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Remaking Beirut: Contesting Memory, Space,and the Urban Imaginary of Lebanese YouthCraig Larkin∗

University of Exeter

Throughout the centuries Beirut has had an endless capacity for reinvention andtransformation, a consequence of migration, conquest, trade, and internal conflict.The last three decades have witnessed the city center’s violent self-destruction, itscommercial resurrection, and most recently its national contestation, as opposi-tional political forces have sought to mobilize mass demonstrations and occupystrategic space. While research has been directed to the transformative processesand the principal actors involved, little attention has been given to how the nextgeneration of Lebanese are negotiating Beirut’s rehabilitation. This article seeksto address this lacuna, by exploring how postwar youth remember, imagine, andspatially encounter their city. How does Beirut’s rebuilt urban landscape, with itsremnants of war, sites of displacement, and transformed environs, affect and in-form identity, social interaction, and perceptions of the past? Drawing on HenriLefebvre’s analysis of the social construction of space (perceived, conceived, andlived) and probing the inherent tensions within postwar youths’ encounters withhistory, memory, and heritage, the article presents a dynamic and complex urbanimaginary of Beirut. An examination of key urban sites (Solidere’s Down Town)and significant temporal moments (Independence Intifada) reveals three recur-ring tensions evident in Lebanese youth’s engagement with their city: dislocationand liberation, spectacle and participant, pluralism and fracture. This article seeksto encourage wider discussion on the nature of postwar recovery and the construc-tion of rehabilitated public space, amidst the backdrop of global consumerism andheritage campaigns.

INTRODUCTION

The music evoked Beirut’s Golden Age. . .Marwan’s voice burned with anger.“I hate the way they are demolishing the old centre and plonking down a new root-less, soulless ghost town with only a handful of old buildings preserved. Ignorantarrogant assholes! What do they think they’re doing? We need to continue the

∗Correspondence should be addressed to Craig Larkin, Department of Politics, Amory Building, Rennes Drive,Exeter, EX4 4RJ; [email protected] earlier draft of this article was first presented at the June 2008 CRASH Conference, “The Culture of Re-construction: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on the Aftermath of Crisis,” at the University of Cambridge, andthen at the Conflict in Cities International Workshop—“Jerusalem and Other Contested Cities”—Notre Dame,Jerusalem, January 10–12, 2010. I thank the participants of both conferences for their questions and commentsand the anonymous referees of City & Community for their constructive criticism and guidance. I am also in-debted to the Lebanese students who generously allowed me to interview them. Finally, I thank “Conflict inCities and the Contested State,” funded by the Economic and Social Research Council (RES-060-25-0015).

City & Community 9:4 December 2010doi: 10.1111/j.1540-6040.2010.01346.xC© 2010 American Sociological Association, 1430 K Street NW, Washington, DC 20005

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REMAKING BEIRUT: MEMORY, SPACE, AND THE URBAN IMAGERY

country, not reinvent it. Every single fallen stone should come back to its place. Weshould rebuild the souks, restore the crumbling buildings—preserve the essence ofa city that’s been there at least five thousand years.”

The Last Migration, Jad el Hage, 2002.

Beirut’s endless capacity for reinvention and transformation is best observed in its citycenter. This pivotal district has known as many labels and urban forms as it has historiclives. The medieval bourj, Ottoman provincial port, French colonial “Place des Canons,”independent “Martyrs’ Square” (Sahat al-Shuhada) have finally been succeeded by an ul-tramodern global cityscape. This most recent reimagining, a consequence of 15 years ofdevastating civil violence and self-destruction (1975–1990), preceded by 15 years of futur-istic urban landscaping,1 has become both a symbol of Lebanon’s national recovery andan object of postwar critique. Beirut’s commercial resurrection and deliberate rebrand-ing as a leading Arab metropolis and dreamscape of visual consumption has stirred fiercedebates and contests over the nature and scope of urban reconstruction in the after-math of conflict (Kassir, 2003; Nagel, 2000, 2002; Sarkis and Rowe, 1998; Sawalha, 2010).These frictions have been further compounded by the resurgence of sporadic violence2

and popular mobilization, which has transformed the Down Town into a strategic battle-ground between rival political coalitions over competing national visions—demonstratedby mass demonstrations, rallies, and tent protests (March 14 “Freedom Tent” and theHizbullah led “Tent City”). While Beirut may once again be a city in transition, its futureis invariably tied to an ongoing negotiation of its past.

This article seeks to explore this process by examining the contradictory impulses ofremembering and forgetting, erasure and recovery in the context of a postwar city. Ina sense the focus is less concerned with global memory debates over justice, reconcilia-tion, and truth (Nora, 2001; Ricoeur, 2004) but rather local encounters and resistanceto the restructuring of urban space (de Certeau, 1988; Soja, 1989). I hope to contributeto the growing debate concerning Beirut’s rehabilitation, both on the level of its physi-cal restoration and its national collective reimagining. Beyond discourses that problema-tize the city’s social amnesia (Hanssen and Genberg, 2002), historical myopia (SMakdisi,1997), nostalgic longing (Khalaf, 2006), and management of cultural heritage (Fricke,2005), there is a need to understand how the next generation of Lebanese is negotiat-ing Beirut. How do postwar youth remember, imagine, and spatially encounter their city?How does Beirut’s rebuilt urban landscape, with its remnants of war, sites of displacement,and transformed environs affect and inform identity, social interaction, and perceptionsof the past?

The choice of Beirut as a case study stems from the fact that it has become perhaps“the world’s largest laboratory for post-war reconstruction” (Charlesworth, 2006:54), sub-ject to the globalizing forces of consumerism, privatization, and regulation (Davis, 1990),the regional impulses toward “Dubiazation” led by Arab Gulf real estate conglomerates(el Sheshtawy, 2008), and architectural attempts to promote “the reunification of theLebanese people” (Traoui, 2002:9). The focus on Lebanese youth is both in response tothe lack of previous academic research and an attempt to observe and evaluate how post-war spaces and sites are inhabited and inscribed with meaning, across generations (Fried-land and Hect, 2006; Makdisi and Silverstein, 2006). Previous analytical approaches toyoung people and urban spaces have observed both the marginalization of youth (Davis,

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1990; Sibley, 1995; White, 1990) and young people’s role in subverting and constructingspatial/social order (Hil and Bessant, 1999; Robinson, 2000). This dialectic is certainlyevident in Beirut’s city center although it is questionable how much power Lebaneseyouth have to resist and contest the elitist cityscape and construct alternative spaces. Thealienation of Lebanese youth from the city center, while reflecting global urban trends(Tienda and Wilson, 2002), presents a more worrying reality in a city still struggling torecover public spaces and still fractured by sectarian symbols, political divides, and ge-ographies of exclusion/inclusion. This article seeks to probe how urban marginalizationis linked to broader processes of postwar dislocation and liminality.

In addressing the overlapping themes of space/memory/identity I will draw on Frenchsociologist Henri Lefebvre’s (1974/1991) concept of three interconnecting modes of so-cially produced space: the perceived, the conceived, and the lived. The first space is aproduct of human design, urban planning, and spatial organization. The conceived bycontrast contains the abstract, the imagined space, as well as the visual order, signs, andcodes of the city, dominated by political rulers, planners, and economic interests. Finally,lived space describes how people inhabit everyday life, the way they create their city as“users” through practices, images, and symbols (Hanssen, 2005). While Lefebvre’s frame-work is a useful starting point to desegregate the multiple layers of discourse, ideology,and practice that have shaped Down Town Beirut’s construction and imagining, it is cru-cial also to explore the city’s urban “spaces of uncertainty” (Cupers and Meissen, 2002:152), which defy functional reduction but rather are hybrid, fragmented, and unstable,emerging from “encounters and confrontations between people.”

Finally, any analysis of Beirut’s posttraumatic landscape must take account of the city’simmaterial sites, spaces, and absences, which shape the territory of the imagination andmediate daily urban encounters. As Friedland and Hecht (2006:35) suggest, “materialand immaterial sites are bound together by the invisible bonds of memory, memorywhich is not regression to the past, but a progression from past into present into fu-ture. . . . Central places, holy places and sacred places and memory places are those place-ment where everyone remembers, if only remembers that something has been forgottenand cannot be remembered what it is.” Huyssen (2008:3) explains this mnemonic pro-cess as the construction of an everyday urban imaginary—“the cognitive and somatic imagewhich we carry within us of the places where we live, work, and play. It is an embodied ma-terial fact. Urban imaginaries are thus part of any city’s reality rather than only figmentsof the imagination. What we think about a city and how we perceive it informs the ways weact in it.” Urban imaginaries transform and are transformed by global and local encoun-ters with capitalism, modernity, power, and globalization. Such a dynamic negotiation ofspace and place—imagined and lived, materially and immaterially reconstructed, mon-umentalized, and in flux—offers an insightful framework for examining how Lebaneseyouth navigate Beirut’s contested sites and rehabilitated center.

