“Return to where?” is a question that continues to haunt journalist Ali Omais after losing his home and media institution in Nabatieh, as the war stole his dreams and everything he built, forcing him back into a displacement he thought he had finally escaped.

Ali is part of a group of displaced journalists who report the stories of people and their suffering, while their own stories remain untold. Behind their cameras and headlines, they have experienced the same displacement they document for others. They hastily grabbed their phones and laptops, left their homes and dreams behind, and continued working as their personal lives were slowly falling apart.

On that “fateful” night, Ali Omais had no time to say goodbye to his new home or even to the simplest belongings he and his wife had lovingly placed in their proper spots. He had moved in only about two months before the war began, believing it would be a safe haven away from danger. He left in haste like thousands of Lebanese, convinced the absence would be temporary, until his wife woke him one morning with a few words that summed up everything: “The house is gone.” He then opened his phone to see his home reduced to burning rubble.

That was not his only loss. Disasters followed, and the building that had witnessed his first professional breakthrough in Nabatieh was also destroyed, taking down his channel, which he had established just a year earlier to become one of the first media institutions in the region. These continuous losses made him feel that the war does not only destroy physical structures but also erodes any sense of stability. Today, when asked about returning, he answers with frustration: “Return to where?”

A few kilometers away, fellow journalist Jad Fakih faced different challenges. He vividly remembers the dawn of March 2nd, the day displacement began. He and his family waited 24 hours before finding an alternative home after leaving the southern suburbs of Beirut. While his family searched for shelter, he was on the streets with his colleagues, helping organize traffic and clearing the way for ambulances before heading to work to cover unfolding events.

Amid the sharp rise in rent prices, he shares the burden of housing costs with his family and siblings. Despite the increased hardship, he insists that continuing to work under such circumstances remains essential, noting that “the journalist awaits such moments to prove himself and fulfill his role, especially in conveying what he personally experienced, like many Lebanese during this war.”

As for editor Batoul Bazzi, she was still a “new bride” when the war broke out. Barely finished with wedding arrangements and settled into her new home to begin a different life with her husband, she suddenly found herself once again carrying the burden of displacement.

Instead of the stability she had been waiting for, she moved to live within a large family of about ten people. All daily life details changed: working hours, rest times, and even the personal space she needed to complete her editorial work.

She would wake up at dawn to work while others were sleeping, trying to focus amid internet disruptions and the constant flow of news and security alerts. At times, she would receive urgent breaking news requiring immediate publication, while her heart was preoccupied with trying to reassure her family and loved ones.

Another colleague moved from the south to the suburbs during the war, then from the suburbs to a hotel, embarking on a difficult search for an affordable rental home.