Main Body
How to See the Keffiyeh, Jude Tabra
Part 1: Introducing Foundational Texts
The keffiyeh is a powerful visual object that brings together fashion, history, and politics. Although today it is most closely associated with Palestine, the keffiyeh actually originated in Iraq, where its woven pattern symbolizes the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. Over time, it spread across the Arab world and took on new meanings, eventually becoming a global symbol of solidarity with Palestinian liberation struggles. In the current political climate, especially amid the ongoing genocide in Palestine, the keffiyeh is both a visible marker of resistance and a contested cultural symbol that is often misrepresented or commodified. To understand these shifting meanings, I draw on the works of John Berger and Nicholas Mirzoeff, supported by Evan Renfro’s cultural analysis of the keffiyeh’s symbolism and history. John Berger’s Ways of Seeing (1997) provides a starting point for understanding how images shape perception. Berger (1997) argues that “every image embodies a way of seeing” (p. 10), meaning that images are not passive reflections of reality but active mediators of meaning. He also reminds us that “images were made to conjure up the appearances of something that was absent” (p. 10), highlighting how looking is tied to interpretation and power. In the case of the keffiyeh, the image of it evokes histories of resistance and identity. Berger’s framework is useful because it destabilizes the idea of the keffiyeh as a neutral or decorative object, urging us instead to consider the social and political contexts that shape how it is seen.
In How to See the World (2016), Nicholas Mirzoeff builds on this foundation by rethinking visual culture in a global, networked world and drawing attention to the political factors that determine what is shown and what is hidden. He reframes seeing as a political act: not just perceiving what is in front of us, but interrogating the conditions under which something becomes visible in the first place. This approach is especially relevant for examining the keffiyeh, which moves across contexts–from villages and refugee camps to protests, fashion runways, and online feeds–and acquires different meanings in each setting.
Renfro’s (2017) work provides cultural grounding for these theoretical perspectives by tracing the keffiyeh’s transformation over time. Renfro writes that “while the keffiyeh began as a mainly utilitarian accessory, good for keeping the sun and dust off one’s face while tending to an olive grove, it soon came to symbolize Palestinian rights” (p. 573). This evolution from a practical textile to a political symbol demonstrates Berger’s point that images embody ways of seeing shaped by context. At the same time, the keffiyeh has been subject to powerful misrepresentations in Western media. Who controls the meaning of the keffiyeh–and in what context–is not a neutral question but a deeply political one. Together, Berger and Mirzoeff offer valuable ways of understanding the keffiyeh’s role in visual culture. Berger helps us see how images carry ways of seeing that are tied to historical and social contexts. Mirzoeff, on the other hand, pushes us to examine how those meanings are produced and contested within the context of power. Renfro’s analysis of the keffiyeh brings these theories into focus by showing how a single textile can hold multiple, conflicting meanings as it moves through time and space.
Part 2: Seeing the Keffiyeh
The keffiyeh is often seen but not always looked at closely. Many people recognize its black-and-white pattern, yet they rarely pause to ask what the textile actually communicates, how its meanings shift across contexts, or why it has become such a charged visual symbol. To unpack this, I use Berger and Mirzoeff’s approaches to visual culture to guide a way of seeing the keffiyeh that moves from material detail to global circulation, from cultural history to political struggle. Renfro’s (2017) analysis provides crucial historical grounding for this reading.
Figure 1. Photograph of a traditional black-and-white keffiyeh showing the fishnet pattern. © Photo by Tricky H, 2015. Licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palestinian_keffiyeh_loom.jpg
Looking closely at the textile itself reveals that the keffiyeh’s motifs are far from arbitrary. The black fishnet-like pattern traditionally symbolizes the Tigris and Euphrates rivers in Iraq, the region where the keffiyeh originated. Other repeating elements, such as olive-leaf shapes and intersecting lines, reflect agricultural life and the landscape. These motifs were historically hand-woven using durable cotton, resulting in a sustainable garment that could last for decades (Renfro, 2017, p. 573). If we only glance at the keffiyeh, we might see a decorative pattern. But when we slow down, we can recognize it as a visual language that carries histories of cultural identity. This kind of attentive looking disrupts superficial readings of the object and reveals how its form holds embedded meanings. Renfro captures this well: “This wearable object acts as a silent communicator and is capable of sending political messages to the audience that is fluent in its language” (2017, p. 574). The weave and pattern are more than just an aesthetic–they are statements of belonging and resistance.
Figure 2. Protester wearing a keffiyeh at a pro-Palestine demonstration. © Photo by Brahim Guedich, 2021. Licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.
