Ammar* still has his entire life ahead of him. But he does not see any options for the future in a Lebanon that has been suffering from an economic crisis for four years, shredded by a political crisis that seems unending.

He is 27 but seems aged under the blows of a youth never really experienced in a remote area of northern Lebanon, where the situation seems to force him to choose between becoming a smuggler or a an irregular migrant.

But he is a well-known activist in northern Lebanon. He is constantly glancing at the screen of his cellphone while awaiting news from his youngest cousin. His cousin left a few days ago from one of the beaches north of Tripoli, Lebanon's second largest city.

"He is still at sea. We must wait a few days before getting news of him," he said, staring at the horizon. "When the sky is clear you can see Cyprus from here, did you know that?" he says. And after Cyprus, he notes, there is Italy.

Fron activism to exile

"Up until recently I rejected the idea of leaving the country I love very much," Ammar told ANSA. "But now I am seriously considering leaving."

Ammar has thus begun organising his clandestine journey to Italy and from there he hopes to reach his uncle in Germany. "It is not difficult to find smugglers. This place is filled with people offering journeys to Italy," he states.

"The problem, in addition to finding the money, is finding the right person - someone reliable, who does things as they should be done and will not leave you to die in the middle of the sea," he noted.

Ammar has a worn-out and disillusioned look on his face. And yet, since 2019 he has been one of the mainstays of political activism across all of northern Tripoli.

'They pitted us against each other'

As part of the popular protests that began four years ago when the effects of an unprecedented financial crisis began to be clear, Ammar led the mobilisation in the streets. For over a year, he stayed camped out alongside other activists in a main square of his town, calling for the "fall of the regime" holding political power in Lebanon, dominated for decades by "a cartel of religious leaders still in control".

"They managed to divide the (protest) movement, to weaken us. They pitted us against each other," Ammar said, noting that he had spent some weeks in the prisons of the intelligence services. "I openly insulted politicians in demonstrations and on social media," he added. Of all this activity, Ammar said, "today nothing remains".

There was a great deal of ferment. We believed in change. But they didn't allow us to. They won," Ammar says, glancing again at the fishing boats moored in the small port of the town.

'Those who leave forced to do so illegally'

Ammar studied at the state university "but it is a diploma that is not worth much." "In this country," he said angrily, "the studies worth anything are those in universities that cost tens of thousands of dollars." "Those who do not have the money remain outside the system, especially as concerns the distribution of scholarships," he added.

"Abroad they call us 'clandestines' but in reality those that leave are forced to do so in an illegal manner," Ammar said.

For many young Lebanese, there are few options available. "Forced because there is no hope here, there is no growth. Forced because if you want to try your luck abroad the only type of journey possible is a clandestine one: no Schengen visas, no scholarships, no job offers."

"And unlike Syrians and Palestinians, Lebanese are not granted even asylum or other forms of humanitarian protection," he adds.

*Name changed.