Camden Fringe: Louis Linsey on Hathaleen: The Unexpected Journey to Palestine

Ahead of its Camden Fringe premiere, writer Louis Linsey talks satire, casting, and the promise behind a play rooted in the West Bank and the murder of Awdah Hathaleen

Hathaleen: The Unexpected Journey to Palestine is a satirical black comedy following a hopeless romantic who travels to the West Bank on a whim to win back his ex-girlfriend, and finds himself confronted with a world far removed from his own. The play is loosely based on writer Louis Linsey’s own experiences. The production, developed through Bread and Roses Theatre’s writers’ programme, previewed at The Source Arts Theatre before arriving at Camden Fringe for its world premiere.

Ahead of the run, Red Bus Londinium put questions to writer Louis Linsey about finding the line between comedy and tragedy, casting Palestinian and Lebanese actors with personal connections to the material, and the promise that sits behind the play.

Red Bus: The play is rooted in your own experience in the West Bank and your connection to Awdah Hathaleen. How did you find the balance between honouring that personal story and shaping it into a satirical comedy for the stage?

Louis Linsey: The play is loosely based on my experiences teaching English at Al-Fawwar refugee camp in Hebron in the West Bank, and doing protective presence in the village of Umm Al-Khair last year. I like to call it “auto-fiction”; the story is a hyperbolic fictional portrayal of real people and real events. I knew that the structure of the story had to stay the same as the rough “journey” I experienced, from travelling out there, partially to impress a girl, and getting thrown into the chaotic environment of Hebron city and teaching the kids, where I was experiencing a far stricter environment than I’d ever seen before, both in terms of military control and being in a conservative Muslim city with very few tourists.

Everything in the story happened in one form or another, whether that was getting harassed by soldiers during a settler march in the city’s Old Town, or being chased by a Palestinian man in Nablus who thought we were Israeli spies, and then to Awdah’s murder by the settler Yinon Levy. I had left Palestine just two weeks prior, but lots of my friends, and his family who I know, were there when it happened.

I knew that the setup for the play was very farcical: a hopeless romantic with pro-Zionist beliefs, choosing on a whim to travel to Palestine to try to win back his pro-Palestinian ex-girlfriend. I myself went on a learning journey when visiting Palestine, having been heavily influenced at a young age by reading Leon Uris’s Zionist novel Exodus, so I leant into that to help build the character of Leon, whose ignorance and foolhardiness is often the main source of the play’s comedy. It was a challenge to find the balance, particularly in the latter half of the play when we move into more tragic territory, of where the line was, especially when dealing with real-life events and people where we want to maintain respect. There were lots of discussions during rehearsals about finding that correct thread, especially during the climax of the play.

The play is very on the nose at parts, and its comedy is daring because it’s bringing on a contentious, challenging topic that really draws out the extremism in people. I saw that on 7 October, when a colleague I got on with really well, and would consider a friend, suddenly said he wanted all the women and children in Gaza to get bombed in retaliation. I had to accept early on that I would inevitably stir a lot of anger by making a play on this subject matter, and would inevitably receive a lot of abuse. I’ve already been called a Nazi, told I was responsible for the recent attacks in Golders Green, by online keyboard warriors, or bots, who don’t know anything about the play or its message. I was particularly inspired by Martin McDonagh’s The Lieutenant of Inishmore, which risked getting him on the IRA’s hit list. I knew I just had to stay bold in my decision-making regardless of any backlash, particularly in relation to the comedy, which is the real beauty of black comedy, that you can push the realms of humour and what is deemed acceptable. This story is from an outsider’s perspective, and very much plays on the comedy that scenario brings. Mocking my own stupid behaviour in this play gave me the confidence to stick to my guns and back the play’s comedic tone.

Red Bus: Hathaleen mixes comedy with a genuinely devastating real-world backdrop. What made satire feel like the right way in, rather than a more straightforwardly serious drama?

Louis Linsey: When I tell people that I’m making a comedy about Palestine, people really look at me as if to say “really?”. The play has a devastatingly melancholic tragedy that balances out the crass humour it uses. That’s really thanks to lead actor Ben Robinson, who has an outstanding ability to perform the entire play in this jester-like style, and then at the last minute flip it entirely into a heart-wrenching vulnerability that completely juxtaposes everything we’ve seen from the character. Comedy and tragedy sit side by side in that they both elicit intense and uncontrollable emotions from the audience, and if done effectively, you jump in seconds from one to the other, which I try to do.

I didn’t want this play to feel righteous. My aim is to subvert every expectation the audience has of what a “Palestinian play” should be. As soon as they walk into the theatre, they’re confronted with a world that’s certainly challenging to experience. From our preview nights, I’ve seen that it takes a bit of time for the audience to allow themselves to laugh, because it’s such a delicate subject matter that they almost need that time as “confirmation” that they can laugh.

In my opinion, comedy is a far more effective tool for teaching people than lecturing them. It almost masks the work being done through the laughter it produces. It disarms the audience, which I think makes them more receptive than if this were a heavy, straight drama. The devastation in Gaza has been on everyone’s timelines for a long time. Some people are open to that and want to see change, while others don’t want to hear any more about it. I want this play to be enjoyed by both, and that’s where comedy becomes so crucial, and hopefully both sides leave the play having learned something.

