This August I had the great fortune of visiting Alhambra in
the hills of Granada. I understood Alhambra was the best preserved medieval Islamic
Palace in the world and I longed to bask in its glory. An enthusiast of the Arabic
language, the religion of Islam, and history of the Middle East and North
Africa region; I had romantic notions of smoking shisha by the reflecting pool,
drinking mint tea in the gardens, and discussing philosophy with 14th
century Sufi mystics and scholars (this
is a romantic fantasy that historian, Robert Irwin, systematically rejects in
his book The Alhambra).
What I’m only just beginning to realize is that Alhambra,
above all else, is a reminder of how cruel we can be to one another, it is what
Robert Irwin describes in his book “as an
icon for exile and loss” (Irwin, 181).
In 1492, the same year Columbus subjugated and committed
genocide against the native peoples in the New World; Ferdinand and Isabella
expelled the Muslims and Jews from Spain, most of whom had family ties in the
region for centuries. The Christian rulers moved into Alhambra, and claimed and
re-imaged other Moorish buildings across the province. This period of torture,
violence, and suppression is not exclusive to Spain, however, it is easily ignored
or forgotten when enjoying the rich quality of life Andalusia offers to
holiday-makers today.
Reflecting on my experience of visiting Alhambra has transformed
the meaning of this beautiful palace into something more powerful, and indeed
more painful. It has forced me to concede that the terrible period of Inquisition
and Expulsion is not history from five centuries ago, it is the experience that
has been and continues to be shared with many others.
Those who were banished and exiled, those who fled to the
mountains, across the sea, to North Africa and beyond, brought with them the
keys to their homes and the deeds to their lands in Al-Andalus. I wonder how
many believed this exile to be temporary. I wonder how many ever saw their
homes again. I wonder how many never relinquished hope that they would one day
return.
In this memory of Alhambra I hear other stories.
I hear Jews around a Passover seder praying “next year in Jerusalem,” millennia after
the fall of the Temple. I hear Palestinians who fled following the violence of
al-naqba in 1948. I hear Holocaust survivors who longed to return to their
homes across Europe. I hear generations of immigrants speak of their right to
return. I hear stories from West Belfast residents where “they” are living in “our”
homes and sitting on “our” couches, decades after the internal displacement
during the Troubles in Northern Ireland forced many to relocate to segregated single-identity
enclaves. I hear Syrian refugees who are still making their journey to safety, bringing
with them the keys to homes they may never see again.
Others too have seen this connection. Robert Irwin quotes
the acclaimed Palestinian author, Mahmoud Darwish, who saw that “Andalus became
a lost place, then Palestine became Andalus, we lost Palestine just as we had
lost Andalus.” (Irwin, 184). Again and again, the pain we inflict upon one
another, in different places and in new times, reappears. Alhambra, in one of
its many forms, is a shrine to this suffering.
When I returned home from my trip to Alhambra, like thousands
of others have done before me over the centuries of tourism, I shared the beautiful
images of the reconstructed buildings on Facebook. My friend, a Palestinian who
was born in Jordan after her family were forced to flee, shared the album with
the message to express look what we have lost. It
was only then that I could truly view Alhambra through a new lens.
Towards the end of his book, Irwin quotes the French author
Chateauxbriand saying, “man goes to
meditate on the ruin of empires; he forgets that he is himself a ruin still
more unsteady, and that he will fall before these remains” (Irwin, 165). With
this quote I was transported back to Alhambra, standing before the fountains
and facades, thinking of civilisations gone by. It is only after this further
reflection on my experience and on the meaning Alhambra has for others that I
am able to begin to understand what he means.
In reflecting on “ruins”, in the form of old buildings, lost
civilisations, and most importantly human failings, we can begin to understand
where we went wrong and how we can re-build in a better way.
