Contributor: The archive of my family shows why Palestinian reparations are due

My father, Jawat Bseiso, was 23 when everything changed.

As the favorite son of Mahrous Mustafa Bseiso – one of the greatest landowners in South Palestine – he was taken care of to inherit the legacy of our family. My grandfather was a prominent businessman in Beersheba, a thriving Palestinian city where Muslims, Christians and Jews once lived together in peace.

Then came 15 May 1948. Palestinians know it as the Nakba – the catastrophe. That day, hundreds of thousands of Palestinians, including my entire family, were displaced with violence during the establishment of the state of Israel. Our countries, houses and companies were seized and we were labeled ‘absent’, although we were violently driven out and our qualities were expropriated.

At night my family became refugees. Our house, along with hundreds of thousands of hectares of our country in Beersheba and elsewhere, was transferred and transferred to the Israeli state. The real estate was mentioned under the custodian of that government of absent property, but we were never absent: we were driven out and were not allowed to return and regain our family.

I was born in 1962 in Al Bianh, near Ramallah on the western Jordoever. My family eventually emigrated to the United States and became citizens. Just like many other refugees, my parents have protected us against the past. My father rarely spoke about what had happened. He wore the pain quietly, his eyes apparently resolved somewhere else, trapped between memory and loss.

In America I was faced with the usual immigrant struggle: racism, bullying and the pressure to assimilate. To protect myself, I turned to wrestling and martial arts. As an adult I finally made a career in the music industry, but even then I felt that I had to hide. Instead of working under my first name, nobility, I went to Eddie, then Edvardo and eventually Vardo Bissiccio, leaving my Arabic name out of my career. Success came, but the hunger for the truth remained.

I spent years looking for answers: what we had lost, who we really were and what had been stolen from us. Long after my grandfather and father died, I kept looking and found answers – a series of evidence such as land certificate, tax data, sales contracts and correspondence letters, carefully collected and verified. They tell a story of prosperity before relocation, and refused of legal rights. They also retain the legacy of my grandfather, a man who changed the desert in gardens, farms and industry around Beersheba in the early 20th century.

Although this search started with a personal desire, I realized that the resulting collection could be valuable for many others. When I invited scientists to verify and assess the files, we concluded that the BSEISO Family Archive is the largest known collection of original documents from a single Palestinian family, with details about legal land ownership before the 1948 Nakba.

In 2019 I started digitizing the records, and Columbia University finally agreed to accommodate the collection within its modern ARAB Studies program. We were launched in 2025 Bfarchive.orgMake Palestinian history more accessible to scientists, journalists and the public.

May 15 marks the 77th anniversary of the Nakba. Our documents now serve as legal and historical evidence, not only from our own story, but also of a broader pattern of expropriation.

None of this is meant to challenge the existence of the state of Israel or to erase the history of another group. Our goal is justice. We strive to correct the record and to pursue a fee for the billions of dollars of real estate that has been illegally taken from our family and from so many others.

The worldwide conversation is changing. Millions are now marching to support Palestine. Nations around the world recognize the Palestinian state and the right of return. What was once hidden is revealed. A “black swan” moment – a turning point for justice – is approaching.

The scale of what has been taken from us is amazing: land, inheritance, opportunities. But behind those material losses is a bit deeper, a history, a rightful place in the story of the country that we once mentioned at home.

For decades I have not only saved documents but stories. Oral histories have been passed on from my grandfather, my father and our elderly talk about a time before the Nakba – about community, existing and peace. They also witness what came next: exile, erases and constantly injustice.

The archive of my family exists to retain those truths and to make them impossible to ignore them.

Adel Bseiso, an American Palestinian music producer, lives in Los Angeles.