In the face of restrictions and censorship, free expression and the desire to leave one’s mark in some form or another are indicators of the degree to which are entrenched liberties among peoples. Graffiti, with its different schools and subversive characteristics, is one such form. Following slow beginnings in Tunisia, graffiti invaded streets and walls following the revolution of 2011, only to collapse today into a state of near-death, an inevitable consequence of the resurgence of restrictions, repression and authoritarianism.
For over two decades, Tunisia’s walls had eyes and ears: they only tolerated advertisements, street names or avenue numbers. In the 1990s, thirty years ago, the Ben Ali regime was at the height of its reign. And it was during this period when walls in cities across the United States opened up to welcome drawings and graffiti. In the 1980s, modern graffiti was already in style in a number of European cities. In Tunisia, walls remained blind and deaf to this art form until, in the beginning of the 1990s, the hands of anonymous artists began to leave their mark. The regime was alarmed by the sight of words written in charcoal across walls of the medina in the capital: poems and slogans carrying a political connotation. These works survived but a few short hours before the walls were entirely repainted.
Genesis
As the Ben Ali regime gradually tightened its grip on society, graffiti as an art form advanced very slowly. In contrast, a number of cities throughout the world had taken on the look of open-air art galleries.
This book creates an unprecedented archive of murals but also of graffiti artists in Tunisia. It is not merely a simple compilation of artwork by those the State sometimes considers “vagabonds.” Street art is not merely spray paint on a wall, but a form of deeply ingrained activism. It is an appropriation of spaces once confiscated, a way of feeling connected to a community, a country, a way to leave a creative mark. This book pays homage to artists who are often marginalized, who risk being forgotten over time, just like their artwork. Through this project, Ghimagi and Louati hope to help ensure the legacy of this fleeting art form.
Ameni Ghimagi, in collaboration with Ilyes Louati, set out to identify what remains of graffiti art in Tunisia, in a book entitled Heat Hit, sponsored by the program Innawaation. As Ghimagi shares with Nawaat:
Graffiti was born in the 1970s in the United States, inspired by hip hop culture. In Tunisia, it is the fruit born of multiple trajectories, an intersection of hip hop, heavy metal and the Ultras culture. After the fall of the Ben Ali regime, the revolution saw an alliance grow between art and the passion which animates soccer stadiums, creating fertile ground for Tunisian graffiti; both were areas that Ben Ali had endeavored to control.
With the fall of Ben Ali, Tunisia was liberated from fear, and so were its walls. Until May 2011, portraits of Mohamed Bouazizi and the former president Ben Ali, created using stencils, covered the walls of a number of Tunisian cities.
In July 2011, eight graffiti artists entered inside a villa belonging to one of Ben Ali’s sons-in-law and painted political messages on the walls. Three of them had already depicted the Tunisian revolution, its demands and the refusal of the return of figures of the former regime. These messages were expressed on walls very early on. More than simple graffiti, these were veritable mural archives. In fact, two sit-ins were organized to demand the preservation of graffiti which covered the walls of the seat of government at the Kasbah.
Ghimagi continues:
After the revolution, the walls became a space for expression for graffiti artists. Three collectives emerged during this era: Ahl al-Kahf, Zwewla and Molotov. Their pieces all carried political messages.
During this time, Tunisia was at the height of its political process. Beji Caid Essebsi had taken the reins of government prior to the first elections organized outside the authoritarian government and its party in power; these were the elections of the National Constituent Assembly. Tunisians feared a fatal regression. This was well expressed in the work of the collective Ahl al-Kahf, whose artists relayed the demands of the revolution in the style of reputed graffiti artist Banksy, and used images which symbolized a refusal of the return of “the police state,” as it is called in Tunisia.
For five years after the revolution, walls clearly embodied the will to pursue resistance on all fronts, opposing the return of authoritarianism and dictatorship. Since its creation in 2012, the collective Zwewla has chosen to defend the poor. Very quickly, it clashed with authorities. On November 3, 2012, Oussama Bouajila and Chahine Berriche were arrested for graffiti on a wall in Gabes bearing the inscription: “Ezzawali (the poor man) in Tunisia is living dead.” Bouajila and Berriche were accused of having written on public property without authorization, having violated the state of emergency and diffused false information threatening public order. Their lawsuit continued until April 2013 before accusations of violating the state of emergency and diffusing false information were dropped. They were finally sentenced to a fine of 100 dinars.
