Lebanon Mourns the Loss of Ziad Rahbani – A Voice That Echoed a Nation’s Soul
Nariman Alloush
Beirut – July 26, 2025: Lebanon awoke today to the silence left by one of its most iconic and uncompromising voices.
Ziad Rahbani, playwright, composer, pianist, and political satirist, passed away at the age of 68, leaving behind a legacy as complex, vibrant, and poignant as the country he so passionately portrayed.
Born in 1956 to legendary singer Fairuz and the late composer Assi Rahbani-half of the famed Rahbani Brothers duo-Ziad inherited the burden and brilliance of an artistic dynasty. But rather than merely continue the family tradition, he reshaped it. With razor-sharp wit and an unflinching gaze, Ziad became the voice of Lebanon’s disenchanted, the bard of its working class, and the chronicler of its fractured identity.
From his early theatrical masterpiece Sahriyyeh to his revolutionary Bennesbeh Labokra… Chou? (What About Tomorrow?), Rahbani built stages that mirrored Lebanon’s streets, politics, and contradictions. His plays were more than entertainment—they were fearless conversations with a nation at war with itself.
Musically, Rahbani was a genre-bending virtuoso. Blending jazz, classical Arabic, and protest music, he crafted songs that carried both the agony and absurdity of Lebanese life. Collaborations with his mother Fairuz in the 1980s—particularly the albums Maarifti Feek and Wala Keef—remain beloved classics across the Arab world.
But it was perhaps his voice-spoken or played-that resonated most. In smoky radio monologues, cynical sketches, and impromptu piano riffs in dim Beirut cafés, Rahbani spoke to and for a generation that lost faith in slogans but found refuge in satire, melody, and truth.
Known for his Marxist ideals and unwavering critique of sectarian politics, Rahbani’s life was a defiant ode to freedom of expression. He was not merely an artist; he was a question mark in a land that feared answers.
Today, tributes pour in from across the Arab world, remembering not only the genius of his art but the courage of his voice. “Ziad taught us how to laugh through pain,” said Lebanese author Hanan al-Sheikh. “And how to think, even when the truth was too heavy to bear.”
As Lebanon bids farewell to its melancholic jester and musical sage, his melodies linger—etched in vinyl, embedded in memory, and alive in every soul that dared, even briefly, to question the madness of it all.
In Ziad Rahbani’s own words:
“They wanted us to forget, but we sang. We sang because silence was a kind of death.”
Nariman Alloush: TV and Radio Presenter, Writer, Publisher, journalist and CEO at Bright lens media, and Mahabahu Correspondent, Lebanon

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