Beirut Graffiti Artist Uses His Murals to Unite A Fragmented City Favorite 

Yazan Halwani is a young Beiruti artist who paints murals of revered Lebanese and Arab figures on prominent walls in a bid to help overcome sectarianism in this fragmented city. “What I try to do,” he explains down a fuzzy line from Beirut, “is write the stories of the city, on its own walls – creating a memory for the city.”

The Lebanese civil war had officially ended a few years before Halwani was born in 1993, but it continued to shape the Beirut he grew up in. “You could actually feel the remnants of the war in the city. Buildings had been destroyed but, most importantly, you could feel it in the political landscape and in the people.”

During the 15-year-long war, the city of Beirut had been divided broadly into two – east Beirut was largely Christian and French speaking, while west Beirut was largely Muslim and Arabic speaking. Growing up in west Beirut, Halwani made the journey over what had been the city’s Green Line, the old frontline that cuts through downtown, every day to his school in the east. “I used to see the different faces of the city – I started noticing that society is not one but several.”

You have to ask questions about the geographic area, the context, to paint something that reflects the city positively
Yazan Halwani
Halwani’s work in in Gemmayze, depicting Fairouz, a Lebanese singer and cultural icon.
View image in fullscreen
Halwani’s work in in Gemmayze, depicting Fairouz, a Lebanese singer and cultural icon. Photograph: Yazan Halwani
The fractures ran deep. “Beirut was segmented into neighbourhoods and streets – militias each controlled a part of the city. They used to stencil their logos onto the walls in the parts of the city they controlled as a form of propaganda.” Many of these wartime militias went on to become peacetime political parties and, even today, streets remain politicised, adorned by logos, flags, checkpoints and posters of martyrs.

Halwani had grown up with the “feeling that there was not much place for culture” in the city. After the war, “the politicians did not want to reinforce the cultural infrastructure – the public museums, theatres and cinemas; places to push non-sectarian, secular culture through.”

Halwani wanted to create street art that was different from the logos of the political parties: “the people that were doing the vandalism were politicians and they were destroying the city, trying to benefit from it. I wanted to do something different – I wanted to do something constructive for the city.”

Eternal Sabah by Yazan Halwani
And so he resolved to populate the city’s walls with figures that “counteract the sectarian identity” that the politicians seek to reinforce, “with a more national one to try and redefine the culture in terms of these people, instead of the people that feed on dividing Lebanese culture.”

It’s important to Halwani that he listen to the communities around the walls before painting, to “make sure the graffiti is growing with the city and not against it.” He’s not, he’s keen to stress, “trying to force myself on the city, on the walls. You have to ask questions about the geographic area, the context, to paint something that reflects the city in a positive way.”

Halwani’s depictions have included, among others, Samir Kassir, the assassinated Lebanese journalist and historian; Khalil Gibran, a feted Lebanese poet; Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish; and Fairouz, a Lebanese singer and cultural icon.

I’m trying to show people that it’s very easy to change the city, to make it ours …
Yazan Halwani
Yazan Halwani
View image in fullscreen
Halwani repainted his mural tribute to a homeless man from Hamra who was loved by locals after it was defaced. Photograph: Yazan Halwani
His latest work looms large over the main street in Hamra, home to the American University of Beirut and, now, diners, large branches of H&M and Radio Shack. Before embarking on the work, he spoke to longstanding residents about the neighbourhood’s pre-civil war “golden era”, when creatives and intellectuals from all over the region visited its cinemas, theatres and cafes. “Whenever I spoke to people, they’d talk so passionately about this previous time … I started to talk to people about [Lebanese singer] Sabah – she used to be in the movies that were screened in these cinemas. I decided to paint her to create that sense of nostalgia and positivity for the people living there. It kind of reinforced the sense of culture that used to exist.”

Over on the other side of town, in Gemmayze, Halwani saw the impact his work could have when he painted a mural of Fairouz. The choice, again, had come from residents living near the wall just off Gemmayze’s main street, now home to bars filled with students downing jello shots to the songs of the Black Eyed Peas. Residents told Halwani of their love for Fairouz and “the old days of Gemmayze.”

“She’s a symbol of Lebanese identity that’s not soured by sectarianism,” he explains. “In the morning, probably most Lebanese roasters and taxi drivers put on some Fairouz.” The 81-year-old owner of the building opposite says it must be “one of the most photographed walls in Beirut”.

“We are not a museum in the conventional sense.” ... The Cage by Zuk Club at the Street Art Museum in St Petersburg.
How St Petersburg is creating a permanent home for street art
Read more
Beirut might be a city where residents often feel helpless to affect change after years of corruption and a lack of effective governance, yet people now feel invested in Halwani’s paintings, and in the messages they carry. On occasions when his works have been defaced, he’s had calls from strangers asking him to fix them. One time, when he returned to fix a work, someone had already done it for him.

Halwani sees his work as symptomatic of the same anti-sectarian sentiments behind the #YouStink movement, that has grown out of the summer’s rubbish crisis and opposition to the endemic corruption that caused it. He was called on to paint on the wall that was erected, for less than a day, to separate the protestors from the Grand Serail. But with ordinary people already using the newly constructed wall to add their own voices to the protest, Halwani “didn’t want to fill a huge part with my own expression”.

Halwani can be seen as one cog in a wider movement in Beirut. “I’m trying to show people that it’s very easy to change the city, to make it ours and not [belonging to] some politicians.” Even by doing something as simple as repainting a wall, it shows the impact one person can have on the urban landscape. This is the inspiration he hopes people need, “so that they know that the city is theirs and they have a responsibility and rights within in”.

Follow Guardian Cities on Twitter and Facebook and join the discussion