Beirut Urban Lab: Mapping Urbicide and the Erasure of Memory

What began as an undergraduate mapping project for Ahmad Gharbieh, inspired by his deep interest in urban spaces, popular signage, and visual graphics, evolved into his role at the Beirut Urban Lab—an interdisciplinary research space analysing urban issues and socio-spatial phenomena. At VCUarts Qatar’s “Ruins, Derelicts & Erasure” exhibition, Beirut Urban Lab presents its critical mapping research on violence in Gaza, the West Bank, and Lebanon’s southern border, shedding light on “urbicide”—the systematic destruction of urban, social, and cultural networks to erase collective memory.

Ahmad Gharbieh’s fascination with Beirut’s informal neighborhoods began with his daily walks to school and later to college, where he absorbed details of urban life. This later informed his approach to mapping as a medium that merges graphic design and geography to document and analyse cities. His work underscores the relationship between urban transformation, political conflict, and visual culture, demonstrating how mapping can serve as both a research tool and a method of resistance.

Currently an Associate Professor and Convener of the Graphic Design Program at the American University of Beirut, Ahmad co-founded Beirut Urban Lab, leading the Critical Mapping research track. His scholarly work in critical cartography employs mapping and data visualisation to examine security, militarisation, territorial geographies, displacement, urban recovery, and political violence. The Lab’s work expands beyond academia, engaging with activists, policymakers, and urban planners to create informed strategies for rebuilding and resistance.

Mapping Urbicide in Gaza, the West Bank, and Lebanon

Curated by Meriem Aiouna and Dina Alkhateeb, the “Ruins, Derelicts & Erasure” exhibition features three animated data visualisations tracking urbicide in Gaza, settler-colonial violence in the West Bank, and escalating military operations in Lebanon.

Ahmad explains, “Since October 2023, Palestine, Lebanon, and the region have been at the center of global attention. Already affected by over 75 years of ethnic cleansing in Historic Palestine, these localities are bearing renewed violence by the Israeli state. Beirut Urban Lab has been tracking this violence to counter dominant media narratives by coding and visualising data on Gaza, the West Bank, and Lebanon’s southern border.”

A key part of the project involved creating a geo-referenced base map of Gaza’s urban fabric before October 7—something previously unavailable.

Additional data was gathered from various sources to identify institutions, infrastructural utilities, green and open spaces, as well as heritage and archaeological sites. This enabled the monitoring of damage down to the building level – a unique contribution in relation to other representations of damage in Gaza – and a precise stratification of damage readings across the base-map layers. The data collected provides clear evidence of urbicide: the deliberate destruction of buildings and infrastructure in ways that also disrupt social, economic, and cultural networks, displace populations, and erase the collective memory associated with place.

The exhibition shows the moving snapshots, supported by static methodological descriptions and macro readings, are synchronised over an almost year-long timeline as they catalogue the hostilities at different temporal rhythms.

The Mapping of Ouzai: A Personal Perspective

Ahmad’s passion for mapping began with his final-year project on Ouzai, an informal neighbourhood in South Beirut. He was captivated by its dynamic nature—vernacular graphics, diverse economies, and organic spatial relationships—and decided to map it. Through this, he documented economic sectors, signage, visibility of the sea, and panoramic perspectives.

Through his mapping, Ahmad documented various economic sectors along the strip—furniture workshops, fish markets, car repair shops, and even a junkyard. He also explored the visibility of the sea from different alleys, the signage and calligraphy found throughout the area, and panoramic views that captured the essence of the place. What started as a documentation exercise soon turned into a deeper understanding of the city.

One revelation was the unspoken efficiency of local businesses—no two adjacent car service shops provided the same service, demonstrating an informal yet highly organized economic system.

Ouzai, like many informal settlements, was home to displaced communities—people who had moved from South Lebanon and the Bekaa Valley during the Civil War.

“To outsiders, the neighbourhood might appear chaotic, unplanned, or even neglected. But through mapping, I realized that what seemed like disorder was, in fact, a complex and highly functional urban system. This process made me question conventional definitions of “informal” urban spaces. Does a neighborhood lack structure simply because it wasn’t planned from the top down? Or does it have its own intrinsic order, shaped by everyday life and organic development?”

The realization was the springboard for Gharbieh’s lifelong passion for critical mapping.

Mapping as Resistance: Beirut Urban Lab’s Activations

Ahmad’s involvement in this kind of work dated back to 2006, during the Israeli assault on Lebanon. At the time, a small, ad hoc team came together to document daily bombings and their impact on vital infrastructure—something that was largely absent from mainstream reporting.

“We meticulously tracked strikes, mapped damaged roads and bridges, and disseminated our findings online. These maps gained significant traction, even being referenced by politicians and media, demonstrating the power of visual data in countering dominant narratives,” explains Ahmad.

With the escalation of violence in 2023, Ahmad and his team at the Beirut Urban Lab realized the urgency of continuing the work in a more structured and technologically advanced way.

“At the Beirut Urban Lab, we leveraged GIS technology and data analytics to track military strikes, measure their intensity, and map patterns of destruction across different regions. Initially, our focus was on Lebanon’s southern border, where we recorded daily strikes and their proximity to civilian areas. However, as violence intensified in Gaza, we also turned our attention there, recognising the unprecedented scale of destruction. At the same time, we noticed a sharp rise in daily settler-colonial violence in the West Bank—arrests, home demolitions, targeted attacks, and military raids—which received far less media attention. To ensure these acts were documented, we developed a dedicated platform that categorised violence in a way that reflected the power imbalances on the ground, distinguishing between settler-colonial aggression and acts of resistance,” he says.

