Demonstrators gather around the fist designed by Tarek Chehab. Photo Rami Rizk
It is the first symbol that we see: the fist thrusting into the sky, anchored in the ground of the revolution. Today, it is absolutely entrenched and unshakable; an indivisible component of this vital moment in the history of Lebanon. The fist is a cry, a promise and a landmark. The demonstrators, who have taken over Martyrs’ Square since October 17, discovered this piece of art almost overnight: a tight fist, tense and proud, that echoes symbols of revolutionary defiance around the world, most notably, Nelson Mandela’s raised fist.
The nine meter tall fist is now a witness to all of our concerns, our speeches and our revolt. It is the focal point of the (late) martyrs and the recent dreamers. We climb on the hand to the beat of DJ Madi K’s music in front of thousands of people caught up in their rage for survival and their thirst for life. We gather in front of the wreckage and mess left behind by the vandalism committed by spineless and cowardly thugs. The scraps and remains now sit at the foot of the fist like relics. We look to the fist tirelessly. We look at it as if we are hoping that its mere presence and simplicity will brighten our times of despair.
The “fist of dignity” was created by 32-year-old Tarek Chehab. He sits silently in a corner, away from the crowd of enthusiasts in the square, rallying around his “completely spontaneous” work. On yet another Sunday of protests in Beirut, he softly says, “Yes, I made this fist.”
It is an unusual place to meet. But it is also the perfect place to finally put a face and a story by this symbol of the 2019 revolution.
Spontaneously
"If someone had told me such a story, I would not have believed it," Chehab says. He graduated with a master’s degree in business from AUB, and also holds an international master’s degree in management from the IF Business School in Madrid. At 27 years old, he founded his own business called Styro 3D Designs that specializes in making 3D objects, animals and commercial products of all sizes out of wood, polystyrene, metal and Plexiglas for exhibitions, showcases and other events.
A proud citizen, and soon to be a father, Chehab, like all the others, had a dream that became an urge. He felt he needed to contribute, in his own way, to the peaceful uprising against the Lebanese political class.
He began by producing 300, 60 centimeter tall polystyrene cedar, which he distributed around Beirut. "It was not enough. I had to do it again for Jal el-Dib, and as I had scraps of wood, I decided to use them to make small fists of 35 centimeters. I did not invent anything. I searched on Google for ‘power hand symbol’, and I got this drawing that I reproduced as is," he says.
His creation has no relation whatsoever with the symbol of the Serbian student movement, Otpor, which played a decisive role in the fall of Slobodan Milosevic, according to Chehab. "Everything I did was spontaneous, without any ulterior motives,” he explains.
Larger, higher
Soon enough, these fists of 35 centimeter were no longer enough for the growing movement or for Tarek Chehab. When he started looking at the bigger picture, he decided to "make a huge hand". But the question was: where should it be placed? From his home, the young man has a bird's-eye view of Martyrs Square. The answer was obvious. "We will fix it on the post that supports the Lebanese flag," he remembers thinking.
It was as good as done. Well-skilled as a result of his professional experiences, and surrounded by his qualified team, he built the wooden structure in just 5 hours. The piece is made out of four huge planks of wood, which adds up to 1.2 meters and nine meters high, with a drawing on a white background, "because white takes in light extremely well," without any color so "no reference to any political party", and one single word: ‘thawra’ "with a typo that already existed”, Chehab explains. The construction cost about 300,000 LL, which Chehab paid for personally. "This was a personal initiative," he says.
On Friday, October 26, at 4:15, without any advance notice, Chehab and a group of volunteers took the initiative of lifting the huge fist and anchoring it in the core of the revolution. "I did not even know who to inform,” Chehab says about taking permission to put it up.
It took less than two minutes for the new symbol to find its natural home and to aim for the sky. "Nobody realized what was happening. Moreover, it took place during Hassan Nasrallah's speech... His supporters were busy listening to him," Chehab recalls.
During the first two days, the protesters did not really notice the structure. They did not react. "I did not want to force things or even post pictures on social media. I wanted everything to happen in an organic way," Chehab continues Then, the fist went viral and became the center point of this new world.
We know the rest, and history will probably remember it. A few days later, when Martyrs' Square became the target of a violent assault by a group of thugs who tried to break and burn the work of art. Fortunately, they did not succeed. Instead, they made the “fist of diginit” immortal.
With the rubble of this sad day resting at its feet, the fist has become the representation of all the protesters' demands; a heart that beats to the rhythm of their dreams, their hopes and their uncertainties. "One day, I will be able to tell my son (who will be born in February): ‘Look at what we did for your generation,’” Chehab concludes.
(This article was originally published in French in L'Orient-Le Jour on the 7th of November)
