The Restful Record: Beirut, Lebanon

Welcome to The Restful Record—your destination for relaxation and deep, restful sleep.

Tonight, settle in as we take a slow, soothing journey through the rich history of Beirut, Lebanon. From its ancient Phoenician origins to its rise as the Paris of the Middle East, and through the turbulent years of the 15-year civil war, this episode gently unfolds the city's fascinating past in a calming, tranquil tone—perfect for unwinding or drifting into sleep. Whether you’re looking for a sleep aid or a moment of tranquility, let the history of Beirut guide you into a relaxed state.

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Podcast cover art image by Eric Nopanen.

Transcript

Welcome to tonight’s episode of The Restful Record. This season we take a gentle journey through time, exploring the stories of different cities around the world. Before we dive into tonight’s city, let's take a moment to relax. Close your eyes, settle into a comfortable position, and take a slow, deep breath in through your nose... hold for a moment... and then exhale slowly through your mouth. Let the weight of your day melt away as you breathe in calm and breathe out any tension. With each breath, feel yourself sinking deeper into relaxation. Now, as we drift through the history of tonight’s city, let the soothing rhythm of my voice guide you into a peaceful slumber.

 Imagine the scent of salt and cedar carried by the wind. The year is somewhere around the 15th century BCE, and the shores of the eastern Mediterranean are alive with voices—merchants bargaining, shipwrights hammering, and the hum of a city taking root. This is Beirut, long before skyscrapers and traffic, when it was little more than a cluster of wooden homes and clay brick workshops, a settlement founded by the legendary sailors and traders of the ancient world: the Phoenicians. They came with their swift ships, carrying cargo and ambition, carving out a place for themselves in history.

 Among them might have been a young boy named Adon, the son of a trader who had sailed from Tyre in search of new opportunities. He would watch in awe as his father haggled over purple dye—so precious it was fit only for kings—or unloaded amphorae filled with olive oil and wine. Nearby, artisans worked with ivory and glass, perfecting crafts that would one day be envied across the known world. This settlement was small, but its heart beat with the promise of something greater: a city destined to stand for millennia. The city, called Berytus, became an important trading hub in the Mediterranean.

Founded by the Phoenicians but conqured by the Romans in 64 CE, under Emperor Augustus, t Berytus transformed, gaining fame for housing one of the empire’s most prestigious law schools, attracting students from across the Mediterranean. It was here that the future governors and legal minds of Rome honed their craft, shaping the laws that governed millions. Imagine a young scholar, arriving from a distant province, awed by the city's grand colonnades and bustling markets. He would have walked through the Forum of Berytus, where magistrates debated cases and traders bartered goods from as far as Egypt and Gaul. The city, gifted to veteran soldiers of Augustus’ legions, had a unique Roman identity—a little piece of Rome on the Levantine coast.

But Berytus was not just a city of law and learning; it was a city of resilience. In the year 551 AD, a catastrophic earthquake struck, rkilling tens of thousand and educing much of its grandeur to rubble and silencing its famous law school. Survivors like Julia Domna, a widow of a Roman official, might have stood among the ruins of the grand theater, where once crowds had gathered for performances and debates. She would have seen the once-thriving harbor littered with broken columns, ships smashed against the shore. Yet, even as Berytus fell from its former glory, its legacy endured. The Roman infrastructure, the legal principles forged within its walls, and the spirit of its people left an indelible mark on history. Today, beneath the streets of modern Beirut, archaeologists uncover remnants of this once-mighty city, whispering stories of its Roman past to those who will listen.

In the 7th century CE, the bustling coastal city of Beirut found itself at the heart of a sweeping transformation as Muslim armies under the Rashidun Caliphate advanced across the Levant. The city, long under Byzantine rule, fell to the forces of Yazid ibn Abi Sufyan, a trusted general of Caliph Umar, during the Islamic conquests. The transition was swift yet profound, marking the beginning of Beirut’s integration into the expanding Islamic world. Under the subsequent Umayyad rule, the city became a fortified outpost, guarding the Mediterranean frontier against potential Byzantine naval incursions. New governance structures took root, Arabic gradually replaced Greek as the administrative language, and trade routes flourished under more centralized control. These shifts not only altered Beirut’s political allegiance but also reshaped its cultural and economic landscape, laying the groundwork for its evolution into a key hub of the Islamic Mediterranean.