But most importantly, Beirut Design Lab took into consideration the contextual differences and identified critical data which were not focused on by media outlets: “To support this work, we sourced data from ACLED (Armed Conflict Location & Event Data Project), a global database on political violence. However, we recoded the data, ensuring it accounted for contextual differences that standardised datasets often overlook. For example, while ACLED might classify a projectile attack in the same way regardless of whether it was committed by an Israeli settler or a Palestinian civilian, our methodology placed these events within their broader socio-political context. This allowed us to produce maps that more accurately represented the realities of occupation and resistance,” he says.

“Additionally, once satellite imagery from UNOSAT became available, we launched a comprehensive damage assessment of Gaza, beginning with the creation of a detailed, pre-October 2023 digital base map—something that did not previously exist at the building footprint level. This allowed us to progressively track destruction over time, mapping damage to homes, infrastructure, cultural heritage, and green spaces.

The impact of mapping has been significant for Beirut Urban Lab. Journalists, researchers, and humanitarian organisations frequently relied on their platforms to access real-time, evidence-based information.

“Media outlets, both local and international, have used our data to investigate issues such as the use of phosphorus bombs, which cause long-term environmental damage and are banned under international law. The ability to provide verified, visualised data has positioned the Beirut Urban Lab as a crucial resource in both immediate crisis response and long-term urban recovery planning.”

“Ultimately, our goal is to use mapping as a tool for justice—documenting destruction, resisting erasure, and shaping more equitable urban futures. Through these initiatives, we hope to influence policy, inform public discourse, and contribute to recovery strategies that prioritise human rights and spatial justice,” he says.

The Emotional Weight of Mapping Destruction

Engaging in such research is not without emotional toll.

Ahmad reflects,“There was no stepping away because the violence continued relentlessly. For those of us with personal ties to these areas, every data point carried an emotional charge beyond academic analysis. Being from southern Lebanon myself, the weight of tracking the escalation there was deeply personal.”

At times, it felt like an impossible task—one that made Ahmad and his colleagues question how much more they could take. But interestingly, the nature of the work also created a sense of detachment.

“Because it is data-driven—focused on counting, measuring, mapping—it brought an analytical distance that, paradoxically, provided a kind of coping mechanism. Numbers and categories can be cold, clinical, even abstract, making it easy to lose sight of the fact that each data point represents human lives, communities, and irreversible loss,”

“That’s why we constantly reminded ourselves why we were doing this and for whom. We made it a priority to bring our analysis back to the people affected, weaving in personal stories and anecdotal evidence to counteract the dehumanising effect of data abstraction. This was essential not only to maintain our own connection to the reality on the ground but also to ensure that our work could contribute meaningfully to the future—whether by informing media narratives, supporting advocacy, or shaping a people-centered approach to recovery and rebuilding. Now, as discussions about reconstruction begin, we see this work as an archive—one that preserves the memory of these places and the scale of their destruction, not just in numbers, but in lived experiences.

A Beacon of Hope

In times of crisis, it can often be hard to see a path forward. The weight of challenges can overshadow the potential for change. But for the team at Beirut Urban Lab, one particular instance to collaborate on a municipal recovery plan after a devastating ceasefire reinforced their belief in the value of their work—and gave them a much-needed sense of hope.

An academic from Beirut University, who was working on municipal governance structures involved in developing a reconstruction master plan for the city reached out to Beirut Urban Lab to collaborate.

Ahmad says, “It wasn’t just about the projects we had done before—it was a recognition that what we’re doing has a real impact on the city’s future. Being seen as one of the primary points of contact for such a crucial project was both humbling and motivating.”

What truly brought a sense of fulfillment to Beirut Urban Lab during this collaboration was the opportunity to influence the direction of the reconstruction strategy. In a city where recovery often follows top-down approaches that overlook the nuances of local communities and their heritage, this partnership allowed the team to advocate for a more inclusive and people-centered recovery strategy. The organization pushed for an approach that was not just about rebuilding buildings but about reconnecting communities to their shared intangible heritage and social practices—elements often lost in traditional recovery plans.

The Lab’s work goes beyond physical spaces; it acknowledges the layers of culture, history, and social dynamics that form the fabric of urban life. They worked not only to ensure that the data and tools they had created were available for the recovery plan but also to be a part of the larger conversation, offering guidance on how recovery should be done in the future.

In a time when Beirut’s future often felt uncertain, this collaboration brought a small but meaningful sense of hope.

Ahmad expressed, “It’s incredibly rewarding to see our work being utilized to guide the future of Beirut’s recovery. When you spend so much time creating tools and gathering data, it can sometimes feel abstract, like you’re not making a tangible impact. But seeing that data and those visualizations being used in such a meaningful way, to influence real decisions about the city’s future—that’s powerful. It brings a sense of accomplishment that’s hard to put into words.”

For Beirut Urban Lab, this was not just a project—it was an opportunity to lead by example. It allowed them to show that recovery isn’t just about rebuilding the built environment; it’s about restoring the connections that make cities truly vibrant—connections between people, place, and history.

Ahmad concluded:  “It’s hard to feel satisfaction with everything going on in the city, but moments like this remind us that our work does matter. It shows us that the value of what we do extends beyond the immediate, and that we’re helping to shape the city’s future in ways that are meaningful. It’s a small beacon of hope in what is often a very dark time.”

For Beirut Urban Lab, the satisfaction derived from this experience wasn’t about receiving praise or recognition. It was about knowing that they were part of something much larger—an effort to rebuild not just the city’s infrastructure but its very soul.