Young Palestinians in Lebanon Dream of a Future Abroad

In this picture taken on April 19, 2023, Nirmeen Hazineh, a young Palestinian refugee in Lebanon, poses atop a rooftop at the Shatila camp for Palestinian refugees in the southern suburbs of Beirut. (Photo by ANWAR AMRO / AFP)
In this picture taken on April 19, 2023, Nirmeen Hazineh, a young Palestinian refugee in Lebanon, poses atop a rooftop at the Shatila camp for Palestinian refugees in the southern suburbs of Beirut. (Photo by ANWAR AMRO / AFP)
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Young Palestinians in Lebanon Dream of a Future Abroad

In this picture taken on April 19, 2023, Nirmeen Hazineh, a young Palestinian refugee in Lebanon, poses atop a rooftop at the Shatila camp for Palestinian refugees in the southern suburbs of Beirut. (Photo by ANWAR AMRO / AFP)
In this picture taken on April 19, 2023, Nirmeen Hazineh, a young Palestinian refugee in Lebanon, poses atop a rooftop at the Shatila camp for Palestinian refugees in the southern suburbs of Beirut. (Photo by ANWAR AMRO / AFP)

In Lebanon's impoverished Palestinian refugee camps, young people say they dream of leaving a struggling country where their families took refuge generations ago and where their futures remain bleak.

Nirmeen Hazineh is a descendant of survivors of what Palestinians call the Nakba -- the "catastrophe" -- when more than 760,000 Palestinians fled or were forced from their homes by the 1948 war over Israel's creation.

She proudly considers herself from Jaffa -- now south of Tel Aviv -- and talks as if she has lived there all her life, instead of in the ramshackle Shatila refugee camp south of Beirut.

"Emigration has become the main solution for young people," said Hazineh, 25.

"Whoever you speak to, they'll tell you 'I want to leave', whether legally or illegally, it doesn't matter," she told AFP.

Lebanon has been grappling with a devastating economic crisis since late 2019.

Most of the population is now in poverty, according to the United Nations, and many Lebanese have quit the country for better prospects abroad.

Hazineh is a sociology graduate but is not allowed to practice in her field, as Lebanon bars Palestinians from working in 39 professions, including as doctors, lawyers and engineers.

Instead she helps to raise awareness of the dangers of drugs, which add to the daily misery of Shatila.

"There is a kind of despair among young people in the camp," said Hazineh, who despite the difficulties maintains a radiant smile.

She said she wanted to live "in a country that respects me, that gives me a chance, a job".

Tiny Lebanon hosts an estimated 250,000 Palestinian refugees, according to UNRWA, the UN agency for Palestinian refugees, while almost double that number are registered for the organization's services.

Most Palestinians, including more than 30,000 who fled the war in neighboring Syria after 2011, live in one of Lebanon's 12 official camps, now bustling but impoverished urban districts.

Shatila is a warren of tumbledown homes where tangled electricity cables criss-cross tight alleyways.

Walid Othman, 33, says he spends his spare time in political activism with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, which is banned in Israel.

Othman said he would have liked to study political science and dedicate his life to "defending the Palestinian cause on an international level".

But he had to stop his studies because of "the difficult economic situation" and instead became a blacksmith.

In Lebanon, Palestinians' "denied right to own property... further complicates employment and income generation activities", said Dorothee Klaus, director of UNRWA affairs for Lebanon.

Lebanon says restrictions on Palestinians are justified by their right to return to their country.

In neighboring Syria, some 400,000 Palestinians are registered with UNRWA, where they have access to the job market.

In Jordan, more than half of the around 10 million population is of Palestinian origin, while some 2.3 million Palestinians are registered with UNRWA but have the same rights as Jordanians.

"With no prospect of meaningful future", Palestinian refugees in Lebanon have "attempted to migrate whenever possible", Klaus said.

But their travel documents "may not be recognized", and they may be "required to file visas related to stateless persons", she added.

Mohammad Abdel Hafiz lamented that Palestinians in Lebanon "don't even enjoy the most basic rights".