One of the defining figures of this era was Mansur al-Yahudi, a Jewish merchant whose family had lived in Beirut for generations. With the Umayyad administration encouraging commerce, Mansur found new opportunities in the expanding trade networks that connected the city to Damascus, Cairo, and even Al-Andalus. Though once reliant on Byzantine markets, he adapted to the shifting tides by fostering relationships with Muslim and Christian traders alike. His story mirrors Beirut’s own transformation—a city that, despite the upheavals of conquest, found new prosperity under Islamic rule. Over time, the fusion of Arab, Byzantine, and local Levantine traditions enriched Beirut’s cultural fabric, setting the stage for centuries of vibrant exchange. This period of Umayyad control was not just about military dominance; it was a time when Beirut, once a provincial outpost, began to rise as a crossroads of civilizations.

For over four centuries, from 1516 to 1918, Beirut transformed under Ottoman rule from a modest coastal town into a thriving Mediterranean port. When the Ottomans took control, they incorporated Beirut into the province of Damascus, but by the 19th century, the city’s importance had grown dramatically. Trade routes expanded, and European merchants flocked to its shores, drawn by silk production from Mount Lebanon and the city's strategic location. One of Beirut’s most influential figures of this era was Ahmad Pasha al-Jazzar, the Ottoman governor known for his iron-fisted rule and grand construction projects. Under his command in the late 18th century, fortifications were strengthened, and new roads were built, laying the foundation for Beirut’s commercial prominence. As European influence increased, so did modernization efforts, with steamships replacing traditional vessels and new infrastructure shaping the city's bustling harbor.

By the mid-19th century, Beirut’s fortunes were closely tied to global trade, particularly in silk, which was exported to France to feed its booming textile industry. The city became a cultural crossroads, attracting scholars, writers, and reformers who sought to modernize education and governance. The establishment of institutions like the American University of Beirut in 1866 signaled the rise of a new intellectual elite, including Butrus al-Bustani, a pioneering educator and linguist who championed Arab cultural revival. Yet, with prosperity came political tensions, as sectarian divisions deepened under Ottoman policies and European intervention. By the early 20th century, Beirut had become a hotbed of nationalist movements, and when World War I ended in 1918, Ottoman rule collapsed, ushering in a new era under French mandate. The city's transformation during these centuries set the stage for its role as a modern hub of commerce, culture, and political change.

In the early morning light of September 1, 1920, General Henri Gouraud stood before a crowd in Beirut, proclaiming the creation of Greater Lebanon under French mandate. For some, it was a promise of stability after the devastation of World War I and the collapse of the Ottoman Empire. For others, it was the beginning of foreign rule that would shape Lebanon’s political struggles for decades. Beirut, the heartbeat of the new state, became a city of contrasts—its bustling cafés filled with intellectuals debating the future, while its streets bore signs of growing resistance to colonial control. The French built schools, railways, and administrative offices, but their rule was met with unrest, as nationalist movements emerged, demanding self-determination.

By the 1930s, the call for independence grew louder. One of Beirut’s leading voices was Bechara El Khoury, a lawyer and politician who worked tirelessly to unite factions under the cause of freedom. Across the city, secret meetings were held in homes and bookstores, where journalists and activists like Charles Helou, a future president, strategized against French rule. Tensions boiled over in 1943 when the newly elected Lebanese government, led by President El Khoury and Prime Minister Riad al-Solh, unilaterally declared independence. In response, French authorities arrested them, sparking nationwide protests. Beirut’s streets swelled with demonstrators, and under immense pressure, France released the leaders on November 22, a day now celebrated as Lebanon’s Independence Day. Beirut, once a colonial outpost, had become the capital of a free nation—its resilience forever etched into its history. 

The Lebanese Civil War, which raged from 1975 to 1990, tore the vibrant city of Beirut apart, leaving deep scars that still resonate today. What was once a cosmopolitan and thriving capital, known for its stunning architecture and bustling streets, became a battleground between militias, foreign powers, and competing political factions. The war started in the context of long-standing sectarian tensions and economic disparities, which, when combined with the regional instability following the Palestinian Liberation Organization's presence in Lebanon and the Israeli invasion, led to violence that engulfed the entire country. In Beirut, this conflict was felt in every neighborhood, with the city divided into factions as militias took control of various zones, creating a "green line" separating the Christian and Muslim areas of the capital.

Beirut became a symbol of the war, a city at the center of the political and religious struggles that defined the conflict. In the western part of the city, predominantly Muslim areas were under the control of the left-wing militias, while in the east, Christian militias held sway. Families were often torn apart by these divisions, with people finding themselves on opposite sides of the barricades due to their sectarian affiliations. The siege of West Beirut in 1982, when Israel attempted to expel Palestinian fighters and their allies, was one of the darkest chapters. People living in the city witnessed bombings and gunfire daily, and many took shelter in underground bunkers as buildings were reduced to rubble. This brutal period became an indelible part of Beirut’s identity, where civilians were caught in a war they didn’t want but couldn’t escape.

