In a sense, the V-series began with the war in Gaza as it appeared in news broadcasts. The destruction, the killing, the mutilated bodies of children, the trauma affecting hundreds of thousands. I felt it physically as drums and embittered slogans echoed between the buildings where I live. The small processions passing along Vasagatan towards Avenyn—with waving Palestinian flags.
The war morphed into a political squabble on social media. The Right sided with Israel, the Left with Palestine. Energetic keyboard warriors who never had to confront violence portrayed the hell in Gaza as a just consequence—a justification for Hamas’s bestial massacres in Israeli border villages. An act of revenge. On Elon Musk’s platform X, anger was directed at the noise Palestinians made in the streets, not at the human suffering.
All of this forms a resonant backdrop in my consciousness as I begin watching "The Little Drummer Girl".
The TV series is set in 1979, amidst the conflict between Palestine and Israel. It is based on a thriller by the master of spy fiction, John le Carré. The British-American production, now available on SVT Play, was filmed in 2018—five years before the war in Gaza. For me, the timing is perfect.
The lead role is played by a young British actress who calls herself Charlie. She is recruited by the Israeli intelligence agency Mossad to infiltrate a Palestinian terrorist cell. The Israelis are targeting the cell's legendary, enigmatic, and elusive leader, Khalil.
A battle-scarred former Israeli soldier, Gadi—played by Alexander Skarsgård—becomes Charlie’s instructor and handler. He is somber, almost tormented, as if he carried Khalil within him—as though they knew each other deeply, despite never having met. Somehow, he transmits his understanding of the Palestinians’ boundless bitterness and hatred to Charlie.
Amidst emotional turmoil, Charlie works her way into the terrorist cell’s hideout. She witnesses a confusing mix of hardness, cruelty, passionate emotions, and love.
Step by step, across six episodes, the story intensifies. Homemade bombs are assembled in bags for lethal attacks, while factory-made bombs rain down from roaring Israeli fighter jets.
Finally, Charlie reaches Khalil. She encounters him as a human being. Beneath the hatred of Zionism and the fear of being found and killed, he possesses a human beauty. His eyes are bottomless. Khalil fears his adversary—sensing him within himself, just as Gadi does—yet he does not know who Gadi is.
The resolution is brutal, and there is no joy or triumph in the final scenes. Only sorrow. I turn off the TV and sit there, shaken. But then the feeling shifts. It feels ok, actually. The series makes a statement—a powerful rejoinder to the dehumanization that can spread online when no one looks the victim in the eye.
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