The Promise of Infrastructure
Walking along the sidewalks of Tripoli, you might stumble upon an unusual sight: a miniature airport nestled around the base of a street tree. The words on the sign, “The Tripoli Airport Welcomes You,” are both a reminder of a city’s dreams and a wry critique of the unfulfilled promises of its sectarian leaders.
The Qoleiat Air Base, situated approximately 30 kilometers (18.6 miles) northeast of Tripoli, once operated as a joint military-civil airport serving the city and its surrounding areas. The airport was originally established in 1941, and was later developed by the Lebanese Army in 1966 as part of the Arab Joint Defense strategy (1). During the Lebanese Civil War (1975–1990), flight operations were significantly reduced. Following the end of the war in 1990, the airport’s civilian operations ceased entirely. In recent years, several studies have confirmed that the airport is technically ready to operate as a civilian airbase, requiring only maintenance, equipment, and funding (2). There has been ongoing debate within Lebanon's new government (formed on February 8, 2025) to restore the airport (3). It remains to be seen whether these promises will be fulfilled.
This diorama is the creation of Issa, a 32-year-old man who lives in Tripoli, El Mina, and worked at a kiosk (بَسْطة) on Riad Al Soloh Street, also known as Kazdoura Street. “This is my city," he proudly proclaims. "I was born and raised here. I love its people, and I wanted to decorate and beautify its streets.” When asked why he chose the airport as a theme, he replied that it is because “no airplanes land in our city.” His art carries a political message, urging leaders to consider reopening the Qoleiat Airport: “If they open this airport, we would have many job opportunities, and our situation would change.”
Although Issa has never traveled outside of the country, he recalls that when he was 15 or 16 years old, he visited Beirut, the capital, for the first time. He sat near the Raouche area, overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, a spot where planes can be seen approaching the Rafik Hariri International Airport—the only functioning airport in the country. “At the time, I didn’t even know we had an airport in Lebanon,” he says. “I sat there, watching the planes. They were so close you could almost wave to the pilot. The airplanes had a beautiful radiance—إلها بهجة حلوة. That’s why I wanted to create an airport in Tripoli, even if just as a miniature.”
Issa echoes a common question raised by residents of Tripoli: “This airport (Qoleiat) has been closed for decades. Why is that? Why is Beirut the only city that’s allowed to live?” His miniature installation depicts the local airport in full operation, with well-maintained paved runways, properly placed airfield signs, and a functioning parking area. It’s a vision of what could have been.
Infrastructure often comes with promises—mobility, opportunity, connection. But what happens when these promises are broken? After the civil war ended, political leaders have shirked responsibility for its reconstruction, either through ignoring it or deliberately withholding what was promised (4). What happens when cities like Tripoli are systematically deprived of functional infrastructure, leaving them marginalized and neglected?
Small Acts of Resistance
Street art has long been a tool for reclaiming public space, questioning authority, and amplifying marginalized voices. Egyptian artist Bahia Shehab, for example, used graffiti during the Arab Spring to send a message of protest on city walls, using spray paint and stencils. In an article for the TED Fellows Blog, she reflects on her approach, stating, "During the revolution, I and many, many other artists and activists were simply translating the emotions of the Egyptian people…" (5). In cities where marginalized voices are often silenced, street art challenges the status quo, reclaims space, and demands visibility. As Holly Eva Ryan (2016) explains, political street art remains "a loose category for interventions whose creative and material use of the street is in some way tied to their political meaning" (p. 5) (6).
In Tripoli, where public spaces are scarce and often privatized, these miniature installations aren’t just street art. Issa’s work is a personal act of urban intervention, a form of protest, and a reimagining of what efficient infrastructure could mean for a city like Tripoli.
Infrastructure policy is not just about material and physical development, it is also about who gets to decide what the city looks like, how it functions, and who it serves. For too long, that power has been concentrated in the hands of a few elites, including billionaires who continue to grow richer while the city sinks deeper into poverty.
The miniature airport is one person's artistic intervention, but it is also a reminder that people do not just need infrastructure; they deserve the agency to shape their own cities. This piece of art reminds us that the city belongs to its people. It belongs to Issa, selling coffee on his mobile cart, to the elderly man playing backgammon (طاولة زهر) in the shade of a tree, to the artists painting murals in Sahat El-Nour, to the woman walking her children to school, to the taxi driver sharing his unsolicited political analysis as he drives through the city’s streets.
Issa’s Self-Sustaining Home
After you pass by the airport diorama, you will find a second installation built by Issa: a miniature self-sustaining house designed using repurposed materials. It features a multi-level structure with small living spaces, pathways, and gardens, making it look like a small community. The space includes tiny plants and a fenced-in farm area with miniature animals. Issa explains that these animals were donated by a young girl who passed by while he was working and wanted to contribute to the project.
What makes this installation even more unique is its self-sustaining elements. The plants growing around it create a tiny ecosystem, while the structure is designed to make the most of its environment, resembling a home that could function on its own. Issa even added electricity by running wires through a straw and connecting them to his nearby kiosk, providing light at night so that people could view and appreciate the installation.
He shared that he dreamed of living in a house like this—one that was self-sufficient and full of life. If this were his real home, he said, he would never want to leave. Issa’s vision of home presents a lively alternative to the stark reality of Lebanon’s post-war condition. After the civil war, instead of investing in local production, agriculture, and sustainable infrastructure, the establishment - a mix of billionaire businessmen and former warlords - prioritized banking and real estate, making Lebanon dependent on imports and financial speculation. This approach left cities like Tripoli vulnerable to economic collapse and neglect. Issa’s miniature home reflects a different vision, one centered on sustainability, resourcefulness, and self-sufficiency. His work evokes what could have been, and what could still be in the future: a society built on self-sustaining communities rather than fragile, profit-driven systems.
When asked about the main message behind his art, Issa said, “I hope that everyone who is able will decorate the street they live in. This is our country. We want others to know that Tripoli is full of art, love, and dedication.”
So, the next time you walk through the streets of Tripoli, look closely. You might just find a tree base that tells a bigger story than any expensive billboard ever could. In the end, it’s not just about the infrastructure we have been given, it’s about the infrastructure we dare to dream of, and the cities we dare to build, even in miniature.
References
Dhaybi, J. (2024, August 15). مطار القليعات للطيران المدني: مطلب تاريخي يتجدد بمخاوف الحرب. Al-Modon. https://www.almodon.com/economy/2024/8/15/مطار-القلعيات-للطيران-المدني-مطلب-تاريخي-يتجدد-بمخاوف-الحرب
Dhaybi, J. (2024, August 15). مطار القليعات للطيران المدني: مطلب تاريخي يتجدد بمخاوف الحرب. Al-Modon. https://thisisbeirut.com.lb/articles/1308549/qlayaat-airport-now-or-never
Mokbel, L. (2025, February 18). Qlayaat airport: Now or never. This is Beirut. https://thisisbeirut.com.lb/articles/1308549/qlayaat-airport-now-or-never
Abi Akl, Y. (2023, September 20). Battle over Qlayaat airport heats up against backdrop of presidential elections. L'Orient-Le Jour. https://today.lorientlejour.com/article/1350037/battle-over-qlayaat-airport-heats-up-against-backdrop-of-presidential-elections.html.
Shehab, B. (2012, October). A thousand times no (TED Talk). TEDGlobal. https://fellowsblog.ted.com/a-revolution-is-not-an-event-its-a-process-b7446f4663eb
Ryan, H. E. (2016). Political street art: Communication, culture and resistance in Latin America. Routledge.
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