As images of a desolate and fallen Beirut filled his phone this week, Tony Dib made nervous calls from Western Sydney.
From Zgharta, in North Lebanon, his wife assured him that she and their two sons hadn’t been close enough to feel the explosion in the capital’s port which has claimed the lives of more than 150 people and injured thousands more.
But as he watched the news coverage unfold, the 34-year-old recognised a friend among the rotating images of those who were missing.
Later, he saw familiar faces plead to viewers for information on the whereabouts of their loved ones. 
“This is even worse than the 2006 war,” says Tony, speaking from memory.
Smoke rises from the scene of an explosion that hit the port of Beirut. Source: AP
“At least during the war people had food, money and medicine. Now all of that is missing."
“It’s like we are on our last breath and someone covered our mouths.”
During his time in Lebanon, Tony had abandoned a career in university teaching and established a retail business in the hope it would offer him greater financial stability. But when the business started to feel the impact of a weakening economy, he knew he had to act.
After securing a student visa in 2018, Tony made the heartwrenching decision to leave behind his wife Madona and their two sons, now six and four, to move to Australia and study electrical engineering.
“It’s not even about jobs,” he says. “It’s about dignity. We can’t find work but what we really want is to live in peace.”
On more than one occasion, gun violence in the volatile neighbourhood where he lived left Tony and his children running indoors for cover, he says.
Tony has been offered a skilled sponsorship visa in Australia. Source: Supplied
For others, increasing blackouts, fuel shortages and a strained public education system sent the people of Lebanon looking for respite outside its borders.
A country already on its knees
The dire situation, which predates the coronavirus pandemic, is worse than previous wars. Lebanon is reeling from its worst economic crisis in recent history, with an unemployment rate estimated to be above 35 per cent.
Lebanon’s currency, the lira, has also collapsed, leaving the price of essential items skyrocketing and half the country living near or below the poverty line.
For Tony, who provides financial support to his wife and children in Lebanon through his job with an internet service provider, it means the value of his earnings are almost halved when they reach his family. 
Only days before the blast, Save the Children reported more than 900,000 people in Greater Beirut were struggling to afford essential items such as food. The explosion, which flattened the port, will now likely make it more difficult for food and aid to reach Lebanon’s shores.
Tony hopes to bring his wife and children from Lebanon to Australia. Source: Supplied
Though demonstrations swept through the country last October to protest mass government corruption and austerity measures, people saw little change. And COVID-19 has only exposed the country’s existing systemic flaws.
Lebanon has recorded more than 5,400 cases of COVID-19, and at least 68 deaths. Though numbers are comparatively low, hospitals are overrun and cases are still rising.
The country’s health system also recently saw mass redundancies due to the government’s inability to support wages, and now these hospitals must also support the many wounded in the Beirut disaster.
“People are dying on the street in front of hospitals,” Tony says. “You’d never see that in Australia, I’m so thankful.”
After two years of study and work in Australia, Tony was offered a skilled sponsorship visa in Australia earlier this year. But days later, while in the process of initiating a partner visa to bring his family to be with him, Australia shut its borders to suppress the spread of COVID-19.
People are evacuated after the explosion in Beirut on Tuesday. Source: AAP
Though the ongoing separation is painful, Tony says the country’s safety measures provide relief that he has safety and structure in Australia.
“For us people who dream of heaven, when they come to Australia, they find heaven here.”
A history of emigration
The Lebanese diaspora is estimated to be three times the size of the country’s population of six million, with many periods of mass exodus over the years.
After a 14-year civil war ended in 1990, an estimated one million people left the country, accounting for 40 per cent of the population at the time.
In response to the recent demonstrations, Lebanon’s President Michel Aoun told protestors if they weren’t satisfied with the leadership, they should leave.
“I think people expected a continuation of the Arab Spring, but nobody expected the economic collapse,” says Dr Heba Batainah, an assistant professor in politics and international relations at the University of Canberra.
“[Lebanese people] are incredibly patriotic, they love their land, but they are constantly weighing up whether to stay or go … it is a matter of survival.”
Emigration is a major source of access to employment and better economic prospects. About 15 per cent of the Lebanese population has left since 2010, according to the World Bank, half of which are tertiary educated.
These high levels of emigration - particularly involving educated migrants, referred to as the “brain drain” - could also ultimately add to the country’s economic demise.
The devastation in Beirut this week affirmed Tony’s desire to stay in Australia, he says, and he believes others will follow.
“At times I feel lonely, homesick,” he says. “When I see kids smiling, happy, running freely [in Australia], I think I have made the right choice.”
“When the borders open, no one will stay,” he says. “People actually want a better life.”
Michelle Elias is a Lebanese Australian freelance journalist based in Sydney.
