Lattakia After the Massacres: No Return Home

In a small room on the rooftop of an old building in the Al-Raml Al-Shamali district of Lattakia, Umm Walid sits on a worn-out foam mattress. Her youngest son tosses and turns beside her, while four other children try to sleep amid the noise of generators and the smell of cooking from one corner of the room. For more than two weeks now, the family of 14 has been living in this cramped space, after fleeing their burned village in the countryside of Al-Haffah.

“We ran for our lives, but we couldn’t take anything with us apart from a few belongings and our children,” she said in a faint voice. Her husband and brother were killed in the massacre, leaving her only this temporary shelter provided by a distant relative in the city. There is no aid, no sufficient food, and no prospect of returning home anytime soon.

The massacres in Lattakia’s countryside in early March were committed by forces from the Syrian Ministry of Defence – mostly Salafi factions led by Hayat Tahrir Al-Sham (HTS), as part of the suppression of the rebellion that occurred along the Syrian coast. These massacres have marked the beginning of wider violations across the mountains that stretch from Kassab to Jableh, areas predominantly inhabited by Alawites.

In a statement dated March 29, the Civil Peace Group in Homs announced it had documented the deaths of 1,743 civilians in the Syrian coastal region between March 6 and 10, including children and entire families from 62 villages, towns, and neighbourhoods. The statement mentioned that the team had recorded the names of 1,013 victims by the time of publication, noting that the number was expected to rise due to many still missing. The documentation process relied on three methodological pillars: direct communication with victims’ relatives, interviews with local sources, and a comprehensive study of the incident’s context and surrounding environment. This included cross-verifying testimonies and sources, while ensuring data confidentiality, witness safety, and the independence and neutrality of the work.

The attacks left not only the dead behind, they also forced thousands of families to leave everything and flee into the unknown. The lack of security and continued chaos in most villages was coupled with a limited emergency relief. No shelters were opened, and no urgent aid reached the survivors. Only the Russian base in Hmeimim temporarily opened its doors to several thousand people, providing food and shelter for a few days before closing and turning into a platform for government meetings discussing “the organisation of refugee returns,” without offering any real solutions for the displaced.

In the streets of Lattakia, families are crammed into the homes of relatives and acquaintances, with no support. Grassroots initiatives, though sincere, fall far short of meeting the needs. And with the countryside devastated and impossible to return to, hundreds of families have begun seeking long-term residence in the city, triggering a rental crisis.

Abu Ali, a property broker working in the Al-Ziraah district, said rental prices have “gone mad.” He added: “we expected prices to drop after the regime fell and things calmed down a bit. But the opposite happened.” Today, landlords are imposing new conditions on tenants: payment in U.S. dollars or equivalent, short-term contracts not exceeding six months, high deposits, and limits on how many people can live in each unit. “They asked for USD 800 in advance for a six-month lease, and a condition that we be no more than four people in one room!,” one tenant said.

Rents have risen by 40 to 50 percent in just a single month. In the city’s outskirts, the average rent has reached USD 70 per month, while in neighbourhoods closer to the city centre, like Saliba and Sheikh Daher, it has exceeded USD 250. This comes amid a total lack of job opportunities or economic stability, pushing displaced families to the brink of collapse.

Lattakia has previously hosted major waves of displacement during the Syrian war; from Aleppo, Idlib, and Homs, and later from southern Lebanon during the recent Israeli aggression. Back then, the surrounding countryside and summer resorts helped ease the pressure on the city. But this time, the countryside’s own residents are the ones displaced, fleeing death with nothing left, even the homes and farmlands that barely sustained them.

As for the resorts, some have been turned into bases for newly arrived military factions on the coast, while others remain abandoned, without electricity, water, or security.

Amid this bleak reality, families live in constant anxiety about the future. Returning to the villages is impossible, both in terms of safety and infrastructure. The devastated areas require governmental efforts or genuine international support to rebuild homes, restore services, and revive the agricultural lands that were once the economic lifeline for rural residents.

With no other alternatives, families are turning to shared housing with relatives or even strangers. In tiny flats with no more than two rooms, as many as three families might live together, crammed into narrow spaces. Children sleep on the floor, while women take turns in a kitchen barely big enough for one person. The atmosphere is one of constant tension, and a heavy sense that they have become a “burden” no one can bear.

This complex crisis cannot be resolved through individual initiatives; it requires realistic housing solutions and serious plans to rehabilitate the devastated countryside. Families must be enabled to return to their land and restore their homes and shops – especially since many have lost their main breadwinner. During the recent massacres, the killings focused on adult males, leaving behind women and children alone, unprotected, with no guarantees – not even a safe roof over their heads.