Being young through conflict and displacement: changing meanings of “youth” among Syrian youth in Lebanon

By Hala Caroline Abou Zaki and Zoë Jordan

A ‘lost generation’, a source of potential instability, and the hope for the future: young people displaced by conflict are increasingly the focus of national and international attention and intervention. Yet there are limited representations of Syrian youths’ own perceptions and experiences of displacement.[i] Our research questions what shapes young people's trajectories from education to employment in protracted displacement in Jordan and Lebanon.  In this blog, we explore how the experience of conflict-induced displacement has altered the meaning of ‘youth’ and ‘being young’ for young Syrians living in Lebanon.

Shelter in Saida. Credits: CENDEP, Oxford Brookes University

Shelter in Saida. Credits: CENDEP, Oxford Brookes University

The official Lebanese definition of youth – 15 - 29 years old – is our starting point; however, ‘youth’ is a contested category. Prescriptive linear models and generic age-based approaches are insufficient for understanding the meaning of youth. Instead, we engage with a more complex notion of youth transitions and of youth as carrying a socially-constructed meaning. Accordingly, we set out to understand with the young research participants how they themselves define youth and how they situate themselves in these categories.

Many of the young people we spoke to in Lebanon expressed the feeling of “not having had a childhood” or youth because of political violence and displacement.[ii] They explained how these events have changed the experiences and roles associated with specific periods and ages in people's lives. This emerged in particular through the question of aspirations, education, responsibilities and family roles and position.

Changing Aspirations and Ending Education

Mounir[iii] is 23 years old.  As he says, all of his aspirations changed with the displacement. In Syria, his aspirations were related to education and football, but in Lebanon, work became his main concern. Talking about the situation of other young people like him, he says:

“Each one of us had a dream, and they were studying to achieve it… When they were obliged to move and settle somewhere else, many things have changed… Their responsibilities have changed… They had to prioritize the house and family needs over their ambitions.”

Mounir arrived in Lebanon in 2011 with his family at the age of 13. He had completed grade 7 in Syria but had no certification from his school. In Lebanon, he enrolled in Grade 8 in an informal school that taught the Syrian curriculum. However, the school closed. Mounir did not want to try to register in a Lebanese school because he was afraid of being discriminated against as a Syrian and of not succeeding in the Lebanese system because of language barriers (much of the curriculum in Lebanon is in English or French). His family did not have enough money to pay the school fees so Mounir worked to help his family. One of his brothers was killed in Syria, the other is imprisoned in Lebanon, and his sister is married and lives far from her family. Mounir, alone with his parents, felt responsible for them.

Violence and displacement ended Mounir’s education. For others, it temporarily interrupted their education for a few months or years.[iv] This is the case for Basma, now 15, who arrived in Lebanon in 2013; she was in Grade 1. She waited one year to resume her education until her family situation stabilised and they could locate an informal school she could attend. Continuing school is usually linked to family resources, the presence and proximity of formal or informal schools in the place of residence, and legal restrictions in the country. Indeed, many young Syrians cannot continue their education in the Lebanese school system as they do not have the required residency papers.

The issue of education, or lack of it, has created deep inequalities among Syrian youth and within families. Maher is 20 years old, the youngest of his siblings. He points out how his whole family is educated, except him. He left school at an early stage (he was in grade 6) compared to his brothers and sisters: his brother reached university, while two of his sisters finished secondary school and the third one completed Grade 9. Originally from Homs, Maher experienced several displacements in Syria before arriving in Lebanon in 2012 at the age of 11. He has since then turned away from school and started working.

Household responsibilities and family positions

Working to ensure family livelihoods is another critical factor that changed young people’s perception of life stage and age. Many young people had to help their family to secure food, housing, and clothes, a role that previously fell to parents and especially fathers. Our interlocutors insisted on the relation between being young and not having responsibility. Rania is a 17 years old girl from Aleppo’s countryside. Living in an informal settlement in the Bekaa area (east Lebanon), she works with her younger sisters in agricultural fields to provide for the family. Pointing the difference between life in Syria and Lebanon, Rania explained that “Today, at 15 years old, the person is becoming responsible for the family… If we were in Syria, it is at the age of 20 that they start having responsibility and working… today, at the age of 15, a person should be working”. That echoes what 23-year-old Anas told us. As he explained, before fathers would work and mothers would care for the house and family. Nowadays, everyone must contribute to secure family livelihoods. Conflict and displacement have reshaped generational and gendered roles and responsibilities within families and more largely the society. This invokes a heaviness in young people like Anas, preventing the carefree feelings associated with youth and thus affecting the perception of this life stage.