A big inspiration has been getting to know comedy director Sam Beale, who runs the Palestine Comedy Club. Watching the documentary about them touring Israel and Palestine, and seeing Alaa Shehada’s The Horse of Jenin and Sami Abu Wardeh’s Palestine: Peace de Resistance, both directed by Sam, really confirmed to me that comedy has a place in tragic scenarios. You can bring comedy into dark places, where it is often the light, and you see that in Palestine, Palestinians are hella funny. They’re not people who live in misery, they’re joyful and fun, and make the most of their situation.

Red Bus: You’ve cast Palestinian and Lebanese actors whose own families have been affected by these events. What has that brought to rehearsals and to the story you’re telling?

Louis Linsey: I’m unbelievably proud of the cast in this play. They’ve been working incredibly hard to put this show together, and I see in every single one of them how much the project means to them.

Representation was a crucial part of the casting. I felt very honoured to work with British-Palestinian actor Salsabil Al-Masri, Lebanese actor Jad Dirani, and Libyan actor Basil Badi. As a white, agnostic male, I’m the first person to put my hand up and say that it shouldn’t be just my voice telling this story. I can obviously tell my own experiences in Palestine and bring that into the richness of the storytelling, but these actors elevate the script through their own experiences, such as Basil recounting the furniture his grandmother used to own, or Jad being the ever-helpful Arabic translator. As a new play, I’ve tried to be completely receptive to changes and develop it with the actors, and we’ve workshopped each scene to push it as far as it can go.

The actors’ personal attachments to the story do come with a darker side too. Salsabil’s family are still in Gaza, and Jad’s grandmother lives in southern Lebanon, which has been heavily attacked by Israel recently. I’ve tried to safeguard them as much as possible, especially from any hate we’ve been receiving, but it hasn’t been easy. The first time we did a run-through of the play, every single person in the room was in tears. It was heartbreaking. It’s a really tough play to perform, not just because these are real people and real experiences, but because there are so many people who’ve experienced this, and you can’t help but think about them. It’s hard for me to engage with those emotions because a lot of them are still raw, but I’ve always tried my best to keep an eye on the impact the story is having on the actors.

Red Bus: The play also takes aim at the representation of Muslim actors and Islam on the British stage. What conversations do you hope it starts in that respect?

Louis Linsey: Part of the reason I travelled to Palestine was because I realised I had a subconscious bias against Muslims. Like so many people in England, I grew up in a predominantly white area where there weren’t many Muslims, which changed when I moved to London, but that internal thought pattern remained ingrained in my brain, where I just felt very different to Muslims. I’d been to a lot of Muslim countries and loved the culture, particularly with the prayers ringing out over everyone, but Hebron was the first place I’d been to where there weren’t any tourists or much of an infrastructure for it. We were thrust into the heart of a very conservative culture, and it was a learning curve, but it made me realise how misunderstood Islam is. The streets of Hebron are far safer than in London, and I put that down to the rules and behaviour taught in Islam. The city’s overall quality of living is lower than London’s, but it has a much smaller disparity between rich and poor, and I think that’s because people are expected to look after one another. There’s very little homelessness as a result, because if someone is struggling, people help one another, which isn’t how we’re taught in our capitalist system. Quite the opposite, in fact.

I feel England is completely divided right now, with Reform becoming increasingly popular by the day, and it’s Muslims who reap the consequences of that, because there isn’t enough done in our society to bridge that gap of ignorance. Schools focus so heavily on Christianity that we don’t learn enough about other religions such as Judaism and Islam, which leads to people holding bigoted beliefs because they don’t understand their perspectives. It’s changing, but British theatre still doesn’t have enough representation. Sami Abu Wardeh’s show Palestine: Peace de Resistance was the first time I’d seen a large group of hijabi audience members, and it was wonderful. British theatre needs to remove its white classism, which starts with who you’re making theatre for, because that can have an enormous impact in uniting England back together.

The message of this play is to build compassion for those you’re taught to hate. To see beyond what you’re just told, and take accountability to build your own experiences and first-person encounters. It was really important to use Jewish and Muslim actors in the play, and I’m particularly proud that we have a moment where actor Arman Khan gives the “Patience in Difficult Times” dua, a moment we developed together, as well as having a hijabi actor, because there are very few in theatre. I hope the audience learns a little bit about Islam and what it means.

Red Bus: You’ve described this as a promise to Awdah’s brother Khaleel. What would you most want a Camden Fringe audience to walk away understanding, or feeling differently about?

Louis Linsey: The promise to Khaleel, Awdah Hathaleen’s brother, started before his murder. When I was in his village, Umm Al-Khair, I asked Khaleel what I could do to help when I left, beyond donations, and he said to just tell people what’s happening there. So this play is my way of doing that. You can tell people what’s going on, but hopefully the play makes audiences feel a sliver of what they experience day in, day out. We’re using ticket sales and donations at the end of each performance to raise money for the village via the Center for Jewish Non-Violence, and for our actor Salsabil’s family in Gaza.

A lot of people know about what’s happening in Gaza, but many people are less aware of how the West Bank operates and the oppression experienced there, because it’s more subtle and intricate. I’d hope audiences would walk away understanding a bit more about settler violence in the West Bank, but also, on a wider scale, the vast methods used by the Israeli government to control Palestinians there. I hope we can find a home for this play and continue telling our story.