As the war in Syria continues, a quarter of the country’s population live as refugees, scattered around the world. Syrian President Bashar al-Assad has repeatedly called for refugees to return in a bid to rehabilitate his reputation on the world stage. However, international monitors including the United Nations maintain that conditions are not yet ready for refugees to return, with testimonies of arbitrary arrests, torture and enforced conscription reported almost daily. Under international law, refugees with a well- founded fear of persecution cannot be forcibly repatriated. But as the climate toward migrants and refugees grows increasingly hostile in host countries, Syrians are being forced to go back. In Lebanon, where an estimated 1.5 million Syrians reside, the pressure to return has reached breaking point. A refugee camp in Tel Abbas. Akkar, North Lebanon. Hannah Kirmes-Daly “We are your children, oh Syria, and by God’s word, we miss you!” sing a handful of children whilst excitedly running through a corridor of tents in a small Syrian refugee camp near the Listen to the village of Tel Abbas, Akkar, Lebanon’s children Play northernmost province. It’s the singing morning of Eid, a major Islamic holiday, and the children’s excitement cannot be contained any longer. Listen to the Play children singing More than 50 Syrian families live here, in two rows of plastic tents tucked away amongst tobacco fields, just a few miles from the Syrian border. Concerned parents reluctantly watch over their kids. “It’s better for them not to play on the main roads,” says Rayan. Only a few days before, the Lebanese army raided a neighboring camp, arresting more than 14 men. Since then, everyone is on the alert. Rayan, from Hula in rif Homs, Syria. Hannah Kirmes-Daly Listen to Rayan's Play story A mother of seven, Rayan has taken the day off work. “It’s Eid after all,” she smiles. In 2013 Rayan and her children fled their hometown of Houla after surviving a massacre orchestrated by pro-regime paramilitaries known as shabiha. Their family has been living in Lebanon ever since, working the land of a Lebanese farmer for $5 dollars a day. Three of Rayan’s seven kids were born under a plastic shelter in Lebanon. “We rent a tent on the same field where we work, depending on the season. All of us work, except for Khalid of course,” she laughs gesturing to her youngest three-year-old son. A Syrian boy plays on top of the tents in a refugee camp in Tel Abbas. Luca Cilloni A Syrian man plays backgammon with friends over tea. Luca Cilloni Clothes drying outside the home of a Syrian family in Tel Abbas. Luca Cilloni Child labour is extremely common amongst Syrian refugees in Lebanon. Many families have no option but to send their children to school until they are old enough to work. Only one of Rayan’s sons attends school: “I know that education is important. I am not ignorant. But we cannot survive otherwise.” Rayan’s husband Omar cannot work. Imprisoned in a Syrian prison for four years, he suffers from severe psychosis as a consequence of torture. He sits with us on a foam mattress, lighting one cigarette after another. Anti-psychotic medicine alleviates his epilepsy while pushing life away from his eyes. He rarely leaves the spot except for a monthly trip to the city of Tripoli, where he goes to collect his medication. “It’s a nightmare every time we have to cross the checkpoint to Tripoli,” says Rayan. Like 74% of Syrians in Lebanon, Rayan’s family have no legal status, leaving them vulnerable to arbitrary arrest and detention. Omar has been arrested four times by Lebanese authorities at the checkpoints. “Not even a doctor’s note can prevent his arrest if they stop us. And every time they detain him, it brings back all the memories of torture in prison,” she says. “But what other option do we have?” Haloed in a cloud of cigarette smoke, Omar doesn’t respond. Silence is broken by Rayan’s brother A view of the local mosque Walid, who bursts into the tent in Tel Abbas. Luca Cilloni laughing, his seven-year-old son closely behind, spraying plastic bullets into the air with his new toy gun. Walid and his son have been sharing the tent with Rayan’s family since their shelter in Al Yasmine camp was demolished by the Lebanese army on April 24th. The demolition of Al Yasmine camp was the first of many, following the Lebanese Supreme Defence Council decision to heighten restrictive actions towards Syrian refugees, including the destruction of all concrete structures inside Syrian camps. “We knew there was an order related to the illegality of concrete buildings in camps, but when [the army] arrived here, they took down toilet cubicles and wooden structures too,” says Alaa, a social worker