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“America is home to lower-middle-class immigrants; the well-offs must strive to find means to establish their prosperous future in their homeland, Pakistan.”
These words, reportedly spoken by a senior bureaucrat, have stirred a storm of emotional reactions on social media. Some called them insensitive. Others hailed them as a much-needed truth. What struck me, however, was not the debate, but what these words reveal about our collective mindset as a nation caught between migration dreams and homeland anxieties.
In the same viral statement, the bureaucrat compared his own retired life in Pakistan — surrounded by familiar faces, childhood memories and cultural belonging — to that of his sister who lives alone in New Jersey. Once settled abroad with her husband and children, she now navigates old age in quiet solitude. Her children are educated and successful, but busy in their own lives, scattered by ambition and distance. This contrast is not a criticism of migration, but a stark reminder of what we rarely discuss: the emotional cost of uprooting oneself from home.
Having lived and studied abroad myself, I have seen how young people romanticise migration based on incomplete truths. Their decisions are often driven by social media fantasies, borrowed dreams and half-cooked information. A distant relative posts a photo in front of a modern building in Toronto — nobody asks if he spent his last night in a warehouse packing boxes for minimum wage. A university friend shares an airport selfie with a maple leaf emoji — no one sees the depression that comes later when she spends winter evenings alone in a basement apartment, far from family and familiarity. The problem is not that people choose to go abroad. The problem is that they often do so without clarity, purpose or preparation and hence face sheer depression, deprivation and racism.
Migration reshapes your identity, relationships, spiritual life and sense of belonging. Yet few young people prepare themselves mentally or emotionally before deciding to leave. They evaluate only financial gain, skipping the emotional, social, familial and cultural costs that come attached. A truly mature decision must be made with a complete balance sheet: gains on one side, losses on the other.
For many, guilt is the silent price of migration. Consider Pakistani students who obtain government-funded scholarships to study abroad. In return, they sign a bond, promising to serve their country afterwards. Some never come back.
The first thing they do is to isolate themselves from their friends, class fellows and community to avoid any action for being an absconder. They escaped Pakistan, but they could not escape the psychological burden of knowing they turned away when their country needed them. I think if these people make educated decisions, they can make much better life stories.
But let me be clear: migration itself is not the problem. Millions of Pakistanis abroad are doing admirable work. They excel in medicine, engineering, academia, business and public service. Many send back remittances that sustain our economy. Thousands return periodically to give back — building schools, running clinics, mentoring entrepreneurs and supporting non-profits. Migration can be empowering when done with dignity and purpose. The issue is not going abroad; it is going blindly, fueled by frustration rather than a plan, to get a boarding pass by comparison rather than conviction.
The real question is, why do our young people feel forced to leave? Why does Pakistan struggle to retain its brightest minds? Why do merit, fairness and opportunity feel so rare here that migration becomes the only dream? We cannot preach patriotism without first fixing systems that push people to leave. Nation development is not a speech. It is a system of justice, opportunity and dignity.
Whether you stay or leave, ensure your journey does not end in loneliness, disconnection or guilt — live in a way that preserves your roots, honours your values and keeps your humanity intact, because the real question is not where you live, but whether you will matter wherever you are.
