Why Are There So Many Lebanese Around the World?

How collapse, war, and adaptability created one of the world’s most widespread diasporas

Did you know Lebanon’s largest population doesn’t actually live in Lebanon? There are an estimated 14 to 18 million people of Lebanese descent living abroad – more than three times the population of Lebanon itself. From Brazil to Ghana, Australia to the Gulf, Lebanese communities have quietly stretched across continents. Every diaspora has a story – and the Lebanese diaspora is no exception. Having lived in several countries since I was ten years old, I’ve seen firsthand how deeply this story runs.

If I were to romanticize it, I’d say part of this instinct to travel the world is inherited. Lebanese ancestors, the Phoenicians, were navigating the Mediterranean as early as 1500 BCE, sailing sturdy wooden ships crafted from the cedar trees of Lebanon – the same iconic tree that stands proudly on the country’s flag today – at a time when much of the world was still uncharted. They founded cities, built ports, and traded everything from textiles to the alphabet.

Mobility, exchange, and adaptation have long been part of Lebanese DNA. But the real reason the diaspora grew wasn’t curiosity. It was survival.

Leaving Out Of Necessity...

Lebanese migration didn’t happen in a single wave. It came in chapters, triggered by collapse, hardship or uncertainty. In every period of crisis, the answer was the same: leave while you can, and hope you can come back. Many didn’t. But they made something out of exile.

1- Ottoman Rule (1516–1918)

Under the Ottomans, Lebanon – or more precisely Mount Lebanon – was largely left to fend for itself. The empire taxed heavily, invested little, and cared even less about the mountain peasants clinging to rocky hillsides and short harvests. Roads were bad. Famine was worse. Opportunity was something you either inherited or sailed toward.

So, the long journey outward began.

2- The Silk Boom and Bust (1860s–1900s)

In the 19th century, Lebanon became a hub for silk production. Mulberry trees flourished across Mount Lebanon – the altitude, climate and terrain made it ideal for their growth – and families spun silk for export mainly to France. The industry took off after silkworm eggs were quietly smuggled in from China, allegedly by Jesuit missionaries hiding them in walking sticks.

At its peak, silk accounted for over 80% of Mount Lebanon’s exports. Nearly every village had a karn (silk-reeling workshop), and women and girls made up the bulk of the workforce, often supporting entire households through their labor.

By the 1880s, the boom began to unravel. France ramped up silk cultivation in what was then known as Indochina (modern day Vietnam), part of its colonial empire. Prices fell, disease hit local silkworms, and the industry collapsed. With livelihoods gone, many Lebanese migrated, mostly to the Americas – arriving with Ottoman passports and being labeled as “Turks.”

3- The Great Famine (1915–1918)

World War I devastated Lebanon not through battle, but through slow, suffocating siege. Mount Lebanon was caught in a deadly pincer. The Ottomans imposed a land blockade, cutting off food shipments from surrounding regions to punish the largely Christian population for its perceived sympathy with the French. The Allied powers, meanwhile, enforced a naval blockade across the Eastern Mediterranean, aiming to choke off supplies to the entire Ottoman Empire. Together, these blockades turned a food shortage into a humanitarian catastrophe.

To make matters worse, a plague of locusts in 1915 wiped out crops across the region. Prices soared. Merchants hoarded grain. Even the wealthiest families were reduced to grinding tree bark into flour.

An estimated 200,000 people – roughly one third of Mount Lebanon’s population – died of starvation. Entire villages were emptied. Those who could leave did – boarding ships to the Americas, West Africa, or anywhere not sealed off. Those who stayed held on, praying for rain, relief, or simply survival.

4- Civil War (1975–1990)

Lebanon gained independence in 1943, but stability always felt just out of reach. The brief unrest in 1958 exposed deep sectarian fractures that never truly healed. By 1975, those tensions erupted into a full-blown civil war that raged for 15 years – and left no family untouched.

Neighborhoods became frontlines. Schools shut down. Buildings collapsed. My parents still recall the chaos – packing bags in the dark, bombs echoing in the distance, fleeing to relatives' houses in whichever village felt safe that week. This war scarred a generation. Its imprint lives on in their habits, their anxieties, their unspoken silences.

The country didn’t empty overnight. It was a slow, painful unraveling. One sibling would leave, then another. Parents sent children abroad with relatives or friends, unsure if they’d ever see them again. The civil war didn’t just scatter the Lebanese, it cemented the diaspora.

5- Recent Economic Collapse and Crisis (2019–Present)

Since 2019, Lebanon has entered a different kind of crisis – a complete economic meltdown. The currency collapsed, wiping out life savings overnight. The economic crisis, driven by years of poor governance, policy failures and entrenched corruption, brought the country to its knees. Banks froze accounts. Inflation soared. Basic services vanished. Unemployment skyrocketed. Since then, over 300,000 Lebanese have emigrated, many of them highly educated. They didn't leave for adventure, they left for a better future. For a functioning system. For a better chance at life somewhere else.

Once They Arrived, They Made It Work

Wherever they went, the Lebanese adapted and thrived. In Brazil, kibbeh became kibe. In Mexico, shawarma became trompo al pastor. In West Africa, small shops turned into vast trading networks.

They didn’t arrive with much. No red carpets. Often no money. Just a handful of family recipes, a stubborn work ethic, and the quiet pressure of knowing their parents had left everything behind to give them a shot at something better.

That sense of sacrifice wasn’t romanticized – it was drilled in. “We left so you don’t have to live in misery.” That message echoed in most Lebanon households.

So they worked. Hard. They built businesses, clinics, newspapers, factories. Some opened grocery stores. Others built telecom empires. Most asked for little, expected nothing, and stayed focused. Because failure wasn’t just personal, it would’ve made exile feel like it was all for nothing.

Home Is a Place You Carry

“If Lebanon was not my country, I would have chosen Lebanon to be.” - Gibran Khalil Gibran

The entire diaspora can attest to it. Even generations later, the connection endures.

There’s the proud grandmother who still speaks Arabic, even if no one replies in full sentences. The cousin who moved abroad 20 years ago but still says “I’m just here temporarily”. The framed cedar tree in the hallway. The coffee cups that are always small, strong, and are brewed the moment guests arrive. The olive oil and zaatar tucked into every suitcase. The mother who insists lemon goes on everything. The garlic we eat without apology – and the uncle who swears it cures everything. The lovely smell of manoushe in the morning.

And the way we still call Lebanon home. No matter how far we’ve gone, or how long we’ve been gone.