By Katia Khodr | Staff Writer
It is quite an overwhelming experience, to say the least, walking up or down a street that engulfs one’s every sense in its entirety. A walk through Hamra, the neighborhood right above youth-filled Bliss, is nothing short of a synesthetic experience, with sounds filling the scented air (much of it being food) that you cannot fully process before its colorful, bright, and decaying walls consume your vision. Chiseled within the heart of Lebanon’s motley capital Beirut stands Hamra, a neighborhood no adjective can do justice, pulsating with artistic expression and cultural manifestation.
Hamra is one of Beirut’s more condensed areas and harbors a multifaceted identity. Its streets have become shared spaces of artistic commentary and discourse, whether it be an ode to an artist or a criticism of the economic state of the country. Renowned for its eclectic atmosphere, Hamra has manifested itself as the canvas of the past, present, and future converging in the form of graffiti and murals.
Hamra’s street art, as a reflection of the state of Lebanon as well as the state of its people, stands as living history, ever-changing, yet permanently marking itself in Lebanese identity. The murals are done by local ‘vandalists,’ whom I like to view as pure artists with a passion for expression and not monetization of the Lebanese and local identity. As Khaled El Haber sings in his infamous ‘Hamra Street, “كيلو بخمسة البطاطا وبثلاثة الفنانين” or “a kilogram for 5, potatoes, and for 3, the artists.” I say Lebanese and local separately for the sole purpose of acknowledging that what is local is not only Lebanese, and consequently, what is now Lebanese is also not purely Lebanese (whatever that may be).
There is a sense of pan-Arabism in Hamra’s murals, both artistically, politically, and socio-economically. Considering pan-Arabism in Beirut has been a complex and dynamic force, the city has been a hub for intellectual exchanges, political debates, and cultural expressions that have contributed to the broader pan-Arabist discourse. This includes, but is never limited to, murals of Umm Kulthum, the Egyptian singer and songwriter of the 20th century, commentary on the Syrian and Palestinian refugee camps in the form of graffiti, or plastered posters and stenciled graffiti of the Syrian Social Nationalist Party.
Amid the cultural articulation evident in Beirut’s urban landscape, the walls of Hamra also bear witness to the nation’s turbulent political landscape. Graffiti emerges as a poignant and powerful tool for activist discourse to voice their discontent, frustrations, and hopes for change. Urban activist art includes characters of politicians and symbols of mass corruption, with statements such as “LEBANESE GOVERNMENT EXPIRED” or the ‘Thawra’s’, “كلن يعني كلن,” or “All means All.” Scenes of protests, clenched fists, and poignant political commentary unfold on the walls, providing an alternative avenue for citizens to engage in a silent dialogue against corruption and social injustice.
Artistic and cultural expression has become more restricted in recent years as censorship is directly correlated with political tensions and sensitivities. Hamra still manages, or attempts to manage, the diversity of opinions, the appreciation of the taboo, the criticism of the political, the practice of religion, and the ability to survive while also living. Hamra’s art is not comprised of merely static paintings but dynamic expressions that evolve with time and that form new colors and new meanings with erosion, oxidization, and decay. They capture the essence of Lebanese culture, acting as a living testament to the constant interplay between tradition and modernity.
In recent years, Hamra has also reflected a sense of unity, solidarity, and resilience – words that seem paradoxical considering the heterogeneous nature of the country and its capital. That is where the charm lies: the paradox of a divided, united identity. With the devastating port explosion of August 4, 2020, the plummeting currency, and the complete absence of stability, there is an underlying sense of unity that only the walls are raw enough to transcribe. In a country with various characteristics, struggle has been a trending definition for more than 30 years, and it is unfortunately one of the only characteristics that applies to all Lebanese sects, ethnicities, expats, diaspora, and so on. Amidst difference, there is similarity; amidst conflict, there is deference. The walls of Hamra, marked by these expressions of unity, stand as a visual representation of a community that refuses to be defined by its struggles but instead finds strength in its shared humanity.