In recent years, the cable car project has become a focal point of debate about the future of Trieste. With a ruling by the Regional Administrative Court this September, it has entered yet another chapter. For the past four years, citizens and outside observers have followed the story like a soap opera—full of twists, turns, and unexpected plotlines. The project has split public opinion, deepened the rift between city hall and residents, distracted attention from other pressing development issues, and drained energy from both the administration and civil society.
So what is the purpose of this controversial project? It was conceived as a solution to the difficult road access to the city from the north, from where around 2,000 vehicles enter Trieste every morning during rush hour. The idea is to ease congestion by providing parking on the Karst plateau near Opicina and linking it to the city center via a fast cable car connection.
We tend to associate cable cars with ski resorts rather than urban transport, but the concept isn’t as far-fetched as it sounds. There are only a few urban cable cars in Europe—one of the longest is Téléo in Toulouse, France—but they are far more common in Latin America. The best-known example is the Metrocable system in Medellín, Colombia: six lines, 20 stations, more than 22 million passengers per year, seamlessly integrated with the city’s metro system. The key to the success of all such projects is exactly that integration—fast, simple transfers between cable cars, buses, and trains, allowing passengers to complete their entire journey using public transport.
Trieste’s plan, however, doesn’t seem to follow this model. None of the proposed cable car stations currently offers convenient connections to city buses or trains. For someone driving to Opicina whose destination isn’t right next to the planned stops at Bovedo, the Old Port, or behind the Miela Theatre, the cable car wouldn’t be an attractive option. It’s therefore unsurprising that many see the project as primarily catering to tourism—which, after all, is one of its official objectives.
How did the project end up at the center of public controversy? The first mention of a technical study for the cable car appeared in one European project in 2019. By spring 2021, it was already included in two municipal documents and in Italy’s National Recovery and Resilience Plan (PNRR), at the municipality’s request. Yet none of these documents provided for public consultation once the project was added. The cable car was presented to the public for the first time only in December 2021. What followed was predictable: a strong backlash from civil society, mass demonstrations, and a series of legal battles.
The project thus became part of official city and national plans before it was ever publicly discussed—let alone debated in any depth. That was the crucial mistake, the spark that ignited the conflict. Timely and transparent communication, combined with genuine dialogue that includes everyone affected, is in fact the quickest route to social consensus. It may take time, but it allows all stakeholders to share responsibility for the outcome and move forward together. City leaders may have viewed the cable car as a brilliant transport solution, but the project’s obvious social and environmental implications made rushing it not just unwise, but almost a guarantee of failure.
At this stage, the municipality has very little room to maneuver. There is practically no space left for compromise. If the city tries to push the project through at all costs, the conflict will only deepen, and the legal and political wrangling could drag on for years. The only way to restore legitimacy would be through a referendum—but that carries major political risk, since some polls suggest that nearly three-quarters of residents oppose the project.
Let’s hope those in charge have learned an important lesson about managing major urban development projects: they can’t succeed without broad coalitions, and they can’t bypass the public. The problem is that technocrats often don’t believe this—and for some politicians, conflict can even be useful, a way to shore up their electoral base. But as the Slovenian musician Pero Lovšin once said, “There’s another way.” Perhaps it’s time for Trieste’s civil society to take the city’s development debate into its own hands.
Originally published in Primorski dnevnik, 23 October 2025.