"Everybody is born in a country, while we are born where our heart is," said the 29-year-old, who volunteers for the Palestinian civil defense in Shatila.

As he zips through its alleys on his moped, he dreams of leaving, but his chances of getting a visa to a Western country are slim.

And he is haunted by the memory of three young camp residents who drowned when a boat carrying would-be migrants sank off the Lebanese coast last year.

"They died because they wanted to have a future," Abdel Hafiz said.

"Here, our aim is just to survive."



Syrians Face Horror, Fearing Loved Ones May Be in Mass Graves

People search for human remains at a trench believed to be used as a mass grave on the outskirts of Damascus - AFP
People search for human remains at a trench believed to be used as a mass grave on the outskirts of Damascus - AFP
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Syrians Face Horror, Fearing Loved Ones May Be in Mass Graves

People search for human remains at a trench believed to be used as a mass grave on the outskirts of Damascus - AFP
People search for human remains at a trench believed to be used as a mass grave on the outskirts of Damascus - AFP

After losing hope of finding his two brothers among those freed from Syrian jails, Ziad Alaywi was filled with dread, knowing there was only one place they were likely to be: a mass grave.

"We want to know where our children are, our brothers," said the 55-year-old standing by a deep trench near Najha, southeast of Damascus.

"Were they killed? Are they buried here?" he asked, pointing to the ditch, one of several believed to hold the bodies of prisoners tortured to death.

International organizations have called these acts "crimes against humanity".

Since the fall of Bashar al-Assad's regime on December 8 and the takeover by an Islamist-led opposition alliance, families across Syria have been searching for their loved ones.

"I've looked for my brothers in all the prisons," said the driver from the Damascus suburbs, whose siblings and four cousins were arrested over a decade ago.

"I've searched all the documents that might give me a clue to their location," he added, but it was all in vain.

Residents say there are at least three other similar sites, where diggers were frequently seen working in areas once off-limits under the former government.

- 'Peace of mind' -

The dirt at the pit where Alaywi stands looks loose, freshly dug. Children run and play nearby.

If the site was investigated, "it would allow many people to have peace of mind and stop hoping for the return of a son who will never return", he said.

"It's not just one, two, or three people who are being sought. It's thousands."

He called on international forensic investigators to "open these mass graves so we can finally know where our children are."

Many Syrians who spoke to AFP in recent days expressed disappointment at not finding their loved ones in the prisons opened after the takeover by Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS).

A few kilometres (miles) from Najha, a team of about 10 people, most in white overalls, was transferring small white bags into larger black ones with numbers.

Syrian Civil Defense teams have received numerous calls from people claiming to have seen cars dumping bags by the roadside at night. The bags were later found to contain bones.

"Since the fall of the regime, we've received over 100 calls about mass graves. People believe every military site has one," said civil defence official Omar al-Salmo.

- Safeguard evidence -

The claim isn't without reason, said Salmo, considering "the few people who've left prisons and the exponential number of missing people."

There are no official figures on how many detainees have been released from Syrian jails in the past 10 days, but estimates fall far short of the number missing since 2011.

In 2022, the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights monitor estimated that more than 100,000 people had died in prison, mostly due to torture, since the war began.

"We're doing our best with our modest expertise," said Salmo. His team is collecting bone samples for DNA tests.

On Tuesday, Human Rights Watch urged the new Syrian authorities to "secure, collect and safeguard evidence, including from mass grave sites and government records... that will be vital in future criminal trials".

The rights group also called for cooperation with the International Committee of the Red Cross, which could "provide critical expertise" to help safeguard the records and clarify the fate of missing people.

Days after Assad's fall, HRW teams visiting Damascus's Tadamun district, the site of a massacre in April 2013, found "scores of human remains".

In Daraa province, Mohammad Khaled regained control of his farm in Izraa, seized for years by military intelligence.

"I noticed that the ground was uneven," said Khaled.

"We were surprised to discover a body, then another," he said. In just one day, he and others including a forensic doctor exhumed a total of 22 bodies.