METHODS

My observations primarily emerge from extensive anthropological field work, involvingover a hundred in-depth interviews with Lebanese high school and university students3

conducted in the summer of 2005 to the summer of 2006 in the aftermath of the March8 and March 14 popular mobilizations. Various titles and prescriptive labels have beengiven to the period between February 2005 and May 2005 in which protest, euphoria,

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and popular mobilization followed the assassination of former Prime Minister Rafik al-Hariri. Among supporters of an emerging March 14 Alliance, led by Saad Hariri (FutureMovement), Samir Geagea (Lebanese Forces), and Walid Jumblatt (Progressive SocialistParty), it was commonly known as “Independence 05” or the “Independence Intifada”(intifadat al-istiqlal); in the West it became dubbed the “Cedar Revolution” or the “BeirutSpring.” While this period witnessed seismic social shifts and political realignments—from high profile assassinations to mass protests, the resignation of Karami’s governmentto the withdrawal of Syrian troops after a 30-year presence—it also provided an oppor-tune moment to examine the fears, hopes, and disenchantment of Beiruti youth andtheir encounters with their urban surroundings (Corm, 2005). Students were selected,using a combination of random sampling and snowballing techniques, from 10 differ-ent educational institutions throughout Lebanon. Given the sensitive nature of represen-tation and proportionality in Lebanon, a country of 18 politically recognized religioussects governed by a rigid system of confessional power-sharing,4 my sample attempted toreflect Lebanon’s rich and diverse religious composition and its social, economic, andgeographical divides. Therefore 33 percent of students were from a Christian confes-sional background, 26 percent were Shi’i, 24 percent were Sunni, 13 percent were Druze,and a few were from the resident minority communities: Armenian and Palestinian. Stu-dents were chosen from a varied range of schools and universities—public/private, sec-ular/religious, and rural/urban; with interviewees coming from Beirut, its surroundingsuburbs and farther regions such as the South, the Bekka, Tripoli and the coast, theShouf, and Metn Mountains. It can be difficult to delineate exactly Lebanese residencydue to the high levels of displacement, mobility, and the ever-increasing expansion ofBeirut’s suburbs. Students often referred to their family village, prewar district, or currenthome depending on the context and nature of the discussion. In an attempt to obtainan interview sample that reflected the full spectrum of Lebanese society, family names,residency, political affiliations, economic background, and religious confession informedthe selection process.5

Interviews were conducted within school settings for High school students, while Uni-versity students were given the freedom to choose a place they felt most comfortable with.The interview process was semistructured and openended, allowing themes and stories toemerge naturally. Arabic and English were used interchangeably depending on the con-text and fluency of the student. These youth, ranging between 15 and 22 years old, area generation without personal recollection of the conflict but with vicarious memoriespassed on by their parents, communities, and localities. In a sense this is a residual, trans-generational “Postmemory” (Hirsch, 2008, 1997) that both connects and reimagines thepast, according to present needs and social contexts.6 I also make use of site observations(2001–2004, 2007) that derive from time living in the region and observing conflict res-olution groups, forums, peace conferences, and everyday experiences. The article drawson a variety of secondary sources including journal articles, newspapers (Arabic dailies),NGO reports, and internet sources.

The article comprises three parts: the first will briefly consider Beirut’s official recon-struction process; the second part examines how Lebanese youth conceive Down TownBeirut in terms of war memory, heritage, and nostalgia. The final part will explore theirspatial practice and physical engagement with the city in terms of dislocation and libera-tion; spectacle and participation; and plurality and fracture.

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ERASE AND REWIND: BEIRUT, THE ‘ANCIENT CITY OF THE FUTURE’7

Beirut’s dynamism is invariably born out of Lebanon’s troubled historic past and its dis-puted national imagining: a mountain refuge for religious minorities (Druze, Shi’i, Ma-ronites); a forged compromise of colonial powers and indigenous elites; a republic oftribes and villages; a cosmopolitan mercantile power-sharing enclave; a playground forthe rich; a battleground for religious and political ideologies; a fusion and combustionof the Arab East and the Christian West; an “improbable, precarious, fragmented, shat-tered, torn”8 nation. The dichotomies and visions appear as endless and complex as theLebanese experience itself. Certainly, it helps explain the ambiguous and contested placeBeirut has always held in the collective understanding, whether under regional domina-tion or subject to Western colonial influence. Lebanon’s gradual emergence as a state—aconsequence of Ottoman governance (Mutasarrifiyya era 1860–1914), French manda-tory rule (1920–1943), and the movement for national Independence in 1943—has oftenbeen overshadowed by the recurrence of internal civil violence—1820, 1860–1864, 1958,and 1975–1990. The most recent and devastating of these internecine conflicts (1975–1990) claimed an estimated 170,000 lives, displaced two-thirds of the population, andresulted in the descent into militia rule and Syrian and Israeli armed intervention (Hanf,1993; Khalaf, 2002).

Throughout this turbulent period of prolonged war, Beirut’s central district was boththe epicenter of its fiercest violence and the focus of the most concerted reconstructionplans. While ongoing militia battles transformed Beirut’s streets, buildings, and publicmarkets into a scene from an apocalyptic nightmare, planners, architects, and politiciansdebated visions of the city’s postwar recovery. The Council for Development and Recon-struction (CDR) was established in 1977 to plan and administer all of Lebanon’s postwarreconstruction works. The CDR commissioned the first master-plan for the Down Town,produced by a French firm L’Atelier Parisien d’Urbanisme (APUR) in 1977, followed byDar al-Handassa’s proposal in 1983. After a continuation of hostilities, a 1986 joint plan(CDR and APUR) was suggested, which would broaden Beirut’s rehabilitation to includethe entire metropolitan district. However, with a national peace agreement (Ta’if Accord)finalized in 1990, this was swiftly followed by the creation of Solidere,9 a private Lebanesecompany, founded by millionaire politician Rafik al-Hariri and exclusively entrusted withthe reconstruction and development of Beirut’s central district. Solidere’s legal mandatewas provided in 1991 through an amendment (Law “117”) to the 1977 planning legisla-tion, controversially enabling the Company to expropriate land and property of existingowners, who were to receive shares in Solidere stock in return.10 Throughout the earlynineties, Solidere cleared the way for its ambitious master plan by systematically razing thewar-damaged urban fabric, creating a virtual tabula rasa at the heart of the city. Lebaneseacademic Saree Makdisi suggests that by 1993, as much as 80 percent of all the struc-tures in the Down Town were damaged beyond repair, yet only a third of this destructionwas war-inflicted (1997:674). This campaign of structural erasure, coupled with the dis-placement and dispossession of an estimated 2,600 families, owners, and tenants, earnedRafik Hariri the dubious appellation among some Beirutis as ammar hajar wa dammarbasher 11 —he who built the stones and destroyed the people.

Solidere’s 30-year “Master plan” (1994–2024) incorporates 472 acres: a third of whichis reclaimed land, 175 acres that are allocated for new developments, such as a marina,

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FIG. 1. A commercial boulevard leading to Nejmeh Square at the heart of Beirut’s Down Town.

hotels, and global commerce, and only 54 acres (including 265 key structures) of whichare part of Beirut’s original urban fabric. This partially completed project envisions aglobal, tourist friendly, cosmopolitan Beirut, which draws on the Lebanese traditions ofcommerce, pluralism, and innovation. Yet Solidere’s concept of “Beirut reborn,” as averitable “layered city of memory” in which “the past informs the future,”12 appears re-markably selective in the history it reproduces and the memory it evokes. Ancient Beirutis celebrated through the recent excavation and display of Roman baths, Cardo Max-imus, and Canaanite Tell, while a “heritage trail” weaves from manicured Mosques andChurches to beautifully restored Ottoman buildings and French colonial promenades(Figure 1). Consequently, the remnants of a traumatic and debilitating violent strugglehave all but been erased, and replaced instead with an appeal to a more glorious, illustri-ous, and heroic past.

Solidere’s postwar reconstruction of Beirut has generated considerable public debate,academic criticism, and civic activism aimed at confronting political nepotism, challeng-ing models of urban planning, and reclaiming Beirut’s lost and ever-endangered her-itage. This first critical discourse that focuses on political corruption invariably involvesthe role and influence of former Lebanese Prime Minister and leading Solidere share-holder Rafik Hariri. Hariri’s ascendancy to political office in 1992, which coincided withSolidere’s reconstruction project, raised many questions over a possible conflict of private

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and public interests. These fears were further substantiated by government exemptionsfor Solidere totaling $1 billion; the passing of new legislation to aid commercial exploita-tion of national resources (Beirut’s coast line); and the proliferation of legal suits by origi-nal tenants and landowners accusing Solidere of bribing judges, undervaluing shares, andintimidating existing property holders.13 Saree Makdisi terms the process “Harirism,” thedecisive withering of the State and common public space and the supremacy of privatecommercial interest and control. He comments,

For, to be sure, where state projects end and private projects begin can no longerbe determined—not because this is a strong state that is organizing a commandeconomy but because capital has become the state. State and capital have becomeincorporated as one and the same force or process defined by the same discourse—Harirism. (1997: 698)

Such sentiments are indeed difficult to dispute, given that while Lebanon’s national debtrocketed from $1.5 billion in 1992 to a colossal 32 billion in 2003, Hariri’s personal for-tune is estimated to have tripled during the same period. Resistance to Solidere’s coer-cive power has most visibly taken the form of a “Stop Solidere” campaign, headed by locallawyer Muhamad Mugraby, who seeks a return of Beirut’s national center to its originallandowners. This group has sought to confront Solidere through legal cases, public dis-cussions, and the use of giant posters in sites of ongoing controversy, such as St. GeorgesHotel and Beach Club, urging the general public to resist and “Stop Solidere!” As Mu-graby explains, in an interview with the Lebanese Daily Star newspaper, “In my opinionSolidere is a Lebanese form of vigilantism under the colour of the law. It violates theconstitution, which prohibits the confiscation of property without prompt compensationand only for the public good.”14

