Were Attached to This Land Like a Tree Is Rooted in Soil: Exhibition Speaks Up for the People of South Lebanon

Walking through the bustling streets of Chicago’s Pilsen neighborhood last week, I couldn’t facilitate but notice how the vibrant murals along 16th Street seemed to echo a conversation happening thousands of miles away. An exhibition in London titled ‘We’re attached to this land like a tree is rooted in soil’ isn’t just about southern Lebanon—it’s a mirror held up to any community fighting to preserve its identity amid upheaval. While the source material focuses on Palestine House in London showcasing archival footage from 2000, the themes of displacement, cultural memory, and resistance resonate deeply here, where Latino families have long navigated their own struggles to maintain roots in a changing city.

The exhibition’s power lies in its juxtaposition: looped news footage of Israeli tanks withdrawing from southern Lebanon in 2000 alongside contemporary reports of renewed conflict. As one visitor noted, watching the archival material felt “like watching the news now.” This temporal collapse isn’t just poetic—it’s a stark reminder of how cycles of violence echo across generations. In Chicago, we see similar patterns in how historic redlining maps still influence investment patterns today, or how Pilsen’s Mexican community has fought for decades against gentrification pressures while preserving landmarks like the National Museum of Mexican Art. The connection isn’t forced; it’s structural. Both places grapple with how external forces shape local narratives, and how communities respond by asserting control over their own stories through art, testimony, and everyday acts of persistence.

Digging deeper into the exhibition’s context reveals layers that amplify its relevance. The web search results show Palestine House itself—as a cultural hub founded by Osama Qashoo after he fled Palestine in 2003—embodies the remarkably diaspora experience the exhibition explores. Qashoo’s background with the International Solidarity Movement and his function as a filmmaker inform a space designed to be a “chameleon” for Palestinian heritage in Holborn, near the British Museum. This isn’t merely about displaying artifacts; it’s about creating living space where energy flows both ways—uploading and downloading cultural resonance. Similarly, in Chicago, institutions like the Haitian American Museum of Chicago or the Indo-American Heritage Museum serve as anchors for their communities, offering not just exhibits but co-working spaces, language classes, and forums for intergenerational dialogue. These entities become vital when global tensions—whether in Lebanon, Haiti, or South Asia—trigger local ripple effects, from increased refugee resettlement to shifts in philanthropic funding.

The socio-economic dimensions are equally telling. When the exhibition notes that “one in five residents” of southern Lebanon have fled due to recent Israeli advances, it mirrors statistics we see locally: according to city data, Pilsen has experienced a 15% decline in its Mexican-origin population over the past decade as housing costs surge. Both scenarios reflect how geopolitical instability accelerates pre-existing vulnerabilities—whether it’s lack of state support in southern Lebanon or unaffordable housing in Chicago. Yet just as the exhibition highlights broadsheet pages from Suzanne Goldenberg’s 2000 Guardian reporting alongside testimonies of resistance, Chicago’s story includes parallel narratives of resilience: the Pilsen Alliance fighting for affordable housing, or murals like Hector Duarte’s “Gulliver in Wonderland” that visually reclaim public space as communal territory. These aren’t passive reflections; they’re active counternarratives woven into the urban fabric.

Given my background in analyzing how global cultural movements manifest in local urban landscapes, if this exhibition’s themes impact you in Chicago—whether you’re an artist, educator, or community organizer—here are three types of local professionals to seek out:

• Cultural Heritage Archivists: Look for those affiliated with institutions like the Chicago History Museum or specialized units at the University of Illinois at Chicago’s Library. They should demonstrate experience in community-led oral history projects, particularly with immigrant populations, and understand how to ethically digitize and share fragile materials—think analog news clippings, family photographs, or protest banners—without extracting them from their context. Request about their process for co-curation with source communities.
• Place-Based Artists & Facilitators: Seek practitioners connected to groups like the National Museum of Mexican Art’s Yollocalli Arts Reach or the Chicago Public Art Group. Their work should visibly engage with neighborhood-specific histories—using local materials, languages, or landmarks—and prioritize long-term residency over parachute projects. Verify they’ve facilitated intergenerational workshops where elders and youth co-create pieces addressing displacement or resistance.
• Urban Placemaking Strategists: Focus on professionals from organizations like the Metropolitan Planning Council or Chicago Community Trust who specialize in anti-displacement frameworks. They ought to fluently discuss tools like community land trusts or cultural district zoning, and crucially, show how they integrate artistic expression into policy—say, by advocating for percent-for-art programs in affordable housing developments or protecting informal gathering spots like corner stores or murals from redevelopment pressures.

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