The changes in family roles are not only about the material issues of family life. Many young people identified how they have become emotional and symbolic supports for their parents. Ghassan was 12 years old at the beginning of the mass protests in Syria and the regime’s subsequent bloody repression. After the death of his brother and the departure of his father because of the divorce of his parents, he moved to Lebanon at the age of 17 with his mother and older sister. As the only male in the household, he felt responsible financially and emotionally. He explained that because of all the difficulties they endured, he decided not to sink into distress and to stay positive in order to alleviate suffering of his mother and sister. Similarly, 15-year-old Maha is trying to protect her parents. This young teenager from Deir Ezzor experienced life under ISIS, including the bombings and witnessing the beheading of her uncle. She never discusses her haunting memories with her parents so as to spare them further suffering, especially as they have lost many other family members.

Young Syrians displaced to Lebanon share an experience of physical and structural violence and are part of the first generation of those to be displaced by the on-going conflict in Syria. Despite these commonalities, the young people described different experiences of ‘youth’, revealing the diversity of positions and experiences of displacement. While young Syrians are frequently treated monolithically as “young refugees”, their experiences of conflict and displacement are varied, and exacerbate existing inequalities while creating new ones. These inequalities affect the way young people perceive themselves and their age position. To neglect of these dimensions risks further entrenching and exacerbating youth inequalities in displacement contexts.


About the authors

Hala Caroline Abou Zaki is a Postdoctoral researcher at the Center for Development and Emergency Practice (CENDEP), Oxford Brookes University, UK. Her research focuses on forced migration and exile in the Middle East (Palestinians and Syrians) from different perspectives: refugee camps, family relationships and youth. Her Phd (2017) dealt with social, urban and political transformation of Palestinian camps in Lebanon from the particular case of Shatila. 

Zoë Jordan is a Postdoctoral researcher at the Centre for Development and Emergency Practice (CENDEP), Oxford Brookes University, UK. She researches forced migration and humanitarianism, with a focus on how forced migrants respond to displacement in protracted and urban contexts. Her PhD (2020) addressed the act of refugee hosting among urban refugee populations in Amman, Jordan, primarily working with Sudanese refugees. You can find more information on her website or follow her on Twitter.

 

[i] Notable exceptions include Jordan and Brun, under review; Chopra and Dryden-Peterson 2020; Adji 2019; Gökçearslan Çifci and Dilek 2019.

[ii] All interviews in Lebanon were conducted by Hala Abou Zaki, Nadim Haidar, Cyrine Saab and Hamza Saleh between August 2019 and January 2020. A focus group was conducted by Hala Abou Zaki and Alexandra Kassir in December 2021.

[iii] All names have been changed to protect the privacy of participants.

[iv] See also Jordan and Brun (under review) ‘Vital conjunctures in compound crises: Conceptualising young people's trajectories from education to employment in Jordan and Lebanon’, Social Sciences Special Issue: Crisis, im/mobilities and young life trajectories

 

‘One of the guys’: Hosting relationships among young Sudanese refugee men in Amman, Jordan

By Zoë Jordan

Refugee hosting at the household level – the sharing of accommodation between people who, in non-displacement contexts, would not normally share a home – is a vital yet often overlooked facet of displacement. Described as the silent NGO” due to the scale of support it provides to refugee populations, it nonetheless has remained largely overlooked in research, policy, and humanitarian response. This is particularly the case for young single refugee men. My doctoral research considered the role of hosting for young Sudanese refugee men living in Amman. In this blog, I discuss how hosting interacts with their identity as young men. [1]