Sabâa Znaqi, a neighborhood of the region of Djebel Jelloud, in the southern suburb of Tunis, is the site of a unique experiment in Tunisia. The labyrinth of its streets shine anew with the graffiti that colors its walls. The director of the neighborhood’s local Cultural Center talks about the birth of this experiment and the social impact of this art project.
Graffiti’s golden age
The path tread by the creators of graffiti in Tunisia has not been an easy one, despite the expansion of freedoms after the revolution. In January 2016, Dalenda Louati, researcher at the Higher Institute of Arts and Crafts of Sfax, was arrested for graffiti on a wall of the company SIAPE in Sfax. The image in question depicted a weapon turned upside-down, whose cannon looked like the factory’s chimney, symbolizing the suffering of residents due to the pollution caused by this industrial plant. Louati was subsequently released.
According to Abdallah Tekaya, a graffiti artist of the first generation, the initial phase ended and gave way to a new era of graffiti in Tunisia. This “golden age,” as Tekaya calls it, took place from 2017 to 2020. “I began practicing graffiti in 2014,” he tells Nawaat. “I came from the world of hip hop. When I was young, I helped to found the rap group RT 73. That’s why the world of graffiti is not foreign to me.”
Graffiti’s so-called “golden age” can largely be explained by the multiplication of spaces welcoming meetings between graffiti artists and events dedicated to this art form. Certain pieces were even depicted on stamps issued by the Tunisian Postal Service. According to Abdallah:
During the era of the second generation of graffiti in Tunisia, we were some twenty artists who always kept in touch. We would meet during graffiti events, when we would discuss and exchange ideas. We imposed our presence both within society and before the State. Graffiti opposes submission and taboos, even in the form of laws or public morality. Drawing on walls without authorization is considered an act of vandalism, even aggression, whereas graffiti defines it as an act of resistance, a form of protest and expression of refusal.
Over a three year period, graffiti artists had access to a number of spaces in order to cultivate their art. Authorities hoped to make a truce with these rebel artists by allowing some of their work within the scope of projects to decorate walls or bridges. But they never succeeded in completely domesticating them. The proof: graffiti by the Manich Msamah movement covered walls during the drafting of the administrative and financial reconciliation law. Also, portraits of Omar Laabidi filtered out of soccer stadiums to find their place on city walls, denouncing police impunity after the drowning of young Laabidi, a member of the Ultras group North Vandals whose death was attributed to police officers.
Sociology researcher Sofiane Djaballah explains to Nawaat that youth from working-class neighborhoods complain of spatial exclusion. This is why they have appropriated walls upon which they paint, rendering them their own space. In this way, they create a universe that is private and familiar to youth. Graffiti, like other forms of youth expression such as Ultras groups, is a prime example of a tool for protest. Indeed, Ultras groups have widely used it to oppose the government. This symbiosis took a major turn when these groups left the stadiums and permeated the public space, especially through murals that supported causes, as in the case of Omar Laabidi. Djaballah adds:
From New York to London, Paris to Caracas, to Tunis and Beirut, graffiti has always been a source of concern for governments in place. They have never been able to get a handle on this art in spite of intervention by municipalities to remove graffiti from walls. It is easier for them to control other forms of political contestation, because graffiti expresses itself more freely and permeates across all urban spaces. For example, graffiti by Ultras groups on the walls of working-class neighborhoods does not constitute mere images, but defines the symbolic borders of these groups and affirms their authority over these territories. This demarcation can evolve into effective power over access to space as defined by graffiti.
Once again, walls hold no space for graffiti
In 2020, the conflict between Parliament and President Kais Saied was at its worst, foreshadowing the political crisis to come. The situation deteriorated during the Covid-19 pandemic, which saw the imposition of a curfew. The latter was lifted at one point, and then reinstated in 2021. A bad omen for graffiti artists.
In 2021, Ilyes Souihi, known as Trang, along with some twenty other graffiti artists, were prosecuted for having painted graffiti on the wall of the Tunisian Company of Electricity and Gas (STEG): “A group of graffiti artists and myself had obtained an authorization to paint on the wall of the STEG,” Souihi tells us. “We had begun working on the project, but couldn’t finish it, due to the confinement measures imposed during the Covid-19 pandemic. As soon as we resumed working once these measures were lifted, the police arrested us after a complaint was filed by the company.”
