Out of Beirut… But Where To?

In a country burdened by an unprecedented economic collapse, a persistent financial crisis and a crumbling infrastructure, the resurrection of Kleyaat airport in northern Lebanon has the feel of a project carrying as many ambitions as questions. But beyond the political and media enthusiasm that has accompanied this initiative, a more fundamental question demands to be asked: does Kleyaat truly represent the most viable option for Lebanon, or has the real debate around a second airport in the country not yet begun?

This is not about opposing the project as such. Having a second airport in Lebanon is no longer a luxury, but a national, security and economic necessity. The experience of recent years has shown with stark clarity how exposed the country becomes when it depends on a single airport, whether in times of war, security crises, or under the mounting operational pressure bearing down on Beirut airport. The principle commands near-universal agreement. The disagreement starts with a different question: why Kleyaat? And why now?

Geographically, Kleyaat airport holds undeniable advantages. It has an existing runway, is located in a region desperately in need of development projects, and remains relatively close to the coast and the main road networks. But geography alone does not suffice to define national priorities.

When a project of this scale is placed on the table in a state with limited resources, it becomes legitimate to ask whether the economic and strategic feasibility studies have genuinely weighed Kleyaat against other options that have been on the table for years — chief among them Rayak airport in the Bekaa.

Rayak's proponents argue that this site would offer Lebanon an aerial gateway in the depth of the territory, removed from the coastline and the northern borders, and more naturally oriented toward the Arab hinterland. The Bekaa also forms a geographical hub connecting north to south and east to west, which would give any airport built in this region a national dimension capable of transcending regional considerations.

On the other side, Kleyaat's advocates maintain that Lebanon does not merely need additional airport infrastructure, but a development project capable of breathing new life into a region weakened by decades of marginalization. The debate then shifts from an economic question to a political one: is the airport conceived to serve air transport, or to restore a development balance between the regions?

The problem is that the Lebanese state has yet to offer a clear vision that answers this question. Airports are not simply runways, but components of a national strategy for transport, economy and investment. When countries that succeed build new airports, they do so within an integrated network encompassing ports, highways, industrial zones, logistics platforms and regional development plans.

In Lebanon, the debate sometimes gives the impression of turning around the airport while setting aside everything that surrounds it.

The question of the project's timing equally raises legitimate concerns. Lebanon today is not merely facing a transport crisis or congestion at Beirut airport, but a financial and structural crisis of rare depth. Public debt is heavy, foreign investment remains timid, and the major economic reforms are still stalled. In this context, the question is no longer only whether Lebanon needs a second airport, but whether this project represents the most urgent priority when set against the files of electricity, water, public transport and reconstruction.

This is not to say the project is unnecessary. On the contrary, it may well figure among the most important strategic undertakings Lebanon will need over the coming decade. But its success will not be determined by the decision to resume operations: it will depend on its capacity to integrate into a comprehensive economic vision.

This is where the core difficulty lies. Lebanon has a long history of projects conceived more as political symbols than as economic instruments. Competition between regions, confessions and political forces has more often than not taken precedence over purely technical and economic debate. It is therefore necessary, today, to ask the question plainly: did the choice of Kleyaat prevail because it is the best option for the country, or because it is the most compatible with the political balances currently in place?

Kleyaat may indeed be the right project. And Rayak, or another site, could prove more relevant over the long term. But the real problem lies not in the name of the location — it lies in the absence of a serious national debate on the criteria of choice themselves.

Countries do not build their airports on the basis of internal geopolitics alone, nor on balanced regional development alone, nor from isolated security considerations. They do so on the basis of a coherent vision that defines where Lebanon intends to stand economically in twenty or thirty years.

This is why the debate around Kleyaat should not be confined to the number of flights, the volume of investments or the jobs expected. It is, in its deepest nature, a debate about the way Lebanon makes its decisions. Are major projects still built according to the logic of political balances and communal power-sharing, or has the country finally begun to embrace strategic planning?