Tyre: a city in the sea

Part of the Fertile Crescent, South Lebanon is among the most archaeologically dense landscapes on earth. It is also, at this moment, the target of Israeli air strikes, and its heritage is under threat.

The land is a palimpsest of human civilisation. It is a crossroads of civilisations, vital to the study of the Phoenicians, Persians and Assyrians, Greeks and Romans, Alexander the Great, early Christianity, Byzantines, Crusaders, Mamluks, Ottomans and more. It is second to none for layers of history. Since last week, the city of Tyre, among the oldest continuously inhabited cities on earth and one of the most historically important sites in the world, has been emptied. The evacuation notice arrived overnight to panicked residents, displacing almost the entire population of the city and surrounding districts. Tens of thousands took to the road at the same time, many with nowhere to go. Then the bombing started. It continues.

UNESCO designates Tyre a site of Outstanding Universal Value, linking it to what it calls ‘important stages of humanity’: the introduction of the alphabet to Greece, the construction of the Temple of Solomon, the Phoenician art of navigation and exploration of the Mediterranean and beyond. The city’s greatness was famed even in antiquity. Herodotus travelled to Tyre specifically to visit its temple to Melqart and was told by the priests that the city had already stood for 2,300 years. Alexander wished to pray in this same temple. Ezekiel likened the glory of the city to a treasure ship. Virgil eulogised the Tyrian towers. The Anastasi papyrus, discovered in ancient Egypt and dating to 1200 BC, described Tyre as ‘a city in the sea’. William of Tyre, the great historian of the Crusades, knew he was dealing with something special, and in his meandering chronicle of deeds done beyond the sea, he dedicated more than ten pages to the illustrious history of the city – and that was all by the 12th century.

The archaeology of South Lebanon has always been imperfectly understood; excavations at Tyre were only seriously begun in the 20th century, and the submerged quarter of the old island city has barely been touched. There is no telling what remains to be found. Bombs destroy the unexcavated record as surely as they destroy standing monuments, and the unexcavated record, once gone, is gone absolutely. Since March 2026, strikes have already been confirmed within the buffer zone of the World Heritage Site itself, near the hippodrome. This site boasts a Roman triumphal arch, the second-largest hippodrome in the world, an aqueduct and an ancient necropolis spanning multiple civilisations, including the largest Phoenician cremation cemetery ever discovered. While the major structures still stand, the museum itself and the artefacts it houses have been damaged.

I have spent many months in Tyre. I know what the city looks like in the rosy dawn light, when the fishermen – who still carry the Phoenician genetic trace – sail their boats out of the harbour looking for the daily catch, just as their ancestors have done for five millennia. I know the smell of the harbour, the way sunlight catches on the Roman columns that protrude from the waves encircling the old city. I know the view from Alexander’s causeway. I have excavated with the archaeologists as they unearthed a new Roman temple – perhaps to Melqart – in a previously unexcavated location, and waited with bated breath on the summer solstice to see if the sun sets in the centre of the altar, and celebrated with them when it did. I have swum over the submerged Phoenician harbour, run my hands over Bronze Age limestone blocks that once formed the jetty from which those fast Phoenician cedarwood ships were launched, criss-crossing the entire Mediterranean and beyond. I have spent evenings idling along the coast, surrounded by oleander and bougainvillea, drinking beers with my feet in the sand, and watching the sun set over the sea. I have sat with the last four elderly nuns in the city – chatting with them about their lives – and drunk thick coffee in the homes of their Shia neighbours, while children and kittens tumbled at my feet.

There is no doubt that Lebanon’s heritage, both material and otherwise, is in peril. Multiple UNESCO World Heritage Sites are within the geographic scope of conflict. Many have been given ‘enhanced protection’ by UNESCO – but in practice this seems to amount to a sign or two, and a strongly worded letter.

The ineffectiveness of UNESCO’s protection in this region can be measured clearly at Chamaa, a 12th^t-century Crusader citadel in the hills of Mount Amel. The citadel housed a shrine venerated by both Christians and Muslims – one instance of a pattern of shared sacred space that runs deep through this landscape. When Chamaa was first struck, UNESCO upped its protection to the highest level available under international law. It did not help. In May, ICOMOS confirmed the citadel had been systematically demolished, and UNESCO has verified new damage. Chamaa has not been the only casualty: the Ottoman-era souks of Nabatiyeh have been razed, as have entire villages, including their historic monuments and places of worship.

In March I attended the opening of a new exhibition on Byblos – another Lebanese Phoenician city – at the Institut du Monde Arabe in Paris. The exhibition itself was excellent, exploring the many layers of Lebanese history. That said, some of the display cases stood empty. Where artefacts should have been, a Throne of Astarte, a sculpture, a priceless stela, instead stood plaques reading ‘œuvre bloquée par la guerre’: artwork unavailable because of the war. The conspicuous absence of these artefacts represents the ongoing excavations now suspended, the archaeologists who have left, the objects that cannot be moved to safety, and the historic sites irrevocably damaged.

Ezekiel prophesied that Tyre would be destroyed and transformed into a bare rock, a place where fishing nets are spread, surrounded by the sea. Thousands of years on, Tyre remains a living city, rich in heritage – it is vital that it remains so in the future.