‘The world has failed us twice’: The Syrians left behind in Lebanon

SIDON/BEIRUT — A central parking lot in the coastal Lebanese city of Sidon is full. In place of cars and buses, mattresses, blankets, bags of clothes, and nearly 1,000 Syrian refugees fill the empty parking spaces. Many sleep atop the asphalt, its hard surface bone-chilling at night and roasting during the day.

Like thousands of others in the country, most of those here fled their homes in Lebanon’s Nabatieh and South governorates on September 23—when Israel severely escalated its attacks throughout Lebanon, carrying out an intense bombardment campaign on what it says are Hezbollah targets. 

“The world has failed us Syrians twice,” 35-year-old Ismail al-Nasser said: first during more than 13 years of conflict in Syria and now during Israel’s escalation in Lebanon. 

“Many of us are educated, our place is not on the streets,” al-Nasser told Syria Direct. He and his family had been sleeping in the parking lot for more than two weeks when Syria Direct visited on October 5. 

Al-Nasser, who was a history teacher in Syria, fled the capital Damascus for Lebanon in 2015. In Nabatieh, one of the largest cities in south Lebanon, he found work selling vegetables and built a life with his wife and three children. Then, in late September, they were violently uprooted for a second time, this time by Israeli airstrikes.

“I had a house, and I used to work so we could live properly, but now everything is ruined. We’ve ended up on the streets,” al-Nasser said, “I’m helpless in face of the current situation.” 

Ismail al-Nasser, 35, originally from Damascus, poses for a photo in the parking lot in Sidon where he has been sheltering with his family since fleeing the south Lebanese city of Nabatieh in late September, 5/10/2024 (Hanna Davis/Syria Direct)

‘Catastrophic’ crisis  

Lebanon is facing a “catastrophic humanitarian crisis,” the United Nations (UN) warns. Lebanese authorities say more than 1.2 million people have been displaced in recent weeks, in what may be the “largest displacement movement” the country has ever seen. 

Of the 990 government-run displacement shelters in Lebanon, 807 are at maximum capacity, Lisa Abou Khaled, the UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR) spokesperson in Lebanon, told Syria Direct. Thousands of people with nowhere else to go—many of whom are Syrian—are sleeping rough and surviving with the help of a handful of grassroots organizations. 

“These weeks have been the deadliest, and the most devastating, for Lebanon in decades,” Abou Khaled said. “Today we are witnessing a humanitarian catastrophe, which we warned against as we repeatedly called for urgent de-escalation to spare Lebanon and its people more tragedy,” she said. 

Lebanon’s state coffers have been eroded by years of economic crisis and mismanagement, leaving the government unable to respond adequately to the needs of its displaced citizens. Syrian refugees—who were already facing violence, discrimination and a government crackdown aimed at pushing them out of the country—are among the last to receive aid. 

‘Zero resources’  

“Our priority is the Lebanese people, that’s clear,” Hazem Badie, the mayor of Sidon, told Syria Direct at his office. While he expressed concern for those stranded in the streets and said the municipality would try to help them “no matter their nationality,” he said international organizations were ultimately responsible.

“The Syrians are the responsibility of UNHCR, but I don’t see anything practical happening at the moment,” Badie said. 

On October 5, Sidon had just over 8,000 displaced people residing in 22 public schools-turned shelters, the mayor told Syria Direct. The schools filled up around October 1. 

“The municipality is not economically prepared for any of this,” Badie said. “We have zero resources. If not for local initiatives, we would not be able to respond.” The biggest challenge has been affording fuel to power generators—critical for electricity and to keep the water running in the shelters.

Al-Nasser tried to go to the official shelters in Sidon, but was turned away because he was Syrian. “They said that Syrians should go to the UN because they are responsible [for us],” he said. 

But al-Nasser feels the UNHCR is doing little to help, only distributing mattresses and blankets to roughly half of those at the parking lot where he is staying. Other displaced Syrians in Sidon and in the Lebanese capital, Beirut, echoed al-Nasser’s criticism that the UN is not doing enough. 

Clothes hang to dry around the edge of a parking lot in Sidon housing internally displaced people, 5/10/2024 (Hanna Davis/Syria Direct)

“The humanitarian needs are fast-growing and we need urgent funding to respond adequately,” UNHCR’s Abou Khaled said. “While we had been preparing for this worst-case scenario, and while we have significantly upscaled our humanitarian response since September 23, our current resources are far from sufficient to help everyone in need,” she added.  