Amidst the chaos, personal stories of survival and resilience emerged. One such story is that of Dr. Shafiq, a prominent Lebanese doctor, who continued to treat wounded civilians from all sides, even as the hospitals were being hit by shellfire. "I had no choice but to stay. If I left, who would help the wounded?" he recalls. He risked his life daily to provide care to victims of the war, refusing to take sides and offering his services to anyone in need. His dedication is a testament to the countless others who risked everything to help rebuild their shattered city. Beirut, though broken, witnessed acts of extraordinary humanity, where ordinary people—through acts of courage, compassion, and solidarity—resisted the war’s dehumanizing force.

As the war dragged on, the international community failed to bring peace to Lebanon, and Beirut’s people grew weary of the endless violence. But by 1990, after years of suffering, a fragile peace was brokered with the Taif Agreement, which officially ended the civil war. The scars of the conflict were deep, and rebuilding the city—both physically and emotionally—would take decades. Beirut is a city that has been scarred by its past, but it continues to rise from the ashes, a symbol of the resilience and strength of its people. The stories of those who lived through the war serve as a reminder of the costs of conflict and the enduring hope for peace in a place that was once the heart of the Middle East.

From 1990 to 2019, Beirut witnessed a remarkable transformation, a city that had once been ravaged by the 15-year-long civil war emerging from its ashes. The peace agreement signed in 1990, the Taif Accord, marked the official end of the brutal conflict that had torn Lebanon apart, but the scars were deep. Beirut, as the capital, became the focal point of recovery, yet its rebuilding was more than just bricks and mortar. It was the restoration of hope, identity, and culture. Despite the political instability and economic struggles that continued to challenge the country, Beirut slowly regained its pulse, with entrepreneurs and artists injecting life back into the city's vibrant streets, cafes, and galleries.

 One poignant story from this era is that of Rania, a young woman whose family had been displaced during the war. Returning to Beirut in the early 1990s, she saw a city in flux—old buildings mixed with new developments, and familiar streets teeming with a renewed sense of energy. Rania became part of a generation of young Lebanese who were determined to rebuild not just the physical city but also its social fabric. As Lebanon navigated a fragile peace, Beirut became a hub for culture and creativity, attracting international artists, musicians, and filmmakers who wanted to be part of the city's rebirth. Rania’s journey reflects the resilience of the people who refused to be defined by their past.

However, despite the city’s outward optimism, Beirut's path was fraught with challenges. The city was frequently caught in the crossfire of regional tensions and local political disputes. In 2005, the assassination of former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri sent shockwaves through Lebanon, igniting protests and sparking a series of political crises. The scars of war were never fully healed, and corruption and sectarianism continued to plague the system. Yet, the city's pulse continued to beat strong, with a spirit that refused to be dimmed by political deadlock or economic hardship. Beirut, in many ways, symbolized the struggle between light and darkness—constantly reinventing itself, even in the face of overwhelming adversity. By 2019, Beirut had become a symbol of hope for a region torn apart by conflict, proving that a city, like its people, can rise again from the depths of despair.

 In 2020, Beirut faced one of its most devastating tragedies when a massive explosion rocked the capital, leaving more than 200 people dead and thousands injured. The blast, caused by the ignition of improperly stored ammonium nitrate at the port, not only destroyed large sections of the city but also shattered the resilience of its people. In the wake of the explosion, Beirut’s residents – many of whom were already struggling with a crippling economic crisis – were forced to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives. Amid the wreckage, stories of courage and solidarity emerged, like that of Samar, a woman who lost her home but was determined to help her neighbors despite her own hardship. Through social media and grassroots movements, the people of Beirut called for justice and accountability, while also mobilizing to provide aid to those affected. The blast was a tragic reminder of the city's fragility but also highlighted the unbreakable spirit of its people, whose will to survive and rebuild was stronger than ever.

 As we reflect on these past years, the story of Beirut remains one of both heartbreak and hope. From the rubble of the port explosion to the ongoing economic struggles, the city has faced immense challenges. Yet, through it all, Beirut has proven time and time again that it is a city that cannot be easily broken. The voices of the people, whether in protest or in the quiet acts of rebuilding, continue to resonate. As we conclude this episode, we are reminded that the true strength of a city lies not in its buildings or institutions, but in the resilience of its people. Beirut, with its history of overcoming adversity, is a testament to the unyielding power of community, hope, and the belief that even in the darkest times, there is a path toward renewal.