Skatepark. Credits: Zoë Jordan

Skatepark. Credits: Zoë Jordan

In Amman, Jordan, accommodation sharing between young Sudanese men is prominent. The largest proportion of Sudanese refugees in Jordan are young men, fleeing conflict and conscription into armed groups, though the number of women and children appears to be growing. As of late 2018, 31% of the Sudanese refugee population were young men between the ages of 12 and 35 (compared to 14% of the population being women in this age group, and 23% being men between 36 and 59).[2] Refugees have restricted access to formal employment and risk detention and deportation if caught working yet UNHCR and NGO funding is inadequate in the face of the scale of need.  As young non-disabled men, they are seen as capable of meeting their own needs and, as a result, receive little humanitarian support. The immediate impact of hosting arrangements is therefore on securing accommodation and basic needs. However, the young men also identify an important protective aspect of hosting, namely as support in case of physical attack, keeping an eye on one another, and for sharing information. Eight of the nine men involved in this stage of my research had lived in Amman for more than five years and, despite anticipating and working towards future resettlement, they felt largely pessimistic about the possibility of being selected. In such a context, hosting also provided the men with a community, a limited but present sense of home, and support in endeavours – such as continued education - to build networks and skills that would serve both in displacement and in the hoped-for future country of resettlement. In the words of Ali", “Sometimes I feel good, I’m with my friends, and I'm still alive and things are going well, I’m waiting. And sometimes, it turns around and I feel bad and like I'm away and restricted by rules, regulations, government, and stuff.” Living in host relationships is one response to these bureaucratic and social constraints.

The men I worked with gave multiple explanations for why they lived together.[3] Unsurprisingly, the most prominent among these was the common understanding of the difficulties of living in displacement and the economic and protection needs of the men. For the men, these hardships took on a specific form in light of the widespread discrimination they face as black, Sudanese, refugee men. They highlighted the common understandings that this engendered as a principal reason to live with other Sudanese men. In some cases, this was expressed in terms of their sense of community obligation to assist each other. In more in-depth conversations, it often became apparent that there was a preference for people with the same tribal background or place of origin, based on the idea that people with a shared background would have a shared understanding of how to act in ways that were acceptable to each other. Beyond this, there was also a connection between hosting and personal identity, particularly when men chose to seek out accommodation with friends who had something in common – whether an interest in studying, playing football, or attending social or cultural activities together.

The men’s gender, age, and lack of child-caring responsibilities, which limited demands for care that might otherwise have been placed on them, enabled their participation in shared group hosting arrangements was enabled by their. Despite this, the image of men as ‘care-free’ is inaccurate. When relations arrived in Jordan, the men often were obliged to support them and to incorporate them into their hosting arrangements. In some cases, the arrival of ‘real’ brothers supplanted caring arrangements with ‘fictive’ brothers. The capacity and willingness to engage in hosting relationships – most commonly described by the men as an open-ended reciprocal relationship, in which they had previously or would later help others – has become part of what it means to be a ‘good’ young man in Jordan.

It’s not a problem to live with the family, but you don’t feel free like you do when you live with the guys…If you live with guys, you can talk with guys and you can share any problem you have, something like that. But if you live with a family, you can’t do that.
— Adam

Further, sharing accommodation has become part of “being one of the guys.” Other participants had shared that young men were often required to move out of a family home and into shared accommodation due to concerns about unrelated men and women sharing a home. However, Adam felt that this was overstated and that living with other men was a rite of passage, a way to ‘be one of the guys’. In his words, “It’s not a problem to live with the family, but you don’t feel free like you do when you live with the guys…If you live with guys, you can talk with guys and you can share any problem you have, something like that. But if you live with a family, you can’t do that.” To him, moving in with other young men represented freedom, consolidating membership in the group of young men, and taking charge of his own behaviour.

Hosting provides an essential support for young Sudanese men in Amman to meet their basic needs. It also has become an important component shaping what it means to be a young Sudanese refugee man in Amman. The interdependencies of hosting provide an avenue for young men to demonstrate their belonging with others, but also to the city of Amman, allowing them to maintain their presence and inhabit the city.

 

About the author

Zoë Jordan is a Postdoctoral researcher at the Centre for Development and Emergency Practice (CENDEP), Oxford Brookes University, UK. She researches forced migration and humanitarianism, with a focus on how displaced populations respond to displacement in protracted and urban contexts. Her PhD (2020) addressed the act of refugee hosting among urban refugee populations in Amman, Jordan, primarily working with Sudanese refugees. You can find more information on her website or follow her on Twitter.

 


[1] While recognising the importance of intersectionality in understanding their experiences, here I forefront their youth. Due to my position as a young white British woman, there were some limitations on the extent to which I could accompany the men in their daily activities. The insights offered here therefore should be taken as indications that would merit further attention.

[2] Updated statistics are difficult to locate, and UNHCR has been requested to halt registration of Sudanese refugees (alongside other non-Syrian nationalities) in Jordan.

[3] A minority of the men mentioned an unwillingness to participate in hosting arrangements while they were in the less powerful position, for example while unable to work or following injury or ill-health. They were not concerned about their ability to ‘repay’ the assistance received, but did not wish to be seen as dependent, and did not want to be spoken about as someone who took from others.