As escalating violence and mass displacement impact over 1.5 million people in Lebanon, immediate aid has been critical in addressing urgent humanitarian needs. Yet, as the crisis deepens across the region, it exposes an alarming disconnect between emergency relief and long-term, sustainable development. While material aid provides a vital lifeline, it can also risk overwhelming Lebanon’s already fragile economy, weakened by years of financial collapse and political instability, if not paired with sustainable, systemic support.
Since 2019, Lebanon’s economy has contracted sharply, losing nearly 28% of its GDP. Ongoing hostilities could trigger an additional 9.2% decline by year-end (UNDP), placing even greater strain on public services, employment, and national stability. While well-intentioned, the influx of humanitarian aid risks undercutting local, family-run businesses, shifting communities from self-reliance to dependency. Cornerstone, family-run establishments like the neighborhood dekkane or foron, vital to household livelihoods, could face the threat of being pushed out of the market altogether. This risks trapping communities in a cycle of economic stagnation and prolonged aid reliance.
The unfortunate reality is that no one can fully prepare for every emergency, and it’s impossible to predict the exact shape each crisis will take. But by prioritizing better alignment between humanitarian and development goals, we can create a response system that doesn’t inadvertently harm those it aims to help.
This economic fragility is mirrored in another critical area often sidelined during crises: education. In fact, perhaps nowhere is the disconnect between immediate relief and long-term resilience more devastating than in education. In most humanitarian responses, education is treated as secondary to address only after food, water, and shelter. Yet, this delay is not just shortsighted; it can be destructive. In Sudan, ongoing conflict has interrupted education for 19 million children (UNICEF), creating what is referred to as a “lost generation.” Millions of children are growing up without the skills and knowledge needed to contribute to recovery; thus, compounding poverty and further perpetuating instability. Without an educated workforce, a country’s ability to rebuild and thrive is fundamentally weakened, leaving it reliant on external aid for generations to come.
Even when education is addressed in humanitarian response efforts, emergency education programs often focus on immediate outputs like building temporary classrooms or distributing education materials, without integrating into broader recovery efforts. For education to contribute meaningfully to recovery, it must align with local realities, build capacity among teachers, and support practical learning for children and youth. By sidelining education or implementing short-sighted programs, we are not just delaying recovery; we are robbing communities of the foundation they need to rebuild. Education must be seen as an urgent pillar of both economic recovery and social cohesion.
If we want aid contributions to strengthen societies rather than create long-term vulnerabilities, we need to ask tougher questions. Are we reinforcing dependency by flooding local markets with goods? Are we unintentionally stunting critical sectors like education in our haste to provide immediate relief? And are we planning solutions that bridge humanitarian urgency and developmental sustainability?
This is not to suggest humanitarian aid is harmful – it is, in fact, lifesaving. But it must go beyond addressing urgent symptoms to building resilience. For example, what if food baskets in emergencies came from local farmers, or blankets were made in nearby factories? This was the case in Dubai Cares’ emergency response in Gaza, where fresh produce was procured locally, supporting farmers during the conflict. Global frameworks like the Grand Bargain 2.0 are pushing for exactly this kind of shift, calling on donors and agencies to prioritize sustainable, locally driven solutions.
Such an approach may require more extensive planning, sharper foresight, and a level of preparedness that stretches beyond the capacity our current systems allow for. But it is a vision worth striving for, a strategy that does more than treat symptoms. It strengthens resilience.
Perhaps the future of the humanitarian-development nexus lies in, thoughtful, anticipatory action that doesn’t just react to crises but also builds the foundations for recovery and growth. It’s time to stop treating humanitarian relief and development as separate tracks. Instead, let us reimagine them as connected, complementary forces working toward a common goal: a world where aid not only saves lives but empowers communities, strengthens local economies, and ultimately reduces the need for aid altogether.