Souihi started practicing graffiti in 2018, during the period when a new generation of artists was emerging. But his passion for this art began when he was in high school:
I started through what is called “lettering,” meaning the art of drawing stylized letters. Throughout my journey, I completed murals carrying messages against what is going on in Palestine, for example, but also in Tunisia. That’s the reality that inspires me. I practiced graffiti during a time when graffiti artists were divided into two groups: one which turned towards commercialism, and the other which remained underground.
“Today, graffiti is fading away as artists pursue other paths,” Ameni Ghimagi observes. “The generation of founding artists, including those who were active under Ben Ali, has dispersed: most of them have left the country, while others have opted for a more commercial approach. As for the new generation, it has not lived through any political experiences, but its refusal to comply with laws requiring authorization to paint or write on walls is in itself an act of resistance. Graffiti artists who have continued to express themselves with the same spirit of resistance were arrested. Rached Tamboura is the most telling example of this.”
On January 8, 2023, Monastir’s Court of First Instance sentenced graffiti artist Rached Tamboura to two years in prison for “insulting the President of the Republic.” The artist had created an image of Kais Saied after the latter gave a racist speech targeting undocumented migrants. The drawing was accompanied by the word “racist.” Today, Tamboura is languishing behind bars as a result of this image. And on the same grounds, Abdallah Tekaya faces prosecution. He tells Nawaat:
Since 2021, I’ve had problems with the police in Monastir as a result of graffiti. In the beginning, it was simple threats. But that quickly turned into two lawsuits. The first dates back to January 18, 2021, when I was accused of creating a band of criminals, destruction and damage to property and violation of the confinement. The second was in April, after a member of Ultras Sahelianos in Monastir transcribed A.C.A.B. on a police car. At the time, I was the only person known to practice graffiti. The police searched my house at dawn, turning it inside out, confiscated my phone, my computer and the license plate of our old car. In the end, they beat me. They searched my phone, viewed the photos and found graffiti created by Rached Tamboura, the same piece which landed him in prison. That sufficed for them to accuse me of insulting the president and to beat me enough to break two of my ribs. I was held in detention for 15 days, despite the absence of any proof of my guilt. I was accused of insulting a civil servant and harming others on social media, owing to the graffiti of Rached Tamboura, even though I was no longer sharing it on any of my accounts.
Abdallah continues:
The problem for local authorities is my status as a graffiti artist, regardless of the messages contained in the graffiti. In Sbeitla, for example, I painted on the wall of an abandoned station, a place generally frequented by injectable drug users. The image that we painted on the wall represented a world renowned boxer who died from an overdose. For me, graffiti has never been simple drawings or pretty letters on walls; it’s deeper than that. This art is born from hip hop, and presents different forms of resistance and awareness-raising. When the government is absent and abandons its mission to educate youth or its commitment to health, for example, graffiti comes to fill in the gap, delivering messages where mediocrity prevails, or in the midst of a pile of garbage. It’s a true form of resistance.
The period from 2021 until today represents the twilight for graffiti in Tunisia, for two reasons. The first is clearly political: the climate of repression and targeting of graffiti artists since 2021 has had a negative impact on this art form. Murals and images carrying messages of resistance, in all their forms, have faded away. The second, related to the first, is that during graffiti’s “golden age” between 2017 and 2020, artists were paid for the work, often by the government. Abdallah Tekaya adds:
Over the past five years, the number of events and support have decreased. What’s more, the State has attempted to rein in graffiti, an art form that is difficult to control, through official projects such as those launched to paint the walls of the Bridge of the Republic. At the same time, authorities still tried to impose the fine artists in its pay, encouraging them to enter into spaces generally occupied by graffiti artists. They pulled them out of art galleries to orient them towards walls and the public space in order to better monitor the messages carried in murals as they pushed real graffiti artists out of their territory. The result: murals which respect the rules of classic fine art, but which do not embody the spirit of graffiti.
The art form of graffiti in Tunisia has pursued a circular trajectory. It began with inscriptions written in charcoal against the Ben Ali regime, endured highs and lows, accumulating different experiences and fueling itself on the dreams of youth from working-class neighborhoods and the passion which animates the “virages” [stands behind the goals where Ultras typically gather] of soccer stadiums. For a long time now, it has faced bans and criminalization, followed by attempts to appropriate it.
Following a period in which it was revived and flourished, graffiti was surprised by the return of censorship and authoritarianism, forcing it to fall back upon former tactics: messages denouncing the confiscation of rights and liberties, and re-polarization of the public space. Walls tagged in haste are quickly painted over, the artists prosecuted, their phones and electronic exchanges searched, in flagrant violation of their privacy.
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