Decline, Displacement, and Despair Have Stifled the Mesmerizing Glow of Al Hamra Street

By 
Elie Chalala
A web-based photograph of Beirut’s Al Hamra Street.
 
Ongoing talks of the nostalgic past and less depressing times bring to mind Beirut’s own miniature ‘Andalusia,’ its famous Al Hamra Street, which — like the majestic Andalusia of eld — has become an unachievable, distant relic of a flourishing time. The street’s reputation as one of the most prosperous districts within Beirut, known even as the Lebanese iteration of Paris’ Champs-Élysées or New York’s Fifth Avenue, can only be described today by its “fading luster,” as poet Shawqi Bzay of Asharq al-Awsat puts it, is only one tragedy among many during this fraught period. Whatever mesmerizing glow Al Hamra once had has been snuffed out by worsening conditions throughout the years; its light is now drowned amid the deluge of people crowding its street in recent days, displaced in the ongoing war with Israel. 
 
Current events were not the sole cause of Al Hamra Street’s downfall. Arguably, the street has been on a downward decline since the outbreak of the Lebanese Civil War, the division of Beirut into Western and Eastern parts, and every crisis after that — corruption, sectarian strife, economic meltdown — an additional nail in its coffin. Once upon a time, however, its name was synonymous with success, glamor, and prosperity all across the Arab world, where it was considered “the most connected to the spirit of the age and images of urban society,” in the words of Shawqi Bzay.
 
Al Hamra’s name stems from the 15th century Banu al-Hamra inhabited the land. Some widespread speculations also link its name to the red dunes characteristic of the region, or even the Alhambra Palace in Granada, reminiscent of Al-Andalus’ golden era and its “images of pleasures, enjoyments, and the freshness of life,” writes Bzay. The neighborhood thrived as a commercial district, primed for success as a space of freedom and diversity amid the country’s rise in capital power throughout the 1960s and 1970s before the start of the civil war 1975-1990. It was home to banks and hotels and the birthplace of much of Lebanon’s cultural and intellectual production, from journalism, entertainment venues, cinemas, and theaters to intellectual, artistic, and cultural clubs. Many of these played pivotal roles in the country’s arts and literary movements, like the newspaper An-Nahar, the magazines Sh’ir and Al Adab, and the iconic Piccadilly Theater, as well as others that opened avenues for cultural dialogue and a meeting point between East and West. Bzay notes the street’s role as “the most critical platform for the winds of incoming modernity,” a successful harmony of “the pillars of the economy, tourism, culture, and celebration of life.”
 
“Decline, Displacement, and Despair Have Stifled the Mesmerizing Glow of Al Hamra Street” by Elie Chalala is scheduled to appear in the forthcoming Al Jadid, Vol. 28, No. 85, 2024.
 
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