The second critical discourse of Beirut’s postwar reconstruction has emerged aroundthe broader architectural debate concerning global urbanism and use of public space incities (Boyer, 1993, Madanipour, 2000). Planners and urban theorists have increasinglyquestioned the neo-liberal model, in which city space becomes an arena for market-oriented economic growth and elite consumption practices, thus stripping the publicsphere of its social and political dimension. Local Lebanese architects, such as HashimSarkis (1998), have similarly warned against Solidere’s dangerous trend toward privatiza-tion, commodification, and commercialization of Beirut’s rebuilt center. As Jamal Abed,Professor of architecture at American University of Beirut (AUB), explains:

The Private company of Solidere, in its attempt to work for the profit-orientatedinterests of its shareholders, will inevitably create private preserves for the wealthythat are then transformed into “public amenities” by allowing a select group ofpeople to stroll unimpeded along its corridors and spaces of power. (1999: 53)

Such concerns are also echoed by newly emerging civil society groups, NGOs, and ac-tivists, such as Archis, Partizan public, and Beirutstudio, who seek to challenge Solidere’shegemonic and totalizing vision for the Down Town. These groups jointly sponsored aninternational workshop in August 2008, entitled “Rescripting Beirut,” which sought todraw together architects, designers, urbanists, and sociologists, in an “alternative explo-ration of a city lacking in spatial history but rich in untold narratives.”15 Yet resistance has

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also taken less formal and spontaneous forms; from impromptu concerts, exhibitions,street drama, and art installations, often housed in temporary tents or utilizing the re-maining war damaged buildings in stark contrast to Solidere’s “Glamor Zone” (Sassen,1999).

The final and perhaps most pervasive critique of Solidere’s reconstruction project hasbeen the emergence of memory initiatives aimed at confronting a perceived culture offorgetfulness, and seeking instead to preserve Beirut’s war torn fabric and recover localhistories and communal narratives. This “heritage crusade” (Lowenthal, 1998; Khalaf,2006:35), based on nostalgic longings and impulsive reaction to the erosion of familiarlandmarks and icons, has resulted in a variety of responses, such as environmental ad-vocacy groups, workshops on postwar reconstruction, story-telling, and the increase innovels and autobiographies recalling past times, places, and experiences.

Specific interventions include Bernard Khoury’s plans to renovate a disused centralBeirut theatre16, preserving its bullet holes and crumbling plaster as a symbol of “thecity’s tempestuous political history.”17 Studio Beirut’s “The Lost Room” project alterna-tively offers a multimedia memorial, highlighting city-specific memories and personalnarratives of random Beiruti citizens.18 Also the activist group, Abrand, has sought tochallenge the repackaging of Lebanese heritage and tradition through subversive postersthat mock the process of global branding. One image shows the familiar Beirut Cornichepromenade, which serves as a public space for evening walks, exercise, and socializing,transformed into an elite exclusive setting. Rather than a street vendor selling cheapKaake (a bread snack) from his three wheeled wooden cart, instead it is covered witha pristine white table-cloth, adorned with vintage wines and spirits and surrounded byLebanese elegantly dressed in formal evening attire. The criticism is implicitly aimed to-ward the gentrification of Lebanese public space. A second poster displays a traditionalLebanese dish of stuffed aubergine, “Koussa Mehchi,” transformed and masqueraded asJapanese Sushi, complete with chopsticks, carved vegetables, and a wooden serving dish(Figure 2). This poster is a veiled warning against Lebanon losing its very soul, identity,and cultural uniqueness in its desire to commodify and market its heritage (al-turath). Itis important to note that the concept of urban “authenticity” can serve disparate agendasand interests, particularly during uncertain times. As Sawalha (2010:43) affirms in heranthropological survey of postwar Beirut neighborhoods, for many of the city’s inhabi-tants “the past was idealized as a refuge from an unpredictable future. They turned to afamiliar past that was far from the unpleasant present and the unknown future.” Zukin(2010), in her study of New York, Naked City: The Death and Life of Authentic Urban Spaces,observes “authenticity” as both a discursive device to legitimate gentrifying redevelop-ment plans—the recovery of the “original city”—and simultaneously a potential weaponfor urban resistance and survival. She notes, authenticity is a “cultural form of power overspace,” a tool “to control not just the look but the use of real urban places: neighbour-hoods, parks, community gardens, shopping streets”; yet it also can be evoked as a centraltenet of social preservation—“a cultural right to make a permanent home in the city forall people to live and work” (Zukin 2010: xiii).

The critical discourses surrounding Solidere interventions undoubtedly inform theLebanese general public’s response to Beirut’s reconstruction, yet it is questionablewhether they fully represent or reveal the complexity of this engagement. A balancedreading of Solidere accomplishments must acknowledge the “professionalization” of thecompany—from planning, design, marketing, and management—which has made it a

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FIG. 2. Abrand poster on an Ashrafieh wall mocking the process of global branding.

model for regional redevelopment19 and a potent symbol of Lebanon’s reemergenceas a vanguard of modernity in the Middle East (Nasr and Verdeil, 2008). Its achieve-ments must also be measured against the backdrop of fractious postwar politics, the lackof an independent and “definable government reconstruction agency” (Charlesworth,2006:82), and the stasis in Beirut’s two other redevelopment projects—Elyssar targetingthe Southern Beirut suburbs and Linord focusing on the East coast and the Metn-Nordlandfill (Harb, 1998, 2001; Nasr and Verdeil, 2008). The strongest argument supportingSolidere’s redeveloped Down Town remains perhaps its most contentious—the financialand commercial prosperity generated (particularly for Solidere investors and stakehold-ers) by the dramatic rise in international and Arab tourism. In 2009 over two milliontourists visited Lebanon contributing around $7 billion to the economy that is a fifthof Lebanon’s GDP. These numbers were 39 percent higher than the previous year andthe leading tourist growth rate world-wide.20 Yet despite these impressive figures ques-tions still remain over the viability and longevity of Solidere’s laissez-faire consumeristcityscape given Lebanon’s political fragility and the scope of its unequal and imbalancedrecovery. As Nasr (2003: 156–157) insightfully comments, “An apparently thriving leisure,food, entertainment and luxury-shopping sector, living of a minority of wealthy Lebaneseor vacationers and shoppers from the Gulf cannot hide the fundamental crisis in the realeconomy, the steady decline in the quality of education, the limited amount of job cre-ation, the high cost of the local factors of production, the continuing deterioration of the

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environment, the scarcity of investment opportunities or the burden of the public debt.”Beyond the ongoing debates between Lebanese scholars, architects, privileged elites, andcultural producers, I want to turn to the perceptions of Lebanese youth and how they areconceiving Beirut.

(RE)IMAGINING THE CENTER: WAR MEMORY, HERITAGE, AND NOSTALGIA

Among the Lebanese youth I interviewed, Beirut’s reconstructed Down Town exists moreas a site of imaginative and emotive investment than a place of actual lived experience.Few of the hundred high school and university students regularly frequent the com-mercial district or are very familiar with its refurbished streets. Yet for each, the centerstill evokes family stories, distant memories, and the hopes and anxieties of Lebanon’snational future. As Beirut-based journalist Ciezadlo (2007) affirms, the Down Town “iswhere all the fears and fantasies about this little country have always converged.”

For many students, Beirut’s vacant center represents not only a physical symbol ofLebanon’s lost past, but a blank screen on which diverse memories and narratives canbe projected. Diana, a 20-year-old Druze student from the private Lebanese AmericanUniversity (LAU), explains, “the Down Town always reminded us of our loss, it was likehaving a city without a soul. . .interestingly I don’t even remember what it used to be like,but I know that people believe in this area.”21 For Diana, the absence is equated withpersonal loss and spiritless existence; although disconnected to the past visually, she isunited through imaginative investment and the inspirational faith of others. Lama, a 16-year-old Sunni student from the Beirut suburb of Moseitbeh, focuses on a former familyhome, an elaborate Ottoman-type villa, in the Zokak el—Blatt neighborhood of centralBeirut. The house, according to Lama, was “destroyed by militia guns, occupied by ille-gal squatters, flattened by Solidere and rebuilt as an office block.” Lama’s sense of lossis sustained by her ability to mentally reconstruct the villa’s ruined shell and war tornedifice—suspended in time and perpetually existing in her mind. The building she imag-ines forms part of an effaced past but a very real present. Other students recount parents’and grandparents’ nostalgic tales of Beirut’s prewar days of markets (souks), cafes, andpopular entertainment, romanticized tales of a cosmopolitan meeting place for all reli-gions and every class. In the absence of actual-lived experience, these narrative accountsform part of the reimagining process, providing the next generation with a comparativeframework in which to critique Solidere’s contemporary work.

For youth who have grown up alongside Beirut’s reconstruction project it is the very actof transformation itself that has raised the specter of war and stirred debate over issuessuch as memory, history, and architectural vision. Just as the hostile destruction of build-ings can be an attempt to obliterate the past, rebuilding on top of ruins can be an attemptto negate tragic memory. Adrian Forty refers to this process as Counter-Iconoclasm, whichinvolves “remaking something in order to forget what its absence signified” (1999:10).This process has been vigorously pursued by Israeli authorities in occupied East Jerusalemas highlighted by Shlay and Rosen in their article on the shifting green line in Jerusalem.The purpose behind such a policy is not only the extension of Israeli sovereignty andcontrol in the city but the inscription of “new collective meanings, memories, and iden-tities associated with the place” (Shlay and Rosen, 2010:4). Within the Lebanese context,Solidere’s intention may have been to structurally cleanse all memory of the civil violence

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from Beirut’s center, but it has not been the consequence. As17-year-old Hanan22 fromRas Beirut explains:

Down Town is always the main focus of the past, because it was transformed andthey always show you how it was and what it’s like now. . .every time we are in theDown Town, we remember the war, we remember the past and some places still lookthe same.

