The LGBT Community of Beirut
The LGBT Community of Beirut
Sabina Amidi and Kayla Malahiazar: The LGBT Community of Beirut
In 2009 I was in Tehran as a journalist covering the post-election upheaval that ignited a short-lived uprising. On rally days, I marched a few blocks away from Freedom Square alongside fellow demonstrators with green ribbons fastened around their wrists, symbolizing their defiance of and opposition to the oppressive regime. After leaving the country, I couldn?t stop thinking about a particular young male protester. He too wore the icon color, but he also wore a rainbow wristband.
At the time, I knew little about homosexuality in the region. Did LGBT communities exist in the Middle East? Were they underground? Was there a city where people lived openly? I knew that Beirut was a fairly liberal city, so I decided to begin my investigation there, this time through the medium of film. Two years later, I prepared to shoot my first documentary feature, Out in Beirut.
Upon arriving, with no firm idea as to how to begin shooting, I aimlessly wandered through Beirut, a city scarred by civil war between rival political factions and Lebanon?s disputes with Israel. As the sun was beginning to set on my first night, I saw a line of veiled women at the steps of a mosque carefully removing their shoes as they prepared to enter for evening prayer. In the next neighborhood, music and laughter replaced the lyrical recitation of the Koran. I soon caught a glimpse of two young women in low-cut miniskirts and spiked heels smoking a cigarette outside one of the numerous bars on that street.
That night I met Dayna and Tina, who would become the main subjects of my documentary. Throughout the evening, they introduced me to their friends and the pubs where they all hung out. Their intimate embraces and playful flirtations as they greeted one another reminded me more of scenes in front of bars in New York or L.A. than the typical image of a Middle Eastern city. I was surprised by how easy it was to meet a group of young lesbians in Beirut.
As I sat with Dayna at a bar, I asked her if an LGBT community existed in Beirut. She twirled the spike of her lip piercing with her fingertips while trying to hold back a fit of laughter. ?Look around the bar.? I saw Tina leaning over the counter to give the bartender a kiss on the cheek as she ordered a drink. Beside her, a girl dancing on the bar seductively lowered herself to greet Tina and invited her to join. Dayna told me, ?This is our bar.? They seemed to know everyone there. Women danced freely on the sofas that lined the walls. Their rebellious antics completely took me off guard. These women did not seem to live in fear of societal and government repression. In fact, they were the most visible and outspoken members of the gay community in Beirut. They made a spectacle of themselves wherever they went, especially at parties, bars, and clubs.
These women would arrive at events as a group, clearly letting the public know that they were there. The gay community formed a protective circle within the crowds of other Lebanese partygoers. At a rave I attended with them, the repetitive beat of the bass put them in a trance-like state, and yet they remained aware that they were among friends. With each flash of the strobe light more people appeared. I caught glimpses of kisses on cheeks and hugs as the group expanded. And when the night turned to morning, the party didn?t stop.
Unfortunately, the nightlife bred drug culture. I watched the women pop pills throughout the night and take frequent bathroom breaks to snort lines of cocaine. Heated plates of cocaine, heroin laced joints, ecstasy, and a never-ending supply of hash marked their weekly activities. The girls continued to unapologetically cross boundaries that I had previously thought were impermeable in the Middle East.
One afternoon, I asked Tina and Dayna if, despite appearances, they were afraid. Tina said, ?Of course, we have so much to be afraid of.? Homosexuality is a criminal offense in Lebanon. Article 534 of the Lebanese Penal Code, which states that any sexual act ?contradicting the laws of nature? is punishable by up to a year in prison, has been used to prohibit homosexuality. If caught performing such acts, individuals also face charges of prostitution, sodomy, and adultery, all of which are punishable by law. I spoke to women in the community who had experienced police brutality, as well as domestic violence. One told of an attempted stabbing by her mother, another of being raped by policemen, and yet another of men who attempted to murder her on a local bus route. Such stories only touch the surface of the hate crimes that go unreported in Lebanon.
But the women of this marginalized community did not hide so far underground that they couldn?t see the light of day. Instead, they formed a social movement that exploited the nightlife. Partying gave them a sense of solidarity, and allowed others to join them above ground. I came to Beirut knowing no one, but within twenty-four hours of meeting Tina and Dayna, I was recognized on the street and began to feel at home within their community.
Out in Beirut is being developed by Shadow Magic Studios for an expected release this December. This piece was co-authored by Kayla Malahiazar, assistant director of the documentary.
