If you want to understand the progress of LGBTQIA+ liberation in Lebanon’s capital, our nightlife is a great place to start, says Ghiwa Abi Haidar. In a blog for Pride month, she looks back at a scene that has suffered bouts of brutal violence and censorship but where queer people are today once again finding rare freedom and radical joy on the dancefloor.
It was 2018 when a friend took me to my first “gay” party in Beirut, a night I’ll never forget. I walked among people bold enough to express their identities in a city that can make you feel like you don’t belong. That night shifted something in me and my perspective on my city.
My relationship with Beirut has always been complicated. I see it both as a lover who held me in my darkest hours and as an angry man who lashes out on even my brightest days. But if there’s one thing that’s been constant, it’s how the city cradles me in its nightlife. The acceptance I felt at those parties has been unlike anything I’ve known.
Since that night, I’ve developed a deep connection to Beirut’s queer party scene, which makes me feel both seen and unseen, both special and invisible. It’s everywhere. It’s abundant. And it’s inclusive. Although the party scene in Lebanon has been known to be classist these queer parties include everyone: they don’t represent a single class, they represent a shared need, a need to find community in bad music, cheap alcohol, and sweat-drenched bodies.
The queer nightlife scene has cycled through censorship, repression, resilience and radical joy. The rhythm remains the same: we fall, we rebuild, we dance, we regret, then we return the next weekend to dance and love ourselves again.
Violence, backlash – and a community that won’t give up
On the evening of August 23, 2023, an extreme Christian group known as Jnoud El Rab (Soldiers of God) attacked a drag show in Beirut’s queer-friendly bar “Bar Om.” This violent incident left many in the LGBTQIA+ community, already vulnerable to Lebanon’s socio-political instability, shaken and traumatised. Many chose to leave Lebanon, while others repressed their identities or abandoned nightlife entirely
This attack came amid a broader political and religious backlash against LGBTQIA+ rights: calls for violence by religious and political leaders, bans on rainbow imagery in education, and efforts to ban media such as the Barbie movie on moral grounds, mirrored the worldwide rise of anti-rights and anti- LGBTQIA+ movements, fuelled by political and religious extremism. The attack on “Bar Om” also came on the heels of the Beirut Port explosions in 2020, which destroyed key areas that had historically been safe havens for the LGBTQIA+ community in Lebanon.
Rebuilding and resurgence
Two years later, in 2025, Lebanon, after a year of unrest and war, finds itself at a crossroads, both as a nation and as a community. After this period of devastation, it has been a time to rebuild, and that has included the LGBTQIA+ community. The community has seen a resurgence of LGBTQIA+ friendly venues in Beirut, reflecting the resilience of the queer community in the face of adversity.
Historically, LGBTQIA+ people in Beirut have used the city’s party scene as a means of expression, community-building and survival. In the early 2000s, Beirut’s queer community had its own clubs, such as Acid and Ghost, which both became iconic spaces until they were shut down by authorities.
‘In viewing the queer community solely as marginalised and oppressed, we overlook what we can learn from its resilience. We miss where this community flourishes and where it finds safety.’
Yet new spaces emerged, and the queer community has reasserted its presence. The party scene in Lebanon has always been unique in the Arab world, offering a rare sense of freedom. Beirut, often considered or romanticised as the cultural capital of the Arab world, has long relied on its vibrant nightlife and service industry to fuel its economy and sustain the livelihoods of its citizens.
Lessons for INGOs from the queer party scene?
A few weeks ago, I attended the screening of Mohammad Abdouni’s documentary “Treat Me Like Your Mother,” a documentary that tells the stories of five trans women as they navigate the Lebanese civil war. In the film, they recount how Beirut’s nightlife, including clubs such as Acid and Ghost, gave them empowerment during their darkest times. Em Abed, one of the women featured, poignantly said during the screening: “Embrace the freedom you have now. We would have loved to screen a queer movie. This was not possible before: some people died for this.”
What I find interesting about this is that, in viewing the queer community solely as marginalised and oppressed, we overlook what we can learn from its resilience. We miss where this community flourishes and where it finds safety. When we are tempted to lower our visibility, to speak in coded language, or fear speaking up for queer people, we need to remember they are already here, and many are not hiding.
The queer community already has tools and strategies that organisations and people looking to support it cannot recreate from scratch. It’s essential learn from them, engage with them, and understand their experiences not by assuming they are invisible, but by acknowledging their ongoing presence and work. Local NGOs have already begun this process, and that’s important. But international organisations such as Oxfam must not build our dialogue with the community based on assumptions or on what happens in other places.
For organisations who want to understand queer Beirut, the party scene is a doorway and its history is also a timeline of this community — a way to understand where it’s been and how to reach it. When you are queer in Lebanon, the party scene will find you mid-breakdown and hold you as you are. The dopamine rush won’t last but it might heal a part of you. One weekend won’t change your life: but it could shift how you see a city that often makes you feel like you don’t belong.
Ghiwa Abi Haidar is senior media and communications officer at Oxfam in Lebanon
This blog to mark Pride month in June has also been posted on Views and Voices.
Thank you! This was a spirits lifting article :-).
Thank you, Ghiwa, for sharing such a poignant and deeply moving story. It’s heartening to see Oxfam’s support for narratives like this, which highlight the resilience and strength of communities. It serves as a profound lesson for all of us.
In South India, as in other places, certain states may outwardly appear more traditional. However, recently, I’ve come across a music competition program that has been gaining popularity by bringing forward stories of and about transgender and other marginalized communities. These narratives compel us to reconsider our perspectives profoundly.
Any society that suppresses, marginalizes, or abuses even a small number of its members is entrenched in darkness. Such discrimination is not merely isolated but symptomatic of broader patterns of exclusion and systemic abuse. This story resonates powerfully in highlighting these truths.