In Hanan’s mind Beirut’s rehabilitation is invariably tied to its war time destruction; thecenter-ville fuses parallel time frames, the new reality invoking and recalling the previ-ous degradation. Indeed, juxtaposed images of the Down Town, “before and after,” haveflooded the public domain in the form of photographic anthologies, television programs,exhibitions, and numerous books.23

Despite this mnemonic connection to Beirut’s former degradation, students remainlargely divided over how the visual traces of conflict should be incorporated within thecity’s rebuilt form. Some favor total erasure, believing forgetfulness to be both a rem-edy for the trauma and suffering of war and the only guarantee for a peaceful futureco-existence. In the words of 17-year-old Rima from Aley, a mountain village overlook-ing Beirut, “Perhaps the answer is amnesia, if everyone forgets what happened and thenthey move on.”24 Other students are less comfortable with Beirut’s polished and highlyselective historical narrative reflected in its showcase center that abnegates the lived ex-perience of conflict. As Yasmine, a student of the American University of Beirut, fromMar Elias, suggests, “the redevelopment involved a covering or hiding of the memory ofwar, and in this sense it’s unreal. You can’t just talk of Romans and Phoenicians and ourgreat heritage, without mentioning about militias, kidnapping and bombs.”25 HistorianDavid Lowenthal explains this tension as the danger of history, with its claim to truth, be-ing supplanted by heritage, and its “prejudiced pride in the past” (1998:5–24). In Beirut,perhaps this imbalance will be addressed through the construction of a war museum, anational memorial, or the preservation of some of the city’s “warchitecture.”

A good example of this process at work is the controversial planned restoration ofthe Barakat building in Sodeco, a former militia sniper stronghold, which once dis-sected Beirut’s Christian East and Muslim West. This infamous classical yellow building,its bullet-riddled walls and gaping voids testifying to countless battles, is now earmarkedto become Lebanon’s first war museum or rather Beirut’s museum of municipal history,Bayt al-Madina, the City House. For Mona Hallak, the leading activist behind the 11-yearconservation campaign, the building is an important testament of the war: “this is a mon-ument produced by the war and it should stay as such.”26 Its restoration should provide“a place for meeting and reconciliation, a space for Memory so as not to be swept upby amnesia.”27 Despite Beirut municipality’s 2012 timeframe to redeem and rehabilitatethe building, many students I interviewed remained highly skeptical of the project. Theirresponses varied from total rejection—“it’s exclusively a Christian Lebanese Forces sym-bol of death”; “it is still too sensitive! How many innocent people were shot from thosewindows?”—to poignant realism—“maybe they should just leave the shell, the image ispowerful enough; we don’t need to know what happened inside.” Ghassan, a 22-year-oldMaronite student from Bhamdoun, dismissed the project out of hand: “it’s an exploita-tive attempt to cash in on Beirut’s violent past. Probably we will be running civil war tourssoon, with free militia t-shirts and baseball caps.”28

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Such cynicism captures the post-war disillusionment and disenchantment of Lebaneseyouth (Hanf, 2003), yet it is a further critique of the uneasy symbiosis between politicalviolence, reconstruction, and Lebanese commercialism. The Barakat building, while ini-tially draped with a life size image of the original untarnished edifice, was soon joinedin the summer of 2007 with an equally proportioned Nescafe advertisement mimickingthe political buzzword—“UNITE” —only this time under the banner of “Coffee Creamer-Sugar Perfect Harmony.” Similarly, during the Israeli-Lebanese war of 2006 many con-sumer brands sought to address the conflict through billboard campaigns encouragingnational resilience. The Johnny Walker whisky brand’s “Keep Walking” slogan and fig-urine was transposed over a broken Lebanese bridge.29 Volkswagen produced an imageof one of their compact car designs and a map of Lebanon under the punch-line “Smallbut Tough.” Lebanon provides fertile ground for a further exploration of the art of waradvertising or the marketing of postwar recovery.

Finally, many students are yet to be convinced of the positive didactic function ofBeirut’s “negative heritage” (Meskell, 2002), warning of the danger of memorializingshame, pain, and victimization. They appear to favor less visible, more ambiguous formsof remembrance, such as the bullet scarred “Martyrs Memorial” statue, situated in thecity’s central square. The disfigured sculpture, originally a memorial to those killed inthe struggle for Independence from Ottoman rule, now has become an unintentional na-tional emblem, capturing both the shared suffering of conflict and yet the resilience andendurance endemic to the Lebanese spirit. As one student explains, its significance liesin its inclusive ambiguity, which enables “everyone to imagine their own story” and allowsfor multiple interpretations of the war (Figure 3). In this sense the sculpture functionsas a polysemic cultural artifact; much like Nir Gazit analysis of the Jerusalem newspaperKol Ha’ir it has the power to elicit relative consensus on the core issues it embodies yetstill sustains a diversity of interpretations. Interestingly, the memorial is accompanied byno plaque or commentary, and again highlights a postwar tendency that seems to favorvisual representation over the more complex and contested narrative form. This impulsetoward a plural, differential, and critical remembrance of the past, some social commen-tators suggest, is best found through the safety of visual ambiguity and embracing diver-sity, rather than forging an artificial totalizing memorial. As John R. Gillis (1994, p. 20)acutely warns,

[D]emocratic societies need to publicize rather than privatize the memories andidentities of all groups, so that each may know and respect the other’s version ofthe past, thereby understanding better what divides as well as unites us. In this eraof plural identities, we need civil times and civil spaces more than ever, for theseare essential to the democratic processes by which individuals and groups cometogether to discuss, debate, and negotiate the past, and, through this process, definethe future.

Other students instead question the relevance of commemorating historic war memo-rials in light of Lebanon’s ongoing political violence and public assassinations, such asthe 2006 car bomb attacks that killed leading Lebanese politicians and popular journal-ists. As Fares, a 22-year-old middle-class Druze medical student living in Hamra, astutelyexplains,

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FIG. 3. Martyrs memorial statue, in the center of Beirut’s Martyr’s Square.

There is no need to remember Lebanon’s past crimes and conflicts—when there isplenty to worry about today! Martyrs’ Square will always have its fallen. New figuressimply replace the old—Hariri, the architect of a bigger, grander Lebanon; Tueniwrote about freedom and Gemayel symbolized the traditional elite.30

These new Lebanese martyrs that Fares recalls now visually encircle Beirut’s centralsquare. Former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri’s flowered tomb sits adjacent to the grandioseMohammad al-Amin Mosque, Gebran Tueni’s image peers down from his An-Nahar of-fice, pleading with passers-by to “unite and defend Lebanon,”31 while Pierre Gemayel’sposter attached to a Lebanese Forces building proclaims his eternal legacy, “He lives forLebanon.” Their untimely deaths are a contemporary reminder of Lebanon’s violent her-itage and continuing fragility.

GOING DOWN TOWN: RECLAIMING THE CITY?

Turning now from how Beirut’s central district is conceived and imagined to how it isdaily experienced and spatially encountered by Lebanese youth, it is helpful to explorethree recurring tensions: dislocation and liberation, spectacle and participant, pluralismand fracture.

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DISLOCATION AND LIBERATION

For a majority of Lebanese students, Beirut’s Down Town remains distant and “out ofplace,” cut off from the realities of contemporary society. This distance is experiencedand understood on multiple levels. First, there is the Down Town’s spatial dislocation, aconsequence of urban planning choices that have deliberately isolated and separated thecenter from its neighboring environs. This has been achieved through the constructionof a series of vast car parks and motorways which virtually encircle and dissect the centerfrom the periphery. As Jamal Abed suggests,

The Solidere scheme is conceived in a complete isolation, enclosing the city centerby a limited ring road and a connector to the highway leading to the airport. Theconnection comes to constitute a staged kind of preferred memory that is the firstexperience of a businessman or a tourist—that is to say consumer—coming fromthe airport and received by the new Down Town. (2004:48)

Second, greater space has been created through leveling densely populated residentialneighborhoods such as Zokak el-Blatt and Wadi Abou Jamil , part of the traditional urbancenter and reshaping the topography with Levantine style office blocks, health spas, andprohibitively expensive designer flats and apartments. Finally, separation is made visi-ble through the Down Town’s ultra modern and economically exclusive cityscape, whichsharply contrasts the largely ignored, ever expanding urban sprawl of Shi’a Dahiyya inSouth Beirut, and the deprived and needy Eastern districts of Nabaa and Karantina.

Students expressed multiple reasons for their perceived exclusion from the center,reflecting political, economic, and religious factors:

It’s good, but it should be more national, all of Lebanon or none. . .it’s not national,just for a certain religion (Alaa 17, Shi’a, Haret Harek);It represents a Westernized Lebanon (Tamara 17, Sunni, Moseitybe);The center is beautiful but it doesn’t represent Lebanon, perhaps the Gulf (Pierre20, Maronite, Zhgarta);It’s cosmopolitan, perhaps it represents Rafik Hariri, it’s mostly elitist and cos-mopolitan (Rafik 21, West Beirut).

