Beirut: Hamra - Heartbeat of a City, Mirror of a Country

At the corner of Beirut's Hamra Street, where a faded, crooked advertisement for a concert by Egyptian singer Mohamed Mounir once hung, a new sign now stands: Lebanese National Theater. On September 13, the lights will go out and the curtain will rise here, in the venerable Le Colisée cinema, for the first time in many years.

"Reviving these old cinemas, bringing them back, has always been a dream of mine," says Qassem Istanbouli, actor, director, and founder of the Lebanese National Theater. Cinemas have already been rebuilt in Tyre, Nabatiyeh, and Tripoli – and soon in Beirut , in the Hamra district. "This completes our dream," he says. "This cinema is also important because it carries on traditions, preserves our cultural treasures, our identity, and our shared social memories – for Beirut, but also for all of Lebanon."

Hamra was once the epicenter of Beirut's cultural scene

Istanbouli is supported by the Tiro Association for Arts and a network of volunteers. They all believe that everyone has a right to art – regardless of origin, religion, or political affiliation. The fact that Le Colisée is now reopening its doors is the result of this civil society initiative, not government cultural policy.

Hamra was once the cultural epicenter of Beirut. In the 1960s and 70s, the area boasted numerous cinemas and theaters, with premieres running late into the night. Fayrouz and Adel Imam performed on the stages, while musicians like Abdel-Halim Hafez and Farid el-Atrash frequented the Horse Shoe Café. It was here that the Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani wrote his poems, and where intellectuals discussed politics and poetry. Hamra, located in the west of the city, was—and still is—a place where Christians and Muslims live side by side. Shaped by the left-wing, secular Arab nationalism of the time, the neighborhood connected East and West, art and politics, everyday life and grand ideas. Hamra thus became an urban melting pot that defied the country's divisions.

With the outbreak of the civil war in 1975 (which lasted until 1990), the picture changed. In 1982, Israeli troops marched down the street. Afterward, militias shifted control, and heavy fighting damaged the neighborhood. Hamra's Commodore Hotel became a base for foreign correspondents.

Many people visited the cinemas despite the violence, but some theaters were destroyed. The war ended Hamra's golden era. After the civil war, international events shifted more to the newly rebuilt downtown Beirut. Hamra survived, but almost all of its theaters closed—only the Metro Al-Madina Theater remained. The large cinemas disappeared.

Hamra experienced a rebirth in the 2000s

In the 2000s, Hamra received a facelift: new water and electricity lines, cobblestones. This brought the area and the eponymous Hamra Street back to life. In the evenings, cars would back up in front of the bars and restaurants, university students flocked to the cafes, Syrian families opened businesses, and a new generation of Beirut residents brought fresh energy. "Ever since I was little, we spent time on Hamra Street—with friends and family; it was just vibrant," recalls Haitham, now in his mid-fifties. He has spent his entire life in Hamra and the surrounding area. "Sometimes it was so crowded that you couldn't step foot on the street," he says. He remembers it fondly.

Naim Saleh also fondly remembers Hamra's glory days. He is an institution in Hamra. For over 54 years, he and his family have been selling newspapers and books at the beginning of Hamra Street – he took over the stand from his father. Magazines and new releases used to be stacked high; today, hardly anyone buys them. And yet he's still there, day after day, with his kiosk, while shops close all around. At a time when Hamra has become quieter, he embodies the tenacity that keeps the neighborhood – and Lebanon – alive.

Hamra: Seismograph of Beirut and Lebanon

Today, after the country's economic collapse in 2019, the street is quieter. Many shops are closed, and long-established cafes have given up. Power outages darken Hamra early in the evening. The economic crisis has left deep scars: the currency has lost 90 percent of its value , and prices have exploded – in a country that has to import almost everything.

Hamra has always been a kind of seismograph for Beirut. It's where the country's fractures and contradictions converge: political blockades reflected in empty shops, and an economic crisis that is driving even traditional cafes to ruin. And like all of Lebanon, Hamra thrives on the perseverance of its residents. Social initiatives keep the city's spirit alive – like the cinema. Just as it did after the devastating explosion in the port in August 2020, when the state was absent and the people themselves cleaned up the city, distributed meals, and supported neighbors.

And even as the crisis continues, Hamra is writing another story: In the summer of 2024, while Le Colisée was being renovated, internally displaced people from the south – families who had fled Israeli bombings during the war with Hezbollah – slept between the rows of seats. The cinema temporarily became a shelter. A place that simultaneously breathes history and alleviates current hardship.

Director and actor Qassem Istanbouli sees this as the core of his work: "We want to overcome the imaginary boundaries between Lebanon's regions and connect people through shared cultural spaces." He explains that it's about decentralizing cultural life so that viewers and artists can travel between north and south, between Tyre, Tripoli, and Beirut. Culture must preserve identity and memory.

Politically unstable times in Lebanon

But the opening comes at a politically tense time. In Beirut, the new government has decided to disarm the militant Islamist Hezbollah . The Lebanese cabinet has approved a US plan to have all weapons under state control by the end of the year, as the US and Germany, among others, classify Hezbollah as a terrorist organization. In return, Israel is to cease its ongoing attacks on Lebanon and withdraw its troops from the south , despite an existing ceasefire . But there are no details on how the disarmament will take place. And the new Hezbollah Secretary General, Naim Kassem, said: "As long as the aggression continues and as long as there is occupation, we will not lay down our weapons." If necessary, they will fight against "the Israeli-American project," he said. Should domestic political disputes arise, Kassem said, the new government will bear sole responsibility.

But the Le Colisée cinema and its staff are undeterred by the tense situation. They are committed to converting the cinema, founded in 1945, into a space for workshops, theater, festivals, and an archive for film and art. It is intended to be a meeting place that not only commemorates Hamra's golden years, but also demonstrates that the neighborhood continues to reinvent itself despite all the setbacks.

Perhaps the audience will be smaller or different than it once was. Perhaps there will still be tensions outside in the country. But when the lights go out and the curtain rises inside in September, for a moment the old Hamra will return—the Hamra that resisted division and that, like all of Lebanon, never stops believing in its own future.