By Majid Nabi Burfat
In a nation where the soil has grown fertile only for despair and the air chokes with unmet aspirations, a tragic truth has taken root: millions of Pakistanis, from every walk of life, are choosing to leave the homeland behind. This is not just a tale of migration; it is an exodus — a mass departure born out of systemic dysfunction, growing disenchantment, and a fractured promise of nationhood. What was once “desh,” a source of pride and belonging, is increasingly being viewed as a place to escape rather than cherish. Whether through legal channels, informal arrangements, or perilous illegal routes, the journey from homeland to hostland has become the defining arc of countless Pakistani lives.
Over the past five years alone, more than 3.27 million Pakistanis have been sent abroad through official routes, as revealed to the Senate by the Ministry of Overseas Pakistanis. In the first quarter of 2025 alone, over 172,000 individuals sought overseas employment, reflecting an accelerated urgency to find economic survival beyond national borders. These staggering figures, reported by Pakistan Today and Dawn, indicate not just a routine search for jobs, but a large-scale rejection of what Pakistan currently offers its citizens. When professionals, skilled youth, students, and entire families are willing to abandon their homeland — often without a defined future — it signals a deeper national malaise.
The reasons for this migration are manifold, but they all converge on a singular truth: Pakistan is no longer the land of opportunity it once promised to be. From unrelenting inflation, lack of economic opportunities, and unemployment to persistent political instability, rising religious intolerance, and a deteriorating law and order situation, Pakistanis no longer see home as a land of hope. The country’s youth, forming a majority of its population, are unable to envision a future amid flawed governance, elite capture of institutions, and a decaying meritocratic structure. A young graduate, despite talent and ambition, faces closed doors domestically, while foreign shores — even with their risks — offer a glimmer of self-respect and dignity.
This is not just brain drain; this is hope drain, as doctors, engineers, IT experts, students, and even blue-collar workers bid farewell to their roots. The 2023–24 Pakistan Migration Trends Report published by the Migrant Resource Centre (MRC) highlights the disturbing shift toward irregular migration, including the use of dangerous routes through Iran, Turkey, and Libya en route to Europe. These desperate journeys are a direct indictment of the state’s inability to provide for its people — not just economically, but in terms of safety, identity, and a sense of belonging.
To illustrate, consider the story of Ahmed, a skilled IT professional in Karachi, who, after years of applying for positions within Pakistan’s shrinking tech industry, was forced to choose the perilous route via Iran and Turkey to make his way into Europe. His family, including elderly parents who had supported his education with their meager savings, were left behind, clinging to the hope that his success abroad would eventually enable him to return and provide for them. But the longer he remained in Europe, the further his ties with home frayed. His parents grew frail, dependent on limited medical assistance, and despite his remittances, they felt the sting of abandonment.
What Ahmed’s story illustrates is the psychological toll that this forced migration takes on families. Children grow up without a father’s presence, unable to connect with the man they hear only on the phone. Elders grow older without the comfort of their children’s care. The emotional detachment often becomes just as devastating as the financial struggles.
Even more painful still is the silent but massive student exodus. With universities in Pakistan crumbling under financial and administrative collapse, thousands of students now seek education abroad. In 2023 alone, nearly 104,000 Pakistani students went to study overseas, according to UNESCO data. For many, this is not just about quality education — it’s a steppingstone to permanent settlement. The dream is no longer to serve the nation; it is to survive outside it.
A prime example is Sarah, a brilliant student from Lahore, who was forced to leave her parents behind as she received an offer from a prestigious university in the United States. She, like many others, thought of her family every day. Her parents had invested everything into her education, and the guilt of leaving them alone was overwhelming. However, with a limited future in Pakistan’s education system, she chose the United States as her path forward. In her own words: “It wasn’t a choice I wanted to make. It was the only choice I had.” Now, Sarah is part of a generation of youth who look to foreign lands not just for better academic prospects but for a shot at a future, while the social cost of their absence remains a painful reminder for those left behind.
This migration dilemma is further complicated by the social consequences that ripple through families and communities. The emotional toll of separation, loss of skilled human capital, and cultural disintegration among second-generation diaspora are rarely discussed. Parents are left behind in loneliness. Children grow up in hostlands with little connection to their ancestral desh. And yet, the narrative in state circles remains dangerously complacent, even romanticizing overseas remittances while ignoring the emptiness left behind.
Take the example of Javed, a young man from Multan, whose father moved to the UAE decades ago in search of a better life. Javed’s father would occasionally return home with gifts and tales of prosperity, but his absence was felt deeply by Javed and his siblings. As Javed’s own children grew up, they hardly saw their grandfather, and thus the family lost its generational connection. The story of Javed’s father is far from unique — many families are divided, living parallel lives in two different worlds, connected only by money transfers and occasional visits. The Pakistani dream of family togetherness is now marked by separation, with the family unit becoming fractured across borders.
Equally troubling is the lack of a coherent state response. Successive governments have failed to formulate sustainable job creation policies, invest in human capital, or make real strides in political and economic reform. The Ministry of Overseas Pakistanis often acts as a passive observer, content with remittance inflows, but blind to the hemorrhaging of national talent. The ruling elite seem detached from the reality that for millions of citizens, Pakistan has become unlivable — not for lack of love, but for lack of justice, opportunity, and dignity.
“Desh Left Behind” is more than a metaphor — it is a lived experience for millions of Pakistanis who carry their homeland in their hearts while building lives in foreign lands. And for many, it is a burden of guilt and longing — for the soil they once called home, for the language they speak in whispers abroad, for the streets they can no longer walk freely. As hostlands absorb our best minds and strongest backs, the homeland is left grappling with what — and who — remains.
To pretend this is just a phase, or to pacify the crisis by touting remittance figures, is to willfully ignore a growing national emergency. Migration should be a choice, not a necessity born out of despair. Until Pakistan becomes a country worth staying in — economically, socially, and politically — the exodus will continue, and “Desh” will remain, tragically, a land left behind.
— Majid Burfat, Former Civil Servant, Mentor, Social Development Practitioner, Educationist, Columnist