While these responses suggest underlying prejudices and bias, they also reflect a commonperception that Solidere has failed to reconstruct an inclusive center, a place with whichall identify in a new social, national, and global context. The overarching impression re-mains that the center has been turned into a playground for rich Gulf Arab tourists anda global elite privileged class, rather than a meeting place for Lebanon’s diverse popula-tion. An ethos of consumerism may encourage unity across both political and religiousdivides, but it fails to adequately engage or diffuse recurring sectarian tensions. As SuneHaugbolle, commenting on Lebanon’s recent spatial transformations, affirms, “a pub-lic space dedicated to reconnecting a divided population through expensive franchisesoffers a vision of pacification of conflicts, not one of solutions” (2006: 4).

Yet for some youth, this separation is the inherent attraction and allure of the DownTown, it represents a different world, “Lebanon upgraded,” in the words of LAU studentAngela. To Maha, a Lebanese University graduate originally from Kefraya in the Bekaa,

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it embodies the hope and inspiration for an ordered and more stable future: “I loveDown Town, I always go there. I wish all Lebanon could be like it. . . .If you go to Dahiyyabuildings are everywhere, there is no structure or order. Down Town is planned and wedon’t have urban planning like this in any other area of Lebanon.”32

For Tony, a Maronite Christian student from Keserwan, Beirut’s center-ville is not justa symbol of order and unity, it is a place of liberation and awakening, a refuge from therestrictions, sectarian demarcation, and narrow confessionalism that he believes still marksome Lebanese neighborhoods and streets. Instead the Down Town offers him an escape,a place where he can make Muslim friends, experience life, and lose himself amidst theanonymity of a cosmopolitan crowd. He recounts,

When I worked in the Down Town restaurant al-Balade—this was my real oppor-tunity. I got to meet Muslim Arabs and people from the Gulf. I worked there for 3years and will never forget the experience. . . .Down Town Beirut is more cosmopoli-tan. You cannot identify the religion of the shop owners. It’s a business area andLebanese meet on business; they can join together on business.33

While Tony does not present Lebanese commercialism as an antidote for deep seatedsectarianism, he equates it with a newly emerging civic space—where consumer practicesand associations “temporally” trump other traditional cleavages and allow for new formsof social engagement. Since 2003, Beirut has witnessed the completion of four large re-tail malls, with three more planned, including the long awaited rejuvenation of the tradi-tional Beirut Souks transformed into a 100,000 m2 retail and leisure complex, replete withcovered (Souk al-Jamil) and open air markets (Souk Ayyas), a Gold Souk, Meditation Gar-den, Ajami Square, and 14 screen Multiplex.34 These commercial projects, while target-ing both the local populace and regional tourism, have explicitly attempted to create in-clusive neutral spaces that “bring together people from all walks of life” (Beirut Mall, Tay-ouneh), generating a “vibrant gathering place of people of all ages” (ABC Mall, Ashrafieh).Shopping complexes like the Beirut Mall (2006) in Tayouneh have been built along a tra-ditional boundary between Shi’a and Maronite neighborhoods, using a modernist archi-tectural design, while deliberately avoiding politically symbolic colors and accommodat-ing religious sensitivities through the location and layout of certain goods (i.e., alcohol).Furthermore, the marketing and branding of these commercial enterprises, such as therecently opened LeMall (2009) in Sin el-fil , seek to portray innovative places of belonging,free from surrounding social and political pressures. LeMall’s “IAmMyself.Me” campaigntargets a youthful generation in search of identity and meaning, echoing the mantra ofconsumer self-realization, “I buy therefore I am.”

Being is believing that you (yourself) are different and the world becomes yourplayground but you will need somewhere to practice, somewhere that understandsthat you are different, some place that feels and supplies your difference, a placewhere you can stop trying and start being—Welcome to yourself. You are now atLeMall and what makes here so different from anywhere else is you. Out here youare different, you are imaginative, you are bold, you are brave, you are curious,you are creative, you are adventurous, you are mixing, you are matching, you areinspired, you are.35

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Beirut’s urban regeneration founded optimistically on “retail therapy” mirrors Belfast’sattempts to transition from the “city of the troubles” to a “post-conflict consumeristmetropole.”36 This rapid transformation has included the redevelopment of the La-ganside district, the construction of Victoria Square shopping complex (2008) and thehistoric reimagining of the Titanic Quarter—a fusion of modernist waterfront cityscapeand nostalgic heritage center. Yet urban planners Bradley and Murtagh (2007) warn ofthe dangerous emergence of a “dual speed” city—the glossy, consumerist middle-classBelfast that can afford to be above sectarian divisions and the deprived working classestates still stratified by poverty, segregation, and fear.

The prognosis is similar for Beirut, as one student confides, “the problems of our cityare not really about religion anymore, but class and money—those who have and thosewho have not.”37 The once divisive green line, it would seem, has now been replaced byan equally dislocating red line, created by Solidere. For local architect Assem Salaam, theclass implications of Solidere’s red-line approach to Beirut are stark, with the creation ofa “paradise for the rich that you need to enter with a credit card through the Soliderestage design” (cited in Charlesworth, 2006:75). Lebanese sociologist Salim Nasr explainsthis internal fragmentation and social stratification within the wider context of Lebanon’sincreased class polarization and the emergence of a two-tier society: “a wealthy, extrovert,spending and ostentatious minority, living and moving at par with the globalised worldelite to which it aspires to belong; and a pauperized, expanding majority, stuck with areceding economy, limited horizons and declining opportunities”(2003:143).

SPECTACLE AND PARTICIPANT

This new realm is a city of simulations, television city, the city as theme park. . . .Hereis urban renewal with a sinister twist, an architecture of deception which, in itshappy-face familiarity, constantly distances itself from the most fundamental real-ities. The architecture of this city is almost purely semiotic, playing the game ofgrafted signification, theme-park building. Whether it represents generic historicityor generic modernity, such design is based in the same calculus as advertising, theidea of pure imageability, oblivious to the real needs and traditions of those whoinhabit it.

Michael Sorkin, 1992

Michael Sorkin’s urbanist critique of the modern Spectacle city—“a city of simulations”adorned with “architecture of deception” and “theme-park buildings”—finds clear reso-nance in the experience of Beiruti youth. Few believe themselves to be more than ob-servers, mere spectators in a city center designed for tourism and global interests ratherthan local considerations and communal needs. For 17-year-old Ibrahim, a high schoolstudent from a Sunni background from West Beirut, the superficiality and facade beginwith the architecture, “It’s just a show, just buildings, what’s being built on the inside ofLebanon, nothing.”38 Lebanese academic Saree Makdisi is similarly critical of Solidere’sobsession with preserving the appearance of authenticity, the sense of belonging, thespectacle of history rather than acknowledging and engaging with the actual lived past.He concludes, “the spectacle here has assumed for itself, and hence has eliminated, the

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very function of time; it has taken on tasks and duties of history: of a history cleansednot merely of pain, but of all kinds of other feelings as well; in short it has produced aprosthetic history. In their place, new prosthetic feelings will be engineered to take theplace of the old; new feelings to accompany the sense of spectacular history” (2006: 212).

Yasir39 , a third-year university student from the Palestinian camp of Bourj al-Brajneh,echoes the same sense of numbness and disconnection he experiences with Beirut’s arti-ficial center:

They are rebuilding a fake Lebanon. . .it’s like Disneyland. Down Town is fake inmany ways. First the building style is not Lebanese, of course it’s reconstructed butin a way that is very European (I haven’t been to Europe, but my European friendstold me that) and the term Disneyland was given by a French friend of mine, notme. . . .They built it on top of ruins and how can a Lebanese working man afford acup of coffee there. . . .People going there are acting fake.

Interestingly, Yasir refers not only to a falseness of architectural style, but an insincerityof those who inhabit that particular space. He implies that in creating a “Disneyland,”Solidere has not merely denied Beirut’s indigenous history but also encouraged inhabi-tants to indulge escapist fantasies. For Yasir, superficiality is expressed most clearly in theDown Town’s rampant consumerism, as elite fashion boutiques, exclusive restaurants,and designer outlets dominate the main streets and central Etoile district, peering outconspicuously from behind Ottoman facades.

The limitations of Beirut’s spectacle city center are further underscored by students,who criticize the new Down Town for providing little “neutral” space for young peopleto meet, socialize, or engage with one another. Rami, a first-year-AUB student, originallyfrom the Kesrewan Mountain range but currently living in Hamra, eludicates, “what it[the Centre] fails to be is a real meeting place. . .somewhere of common culture. Weneed more parks, places to meet, don’t build more churches or mosques which are veryvaluable, but they are in a sense divisive, why not build recreational facilities. We need tocreate bridging not bonding.”40 As this student eloquently argues, Beirut’s celebration ofthe Holy Triune—Mosque, Church, and Virgin-Megastore united on Martyrs’ Square—demonstrates a dominance of the religious and commercial over perceived shared publicspaces. This failure to provide an accessible and dynamic meeting place for a multiplicityof ideas, remembrances, and experiences may indeed be rebuilt Beirut’s most seriousflaw. Similarly, despite the almost complete refurbishment of the traditional Beirut Souks,many Lebanese youth remain skeptical as to whether they will be “open spaces for allcommunities and classes” or simply new forms of gentrified exclusive shopping malls.

