On October 17, 2019, I was fortunate enough to travel to Beirut, Lebanon, on a weekend trip during my semester in Amman, Jordan. The purpose of the trip was to explore the vast street art scene in the city. However, my planned excursion took an unexpected turn when the Lebanese people began staging massive protests in the streets only four hours after I landed in the city. The country’s debilitating economic conditions and proposed austerity measures, which included a $0.20 tax on WhatsApp calls, led the people to take to the streets in one of the largest movements the country has seen in fourteen years. While my plans for my five days in Beirut were sidelined by the protests, the complexity and passion of the movement may have demonstrated street culture more than my tourist-inclined trip ever would have.

At our hostel the morning of October 17th, the owner was searching for updates online that she could give to the visitors staying with her. She noted, interestingly, that she will not read anything from “foreign news” on this topic because they “exaggerate everything.” Keeping this comment in mind, I have sought out sources to inform this article from the grassroots level, such as tweets from protestors or independent news outlets. I have drawn heavily from an ongoing Jadaliyya article which has provided constant updates since the 17th. Jadaliyya is an “independent ezine” that publishes in Arabic, Turkish, French, and English and is run on a (mostly) volunteer basis with support from the Arab Studies Institute. Seeking to address “the Arab world and the broader Middle East on their own terms,” the site emphasizes the work of combating harmful misconceptions: “Where others see only a security threat, conflict, or data on a graph, we see a region inhabited by living communities and dynamic societies.”

Unfazed by the news and unaware of how rapidly the protests were growing, my friend and I quickly took to roaming around the streets. Immediately I realized how vast the city’s street art scene is. It was somewhat overwhelming trying to make sense of each individual piece. As our day of exploration went on, we saw hundreds of protestors wearing the traditional Lebanese keffiyeh scarf and carrying Lebanese flags moving toward the downtown area, and we heard chatter about the movement everywhere we went. We also watched as three military vehicles, each filled with six men armed with machine guns, drove toward the peaceful protesters.

Much of the street art in Beirut is aesthetically driven, but a significant portion also features political messages. As the events of the first day of protests unfolded downtown, there was one specific piece of art that caught my attention and has stuck in my mind ever since.

People in this area tend to walk past street art, as it is their “normal,” but more than once I was stopped in my tracks because of the complexity, skill, and message of the art. This mural was one of those moments. It was tucked away between a staircase and a bar on Armenia Street, an area known for its nightlife. It depicts a young Lebanese man (green) asking for “change” from what can be perceived as a member of the Lebanese government or economic elite (blue), who is surrounded by a large pile of money. In this piece I interpreted “change” to mean both literal change, as in money, as well as reformative change to the government and economic system. In both cases, the response “Change? For what?” is emblematic of the ineffective economic system and the greed of the extremely wealthy in Lebanon.

While the “Whatsapp Tax” is what put the Lebanese people over the edge, it was not the only reason people took to the streets in a movement that continues as this piece is published. The proposed tax was withdrawn within the first day of protests, yet the people continued taking to the streets. The real culprit is the destitute economic conditions that the Lebanese people have been facing, especially the wealth inequality that has created a schism between the political elite and their constituents. In the weeks leading up to the protests, the Lebanese people faced bread and fuel shortages, significant currency devaluation, and massive wildfires that were surrounded by a corruption scandal related to the government’s inability to deal with the fires. There are reportedly seven Lebanese billionaires from wealthy and political families who alone are worth ten times more than the poorest half of the country. Among these seven families is that of former Prime Minister Hariri, who, conceding to the demands of protestors, resigned after thirteen consecutive days of protests.

The people do not see Hariri’s resignation (and the subsequent dissolution of his cabinet, one of the primary demands of the protesters) as enough. They have remained in the streets seeking concessions to their other demands, including the resignation of President Michel Aoun, whose legitimacy in Lebanon is strongly associated with his alliance with Hizballah (a Shia Islamist movement and political party); the speaker of Parliament; and Parliament itself. Since Hariri’s resignation, President Aoun has announced that Hariri would continue in a “caretaker capacity,” and it has been estimated that the formation of a new government could take months. At this time, protesters have been unwavering in their calls for political and economic accountability.

Hizballah’s ingratiation in the current government regime has also become increasingly apparent as the protests went on. In an October 25th speech, Hizballah leader Hassan Nasrallah spoke out against protesters’ demands, stating the party’s opposition to early parliamentary elections and cabinet resignations. He also urged protestors to work with the government and to accept already-proposed reforms. He framed the issue broadly and vaguely as a national and regional problem rather than a grassroots movement fueled by collective action, in a way removing the actual people from the narrative. He also stressed the social and economic implications of continuing to protest. The public widely viewed this speech as proof that Hizballah is “imbricated” in the current government order.

Following Nasrallah’s speech, spats of violence against protesters by Hizballah supporters broke out around the country as staunch supporters of the party attempted to break up protests. Violence against protesters by military and security forces also began to appear around the country. In one such incident the military opened fire on protesters in the city of Tripoli, injuring six. Government forces have also used tear gas in an attempt to disperse protesters.

This second mural appears to have been done by the same artist, given the tag, “Spaz,” found on both. This piece is also political in nature, and driven by the economic situation and corruption of the government. The mural appears to depict a corrupt military officer or government official (notice the details around the figure’s collar and the “$” on his hat).

The juxtaposition between the massive protests calling for the fall of the regime only two kilometers from these murals and the relative quiet around us was striking. It is difficult to comment on the day-to-day street culture of Beirut given that this was not an ordinary weekend in the city. I can only speak to my experience. As people rode through the relatively calm street on motorbikes on their way to the protests, they yelled with enthusiasm and wore symbols of patriotism and pride. The movement has attracted people from all backgrounds, including diverse class backgrounds, religions, neighborhoods, gender orientations, and sexual orientations. In a show of unity, protesters actually formed a 170-kilometer (105-mile) chain through Beirut. As noted by anthropologist Ghassan Hage, whose public Facebook posts are an important source of information on these events, the movement has also created space for many powerful forms of expression.

The scenes of the uprising in Beirut where I am located, but also right across Lebanon, are an incredible festival of relational creativity. that is, creative ways to communicate, creative ways to express solidarity, creative way to abuse, creative way to dance, to kiss, to wear masks, to shout, to sloganeer, and most of all, creative humour, humour unlimited, unleashed...
- Ghassan Hage, October 23, 2019 via Facebook.

Street art is a reflection of the soul of the community that creates it, and this reflection has been intensified as people come together in their country’s streets demanding the fall of the regime and a status quo that has failed the Lebanese people.

Lebanon differs from many other states in the region in that it has the memory of a recent Civil War (1975-1992). This generational memory is sometimes cited as the reason that Lebanon did not experience a significant movement like what was seen in some other Arab countries in 2011. Some protesters have said that the current protests have marked the true end to Lebanon’s Civil War, which officially concluded 28 years ago, as every sect of society put aside their differences to rally against an ineffective government. The current protest movement has brought an estimated two million people (one-third of Lebanon’s population) to the protests from seemingly every walk of life. The movement has not been that of a single party, community, religion, or group, but a movement of all people taking pride in their identity and homeland and demanding that the government do better by it.

Banner image: Freimut Bahlo [CC BY-SA 4.0], via Wikimedia Commons