective?”

Indeed, in a moment when countless museums and galleries across Europe and America are silencing artists who display support for a free Palestine, the significance of this show is heightened. In part, considers Khader, his invitation to exhibit is a by-product of his nomination from Magnum Photos – last July he became the first Palestinian photographer selected to join the historic photo agency since it was established in Paris in 1947.

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“I'm really honoured to be part of Magnum, but it’s also a win for them because the world I see, the world I walk in, is different than [that of] most Magnum photographers,” says Khader, alluding to his Middle Eastern identity. “If you look at the work Magnum has done in America for example, it portrays America as it is. And that's the win for Magnum having me, showing Palestine from within. I’m capturing history, working with people for long periods. My work is focused on life and death, that’s what I’m trying to contribute: showing us alive, showing the pain we endure, the injustice happening in our region, but also the strength of the people living through everything. There’s a lot of sadness, but also little moments of joy.”

In one image then [the article’s header], a group of young men smile, play on their phones and smoke cigarettes, days before two of their party, Yassine and Ahmad, were killed in a drone strike. In another, a body is carried through a crowd for one final homecoming; elsewhere are striking solo portraits of the men’s mothers. “Khader’s photography engages with the concept of martyrdom, presenting interpretations shaped by history, faith, and resistance,” suggests Musa. “War and violence are universal, but the representation of suffering requires critical engagement. His work does not impose a singular reading but reveals the human dimension of those affected by war; he grants visibility to the countless Palestinian deaths, ensuring each individual's story is preserved and honoured.”

While the show’s moniker references an ancient Arabic poem about separation and farewell, the number seven is similarly symbolic, recalling the forced displacement of the 1948 Nakba, and the importance of unity. Here, the stories of the seven mothers and their sons speak to a wider narrative of farewells in times of occupation. “I always wanted to do something about our mothers, and Aya said: ‘Through the mothers you tell the stories of the sons, and the grief that’s happening in Palestine, from Gaza to the West Bank, because these mothers are symbolic for all the mothers.’” recalls Khader. “They are the backbone of our society, they are the mothers who have to endure the grief and the occupation, and they carry everything in their heart. Every mother can relate to these mothers, losing a son – either by war, by illness, or by car accident – is painful.”

“The meaning of images is never static. What is seen as an indictment today may be reinterpreted tomorrow, depending on geopolitical shifts. Khader’s work exists in this fluid space, where meaning is shaped by time and audience,” reflects Musa. “The boys depicted are connected to a reality where violence continues, and their stories echo through the lives of those who survive them.”

Yawm al-Firak by Sakir Khader is on view at Foam until May 14, 2025.

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