Although Solidere’s Master plan does incorporate open green spaces and parks, theseare often located encircling archaeological ruins and official State buildings (GrandSerail—the Government Palace), which restricts both their use and public access. Indefense, Solidere may point to the Garden of Forgiveness41 (Hadiqat as-Samah), futureplans for an expansive marina walkway, or the recently dedicated Samir Kassir Garden, asmall contemplative space containing ficus trees and a water pool, located adjacent to theslain journalist’s al-Nahar newspaper office on the edge of Martyr’s square. However, for amajority of interviewees these interventions are observed as limited, token gestures, par-ticularly given the fact that Beirut’s largest green space, the Horch al-Sanawbar (the Pineforest), covering 255,000 m2, remains restricted to public access (surrounded in part by

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fencing, gates, and barbed wire) and subject to further development plans.42 A num-ber of students contrasted the investment in Beirut’s Down Town with the inadequatefunds allocated to the Horch park, concluding that it was due to its proximity to the lessmarketable and run-down neighborhoods of Mazraa, Sabra, Chiyah, Tarik al-Jdideh, andBadaro.

Beirut’s “spectacle” Down Town has more recently been challenged as part of a dra-matic process of political contestation. This has been most clearly observed in themass demonstrations surrounding the “Independence Intifada” of Spring 2005 in whichBeirut’s center-ville became a screen for projecting a new Lebanon: free, unified, mod-ern, and anti-Syrian. This was then followed by the Hizbullah-led counter-demonstrationsand 18-month sit-in protest (Dec. 2006–May 2008) and encampment in the commercialcenter that sought to destabilize the Western-backed government and give voice to analternate Lebanese vision.

There are various readings and interpretations of these climactic events but threesignificant themes are worth highlighting. First, the Intifada has been celebrated bysome commentators as the return of both civic participation and political mobilizationto Beirut’s center. Samir Khalaf optimistically hails the participation of a new gener-ation of Lebanese youth “receiving their own overdue tutelage in national character-building”(2006:17). This resonates with stories and tales of many students, who recounted“March 14th” experiences that linked patriotic unity with physical occupation of the cen-ter (Figure 4). Rola, a university student, originally from the Metn Mountains, capturesthis ebullient mood, “I’m Lebanese and proud to be Lebanese, perhaps I’ve become evenmore so recently. I loved it when we went to the demonstration; I felt that Lebanon wasreally speaking, that I had a certain role, that I can bring change. I can do something. Iwent to all the parades, I was so into it and I still have my Lebanese flag on my balcony.”43

In this instance the Intifada functions as a vehicle for empowerment, an opportunity forthe Lebanese youth to reclaim their voice, their role in society, and consequently theircity center.

Some commentators instead hail the emergence of Lebanon’s socially and politicallymarginalized groups, in particular Shi’a Hizbullah, who, through their physical encamp-ment and blockade of the center, managed to challenge the viability of the governmentand the hegemony of Solidere’s consumer cityscape. Through disrupting the politicaleconomy, by turning an elitist commercial center into a site of popular protest anddissent, these groups subverted and distorted the neoliberal “spectacle city” and posedquestions concerning Beirut’s national imagining. Protest signs and placards not onlyridiculed Prime Minister Sinoria’s reliance on U.S. backing, but also economic sloganswere projected onto the walls of Down Town office blocks and trendy bars, declaring: “Noto the government of VAT” and “No to the government of seafront properties” (Bazzi,2006). As Hassan Nasrallah, Secretary General of Hizbullah, declared via video-link tothe Down Town protestors on December 7th 2006, “From the homes of the poor, fromthe shantytowns, from the tents, from the demolished buildings, from the neighborhoodsof those displaced by war, we will make sure that they hear our voices.” It remains to beseen what lasting impact this form of resistance will have on the public perception of thecenter. Will it be understood and interpreted as a temporary aberration or prove to bea symbolic rupture invoking new forms of engagement and participation from citizenspreviously marginalized from the center?

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FIG. 4. Lebanese national flags and poster proclaiming “100% Lebanese” at March 14 populardemonstration.

Finally, a rather more critical analysis of the events suggests that Beirut’s Down Town,rather than being reclaimed by the people, was instead hijacked by political parties andleaders, making it a public stage for performing politics and contesting the Lebanesenation, both locally and through the medium of global media. Amongst a disillusionedand skeptical youth, the Down Town’s transformation into an opportune stage and settingfor political power games further undermines its position as a shared public space forreconciliation. A “Garden of Forgiveness” may be located symbolically at the heart ofthe city center, yet there is little room for such encounters given the current climate ofpolitical tension and communal mistrust.

PLURALITY AND FRACTURE

Beyond contradictory accounts that either celebrate the Down Town’s new public spacesor berate its exclusive logic and artificial design are discourses which question the notionof one “rehabilitated centre.” For many students, Beirut has multiple informal “counter-public”44 spaces that emerged during the civil conflict and continue to provide uniqueurban subcultures, reproducing cities within a city. One such district is Hamra, “the realand true Down Town Beirut,” according to one Lebanese University student. Hamra is

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home to the prestigious American University of Beirut; a variety of theatres and culturalcenters; numerous bookshops and infamous coffee houses where rebellions, political par-ties, and ideologies were born. This intellectual and cultural hub, despite years of neglectand degradation, remains a popular meeting place for students from all backgroundsregardless of class, religion, or politics. Although Hamra is also subject to gentrifyingimpulses, with global chains and brands replacing local cafes such as the Modca (2003—Vero Moda) and the Horse-shoe (2007— Costa Coffee), it remains, in the words of Diana,a 21-year old student from the Lebanese University, “one of the most authentic districtsin Beirut. It is multifaceted and due to the mixed nature of its residents there is morespace for discussion and free expression.”45 The emergence of civil society groups, rec-onciliation centers, and artistic communities in Hamra is not only owed to the district’sliberal history but is a consequence of the constraining visions inscribed into Beirut’sDown Town. Perhaps it is Hamra’s lack of urban planning and official governance thathas enabled this unofficial center to become a postwar space that allows citizens to ex-press themselves and contest future visions. In the words of Rami Daher, an architect andacademic, “Hamra is becoming a kind of symbol which rejects the Solidere model, andthis is why it is becoming very popular amongst the intellectual crowd within the city ofBeirut.”46

Another significant urban center, the antithesis of Hamra, is the sprawling southernsuburbs of al-Dahiyya, home to around half a million inhabitants, in just 16km2 of con-densed urban space. Al-Dahiyya conjures up endless images, opinions, and myths, and asLebanese American anthropologist Lara Deeb affirms:

To nonresidents, mention of al-Dahiyya often elicits such responses of discomfort,ranging from caution mingled with curiosity to outright trepidation: responsesbuilt on stereotypical associations of “al-Dahiyya” with poverty, illegal construc-tion, refugees, armed Hizbullah security guards and secret cameras, and the “Shi’ighetto.” Such stereotypes obscure al-Dahiyya’s complexity. (2006:45)

The majority of students I interviewed held these implicit derogatory assumptions. ForHala, a third-year Greek Orthodox AUB student originally from the coastal city of Byblos,the district represents another world, a paradox existence only to be negotiated throughseparation, denial, and the redrawing of spatial boundaries: “Al-Dahiyya is very foreign.I don’t know where I am going, I don’t know the people. . . .It is not even part of Beirut,its part of a different district, the Jabal (the Mountain—Jabal Amal).”47 Yet regardless ofpersonal antipathy, many students acknowledged al-Dahiyya’s strategic national impor-tance, some out of fear of Hizbullah’s hegemonic “state within a state,” others out of aconviction that this neighborhood embodies the spirit of resilience and represents anauthentic Lebanese experience. Mohassin, a veiled, 22-year-old Lebanese University stu-dent from the Haret Hreik neighborhood, explains, “al-Dahiyya is the real beating heartof Beirut and the Arab world. Some people just see religious fundamentalism but we aregrappling with resistance, freedom and advancement; we have enemies on all sides andalways there is Israel.”48 Other, particularly Shi’i students, were keen to point out thatdespite little electricity (12 hours a day) or other municipal services, the suburb is thriv-ing commercially, with the opening of new shops, cafes, and restaurants. Indeed on thecongested junctions, images of Hizbullah martyrs and bearded clerics compete for spacewith billboards of Lebanese models and hairdressing salons. Similarly, fashion boutiques

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selling bikinis and miniskirts are to be found alongside Islamic bookshops and religiouscharities. Islamic modernity is being negotiated on al-Dahiyya’s streets in various guises:from the evolving fashion styles of “hijab chic” to the emergence of new mixed socialspaces for youth in trendy restaurants and internet cafes (Deeb, 2006). The dynamic pol-itics of urban reconstruction mix with political resistance. In the aftermath of Israel’smost recent devastating bombardment of al-Dahiyya in July 2006, Hizbullah establisheda private development agency, Waad49 , which has reconstructed 60 percent of the 200residential buildings destroyed in the war.50 In bypassing official planning processes andthe local municipal authority Hizbullah has appropriated reconstruction as a means tobolster local support, strengthen their de facto control, and expand the scope of Islamicresistance. As Mona Fawaz astutely explains, Waad differs from Solidere in that “ratherthan a private company with an eye for profit, it is a political entity looking for politicalcapital.”51 Al-Dahiyya’s reconstruction, therefore, offers an important contrast to Beirut’sDown Town, and indeed an alternative vision of Lebanon’s future.

