Lebanon's Syrian Dilemma 

Lebanon hosts far more than its fair share of Syrian refugees. Although the actual number is unknown, the Lebanese state estimates that more than one in four of the country’s residents is Syrian: a staggering figure, particularly in a tiny country hit by a crippling economic crisis. For ordinary Lebanese, who suffer from shortages of basic goods and services, this presence indeed represents an unmanageable burden.

Many Lebanese employers are quick to stress just how much they rely on Syrian labor—even when they otherwise resent the presence of refugees. Many such workers are skilled, and willing to take on jobs that Lebanese would rather avoid—whether due to status, expertise, or working conditions. Indeed, Syrians can be seen across the country tackling arduous jobs involving long hours and physical risks. Vegetable markets are stocked with produce picked by Syrian women, who toil in the sun from early in the morning until the evening. The solar panels sprouting on Lebanese rooftops are often installed by young Syrians, who carry backbreaking concrete blocks to the tops of buildings.

Critically for Lebanese employers, Syrians make do with lower wages, which they may combine with other sources of income, be it aid or remittances. Weak or nonexistent social protection often makes for exploitative relationships. A Syrian in her twenties recalled: “I used to work as a cashier, alongside other Syrians as well as Lebanese. After 2019 [and the devaluation of the Lebanese pound], our salaries got so bad that Lebanese employees left. Only Syrians remained.”

All of this makes Syrian workers an essential pillar of Lebanon’s way of life, especially as the economy crumbles. Lebanese employers have leaned more heavily than ever on cheap and expendable labor. This allows them to keep prices down for customers, who in turn buy products that are de facto subsidized by underpaid Syrian workers. Of course, not all employers pass the benefit down to consumers. A Syrian mason scratched his salt-and-pepper beard and explained angrily: “I used to get ten dollars per meter when I installed stones. Now I only get around four. The contractor still invoices my work at ten, and pockets the difference.” 

While countless Syrians do the same work for less money, others have stepped into new and occasionally unexpected roles. Agricultural labor, for example, is changing in nature. Although it has long been dominated by Syrian workers, the growing risks of running a farm has led some Lebanese landowners to hand over to Syrians the actual management of their land. “Lebanese farmers are afraid of losing money if they harvest their own land,” said a successful farmer in Zahle, resting on the hood of his massive jeep. “So they prefer to lease it for a fixed sum to Syrians, who then assume the risk.” 

All of the above, however, has a hidden downside. By holding together Lebanon’s crumbling economy, Syrian labor also enables some of this system’s most dangerous flaws. The abundance of cheap foreign labor, combined with weak or absent regulations, allows Lebanese employers to cut costs by slashing wages and working conditions for everyone. This hurts Lebanese, who are liable to be replaced by Syrians who are easier to exploit. A Lebanese saleswoman, eight-months into her pregnancy, described how she was dispatched from her job at a cakeshop: “The shop closed during covid. When it reopened, I was told there was no job for me. They had hired two Syrians, who between them received the same salary I used to make.” The Lebanese model pits vulnerable workers against each other, in an exploitative economy harmful to all.

This relationship also negatively affects Lebanese employers. Precarity and informality makes Syrian workers endlessly flexible, but it can make them equally unreliable. Many will easily switch employers, even for a marginal increase in salary. Longstanding employees can suddenly be detained, deported, and barred from entering Lebanon. A Lebanese entrepreneur in the northern town of Bcharré noted the potential for chaos: “A Syrian here killed a Lebanese, so young residents rushed to expel all Syrians. They even came to my house to kick out the concierge. But the same youth refused to pick the apples that we relied on refugees to pick—so we had to call them back!”

All in all, the presence of skilled and cheap Syrian labor represents a wasted opportunity in an economy begging for reinvention. Syrians bring in not just capital but competence, in areas as diverse as agriculture, construction, and manufacturing. They also bring the traditions of an industrial economy and the related expertise. But today, Syrians are mostly reviled by a system that fails to capitalize on that resource other than through short-sighted exploitation. Most Lebanese workers aren’t better off, but that’s the point: A gradual shift toward healthier work relationships would benefit everyone, by reducing the scale of social dumping. 

Until now, Lebanon has failed to capitalize on its abundance of skilled, cheap Syrian labor. Provided the right environment, these workers could easily help revitalize Lebanon’s defunct economy. Syrian workers offer the competence—and even some of the capital—needed to kickstart underdeveloped sectors like food processing, pharmaceuticals, and textiles. They might also help diversify and consolidate Lebanon’s tourism sector: Syrian expats increasingly rely on Lebanon as a hub; when they pass through, they often stay in local hotels and eat in Lebanese restaurants.

But how to enable such a shift, in a country that is increasingly eager to push Syrians away? Ideally, officials in Beirut would recognize that the current system hurts Lebanese too—and thus work toward a more humane and coherent framework for  labor in general. That may be too much to hope for, in a system paralyzed by gridlock on far less contentious topics. A starting point, then, would be to simply acknowledge this group on which Lebanon relies so thoroughly. Politicians do score points through summary deportations or by confiscating the motorbikes of Syrian deliverymen. But it comes at a cost, not just to Syrians but also to the Lebanese employers and consumers who depend on them.