from Qatari NGO URDA. “Any tent that was unoccupied was also destroyed, whilst furniture and household appliances were loaded onto trucks and taken away.” In June 2019, over 5,000 structures were destroyed and more than 30,000 individuals made homeless. “We were lucky,” Walid smiles at his sister. “Not everyone had family they could stay with.” The remains of Bar Elias camp demolished by the Lebanese Army in July 2019. Sourced by the authors Syrians destroy their own homes in a refugee camp in Arsal. Sourced by the authors The remains of Bebnine refugee camp burnt down by Lebanese youth after local tensions escalated into violence. Sourced by the authors The border region of Arsal, in the Beqaa Valley, was hit the hardest by these demolitions. Most tents in Arsal had been built with concrete rather than canvas to withstand winter’s heavy snowfalls. After the first round of demolitions in June, the Lebanese army gave Syrians a week’s notice to destroy all concrete structures in their makeshift homes if they wanted to avoid more army raids. In July this year, tents housing 55,000 refugees were destroyed in Arsal alone. “The order to dismantle the camps was a political move to put pressure on Syrians to go back,” says Bassel Houjeiry, the Mayor of Arsal. “It has nothing to do with the administrative regulations that are being given as an excuse.” Refugee camps sprawl across the valley of Arsal. Sourced by the authors He receives us in his brand-new office. The old one was severely damaged in the 2014 ‘battle of Arsal’ when hardline Islamist groups from Syria briefly overran the town. “Our security is good now,” Mr Houjeiry assures us. “Today our main problem is economic. Syrians outnumber Lebanese locals three to one. There is a lot of competition for work and we have to deal with four times the amount of waste we used to have.” Asked whether he thinks Syrians should go back, he cuts us short. “We all know people are here because they are scared of the Syrian government. I hope they will return soon, but without force and only when it is safe to do so.” Listen Listen to to Play Houjeiry's Play Abood’s story story Mr Houjeiry’s stance is not a popular one: many Lebanese are tired of the pressures of hosting so many Syrians and want them to leave now. Led by the country’s strongman foreign minister, Gebran Bassil, anti-Syrian rhetoric has spearheaded a political campaign blaming Syrian refugees for Lebanon’s unemployment rate and economic woes - even accusing the UN and international organizations of intimidating refugees who wish to return voluntarily. “I agree with Minister Bassil,” echoes Tony Abood, Mayor of Minyara and staunch advocate of Syrian’s repatriation. "Most Syrians would be welcomed back with no risks at all. The only reason they stay here is because of the help they get from the UN.” Encouraged by such rhetoric, and in the absence of a central strategy with how to deal with the refugee influx, many municipalities all across the country have imposed curfews, whilst incidents of collective punishment against Syrian communities are on the rise. Such pressure is leading many Syrians Soldiers from the Lebanese to leave Lebanon. “He couldn’t stand Army patrol the streets in this life any longer,” sighed Rayan Lebanon's northenmost city when telling us of her son in law of Tripoli. Luca Cilloni Nasser, married to her eldest daughter Mariam. After he was badly beaten by a Lebanese gang on his way back to work, Nasser had registered himself and eight-month pregnant Mariam with the Lebanese General Security, requesting to return to his hometown Sfireh, in the outskirts of Aleppo. A woman stands with all her possessions as she prepares to return to Syria. Roshan De Stone A woman walks between the tents and buildings on the Lebanese-Syrian border of Arsal. David Suber Lights from Syria can be seen from border town of Qaa in Lebanon. David Suber Since then, the Lebanese government have upped their efforts push out Syrians through mass deportations. Two days after the camp in Al Yasmine was demolished, 16 Syrian men at Beirut’s airport were deported to Syria after being forced to sign voluntary repatriation forms. Between May and August this year, Lebanon’s General Security confirmed it had deported over 2,700 Syrians, an average of 22 Syrians per day. Legal organisations and human rights groups in Lebanon and abroad have been warning the international community about the illegality and risks concealed in blending ‘voluntary’ return schemes with unlawful deportation practices. Since April this year, deportations of Syrians could occur through a simple verbal order from the Public Prosecution, justified by the government’s claim that Syria is “safe” for return.