While Hamra and Dahiyya represent very two very different “counterpublic” spaces incontemporary Beirut, should they be viewed as part of the city’s plural multicultural ur-ban fabric or rather a symptom of its war-induced fragmentation? The question persists,to what extent and under what conditions can public spaces and civic centers live up tosuch grand and totalizing demands? Can and should we expect Beirut’s reconstructedDown Town to help diffuse Lebanon’s post-war divides? Scholars and practitioners re-main divided on this topic. Scott Bollens (2007:233) in his book Cities, Nationalism andDemocratization stresses the potential for urban interventions to facilitate “inter-group co-existence” and “societal peace building,” constituting a “bottom-up approach able to com-plement a top-down peace-making negotiations”; providing Barcelona as an example ofcosmopolitan reimagining and Bilbao (a Basque city) as a case of communal consensus—building. On the other hand Varshney (2001), reflecting on ethnic violence in India, per-suasively argues that interethnic engagement in public spaces may be enough to maintainpeace in small rural contexts but in postconflict cities “interethnic civic networks” are re-quired to withstand exogenous communal shocks. The issue perhaps is less to do with theconstruction of cosmopolitan “shared spaces” than with the creation of diverse publicsthat allow for the formation of cross-communal ties (sectarian/political/class) and asso-ciations.

What remains evident from interviews with Lebanese youth is that there still exists anostalgic longing for a dynamic center inclusive of class, sect, and political allegiance,freely accessible and embracing Lebanon’s tensions and contradictions. This desire ismade all the more salient given the fact that Beirut is more religiously segregated nowthan ever before in terms of residency and educational patterns (Hanf, 2003; Khalaf,2006; Nasr, 2003). The physical walls and boundaries have vanished but they have beenreplaced with subtler signs and codes, flags, graffiti, banners, and symbols that continueto impact how Lebanese youth perceive themselves, distinguish others, and inhabit theirspatial surroundings. This is a dynamic kaleidoscope of changing social and identitymarkers: “no-go areas,” “confrontation points,” and “places/spaces of belonging and ex-clusion”; a “geography of fear” sustained not by artificial barriers but by “the psychology ofdread, hostile bonding and ideologies of enmity” (Khalaf, 2006:122). Political, religious,economic, and family disputes can all too quickly become territorialized, resulting inspatial contestation, blockades, and violence, impacting how citizens negotiate or imag-ine Beirut’s streets and neighborhoods. As Yasmine, a final-year Law student, confides:

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“On a recent bus journey I passed images of Nasrallah, Berri, Aoun, Jumblatt, Hariri.Each photo marked confessional boundaries; communities are defined by the bound-aries and markings on their walls. . .the posters carry memories of war and identity, theymake me feel different, I want to feel myself.”52 For Fouad, a 21-year-old student from theShi’i suburbs of Dahiyya, latent hostility and sporadic violence remain embedded alonghistoric battle-lines: “there is still a lot of fighting these days, particularly in troubled ar-eas between Ain al-Roumaneh and Chiyah. There are annual street confrontations whenLebanese Forces fight Shi’a and Palestinians to commemorate the beginning of the civilwar.”53 Other students refer to “trigger points,” such as rival football matches, universityelections, speeches by political leaders, regional, and international events (i.e., the Dan-ish Cartoon protests on 5th February 2006) that mobilize sectarian sentiment and createtangible tensions on the streets of Beirut. It is important to note that while a majority ofstudents often reject the concept of Beirut as a fractured city, their spatial patterns andfamiliarity with the city reflect economic and religious cleavages. As Rafik, a 21-year-oldpolitics student from Hagazian University, astutely explains, “Beirut was shattered by war;I’m not sure the pieces can ever be put back together. But we survive, adapt, live.”54

CONCLUSIONS

Although Beirut’s weaknesses in reconstruction may be likened to the plight of manymodern global cities, the consequences are rather more troubling. The rehabilitated cen-ter both embodies and extenuates Lebanon’s postwar failings: inequality, corruption, andsegregation. Architect Esther Charlesworth (2004) critiques Solidere’s “City as Heart” re-constructive vision that prioritizes an exclusive Down Town renaissance as a means ofreviving a destroyed city-body to the detriment of a neglected and marginalized greatermetropolis. Her “City as Spine” alternative suggests the need for a “dynamic and demo-cratic” approach, wherein Beirut’s reconstruction is part of “a longer, sequential pro-cess based upon the gradual implementation of a number of small regeneration projectsthat, in time, repair and strengthen the social and physical backbone of both the cityand its many communities’’ (2006:55). This urban critique clearly resonates with manyBeiruti youth, frustrated and disenchanted by Beirut’s newly created “island of wealth”built amidst the debris of underplanned, underfunded, and disconnected suburbs andneighborhoods. Nevertheless, any attempt to remake Beirut remains dependent on thewider Lebanese state building project and the ever-changing geopolitics of the region.Intractable issues such as decommissioning Hizbullah, strengthening the Lebanese army,tackling the patronage system, equal provision of social and public services, defining bor-ders with Israel, and relations with Syria will continue to impact upon Beirut’s urban andsocial rehabilitation. Beirut’s recovery is similar to that of other divided cities within con-tested states that are subject to regional pressures and international interventions, suchas Kirkuk, Nicosia, Belfast Mostar, and Jerusalem.55 Unlike Jerusalem, where the strug-gle is over contested national sovereignty (Israel and Palestinian Authority) and increas-ingly exclusive religiopolitical ideologies (Zionism and Islamism), Beirut’s battle lines aredrawn over the nature of the Lebanese nation-building project and the elusive search foraysh mushtarak or “shared life” within the confines of Lebanon’s consociational arrange-ments (Haugbolle, 2010; Young, 2010).

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The viability of Beirut’s rebuilt center therefore depends on providing a Lefebvrian“right to the city” for all its diverse inhabitants—with the recovery of public spheres andcommon spaces that allow for new forms of social engagement and encounter. As thisbrief study of Lebanese youth suggests, Beirut’s Down Town is offering a limited form ofshared space restricted to those who can afford it and more recently those politically mo-bilized enough to contest it. While many youth feel marginalized and excluded, the citycenter still manages to evoke an urban imaginary littered with fragments of loss, tales ofbelonging and destruction, stories of former cosmopolitanism, and prospects of futurehope. For the majority of interviewees access to the center will require the emergenceof new forms of urban resistance, civic participation, and multiple and complex negoti-ations with the historic past, thus challenging Solidere’s hegemonic vision and uphold-ing Lebanon’s fragile equilibrium. The next generation of Lebanese recognizes that na-tional reconstruction requires a rebuilt urban fabric and collective remembrance, whichbalances narratives of loss and suffering alongside those of recovery and redemption.For human rights consultant Adrienne Fricke, Beirut’s postwar rehabilitation must movebeyond erasure or sanitizing of the traumatic past, but include “educational and infor-mational programs that encourage continued civic participation and public discussionof Beirut’s urban and social history and the reconstruction efforts,” mobilizing negativeheritage for positive didactic and psychological purposes, as well improving “the chancesof consolidating a national Lebanese identity mediated through lieux de memoire of pub-lic spaces” (2005:177–8). Such optimistic proposals however must be measured againstLebanon’s continuing political instability, its illusive search for a consensual history ofthe war (Lebanon still awaits a unified history curriculum for schoolchildren), and thereality of competing war memory narratives that are still being contested and reappro-priated to suit political agendas, class interests, and sectarian discourses.56 Only a smallminority of Lebanese youth believe that now is the time to “remember so as not to re-peat” (tindhakar wa ma tin’aad —Arabic proverb), while the majority still favor the distanceand absolution offered by the “War of Others”57 conspiracy theory (the war was primarilyfought by external forces on Lebanese soil), or indeed the denial and fresh beginning of-fered by selective forgetting and social amnesia. Beirut’s recovery must inevitably involvean acceptance of contested pasts and a reimagining of shared futures, moving beyondthe nostalgia for the city’s cosmopolitan history to an everyday experience of social inte-gration and civic participation.

Notes

1 Concerning the reconstruction of Beirut, see Khalaf (2006) The Heart of Beirut—Reclaiming the Bourj; Kassir(2003) Histoire de Beyrouth; Jad Tabet (2001) Portrait de ville : Beyrouth; Peter Rowe and Hashim Sarkis (eds.)(1998) Projecting Beirut: Episodes in the Construction and Reconstruction of a Modern City; Angus Gavin and RamezMaluf (1996) Beirut Reborn; Khalaf and Khoury (1993) Recovering Beirut: Urban Design and Post-War Reconstruction;and Friedrich Ragette (ed.) (1983) Beirut of Tomorrow: Planning for Reconstruction

2 This includes a series of interrelated events such as the targeted assassination of Lebanese politicians andjournalists; sporadic clashes between March 8 and March 14 political coalitions; the Israel-Lebanon War of June2006; and the Hizbullah takeover of Beirut in May 2008.

3 Access to Lebanese schools and students was granted through personal contacts with teachers and headmas-ters, and with the help of conflict resolution centers and local civil activists. These included activists involvedwith the Centre for Conflict Resolution and Peace-building (CCRP) based in Hamra, Beirut, and “Umam Doc-umentation and Research” based in Haret Harek, Dahiyya.

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4 Lebanese political power-sharing arrangements are based on a historical “National Pact” (1943) that hasbeen reaffirmed under the Ta’if Accords (1989) and more recently by the Doha Agreement (2008). It providesfor a proportional sectarian quota of elected representations in Parliament, and a government structure madeup of a Maronite Christian President, a Sunni Muslim Prime Minister, and a Shi’ite Speaker of the house.

5 The names of interviewees have been altered to preserve their anonymity but I include certain backgrounddemographics (age, religious background, class, political affiliation, and residency), when made available tome, to provide contextual depth to the narratives.

