A cello in the rubble of Beirut, music defies war

Among the gutted buildings and dust-covered streets of Beirut's southern suburbs, the grave timbre of a cello resounds at dawn. In Haret Hreik, one of the neighbourhoods of the Lebanese capital hardest hit by Israel's fury, Lebanese musician Mahdi Sahili chose to sit among the rubble and play two pieces by Antonin Dvorak and Aram Khatchatourian. The video, spread on social media, has gone viral. And it recounts with a few images the pain caused by the war, recalling other similar gestures born in martyred cities: the piano played among the ruins of the Palestinian camp of Yarmuk in Damascus by Ayham Ahmad and the cello of Bosnian musician Vedran Smailović who, during the siege of Sarajevo, played among the bombed streets, defying the snipers.

In the pictures Sahili appears sitting with his instrument amidst the still smouldering ruins of the neighbourhood, considered a Hezbollah stronghold and the scene of systematic Israeli bombardment. The area was destroyed in 2006 and has been repeatedly targeted by the Jewish state in successive rounds of war against the pro-Iranian armed movement. The musician does not live in Haret Hreik. But he says he feels deeply connected to this neighbourhood. 'The southern suburbs of Beirut are dear to my heart,' he says speaking to the Lebanese media. Thirty years old, educated at the Lebanese National Conservatory, Sahili works as a computer programmer for a living. 'Music occupies fifty per cent of my life,' he says, between lessons and small musical events. The video was recorded at dawn, during a short break between Israeli bombardments.

The musician stayed only a few minutes on Luce Street (Sharia Nur), in the heart of Haret Hreik. "I took a risk but I only stayed a quarter of an hour," he recounts. "Just enough time to play two songs, film myself and leave." For Sahili, the gesture is a message. "You can resist in many ways," he says. "Through culture, weapons or any other means. At the end of the day, it is still from our country!" In Arabic, the cello is sometimes nicknamed 'the voice of the sad old sage', because of its similarity to the frequencies of the human voice. "When you listen to it, it almost sounds like someone is talking," says Sahili, who cites Bach, Vivaldi and Dvorak among his favourite composers. In the notes played amidst the rubble of Beirut, the melancholy of a generation that grew up amidst economic crisis, political instability and recurring wars is reflected. But also, says Sahili, 'the will to stay and keep on living'.