No haven from hardship: Why some Syrians return from Europe
| Thessaloniki, Greece, and Berlin
Inside the Arrivals hall of Thessaloniki airport, a young man sits in the corner charging his phone, irritation flickering across his face.
It takes him hours聽to align battery power, internet connectivity, and聽the presence online of a smuggler.
While he waits, hundreds of people land in quick succession from German and other cities.聽For many Syrian refugees, these low-cost flights聽mark the end of their search for safety in Europe.
Why We Wrote This
Why would refugees who emptied their savings, took on debt, and risked their lives to reach Europe just a few years ago head back to a perilous Syria? Part 10 of On the Move: the faces, places, and politics of migration.
鈥淚 worry the smuggler will come online and I won鈥檛 catch him,鈥� says Ahmad, a Syrian Kurd who just arrived from Bonn. He says he paid 1,500 euros to fly from Germany to Greece on fake Greek documents.
Ahmad, a pseudonym, fled to Istanbul in 2012 after a barrel bomb barely missed his house. In 2015, swept by the enthusiasm of Europe-bound cousins, he took the Balkan route to Germany. All he carried then, as now, was a backpack.
鈥淭hings didn鈥檛 work out for me,鈥� he聽says, keeping an eye on airport police. 鈥淚 was expected to work or study, but frankly I didn鈥檛 manage to do either.鈥�
Since 2016,聽thousands of disappointed Syrian refugees have left Europe. No one has counted their exact numbers, but many of them are thought to have joined the 310,000 others who have returned home from Turkey and Lebanon this year to聽both government- and opposition-controlled areas.
Why would individuals who just a few years earlier were so keen on a new start in Europe, who shredded their savings, took on debt, and risked their lives on the Mediterranean and Balkan routes, now turn back? To find out, the Monitor spoke with Syrians in Berlin and Cottbus, Germany, and in Athens and聽Thessaloniki, Greece.
Time and time again, refugees cite delays in family reunification, limited job opportunities, feelings of isolation,聽and culture shock. Almost every one of the 100-plus Syrian refugees this reporter spoke to knew at least one friend or relative who had left Europe this year.
Left behind
Outside the Syrian Embassy in Berlin in October,聽Maryam聽is聽reeling with rage because her husband聽has taken聽off with two of their four children to the Syrian coastal city of Latakia. She tears up recounting how her son and daughter, only 8 and 5 years old, crossed the borders of Greece, Turkey, and Syria on foot.
鈥淢en leave on their own or with their families because it takes years聽for papers to fall into place,鈥� Maryam聽explains聽later while changing the diapers of her youngest. 鈥淭he main reason people leave is that they don鈥檛 feel safe here. They feel uncertain about the future.鈥�
The reasons for that are many. Most Syrians in Germany have received only one-year renewable temporary聽protection documents, rather than full refugee status that paves the way for permanent residency. Gains by the anti-immigrant party AfD and shifting聽government聽policies are another source of concern.
Syrians can also feel vulnerable within their homes, an unintended consequence of the way Western gender and parenting norms are presented in integration courses. Parents worry, for example,聽that聽authorities could take their children away if they use corporal punishment on them.
鈥淭he idea of losing your children, after everything else, is too much,鈥澛爏ays聽Maryam.
The way back
The return route 鈥� based on interviews with Syrian refugees and smugglers 鈥� is well trodden. It often involves crossing the treacherous waters of the Evros,聽or Maritsa聽River, which forms a natural border between Turkey and Greece: wide and shallow in areas, narrow and choppy in others.
Every day,聽says聽a Greek bus driver in Thessaloniki,聽moments after a handful of Syrians had scrambled aboard, 12 to 15 refugees head in the direction of towns on the Turkish border.
The overall phenomenon is hard to measure. Germany does not track Syrians who go to Greece, which is within Europe's 26-nation聽Schengen聽free travel zone.聽Greek authorities primarily focus on refugees聽coming in to Europe.聽International aid workers say there is no clear picture or data on outgoing clandestine movements in the other direction.
But they are significant. 鈥淚 crossed the river with nearly 200 people in January,鈥� says Aboud,聽an illiterate 24-year-old聽who returned to Istanbul from Germany after struggling with language classes and everyday bureaucracy.
