The silent exodus

There was a time when we would hear people dream big. I remember when I was a child, I used to hear my older cousins and schoolmates talk about how they were going to change the future of Pakistan. They dreamt fearlessly, some wanted to reform the education system, others spoke about building industries that would create thousands of jobs. There was this strange sense of hope that echoed in classrooms and family gatherings. Everyone believed they’d be the change.But somewhere between the dream and the reality, something really really changed..

Today, those very minds – the ones that once spoke of reform and revival are either scattered across the globe or sitting home, unemployed and disheartened. The greatest irony is that the ones who went abroad to study with the hope of returning to serve their homeland never really came back. Not because they didn’t want to but because Pakistan gave them no reason to. And those who stayed back, waiting and hoping for an opportunity, are still waiting.And honestly, who wants to stay unemployed forever? If your own country doesn’t recognize your worth, someone else will. The world is huge, opportunities are endless, and it’s foolish to think that talent won’t find its place somewhere else.There was a time when we proudly called Pakistan the land of opportunities. Now, it feels more like a land of uncertainty. With inflation climbing to record highs, the rupee hitting historic lows, and political instability becoming a daily headline, what kind of “opportunity” are we offering the youth? Even the corporate giants are calling it quits Procter & Gamble (P&G), a multinational that stood strong in Pakistan for decades, announced its exit earlier this year. Shell Pakistan too sold its majority stake and exited the local market. These aren’t small signals; these are red flags waving right in our faces. When brands like P&G, which have survived global recessions, can’t sustain operations here, something is really up.

And the consequence? Massive layoffs. Entire departments becoming redundant. Skilled workers, mid-level managers, and even senior executives are suddenly finding themselves without jobs in a market that’s already gasping for breath. Meanwhile, the brain drain continues silently but aggressively. According to official data, more than 800,000 Pakistanis left the country in 2023 alone, the highest in recent years among them engineers, doctors, IT professionals, and skilled workers. Some call it migration; I call it quiet resignation. People are not just leaving the country; they’re leaving behind the version of Pakistan they once believed in.

But why are the brightest minds leaving? Because honestly my friend dreams can’t survive where systems don’t. Young people are tired of fighting a system that doesn’t reward merit. Nepotism, favoritism, and political interference have turned workplaces into survival zones instead of spaces for innovation. In the public sector, jobs are often a matter of “who you know” rather than “what you know.” In the private sector, even the most qualified individuals are underpaid, overworked, and underappreciated. Add to that the constant economic instability with the rupee fluctuating daily, utility costs skyrocketing, and salaries failing to keep up with inflation it’s no surprise that even those with patriotic hearts start looking elsewhere. When an engineer here earns less than what an Uber driver earns abroad, migration becomes less of a choice and more of a survival strategy.

Then there’s the issue of safety and mental peace. Professionals want to raise their families in places where electricity doesn’t vanish every other hour, where healthcare and education are reliable, and where law and order aren’t luxuries. Sadly, many feel that Pakistan no longer provides that sense of security physically, financially, or emotionally. Our education system, too, is disconnected from the realities of the job market. Universities produce graduates with degrees but not skills. Startups struggle to sustain due to lack of government support, high taxation, and limited access to funding. And when innovation is strangled by bureaucracy, even the most passionate minds lose faith. Lastly, there’s the disillusionment that deep, quiet disappointment of realizing that no matter how hard you try, the system will not let you grow. That your ideas will be dismissed, your efforts undervalued, and your ambition misunderstood as arrogance. And so, they leave. Not because they stopped loving their country, but because their country stopped loving them back.

Yet, paradoxically, there’s still a flicker of hope. Despite the uncertainty, startups and venture-backed firms from the Middle East and Southeast Asia are eyeing Pakistan’s potential market. There’s talk of renewed investment in fintech, edtech, and renewable energy, and if harnessed right, this could be the push our economy desperately needs. Pakistan can still become that land of opportunities but only if we stop letting our brightest minds slip away. Because the truth is, no country can grow if its thinkers, builders, and dreamers are all somewhere else.

The exodus is silent, but its impact is loud in every empty desk, every “position closed,” every one-way ticket stamped with quiet disappointment. And maybe we start asking also ourselves who will be left to rebuild what’s being abandoned?