For too long, the road from Beirut's Rafic Hariri International Airport offered arriving travelers a troubling first impression: a visual declaration of factional dominance rather than national unity. Billboards and banners glorifying Hezbollah’s top brass, Iranian commanders, and Gaza leaders lined this stretch of highway, asserting a political identity that does not represent all of Lebanon.

That has now changed.

In a striking and symbolic transformation, the same road—stretching from the airport entrance, through Assad Avenue and the tunnel leading to Sports City—is now draped in the Lebanese flag. Gone are the partisan faces and slogans. In their place are national emblems and hopeful messages declaring the birth of a “new era for Lebanon.”

It’s more than a facelift. It’s a rare assertion of Lebanon’s collective identity—something that feels increasingly fragile in a country long splintered by sectarianism, regional power plays, and foreign influence.

There’s nothing coincidental about the timing. With the Easter holiday season and summer fast approaching, Lebanon is preparing to welcome thousands of expatriates and tourists. The rebranding of the airport road is clearly intended to make a good impression—and it does. But beyond aesthetics, it raises a deeper question: What kind of country do we want visitors to see? More importantly, what kind of country do we want to be?

This isn’t the first time public space in Lebanon has been co-opted for political messaging. Just a few months ago, ahead of the funeral processions for Hezbollah’s Hassan Nasrallah and Hashem Safieddine, the same billboards were filled with their portraits and party slogans. The imagery sent a clear message: "This space, this road, belongs to us."

But this week, that message has shifted. Now, the road into Beirut belongs—at least visually—to all Lebanese.

That symbolism matters. In a nation as politically fractured as Lebanon, visual language can be powerful. Flags, colors, and slogans shape perception and influence identity. And for once, Lebanon is speaking in a unified voice—even if only along a single stretch of highway.

Will it last? That remains to be seen. But for now, this modest shift in imagery is a welcome change. It reflects a yearning for normalcy, for unity, and for a state that presents itself not as a proxy for foreign powers, but as a country standing on its own.