Refugees鈥� struggles
In interviews in Europe,聽Syrians from different regions, class backgrounds, and education levels stress their struggles to find work, housing and a sense of community. Some criticize outreach efforts focused on women and children, saying they upset traditional family dynamics and values.
In the northeastern German town of Cottbus, two Syrian fathers, Ali and Kamal, kill time at a drab mall. Both of them are natives of the northwestern Syrian town of Binnish. Ali says he has eight friends who have returned to the opposition-held enclave of Idlib. He often considers doing the same.
鈥淓ven if you are a prophet here and want to try to raise your child the right way, it is impossible,鈥� Ali聽explains. 鈥淭here are too many bad influences.鈥�
He聽casts a sharp glance at two German teenage girls who greet Syrian male friends with a hug. 鈥淵ou know how important the honor of our girls is to us,鈥� he聽continues. 鈥淗ere, by the age of 14, it is gone. I brought my children to save them from bombs, but I don't want them growing up here.鈥�
That worldview is not representative of all Syrians. Kamel, a middle-aged man in the grip of nostalgia, says he wishes he could be 鈥渁ir-dropped鈥� into Syria, but realizes that a brighter future for his children lies in Germany.
鈥淚 came here because I didn鈥檛 want my children enlisted to fight for anyone,鈥� he says between cigarettes. 鈥淢y son now speaks flawless German and he is an apprentice mechanic.鈥�
By聽contrast, the two fathers barely speak 20 words of German between them after three years in the country.
Generational gap
The appetite for return is mixed among younger Syrians, reflecting different experiences of the conflict and the nature of their ties back home.
In a lively community center for refugees in Berlin, 20-year-old Anas聽says he would 鈥済o back tomorrow鈥� if he could afford to. His mother and sister still live in聽Damascus, the Syrian capital. The fact that one of his friends returned the previous year without problems gives him hope. 鈥淲hy should we deprive ourselves of our country just because he [President聽Bashar al-Assad] stays in power?鈥�
Sitting next to him is Mohammed, who barely survived the siege of Eastern Ghouta and now uses an electric wheelchair. He cringes at such statements. For him, as for most Syrian refugees from hard-hit areas once held by the opposition, return is inconceivable while聽Mr. Assad is in charge.
鈥淓uropean governments want us to go back, and yes, some people do want to go back,鈥澛爏ays Mohammed. 鈥淏ut I am staying put.鈥�
The United Nations refugee agency聽UNHCR聽and the International Organization for Migration still deem聽Syria unsafe. Both are uneasy at the way some politicians in countries with large Syrian refugee populations are increasingly raising the issue of return, and reconstruction in Syria.
State-sponsored return
In Germany,聽the extent of Syrians鈥� interest in return聽is being tested through low-key official return programs, an option offered at the federal and regional level.聽The聽Federal Office for Migration and Refugees reports that by August,聽325 people had voluntarily traveled to Syria, excluding departures financed solely by regional authorities.
鈥淪yrians were really happy when you handed them the tickets,鈥澛爏ays聽Maik Schwiegershausen at the state office for refugee affairs in Berlin,聽which had offered a much warmer welcome than other parts of Germany and Europe.聽He notes聽that聽those returning are generally families rather than single men, who might risk forced military conscription or detention on arrival.
In a bid to push lucrative real estate projects, the Syrian government聽passed a decree in April that would allow it to expropriate property from owners who did not register the property in person within 30 days.
鈥淭he Syrians who are here want to return eventually,鈥澛燤r.聽Schwiegershausen says, and the decree prompted some to go back in order to safeguard their homes and land.
The notion of return tempts men like Atef, a former chauffeur from Damascus聽now living in Berlin, who battles depression and has almost no social contact outside his family. But he worries about how Syrian authorities would treat him.
聽鈥淚f there was not this issue of fear, most Syrians would go back,鈥澛爃e says.聽鈥淭here is an element of fear because you don鈥檛 know how you will be received. The fact that you asked for asylum abroad could be held against you 鈥� you betrayed the nation.鈥�
Those who act on the idea of return generally tell few people of their decision, keeping a low profile before and after the journey.
