When Murielle el Feghaly chose her path, she understood the road ahead would be tough. A 29-year-old Lebanese woman, she faced obstacles that many considered unsuitable for a girl. She moved from France to pursue a calling where two passions collide. Lebanon will always feel like home to her, yet her focus remains on building a career and reputation beyond its borders. Her belief is clear: she can be better, and she wants to prove it to her people. A striking contrast emerges between ambition and the limits faced by many young Lebanese citizens, highlighting a wider crisis of opportunity that has driven migration.
With dignity under constraint, she found it impossible to practice with the freedom she deserved in her homeland. The country has seen a massive outflow, with around 200,000 Lebanese leaving in the last five years. The mood shifted from resilience to a quieter despair as the crisis eroded daily happiness and eroded hope for the future. The World Bank has cataloged this as one of the most severe crises in recent history, and the economic collapse pushed many to seek a new start abroad.
life without life
Prices and exchange rates keep climbing, squeezing the everyday life of many. Ali Hammoud, a Lebanese Shia who left his homeland more than a year ago, now works in the finance department of a hotel a few hours from Doha, balancing his duties with modeling commitments. In Lebanon, plans for the future vanished into the present, leaving families preoccupied with survival. The choice to leave was not easy and was driven by the need to secure a dignified life for both himself and his family.
At a later moment, Aly Hammoud reflects on a World Cup appearance in Qatar, where he lived for over a year, underscoring the complex blend of personal ambition and migration. The decision to depart was not made lightly. The uncertainty of the journey weighed heavily, even for someone with strong ties at home.
Yet they are not alone. Beirut’s airport often becomes a scene of farewell that cuts deep, with departures that feel nearly irreversible. Immigration figures surged, with millions seeking new horizons between 2020 and 2021 and again in subsequent years. For many, moving abroad meant prioritizing education, career prospects, and a safer future for their children. In September of one year, data indicated that a large share of doctors in Lebanon had already left the country.
Escape by sea or air
Some faced days without electricity or reliable water systems, living on the edge as the Lebanese pound tumbled in value and inflation soared. Those who stayed behind faced stark choices, often tied to the difficulties of banking and savings, with most families barely surviving under the poverty line. A Gallup poll indicated that a majority of Lebanese desired to immigrate, and for those who could not leave by air, sea options carried grave risk. Across religions and ages, the consensus was clear: life in Lebanon had become unsustainable for many.
Experts now describe a new wave of migration across the Mediterranean. The first two waves years ago reshaped the region, driven by famine, war, or economic collapse. The children of those who stayed behind grew up watching their parents go abroad, and some eventually joined them, while others found new paths outside traditional destinations like Europe, the United States, Australia, and the Gulf. Turkey, Armenia, Georgia, and Serbia have emerged as significant alternatives for those seeking safety and opportunity. Several Western countries have tightened visa policies, influencing how families plan their futures.
No visa, no future
Ziad Al Zayyat describes a lengthy, frustrating process marked by discrimination and low wages. He endured more than a year without stable work and faced numerous interviews, often thwarted by inadequate compensation. For a filmmaker and producer from Lebanon, the search for opportunity in his homeland was unsuccessful, leading him to consider France for advanced study and potential employment. Yet visa delays or denials forced him to remain in his hometown while waiting for a chance that might unlock a brighter future.
In Tripoli, his story mirrors a broader pattern of delays and disappointments, with ongoing challenges delaying education and professional progression. The stress of the waiting period took its toll, and the possibility of pursuing studies in France lingered as a distant, fragile hope. Many families face debt to fund travel for new possibilities, placing a heavy burden on those pursuing a better life.
The broader impact of this third migration wave is already visible. A large portion of government employees is considering leaving, reflecting a wider brain drain that affects critical sectors such as health. Lebanon, once a cradle of culture and potential, now faces a difficult political and economic scenario, with long-term consequences for birth rates and productivity as the young explore new opportunities abroad.
There is a mixture of resolve and restraint in Hammoud’s words. If the nation could implement effective economic and financial reforms, he says, he would gladly return. Yet the political establishment, rooted in decades-long patterns, makes such a decision feel risky and uncertain. The Lebanese professional, who also works as a model, remains committed to changing mindsets, hoping for a future that allows talent to flourish at home while acknowledging the necessity of leaving to grow.
Thinking of the homeland brings a bittersweet mix of affection and sorrow. Murielle speaks of a place that holds a permanent place in her heart, even as the current situation pushes its best people to seek opportunities elsewhere. The sense of loss grows when considering the potential futures that Lebanon could have offered and the people who have left in search of a different path. The struggle to reconcile pride in the homeland with the harsh realities of the present remains an emotional undertone for many who watch their country evolve from afar.