We, a People Who Learned to Live in a State of Emergency - Noura Ali Al-Merhabi

Noura Ali Al-Merhabi
Lebanese writer , politician

In Lebanon, the question is no longer whether there is a crisis, but which crisis are we living through this time.

Anxiety has become part of our daily routine. We wake up to the news not to understand politics or follow analyses, but just to make sure the night passed without a new event exploding in this exhausted country.

This is how Lebanese people have been living for years: between breaking news, worrying analyses, and constant waiting for what might happen tomorrow.

In most countries, emergencies are exceptional. A major event disrupts life for a limited period, then things return to normal, and society regains its rhythm. But in Lebanon, the opposite has happened: emergencies are no longer an exception, they’ve gradually become the norm on which life itself is built.

These emergencies aren’t declared officially, nor are clear alarm sirens raised, but they reside in the collective consciousness of Lebanese people. They appear in how we follow the news, in our constant caution about the future, and in that silent question repeated in Lebanese homes whenever the region gets tense: Will this country remain stable until tomorrow?

This question alone reveals a lot about life in Lebanon. The Lebanese no longer live in certainty of stability, but in the possibility of crises. Over time, Lebanese society has learned a rare but painful skill: the ability to adapt to the abnormal.

In a country that has witnessed long wars, recurring political crises, and unprecedented economic collapses, Lebanese have mastered living between possibilities. They plan their day cautiously, postpone many dreams, and always keep an alternative plan, as if stability is a temporary state that might end at any moment.

Here’s the Lebanese paradox that’s hard for outsiders to understand. In moments when analyses talk about tension and escalation, cafes are full of people, markets are bustling, and society tries to maintain its rhythm. This isn’t denial of reality, but a form of daily resistance to life.

The Lebanese don’t laugh because they don’t see danger, but because they’ve learned that surrendering to fear means paralyzing life completely.

But this constant adaptation to crises comes at a steep price, not always visible in political discourse. Lebanon today lives in a state of high and chronic collective tension. A tension that pressures the whole society and makes people live under a constant roof of anxiety and uncertainty.

This tension isn’t measured just by economic or security indicators, but by its impact on people’s psychology.

In parents’ anxiety about their children’s future, in young people’s hesitation between staying and emigrating, in that hidden feeling many Lebanese have: that life in this country could change suddenly, and stability might be more temporary than it should be.

Long crises don’t just destroy the economy, they reshape society’s psychology. They push people to develop survival skills, but at the same time deprive them of a natural sense of security.

A whole generation in Lebanon grew up hearing the word „crisis” more than „stability”. A generation learned to plan cautiously, lower their expectations, and consider leaving an option, even if their heart remains attached to this country.

Yet, there’s something in Lebanon that’s hard to explain or break: the will to live. This will that makes a Lebanese reopen a shop after a crisis, rebuild a house after war, and insist that life remains possible even in the toughest conditions.

This isn’t recklessness or denial of reality, but a survival instinct shaped by a long history of shocks.

But even people who master, surviving isn’t enough. They need stability, a state that protects its society, and a horizon that lets people plan their lives with confidence, not live constantly in possibilities.

Lebanon doesn’t lack intelligence, human talent, or resilience. What it lacks is a brave national moment that restores dignity to the idea of a state that puts society’s stability above all other calculations, and makes people’s lives and security a priority, not a detail in bigger struggles.

Lebanese people learned to survive. But peoples can’t stay forever in survival mode. That’s why many Lebanese whisper a simple yet profound question these days: Have we been destined to master the art of survival only, or will the day come when we finally learn how to live?

The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Atlas News.