The Border Zone with Lebanon: A Refuge for Syrians Fearing ‘Change’

The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
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The Border Zone with Lebanon: A Refuge for Syrians Fearing ‘Change’

The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).

The road from Beirut to Damascus is now lined with unfamiliar scenes. In just a few days, everything has changed for those traveling to the Syrian capital by land from Lebanon. Once an economic lifeline for Damascus, the route bustled with visitors—Syrians and Lebanese alike—and large trucks carried goods from Beirut’s port to Syria, a necessity brought on by international sanctions that have forced the country to rely on this corridor.

The journey to Damascus via Lebanon begins at the Masnaa border crossing, which, during the early days of Syria’s upheaval, saw unprecedented traffic heading into Syria. While outbound traffic has returned to normal—or even declined—inbound activity has surged again. Hundreds of Syrian families line up at the border, hoping for “humanitarian exceptions” to enter Lebanon. However, the influx has clogged the route for everyone, even those eligible for entry. For days, the road was virtually impassable until Lebanese authorities intervened to reopen it. Still, complaints from Syrians about alleged abuses at the border prompted General Security chief Major General Elias al-Baysari to launch an investigation into these violations, followed by measures to reduce the number of entries to just a few hundred.

Some Syrians leave after being denied entry, only for others to arrive, clinging to the hope that Lebanon might eventually open its doors. Entry is now restricted to those with valid residency, travelers transiting through Beirut’s airport, or individuals with official documentation.

Families wait in cars, with children and women inside while men gather around fires outside. Ayman, a man in his fifties from rural Damascus, anxiously waits for permission to cross after being denied entry by the checkpoint. He mentions receiving a promise that his case will be reviewed. “We are in danger. I won’t take my children back to die,” he says, refusing to elaborate on the exact threat. Determined, he vows to remain in the deserted zone indefinitely if necessary.

Despite no reports of targeted violence against former regime supporters or religious minorities—especially Shiites—fear remains pervasive. Bilal, a Syrian from the predominantly Shiite town of Zahraa near Aleppo, recounts how a relative was killed and claims that his name is on a wanted list. “I’ll never go back,” he says firmly.

The scene repeats itself just past the first opposition-held checkpoint, opposite the abandoned Syrian passport office. Crossing is straightforward and no longer requires ID for Lebanese citizens, unlike in the past. A friendly greeting and a wave from the armed guards suffice, often accompanied by a smile and “Welcome!” This is a stark contrast to the past, when multiple military checkpoints, infamous for soliciting bribes in the form of bread, cigarettes, or cash, made travel cumbersome.

Now, entering and exiting Syria via land is remarkably easy—no paperwork, no questions, and no inspections.

Near a victory arch along the road, adorned with images of deposed Syrian President Bashar al-Assad and his late father Hafez, stands a young man. His old car is parked nearby, with his wife and three children—all under ten years old—waiting inside. Hesitantly, he approaches a Lebanese traveler, asking whether he can enter Lebanon without the “yellow card” once issued by Syrian authorities for outgoing vehicles. Syrian border guards had turned him away, warning that Lebanese authorities might confiscate his car.

The man, from the Shiite-majority village of Foua near Idlib, is determined to reach Lebanon. “I’ve arranged for work with someone there, and I need to leave as soon as possible,” he explains nervously. Though he insists no one has harmed him, his unease is evident as he prepares to leave.

The Assads’ towering portraits remain intact, likely due to their height, while those at ground level have been torn down or trampled. Military checkpoints have been vandalized or destroyed.

Abandoned vehicles litter the roadside, some still smoldering, while others have been stripped of all valuables—tires, parts, and accessories. Military vehicles, tanks, and armored carriers, some still loaded with ammunition, lie deserted along the route from the border to Damascus. These remnants tell the story of a collapsed regime and an uncertain future.