6 For a detailed analysis of the polyvalent nature of transgenerational memory of the Lebanon war, see Larkin(2010) “Beyond the War? The Lebanese Postmemory Experience”; Khalaf (2009) “Youthful voices in post-warLebanon”; and Chrabieh (2008) Vois-es de paix au Liban –Contributions de jeunes de 25–40 ans a la reconstruction

nationale.7 ‘Beirut: Ancient City of the Future’ is a motto used in Solidere’s promotional literature.8 These expressions are all titles of books and articles written on Lebanon. See, for example, Hudson (1968)

The Precarious Republic; Gordon (1980) Lebanon, the Fragmented Nation; and Picard (1996) Lebanon: A Shattered

Country.9 Solidere’s master-plan seeks to “subdivide Beirut city center into ten sectors, each with its own character;

Involves the recovery of the public domain, with the installation of a complete modern infrastructure; Providesan urban design framework for new construction and for the restoration of preserved and historic buildings.”Specific projects include the excavation and restoration of Roman baths, Ottoman buildings, and Beirut’s oldpublic markets. Solidere’s webpage is found at http://www.solidere.com.lb

10 This law was defended on the basis that postwar reconstruction would be impossible due to the displace-ment, fragmentation, and dispossession that afflicted Beirut’s Down Town. In 1991 nearly 100,000 claimantscompeted for legal priority over a mere 1,630 parcels of land (Stewart, 1996:487). Solidere’s take-over resultedin original landholders receiving 65% of the total number of Solidere shares valued at $1.2 billion, while theremaining shares were sold to the Lebanese public. For further details on this process see Leenders (2004) andGebara (2007).

11 This phrase was undoubtedly an ironic reposte to one of Harriri’s most well used development slogans,bina’ al-bashar wa al-hajar –“rebuilding people and stones.” Cited by Ciezadlo (2007) “Sect Symbols,” The Nation,3 May. Available online at: http://thenation.com/doc/20070305/ciezadlo

12 Phrases and slogans from Solidere’s original master plan.13 See Khalil (1999) “Angry Property Owners Accuse Solidere of Bribing Judges,” Daily Star , 15 October.14Ohrstrom (2007) “Solidere: Vigilantism Under Color of Law,” Daily Star , 6 August.15 This workshop had to be cancelled due to the volatile political situation that enveloped Lebanon during

the summer of 2008.16 This theater officially known as the Beirut City Centre building is more commonly known by the terms the

“Bubble dome,” the “Blob,” and the “Egg.”17 Wilson-Goldie (2004) “Beirut’s icon of modernist architecture set to be revamped,” Daily Star , July 2.18 See webpage: http://studiobeirut.org/thelostroom/19 References to Solidere have been in the redevelopment projects in Damascus (Souk Saruja and Damascus

Boulevard) and Amman (Abdali).20 According to a 2010 report by the World Tourism Organization. For more details see http://www.unwto.

org/index.php21 Interview conducted on November 1, 2005.22 Interview conducted on May 12, 2006.23 The most notable example of this is Traoui’s (2002) Beirut’s Memory, which is a photographic survey of

Down Town Beirut before and after Solidere’s intervention, which juxtaposes images from 1990 to 2002.24 Interview conducted on December 6, 2005.

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25 Interview conducted on September 19, 2005.26 “Beit al-Madina to Recall Horrors of Civil War” (2008) Naharnet, 17 October.27 Wheeler (2007) “Is Beirut ready for a memory museum yet?” Daily Star , September 14.28Interview conducted on September 12, 2005.29 Over 80 Lebanese bridges were destroyed during the Israeli summer 2006 offensive.30 First interview conducted on October 25, 2005, and secondary discussion on December 2, 2006.31 The full quote taken from Gebran Tueni’s speech on March 14, 2005—during a mass demonstration in

Down Town Beirut, commemorating the death of Rafik Hariri: “I swear to God As a Muslim and a Christian Todefend my dear country till the death And to stay united with my brethren (to stay muwahadeen) Until my lastdays on earth Defending my great Lebanon (al a’zeem) .”

32 Interview conducted on October 10, 2005.33 Interview conducted on October 13, 2005.34 The South Beirut Souks opened in 2009 but for more details see http://www.solidere.com/souks2/35 From the IAmMyself.Me advertising campaign taken from the LeMall website— http://www.lemall.com.lb36 O’Dowd (2008) “Belfast in transition: from “city of the troubles” to post-conflict consumerist city,”, Annual

Conference of the Sociological Association of Ireland, National University of Ireland, Galway, 10 May.37 Interview conducted on October 15, 2005.38 Interview conducted on May 11, 2006.39 Interview conducted on October 11, 2005.40 Interviewed conducted on November 2, 2005.41 For more on the Garden of forgiveness see Alexandra Asseily (1998) and Khalaf (2006:160–162) and the

Solidere website: http://www.solidere.com/garden/42 One third of the Horch is open to the public and this is composed of children’s play areas, municipality

sports courts, and a car-park, often frequented by families having picnics. The remainder of the park has beenclosed by the municipal authorities since 1995 to protect the remaining pine trees and plants. For furtherdiscussion on the site see Fadi Shayya’s paper “Enacting Public Space History and Social Practices of Beirut’sHorch al-Sanawbar,” given at the 5th FEASC Proceedings AUB, 2006.

43 Interview conducted on March 2, 2006.44 Nancy Fraser (1990: 67) helpfully defines Counterpublics as “Parallel discursive arenas where members of

subordinated social groups invent and circulate counterdiscourses. . . .Counterpublics emerge in response toexclusions within dominant publics, they help expand discursive space.”

45 Interview conducted on November 1, 2005.46 Cited in an interview with Sarah Irving (2009) “Action and Activism: Lebanon’s Politics of Real Estate,”

Electronic Lebanon, 31 August. http://electronicintifada.net/v2/article10732.shtml47 Interview conducted on November 17, 2005.48 Interview conducted on April 22, 2006.49 Waad, or “promise” in Arabic, is a reference to a speech by Hizbullah General Secretary Hassan Nasrallah

made in July 2006 pledging to rebuild the devastated neighbourhood. Billboards at the reconstruction sitesechoed the same sentiment “Al-Dahiyya will be more beautiful than it was before.”

50 See “Waad rebuilds 60 percent of wrecked homes in Beirut’s southern suburbs” (2009) Daily Star 17 Octo-ber.

51 Cited in Irving, “Action and Activism: Lebanese Politics of Real Estate.”52 Interview conducted on September 19, 2005.53 Interview conducted on December 19, 2005 in Beirut. An illustration of the recurring violence in this neigh-

borhood, on October 6, 2009, George Abu Madi was killed during a street fight involving around 150 residentsof Chiyah and Ain el Roumaneh. For a more detailed report see Sarrouf (2009) “Rage in Ain al-Remmaneh

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after Tuesday night’s violence,” Now Lebanon, 7 October. Available online: http://nowlebanon.com/NewsArchive Details.aspx?ID = 118492

54Interview conducted on October 13, 2005.55 For a more detailed exploration of Divided Cities within Contested States see the series of working papers

provided by the ESRC project “Conflict in Cities” – www.conflictincities.com and the interdisciplinary work ofthe Crisis State Research Centre – www.crisisstates.com

56 See Craig Larkin, Memory and Conflict in Lebanon:Remembering and Forgetting the Past (London: Routledge,forthcoming).

57 The “War of Others” concept directly relates to Ghassan Tueni’s, former head of the an-Nahar newspaper,work Une Guerre Pour les Autres (1985), which examines the role of non-Lebanese factions (Syria, Palestinians,Israel, US) and the Cold War dynamics on the civil violence which consumed Lebanon from 1975 to 1990.

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Rehaciendo a Beirut: Desafiando la memoria, el espacio y el imaginario urbano de lajuventud libanesa (Craig Larkin)

ResumenA traves de los siglos, la ciudad de Beirut ha mostrado una capacidad ilimitada para rein-ventarse y transformarse a sı misma como consecuencia de la migracion, las conquistas,el comercio y los conflictos internos. En las ultimas tres decadas, el centro de la ciudadha pasado por momentos de violenta auto-destruccion, de renovacion comercial y, masrecientemente, de apropiacion como espacio de disputas nacionales a medida que las

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fuerzas opositoras llevan a cabo protestas multitudinarias y luchan por ganar espacio es-trategicamente importante. Aunque en investigaciones anteriores se han estudiado estosprocesos de transformacion y los principales actores involucrados, se ha prestado pocaatencion a la forma en que la nueva generacion de libaneses se relaciona con la recon-struccion de Beirut. Este artıculo se propone llenar este vacıo a partir de la exploracionde como la juventud de la posguerra recuerda, imagina y se encuentra con su ciudad enterminos espaciales.¿ De que forma el panorama de reconstruccion urbana de Beirut consus vestigios de guerra, sus reasentamientos y la transformacion de sus entornos afecta ynutre la identidad e interacciones sociales y las percepciones sobre el pasado? A partir delanalisis de Henri Lefebvre sobre la construccion social del espacio (percibido, concebidoy vivido) y la exploracion de las tensiones inherentes en el encuentro entre la juventudde la posguerra y el pasado como historia, memoria y legado, este artıculo presenta unimaginario urbano dinamico y complejo de Beirut. El analisis de lugares urbanos clave(Solidere’s Down Town) y momentos significativos en el tiempo (la Intifada de Inde-pendencia) revela tres tensiones recurrentes evidentes en la forma en que la juventudlibanesa interactua con la ciudad: dislocacion y liberacion, espectaculo y participacion,pluralismo y fragmentacion. Este artıculo busca motivar un debate mas amplio sobre elcaracter de la recuperacion despues de la guerra y la construccion de espacios urbanosrehabilitados en el contexto del consumismo global y las campanas de revalorizacion delpatrimonio.

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