鈥淔or most people the decision to go back is a snap decision, a reaction to a particular experience, a problem with his wife, a negative encounter with neighbors or authorities,鈥� says Khaled, a聽refrigerator repairman聽from Aleppo living in Berlin. 鈥淭he decision is kept secret because it could create a problem for the person with authorities here and also there.鈥�
鈥淓verybody is stressed,鈥� he聽adds, pointing to Germany鈥檚 new聽hard-line聽interior minister and聽noting that聽a ban on expulsions to Syria might expire at the end of this year.
In transit
The dynamics are different in Greece, where many Syrians are stuck because of tighter border controls. Here the government is sympathetic to refugees but strapped for cash. Few refugees interviewed in mainland Greece found culture shock a problem, but they are deeply uncertain about the future.
Greece is a transit country rather than a destination for migrants and the prospect of having to stay in the Mediterranean nation is a hard pill to swallow for traumatized Syrians. Those who accept the idea that reaching northern Europe will be financially or logistically impossible, either ask for asylum or return the way they came.
Before the war, Abdulrahman Abu Ayman made colorful sand bottles that he sold in Souq al-Qamaqiya in the Old City of Damascus.聽He was badly wounded when a tank shell collapsed his house in Ghouta, killing seven of his relatives.
He made 14 failed attempts to fly out of Athens to northern Europe with fraudulent documents. Deflated and defeated, he applied for asylum in Greece in April. He was shocked not to get an asylum hearing before mid-2020. That delay was the last straw, he said a few days before leaving for Turkey.
鈥淩efugee status, recognition takes time,鈥� says Luca Curci of UNHCR in Thessaloniki. 鈥淚t is inevitable once you are uprooted: Uncertainty is the name of the game.鈥�
Offer of amnesty
A Syrian government amnesty in October covering men who deserted the army or avoided military service has caught the attention of refugee draft dodgers.
Omar Omar, whose father runs a construction company near Damascus, hopes to benefit. When he was called to serve, his family spirited him out of the country. He crossed from Turkey to Greece on a rubber boat.
Now Omar is one of dozens of squatters living in an abandoned building in Athens. It鈥檚 a step up from the island camp where he spent more than a year in conditions so desperate he聽says he聽tried to commit suicide.聽He and two friends who reached Norway and Germany, along with another who stayed in Turkey, have made a pact to return to Syria this year.
鈥淲e鈥檝e all been in Europe for years, unable to build a future,鈥� he says.聽鈥淲e are better off going back, biting the bullet of military service and then starting our lives. We might serve and not survive, but at least at the end of the road, if we do survive, we have a life in our country.鈥�
Bin Laden or Ali Baba
Back in Thessaloniki, two young men relax on a bench in what Syrians call 鈥減igeon square.鈥� They enjoy the Mediterranean breeze as they try to forget their sorrows, but technology keeps trauma within easy reach.聽
Salih al Mashtoud opens his phone and scrolls through a series of grim photographs. The first batch captured the aftermath of an air strike that leveled his house.聽
鈥淵ou tell people a fraction of your story, and they don鈥檛 believe you,鈥� says聽Mr.聽Mashtoud, pausing to look at a picture of聽his cousin鈥檚 mangled corpse. 鈥淚f a Syrian has the good fortune to arrive in one piece in Europe, they don鈥檛 buy their story. Young men who left to avoid killing each other are treated like security threats.鈥�
Both men report being at the receiving end of hostile remarks and actions. 鈥淭he minute you have a beard, they call you Bin Laden or Ali Baba,鈥� explains Bilal, a Palestinian Syrian. 鈥淚f they don鈥檛 think we are terrorists, they take us for thieves.鈥�
Mashtoud lives in a refugee camp and has an appointment with asylum authorities in 2020. He has no intention of waiting and 鈥渨asting another two years鈥� of his life. He is preparing to head back to Syria.
Unlike Omar in Athens, Mashtoud has no confidence in government promises of amnesty. He聽knows a number of deserters who came forward and disappeared. But he wants to rejoin his mother who has been living on her own since 2016, when his father was detained.
鈥淚 am going to turn myself in to the regime,鈥� he says. 鈥淚f I make it, I make it. If I don鈥檛, too bad. The dead are dead.鈥�
