It’s hard to find an artist who more passionately uses the stage to advocate for his homeland than Saint Levant. At his concert in Washington, the venue was filled with fans wearing keffiyehs and waving Palestinian flags.

Born in Jerusalem to a French-Algerian mother and a Palestinian-Serbian father, he carries a richly layered heritage. At just 24, he has already performed at the prestigious Coachella music festival. This is the story of Marwan Abdelhamid — an artist for whom personal conviction holds as much weight as his solo career.

Marwan is a powerful example of the modern multilingual artist — a role shaped by his unique family history. He spent his early years in the Gaza Strip and later attended school in the United States. He spoke Arabic with friends, French at home, and English with his classmates.

His album "Deira" is steeped in nostalgic memories of childhood. It’s named after the seaside hotel his father built, its terracotta walls and each room adorned with handcrafted mosaic tiles. In November 2023, the building was destroyed in an airstrike — turning a place of beauty and memory into a symbol of loss.

With undeniable grief, he paints a picture of how this place used to look like:

Marwan’s work has been described as “meditation amidst the ruins.” Through Deira, he gives voice to the joys and sorrows experienced by Palestinians, inviting the world to listen more closely.

His art challenges the simplistic narratives often imposed on his people, reminding audiences that Palestinian identity is far more complex than political symbols or worn-out stereotypes.

While performing at Coachella, Saint Levant described the album’s concept as “a journey to Gaza” — a journey of return, of reckoning, and of rebuilding from the ground up.

Just a year and a half ago, the artist was performing for no more than 150–200 people in a small basement venue, accompanied only by his friend Henry. Today, his shows draw crowds of over 3,000, supported by a full technical team, including lighting and sound designers.

Marwan admits that he’s never fully satisfied with what he’s achieved—he’s already envisioning venues that can hold 5,000 to 7,000 people. Yet he reins himself in, determined not to get swept up in a hollow chase for fame.

Saint Levant isn’t afraid to experiment with his image or challenge conventional ideas of what an “Arab young man” is supposed to be. On this journey, he has the unwavering support of his parents. “Your life is a form of resistance,” his mother tells him. “Never place limits on yourself,” encourages his father.

Marwan’s music, by his own admission, is deeply personal. He cannot remain silent in the face of his people’s suffering, and that emotional truth inevitably lends his work a political dimension. This sense of responsibility has made him a powerful voice of his generation — a thought leader who, despite his young age, is both heard and respected.