Before many residents of southern Lebanon could determine whether it was safe to return to their villages, portraits of Ali and Mojtaba Khamenei had already reappeared on billboards lining the road to Beirut airport, accompanied by the words: “Thank you, faithful Iran.”

The paradox is not that images of Iranian leaders have reappeared in Beirut’s southern suburbs. That has been a familiar sight for years. What is new is the timing of their return to the very road from which the government announced, in April 2025, that it had removed political banners, flags, and party slogans, declaring that the capital’s main gateway should reflect the state rather than the influence of political parties.

More than a year later, following a devastating Israeli war, the billboards are back. The issue, then, is not whether the road looks more or less attractive, nor simply the image it presents to tourists. The real question is whether the decision to remove the banners marked the beginning of the state’s effort to reclaim public space, or merely a visual truce that ended after the war reshaped the balance of power.

What Is Iran Being Thanked For?

The billboards appeared after a ceasefire linked to a broader U.S.-Iran understanding that included halting hostilities along the Lebanese front, while the Lebanese state was simultaneously pursuing a separate negotiating track with Israel in Washington.

In this context, the phrase “Thank you, Iran” is more than a political slogan. It conveys an entire narrative: that Iran was the one that fought, the one that negotiated, and the one that brought the war to an end, with Lebanon serving as one of its arenas. 

This is the billboards’ central message. They do not simply suggest that Iran has allies in Lebanon. Rather, they imply that Lebanon’s sovereign decision-making can be transferred to an external negotiating table, only to return in the form of a ceasefire and a billboard expressing gratitude.

Meanwhile, residents of southern Lebanon are still waiting for answers about Israel’s withdrawal, the security of their villages, reconstruction, and compensation. Israel destroyed their homes and towns during a war that began after Hezbollah decided to link the Lebanese front to Iran’s confrontation. Yet the image displayed at the entrance to the capital does not ask about the cost of that decision. It declares its victory. 

More Than Just a Road

The airport road carries significance that extends far beyond its geographical location. It is Lebanon’s main gateway to the outside world, linking Beirut to the southern suburbs and southern Lebanon. For that reason, it has repeatedly served as a stage for displays of political and security power.

In May 2008, Hezbollah and its allies blocked the roads leading to the airport during their confrontation with the government of Prime Minister Fouad Siniora over the party’s telecommunications network and airport security. Closing the road was not a minor detail in those events. It was a demonstration of the ability to isolate the capital and sever the country’s main air link.

In February 2025, the same road once again became the focus of attention when Hezbollah supporters blocked it in protest after an Iranian aircraft was barred from landing in Beirut. The Lebanese Army intervened, turning the area once again into a battleground over what seemed like a simple question: Who decides what enters the airport, and who has the authority to challenge the state’s decisions?

Viewed in this context, the current billboards are not an isolated incident. They are part of a long history in which the airport road has been used to demonstrate that while the state exercises formal authority over the area, another force repeatedly retains the power to obstruct that authority or redefine it.

A Geography Bearing the Axis Names

Iran’s presence extends beyond the billboards. In 2020, the municipality of Ghobeiry renamed a street previously known as “Fantasy World” after Qassem Soleimani, commander of the Quds Force. The street lies between the old and new airport roads.

It runs alongside a road that long bore the name of Hafez al-Assad until the Council of Ministers decided, in August 2025, to rename it Ziad Rahbani Avenue.

The area surrounding Beirut’s main air gateway has thus become a microcosm of the struggle over Lebanon’s memory and identity: a Syrian president who exercised security control over Lebanon; an Iranian military commander who oversaw Tehran’s regional influence; a Lebanese artist whom the new government chose to honor; and the recurring images of Hezbollah and Iranian leaders.

Even the airport’s name carries another layer of this history. It is named after Rafik Hariri, who was assassinated in 2005 in an attack for which the Special Tribunal for Lebanon convicted three Hezbollah members of involvement, without establishing the responsibility of the party’s leadership.

The site, then, is far from neutral. It is a space layered with the names of the forces that have competed for influence over Lebanon’s political decision-making, rather than reflecting the authority of a stable state.

Not a War of Images

The scene may appear to pit images of Khamenei against those of President Joseph Aoun, or the slogan “Thank You, Iran” against “A New Era for Lebanon.” But reducing the issue to a battle of billboards creates a false equivalence between the state and a party that uses public space to declare its political allegiance to a foreign power.

The real test is not which image remains on the billboards. It is whether the state applies the same rules to everyone. Who rented these advertising spaces? Did the advertiser obtain the necessary permits? Are the billboards erected on public or private property? And will the Ministry of Interior and Municipalities enforce the same decision it implemented in April 2025?

Without answers to these questions, the earlier removal of the billboards becomes little more than a temporary cosmetic campaign rather than a genuine reclaiming of public space.

Nor does the rhetoric of restoring state authority become convincing if it is confined to billboards alone. State authority begins with control over the airport, border crossings, security, and military decision-making. It extends to negotiations, war and peace, and reaches all the way to the municipality that decides a street’s name and the authority that determines what may be displayed above it.

After the War: Weapons or Reconstruction?

Hezbollah’s continued influence cannot be explained by reducing Lebanon’s Shiite community to a single bloc or assuming a fixed sectarian loyalty. Over decades, the party has built an extensive network of institutions, services, political representation, and social protection, while tying a significant part of its support base to Iran politically, financially, and ideologically. Repeated Israeli attacks and the longstanding sense of vulnerability in southern Lebanon also created a genuine demand for protection, which Hezbollah leveraged to reinforce the legitimacy of its weapons.

The latest war, however, has put that relationship to a different test. Entire villages lie in ruins, families have been displaced, the economy is exhausted, and the state is unable to finance large-scale reconstruction, while Hezbollah remains committed to retaining its weapons and linking its future to Iran’s negotiations.

The question, therefore, should not be why Shiites display images of Khamenei. It should be how Hezbollah has managed to preserve Iran’s image as the ultimate guarantor, even after its decisions became part of the cost borne by the Lebanese, particularly the people of the south.

The more pressing question within Hezbollah’s support base is not one of loyalty versus betrayal. It is a choice between two competing projects: continuing to serve a regional military role that perpetuates war, or prioritizing the return of displaced residents, the reconstruction of villages, and the restoration of the state.

Iran’s images returned to the airport road with remarkable speed. The return of southern Lebanese to their homes and Lebanon’s recovery of its sovereign decision-making appears to be far more complicated.