UNHCR’s support, including “core relief items” such as mattresses, blankets, kitchen sets, and solar lamps, as well as its work to repair and upgrade shelters across the country, has mostly reached Lebanese families. UNHCR is also working to support the country’s degraded healthcare system by procuring ambulances, delivering urgent medical supplies and expanding its network of hospitals in the southern and eastern governorates, according to Abou Khaled. 

“The response on the ground has been chaotic, with displaced Syrians generally unaware of where they can turn for help,” Alex Simon, co-founder of Synaps, a research center in Beirut, told Syria Direct. 

“Adding to the confusion is the fact that some municipalities accept displaced Syrians, while others turn them away,” He added. Tripoli, North Lebanon, and the West Bekaa districts have generally been more accepting of displaced Syrians than other regions, Simon said. 

Read more: Under Israeli fire in Lebanon, many Syrians have nowhere to turn

Rising tensions 

Tensions among some host communities and displaced people—Lebanese and Syrians alike—are rising as the country’s humanitarian crisis intensifies without adequate support. Government officials have begun to restrict the available public space for displaced people who have nowhere else to go.

“Every day, the police come and say we have to leave, that it’s forbidden to put our tents here,” 23-year-old Amal told Syria Direct at her makeshift shelter along Beirut’s seaside promenade. Amal, who asked to be identified only by her first name, fled Beirut’s southern suburbs, known as Dahiya, where her home was destroyed by an Israeli airstrike. 

Amal fled Syria’s northern Raqqa province in 2012, where her home was also destroyed, leaving her nothing to return to. “We don’t have a house in Syria, we’d also be living in the streets,” she said. 

Amal’s makeshift shelter on the seaside promenade in the Lebanese capital, Beirut, 7/10/2024 (Hanna Davis/Syria Direct)

On the evening of October 9, a man pulled up beside the promenade and shouted at those staying there: “You Syrians should go back to your country,” Amal, who witnessed the incident, said. They responded that there were both Syrian and Lebanese displaced living there, and an argument erupted, she said.

One displaced Lebanese man, angry and frustrated, set his mattress and clothing on fire in protest, shouting: “Where are we supposed to go?!”

That same evening, just down the promenade, clashes broke out between Lebanese security forces and displaced people whose kiosks—small stands selling coffee and other snacks—they began to dismantle.

Meanwhile, reports circulated on social media said that security forces assaulted displaced people on the streets in downtown Beirut on Wednesday using electric batons and sticks. Displaced people Syria Direct spoke to in the area did not personally witness these tactics.

‘No safe place to go’ 

On the seafront near Amal, 43-year-old Raghad has set up her own makeshift shelter for herself and her family. “They want us to leave, but there is no safe place to go,” she told Syria Direct, also requesting to be identified only by her first name.

Raghda also fled Dahiya, where she lived after fleeing Syria’s Aleppo countryside. “We can’t go back home [to Dahiyah] because there are strikes, and we can’t afford to rent  or go back to Syria,” she said. “We don’t know what to do.” 

Since September 23, 311,034 Syrian citizens have crossed into Syria, alongside tens of thousands of Lebanese, according to Lebanon’s General Security. But many Syrians, like Raghad and her family, cannot go back. 

Read more: Regime and AANES conscription traps Syrians in Lebanon as thousands flee

Even if she did have a home to return to in Syria, Raghad would not be able to afford the trip, which she estimated would cost around $1,000. Al-Nasser, at the Sidon parking lot, estimated the trip would cost him around $500. 

To avoid arrest for mandatory military conscription or other trouble along the route, they expected to have to bribe military personnel stationed at various checkpoints. 

“Syrians who flee to Syria confront a distinct set of risks,” Simon, from Synaps, said. “Men of military age face conscription, which some pay hefty bribes to avoid. Others who are wanted by the security apparatus—say, for their activism or military desertion—may face far worse,” he added. 

Suwayda 24, a local news outlet in southern Syria, reported on October 9 that four citizens from Suwayda province were arrested in two separate incidents while trying to return from Lebanon to Syria this month. 

Three of the men, deserters from military service, were arrested at a military intelligence checkpoint near Damascus, while a fourth was likely arrested for participating in recent peaceful demonstrations, the outlet reported. 

History repeats 

At the bus station in Sidon, more displaced Syrians are arriving by the day as Israel continues its attacks. When Syria Direct visited there were about 890 people living in the lot, according to a man who had recorded all their names. Five days later, on October 10, al-Nasser at least 100 more had come. 

Sitting in the parking lot, 35-year-old Maisa held her youngest daughter, a three-year-old. “The same thing happened in Syria, when we decided to escape to save ourselves, and now it’s repeating again,” she said, peering down at her daughter.

Maisa was young herself when she fled Syria’s Hama province years ago, but now she is escaping in fear for her own children, who “do not deserve to die.”