They could hardly believe they had found a safe corner. Shelter in a concrete labyrinth would be their salvation, at least for now. Stories that unfold beyond the isolated Shatila refugee camp near Beirut still manage to slip through narrow streets. People talk about deportations to Syria, and about those who vanished or died within days. Ahed Huran, a mother of five who came from Idlib, arrived in Shatila eleven years ago, shortly after the civil war began in Syria. Life there has not gone as she imagined, yet her family feels a fragile sense of safety. It’s a sanctuary of sorts from where they came, though recent events have tested that calm. Lebanese authorities have launched a sweeping campaign to deport Syrians, a shift that unsettles many.
“We are afraid,” admits Ahed, aged 29. He speaks for a group of about twenty Syrian women refugees who meet weekly at the Alsama studio. The space is a venue for embroidery, but the real purpose is to connect, share, and relieve stress. During ten years of exile in Shatila, a historic Palestinian refugee enclave, they have been kept apart from much of Beirut, yet this place now offers a measure of protection. The area remains off limits to police and to the Lebanese Army; it is shielded from the violence that has plagued other districts. The camp’s existence has become a stronghold against many dangers, including trafficking and weapon-related crimes. In this space, the women and their families feel a rare, stubborn sense of security.
restrictions on Syrians
From April to May, Lebanon documented at least 1,100 arrests of Syrian citizens. Around 73 raids led to the deportation of about 600 people. In some cases, the Syrian authorities would return individuals when they were sent back, while smugglers continued to demand large sums for entry. The situation is harsh, and many refugees increasingly prefer to stay put in Lebanon. Anonymity protects these women, with one speaker using a pseudonym to guard her identity. The fear of losing work has grown, and many admit it is harder to go about daily life.
Across many municipalities, new rules have appeared, including universal registration and curfews for Syrians in several towns. One remark from a refugee, Muna, underscores a broader fear: if Syrians leave Lebanon, the country would lose a large portion of its workforce. Others from Idlib, like Muna and Muna’s friend Muna, express bewilderment at the hostility they face. Thousands of Syrian refugees and their children work in fields or on construction sites. The UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR) registers roughly 839,000 refugees, though local authorities estimate higher numbers beyond UNHCR figures due to restrictions on new arrivals since 2015.
Assad returns to Arab League
The debate surrounding regional politics has deep implications for families in Lebanon. Some refugees report feeling accused when aid projects arrive, while others whisper that the money provided by UNHCR is insufficient for everyday costs such as schooling. The economic strain in Lebanon compounds the hardship visible in Syrian communities—poverty rates have surged, and many refugees face impossible choices. If the Syria situation improved, life might look different for these families, but for now, the region remains unstable. A sense of longing for their homeland persists, even as life in exile creates a lingering sense of limbo.
In discussions about restoring ties with Syria, some regional leaders advocate Arab League engagement. Such moves are seen by many as a signal that the Syrian regime could re-enter the regional fold. Several refugees voice strong opposition to this idea, arguing that the return of Assad would not mend their own circumstances inside Syria or Lebanon. They describe a country shattered by war, sanctions, and natural disasters, with little faith in a swift improvement. For them, returning under the current conditions would not be a safe or viable option.
scapegoats
On this side of the mountains, the whispers continue. Market chatter turns to whispers about Syrians, followed by a barrage of insults. Many Lebanese perceive Syrians as outsiders with little cultural knowledge, and this belief cuts deeply. It hurts to hear such judgments spoken aloud, especially in ordinary places like markets. Politicians and presidents have spoken in ways that paint Syrians as the source of Lebanon’s troubles, amplifying fear and anger at a time of economic collapse. In response, refugees are faced with diminished opportunities, including access to education. Yet in the room, the women find moments of relief when they share stories and laugh together. They remind themselves that, despite origins from different parts of Syria, they are united by a common experience. If nothing else, they can still find moments of connection and a sense of resilience amid hardship.