On a building on a corner of Beirut’s Hamra Street, where for decades crooked letters on an aging marquee announced a concert by the Egyptian singer Mohammed Mounir, there is now a new sign: Lebanese National Theater.
On September 13, for the first time in many years, the lights will dim and the curtain will rise again at the once-revered Le Colisee.
“It’s always been a dream for me to revive these old cinemas, to bring them back,” said Kassem Istanbouli, an actor, director and founder of the Lebanese National Theater.
Istanbouli has brought several venues back to life in the Lebanese cities of Tyre, Nabatieh and Tripoli — and coming soon is Le Colisee in the capital. “This completes our dream,” he said. “This cinema is also important because it continues traditions, preserves our cultural treasures, our identity and our shared social memories — for Beirut, as well as the whole of Lebanon.”
Istanbouli has received support from the Lebanese NGO the Tiro Association for Arts and a network of volunteers. They believe that everyone has a right to art — regardless of their origin, religion or political affiliation. The fact that Le Colisee is reopening its doors is thanks to this civil society initiative, not official cultural policy.
Reviving cultural life
Hamra was once the of . In the 1960s and ’70s, the district was dotted with cinemas and theaters, and premieres and other productions ran late into the night.
Lebanese singer Fairuz and the Egyptian actor Adel Emam performed on Hamra’s stages, while the Egyptian singer and actor Abdel Halim Hafez, Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani and Syrian-Egyptian singer Farid al-Atrash frequented the Horseshoe, the iconic cafe where intellectuals discussed politics and literature.
Located in western Beirut, Hamra was — and still is — a place where Christians and Muslims lived side by side. Influenced by the left-wing, secular Arab nationalism of the time, the district combined East and West, art and politics, daily life and big ideas. Hamra was an urban melting pot that defied the country’s divisions.
The situation changed in 1975 with the outbreak of the civil war, which would last until 1990. In 1982, Israeli troops marched in. Various militias then took control, and heavy fighting destroyed the neighborhood. The Commodore Hotel became a base for foreign correspondents.
Despite the violence during the civil war, people continued to go to the cinema and theater, but some buildings were damaged. After the war, international events shifted to downtown Beirut, which was rebuilt.
Hamra’s golden era was over. The large cinemas disappeared and only one theater — the Metro Al Madina — remained.
New millennium, new beginning
In the 2000s, the district was given a face-lift: new water and electricity lines were installed, and cobblestones lined the streets. Hamra and its street of the same name were back. In the evenings, hordes of cars parked in front of the bars and restaurants, students flocked to the cafes, Syrian families opened up bars and a new generation of Beirut residents brought fresh energy.
“Since my childhood, we spent time on Hamra Street — with friends and family. It was just buzzing with life,” said Haitham, who is now in his mid-50s and has lived his whole life in Hamra and the surrounding area. “Sometimes it was so crowded that you couldn’t set foot on the street.” He remembers those times fondly.
Naim Saleh, himself an institution, also likes to remember the glory days of Hamra. His family has sold newspapers and books on Hamra Street for over 50 years — he took over the kiosk from his father. There used to be piles of magazines and new publications. Today, hardly anybody buys anything, but Saleh remains there, day after day, as the stores around him close down one by one.
As Hamra has once again become quieter, he embodies the spirit and perseverance that keeps both the district — and — alive.
Resilience amid crisis
Since the , long-established stores and cafes have shut down. Power cuts mean that Hamra goes dark early in the evening.
In 2023, the central bank devalued the official exchange rate of the Lebanese pound by 90%, and prices have skyrocketed in a country that has to import almost everything.
Hamra has always been a kind of seismograph of Beirut and Lebanon. The country’s fractures and contradictions are concentrated here. The political instability and economic crisis are reflected in the shuttered stores. Even long-established traditional cafes have been driven to ruin. But, like the country as a whole, the Beirut district survives thanks to the perseverance of its inhabitants. Like Le Colisee cinema, social initiatives have kept the spirit of Beirut alive.
After the , residents cleaned up the city, distributed meals and supported their neighbors. The state was absent.
Last summer, as Le Colisee was being renovated, it welcomed internally displaced people from during with . Entire families slept between the rows of seats in the space that became an emergency shelter, breathing history and alleviating hardship at once.
Istanbouli sees this as the core of his work. “We want to overcome the imaginary borders between the regions of Lebanon and connect people through shared cultural spaces,” he said. He added that his goal is to decentralize cultural life so that audiences and artists can travel between north and south, Tyre, Tripoli and Beirut, with culture preserving identity and memory.
Investing in the future
The cinema’s reopening comes at another . The new government has decided to disarm Hezbollah — classified by the United States, Germany and several other governments as a terrorist organization — after endorsing a US-backed plan that would bring all weapons under state control by the end of the year.
Following the disarmament, Israel would stop its and withdraw its troops from the south. However, there are no details on how the disarmament would occur. Naim Kassem, Hezbollah’s new secretary-general, .
“The resistance will not surrender its weapons while aggression continues, occupation persists,” he said earlier this month, adding that if necessary there would be a fight against “this American-Israeli project whatever the cost.”
Kassem said the government should not “hand over the country” to Israel and the United States but take responsibility for internal disputes.
But those who are bringing Le Colisee back to life refuse to let politics get in the way. They want to transform the cinema, which first opened in 1945, into a space for art, film, theater, workshops and festivals. There will also be an archive. It will be a meeting place that recalls Hamra’s golden years but also reflects the district’s constant reinvention despite all manner of setbacks.
The audiences might be smaller at first. There might still be tensions inside and outside of the country. But, when the house lights dim in September and the curtain rises again, the old Hamra will return for a moment: a Hamra that, like Lebanon, resists divisions and does not stop believing in its future.
This article was originally written in German.
The post Beirut district refuses to succumb to Lebanon’s divisions appeared first on Deutsche Welle.
