I initially agreed completely with Shabjdeed. Saint Levant’s privileged, highly commercial version of Palestinian identity had always made me uncomfortable. But the diss raised a harder question: was I criticizing his branding, or deciding that only one type of Palestinian experience is authentic?
When Shabjdeed released “SLV,” a diss track aimed directly at Saint Levant, I immediately understood the criticism.
Saint Levant has always made me feel slightly uncomfortable. Palestine is central to his public image, but it often appears through polished visuals, luxury fashion, romantic music, political speeches, and carefully produced cultural symbolism.
Learning more about his background made that discomfort stronger.
Saint Levant was born in Jerusalem to a Palestinian-Serbian father and a French-Algerian mother. He spent his early childhood in Gaza, where his family owned the Deira Hotel, before moving to Jordan and later studying in the United States.
He is Palestinian, but he is also mixed, white-passing, internationally educated, multilingual, and significantly more privileged than many of the Palestinians he is presented as representing.
Shabjdeed comes from a very different reality.
Raised in Kafr Aqab and based in Ramallah, he built his career through Palestine’s underground rap scene. His music is shaped by local slang, restricted movement, street life, frustration, violence, and the everyday conditions of living under occupation.
Shabjdeed does not need to place Palestine around his music because Palestine already exists inside it.
What Shabjdeed Is Criticizing
The immediate tension may have been intensified by Shabjdeed and Saint Levant being booked to perform in Amman on the same night. However, there is no public evidence that Saint Levant personally chose the date to damage Shabjdeed’s concert.
The diss itself goes beyond ticket sales.
According to Al-Araby Al-Jadeed’s account of the track, Shabjdeed acknowledges Saint Levant’s talent before criticizing the contradiction between his position as a Palestinian cultural voice and a commercial image largely built around romance, sex appeal, fashion, and international celebrity.
The accusation is not simply that Saint Levant makes love songs. It is that Palestine has become part of what makes the Saint Levant brand valuable.
Palestinian artists should not be expected to only sing about occupation, death, and resistance. They are allowed to make romantic music, become famous, work with brands, and enjoy success.
But when Palestinian identity gives albums, fashion campaigns, beauty products, and celebrity appearances their cultural and emotional meaning, audiences are allowed to question where representation ends and commercialization begins.
Does Living in Palestine Give Shabjdeed More Authority?
When discussing the daily reality of Palestinians living under occupation, Shabjdeed clearly speaks with greater authority.
He has lived the checkpoints, restrictions, instability, and limited opportunities that shape life in the West Bank. He is creating from inside that reality rather than remembering it from a distance or translating it for international audiences.
Saint Levant represents something different.
He experienced Gaza during childhood, then grew up through displacement, memory, mixed heritage, and diaspora. His family left Gaza during conflict, and the hotel built by his father was later destroyed.
Both experiences are Palestinian, but they are not interchangeable.
Saint Levant is more credible when speaking about exile, childhood memory, displacement, and growing up separated from a homeland. Shabjdeed carries greater authority when speaking about adulthood under occupation.
The problem begins when one artist is promoted as though he represents every Palestinian experience.
Why Saint Levant’s Version Is Easier to Sell
The international music and fashion industries have found Saint Levant’s version of Palestine highly marketable.
He is conventionally attractive, white-passing, multilingual, internationally educated, and comfortable moving between Arab and Western spaces.
His version of Palestinian identity can be packaged through designer clothing, polished visuals, global festivals, romantic songs, and commercial collaborations.
That does not mean his connection to Palestine is fake. Saint Levant publicly spoke about Palestine before October 7, released From Gaza, With Love in March 2023, and discussed his childhood in Gaza years before the current war.
The stronger criticism is not that he invented his identity.
It is that a genuine identity can still become part of a commercial brand.
His success also raises questions about whose Palestinian stories receive international attention. Artists living inside Palestine often face restrictions on travel, funding, and professional opportunities, while the industry elevates a more privileged and internationally accessible figure as a leading Palestinian voice.
Maybe I Was Asking the Wrong Question
I started from the belief that Shabjdeed’s identity was somehow more credible because he continued to live under occupation, while Saint Levant’s connection came through childhood, heritage, and displacement.
But perhaps that assumption was part of the problem.
Palestinians do not come in one shape, live one life, or carry one kind of struggle.
Some live under occupation. Some grew up in refugee camps. Some were displaced as children. Some inherited memories of a homeland they have never been allowed to visit. Some are mixed, privileged, white-passing, internationally educated, or able to access spaces unavailable to most Palestinians.
Those differences matter, particularly when discussing power, representation, and which voices are amplified. But they do not automatically erase anyone’s identity.
Privilege should be examined, but suffering should not become an entry requirement for belonging.
Perhaps I was wrong to assume Palestinian identity becomes more legitimate through greater pain. Struggle should not be used to measure who belongs more.
We can question Saint Levant’s branding, commercial choices, and position within the industry without suggesting that only one Palestinian experience is authentic.
The real question is not which artist has suffered enough to be credible. It is whether each artist is honest about the experience he represents, and whether the industry leaves room for Palestinian voices that are less polished, less privileged, and harder to sell.
