Reflections on Lebanon’s Struggles

There are moments when no words can capture the depth of the emotions we carry, and for every Lebanese right now, this is one of those moments. Watching the situation in Lebanon unfold — day after day, with no end in sight — an overwhelming sense of helplessness invade. It’s a helplessness rooted in witnessing the continued suffering of the people, the decline of a wonderful country, and the uncertain future that lies ahead.

In these times, I often find myself asking: how will this end? Where is the hope that we so desperately seek? How do we continue when the very ground beneath us feels unstable?

For those of us who are living or working abroad, these feelings are compounded by distance. Every call with family becomes a check-in, not just on their well-being but on the country itself. We’re far, but we feel every tremor, every loss, every heartache. We carry the weight of uncertainty, unable to help, unable to protect, and with that comes an immense burden of guilt.

But the sadness, it lingers. It’s a quiet, relentless sadness for a country and a people who deserve so much better. The Lebanese spirit has always been one of resilience, but even resilience has its limits. How much longer can we ask people to be resilient when everything around them is crumbling?

I don’t have the answers. None of us do. And perhaps that’s what’s most frustrating — the not knowing. The waiting. The endless cycle of despair, punctuated by brief moments of hope that quickly fade.

To my fellow Lebanese — those at home and those abroad — I see you. I feel your pain, your anger, your frustration. I share in your helplessness. We are all struggling to make sense of this chaos, to find even the smallest glimmer of peace in a world that seems determined to deny it to us. But in our collective sadness, in our shared experience, perhaps there is some comfort. We are not alone, even when it feels like we are.

Let’s hold on to that connection and to the hope that somehow, some way, things will get better. Because that hope — as fragile as it may be — is all we have left.