The meaning of the keffiyeh shifts when we move from fabric to context. In this image, a protester wears the keffiyeh wrapped around their head during a pro-Palestine demonstration. Here, the textile functions as a public statement of solidarity and resistance. Mirzoeff’s framework is particularly helpful in understanding this shift: “A visual culture is the relation between what is visible and the names that we give to what is seen… It also involves what is invisible or kept out of sight” (Mirzoeff, 2016, p. 11). This perspective highlights how the keffiyeh’s visibility in protest spaces is shaped by political struggles over land and resistance. What we are “allowed” to see–and how it is framed–depends on who controls the narrative. Renfro (2017) discusses this dynamic directly: “The powerful affective framing here then is: terrorists wear keffiyehs; Palestinians wear keffiyehs; ergo Palestinians are terrorists” (p. 576). Berger reminds us that “the way we see things is affected by what we know or what we believe” (1997, p. 8). This helps explain why such framing is effective: audiences interpret the keffiyeh through pre-existing cultural assumptions, political narratives, and biases. For some, it signifies solidarity and anti-colonial resistance; for others, it is filtered through Islamophobic and racist discourses that distort its meaning.
Mirzoeff’s (2016) insight that looking is a social practice in which meanings are negotiated is evident here: different publics interpret the same object in radically different ways. The keffiyeh has also circulated into fashion markets, where its political meanings are often erased. When the keffiyeh appears on Western runways or in fast fashion stores, it is often treated as a trendy accessory rather than a symbol of cultural resilience and anti-colonial struggle. Mirzoeff’s emphasis on global circulation helps make sense of these conflicting meanings. The keffiyeh is simultaneously a local cultural object, a global political icon, and a commodity. Seeing the keffiyeh, then, requires moving between different scales. At the micro level, we examine its patterns and textures to uncover how material details encode cultural memory and sustainable practices. At the macro level, we follow how it travels through networks of power and media, shifting meaning depending on who wears it, where, and why. Renfro (2017) explains: “Indeed, on one level, the keffiyeh is a ‘stitched together’ cultural symbol of global proportions” (p. 579). To see it fully is to recognize both the local histories that are a part of its fabric and the global political currents that shape how it is perceived.
Part 3: Theoretical Critical Reflection
Using Berger and Mirzoeff together allowed me to examine the keffiyeh from both material and political perspectives. Berger’s framework, in particular, encouraged close attention to how meaning is embedded in images themselves. He observes that “History always constitutes the relation between a present and its past… The past is not for living in; it is a well of conclusions from which we draw in order to act” (Berger, 1997, p. 11). This insight is crucial for understanding how the keffiyeh operates as both a historical and contemporary symbol: it draws on memories of resistance and cultural identity, but they are continually reinterpreted in the present. In protest contexts, the keffiyeh does more than recall the past–it becomes part of the present-day action and meaning-making.
Mirzoeff’s (2016) approach further helped me understand how the keffiyeh’s meaning shifts across contexts. He explains that “seeing the world is not about how we see but about what we make of what we see. We put together an understanding of the world that makes sense from what we already know or think we know” (pp. 73–74). This insight clarifies why the same textile can symbolize solidarity in one space and be misrepresented as threatening in another as interpretation depends on prior cultural frameworks and power relations. Renfro (2017) shows how commodification has stripped the textile of political meaning in some settings, as “its political power…has in many cases been leached from its fabric” (p. 579). Applying these approaches together made it possible to see the keffiyeh as both a material artifact and a contested political symbol, revealing how acts of looking are shaped by history, context, and power. This combination was particularly effective because it allowed me to move between close, material analysis and broader geopolitical frames, mirroring the keffiyeh’s journey from local textile to global symbol. Reflecting on this emphasizes how visual culture analysis can help challenge simplified or distorted interpretations, especially today when the keffiyeh’s meaning is deeply tied to ongoing struggles for Palestinian liberation.
References
Berger, J. (1997). Ways of Seeing: Based on the BBC Television Series with John Berger. 1. British Broadcasting Corp. https://monoskop.org/images/9/9e/Berger_John_Ways_of_Seeing.pdf
Mirzoeff, N. (2016). How to See the World: An Introduction to Images, from Self-Portraits to Selfies, Maps to Movies, and More. Basic Books.
https://archive.org/details/howtoseeworldint0000mirz/page/n5/mode/2up
Renfro, E. (2017). Stitched together, torn apart: The keffiyeh as cultural guide. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 21(6), 571–586. https://doi.org/10.1177/1367877917713266