Scattered among the wreckage are vehicles destroyed by Israeli missile strikes targeting Syrian air defense systems, including anti-aircraft launchers mounted on military trucks.

The stretch of abandoned military hardware extends from the Syrian border to the outskirts of Damascus. These vehicles were once meant to defend the capital but now lie powerless, deserted by soldiers who left their uniforms discarded along the roadside as they fled. The old Syrian flag lies tattered and forgotten in multiple locations, untouched—neither reclaimed nor mourned.



Three Scenarios for Russia’s Military Presence in Syria

Russian President Vladimir Putin inspecting his troops at Hmeimim Airbase in Latakia on December 12, 2017 (Sputnik/AP)
Russian President Vladimir Putin inspecting his troops at Hmeimim Airbase in Latakia on December 12, 2017 (Sputnik/AP)
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Three Scenarios for Russia’s Military Presence in Syria

Russian President Vladimir Putin inspecting his troops at Hmeimim Airbase in Latakia on December 12, 2017 (Sputnik/AP)
Russian President Vladimir Putin inspecting his troops at Hmeimim Airbase in Latakia on December 12, 2017 (Sputnik/AP)

Russian President Vladimir Putin said on Thursday he would meet former Syrian President Bashar al-Assad, who fled to Russia after his regime fell in Damascus. But what will Putin say to his former ally? And how might their first exchange unfold, given Russia’s role in helping Assad escape on a chaotic night?

The Kremlin, known for staging Putin’s meetings with precision, might opt to limit media coverage this time. Putin could be seen sitting at a small table with Assad, now on asylum

in Moscow, in a soundless scene—one that leaves little room for formal pleasantries.

Why has Putin announced plans to meet Assad? Is it to reprimand him? Many in Russia believe Assad’s stubbornness has hurt Moscow’s efforts, threatened its gains in Syria, and could eventually risk its key military presence there.

As details remain unclear, Russian experts are racing to analyze developments in Syria and outline scenarios for the next phase.

Some Russian experts have painted grim scenarios. A member of the prestigious Russian Council on Foreign and Defense Policy warned of potential risks, including a prolonged conflict with civil war elements, a humanitarian catastrophe with millions of refugees, escalating migration in Europe, and rising tensions among nations like Israel, the US, and Iran.

He also predicted a new wave of international terrorism that could reach far beyond the region.

Other experts echoed this pessimism. One posted an image of a Syrian dissident stepping on a statue of Assad’s father, warning that “this is just the beginning.” Another blamed the crisis on the “Obama curse,” citing the West’s interference, while a third shared a bleak analysis titled, “We Must Pray for Syria.”

So far, Russian media and think tanks have avoided any optimistic outlooks for Syria’s future.

Experts, who spoke to Asharq Al-Awsat, believe Moscow may be preparing to handle one of three possible scenarios in Syria.

The first, most favorable for Russia’s interests, involves Moscow reaching an agreement with the new Syrian authorities to maintain its military presence for a limited period.

This could mean replacing the current 49-year agreements with a five-year deal to facilitate a gradual Russian withdrawal. Such an arrangement could help the new leadership in Syria manage Western pressure to cut ties with Moscow.

The second scenario envisions Russia giving up its airbase in Hmeimim while retaining a significant presence in Tartus. This would mirror agreements from 1972, which allowed Russian naval vessels to use the Tartus logistics center in the Mediterranean. This compromise would preserve Russia’s interests while reducing Western pressure on Damascus.

The third scenario involves a full Russian withdrawal from both bases, with Moscow later seeking agreements for shared use of air and sea ports. Such agreements, similar to those Russia has signed with other countries, are less likely to provoke Western opposition.

Regardless of the outcome, the Kremlin has yet to develop a clear strategy for dealing with the emerging situation in Syria.

Key questions remain, including how to curb Iran’s regional influence, manage Türkiye and Israel’s growing roles in Syria, and establish a new regional balance that secures Moscow’s minimum interests.