Introduction

The year 2025 marked a watershed moment for political leadership across Syria and Lebanon. In Syria, the collapse of Bashar al-Assad’s regime in December 2024 brought an end to over five decades of Baathist authoritarian rule. The interim government that emerged, led by Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham’s Ahmed al-Sharaa, has positioned itself as the vanguard of a new Syria, pledging to deliver justice, the rule of law, and participatory governance after years of war, repression, and impunity. Just across the border, Lebanon’s prolonged political paralysis came to a close in January 2025 with the election of Joseph Aoun as president and the appointment of Nawaf Salam as prime minister. The new leadership in Beirut has promised a break from entrenched sectarianism and institutional paralysis, advocating for what they claim to be a comprehensive reform agenda focused on state sovereignty, judicial independence, and anti-corruption.

In both countries, these political transitions have been accompanied by a noticeable shift in public discourse. The language of “inclusion,” “justice,” “diversity,” and “democracy” has become central to how elites articulate their mandates and engage with national and international audiences. Leaders in Beirut and Damascus have echoed calls for equality, coexistence, and accountability, framing themselves as reformers guided by the lessons of conflict and the imperatives of national recovery. In Syria, the emphasis has been on dialogue and civil peace; in Lebanon, on institutional revival and civic unity. This rhetorical shift represents a significant departure from the authoritarian, sectarian, and clientelist narratives that long defined both regimes. But it also raises a critical question: who exactly is this discourse meant to include?

This commentary explores whether these newly adopted reformist rhetorics genuinely extend to the most politically vulnerable populations, namely, Syrian and Palestinian refugees in Lebanon, and internally displaced persons (IDPs) and returnees in Syria. While the language of rights and inclusion now features prominently in speeches, ministerial programs, and transitional declarations, displaced populations often remain rhetorically peripheral, framed narrowly in terms of security risks, demographic burdens, or logistical challenges. Rather than being engaged as full political actors or rights-holders, they are frequently absent from the reformist imagination altogether.

Displacement provides a powerful lens through which to assess the sincerity and substance of political transformation. How a government addresses the rights, needs, and futures of those forcibly uprooted – especially when displacement is the result of state violence, institutional collapse, or protracted conflict – offers critical insight into whether the promises of justice and inclusion are performative or transformative. As Syria and Lebanon enter a new political chapter, the treatment of displaced populations will serve as a revealing indicator of whether reformist discourse marks the beginning of a more inclusive politics or simply a rebranding of exclusion under more palatable terms.

Displacement in Political Discourse: Patterns of Inclusion and Erasure

This section draws on discourse analysis of key public speeches, presidential addresses, parliamentary debates, and official government statements in Lebanon and Syria between late 2024 and early 2025. It also includes a review of media coverage and press releases from transitional authorities and national dialogues. While not a systematic content analysis, the insights presented here are grounded in repeated patterns and language use across political communications. These patterns illuminate how displaced populations are selectively included or erased from post-conflict narratives, revealing the symbolic role they play in shaping national imaginaries and legitimizing state agendas.

Lebanon

In post-2025 Lebanon, political discourse has adopted an overtly reformist tone, emphasizing national unity, institutional revival, and the reassertion of state sovereignty. Yet within this narrative, Syrian and Palestinian refugees remain conspicuously marginalized—not through overt hostility, but through selective inclusion that reinforces their political invisibility. While the new leadership has invoked “justice,” “equality,” and “citizenship” as pillars of renewal, these terms are overwhelmingly confined to Lebanese nationals. Refugees, in contrast, are consistently framed as demographic burdens, economic threats, or security concerns—not as individuals entitled to rights or as stakeholders in the country’s political or economic future.

In official discourse, Syrian refugees are frequently referred to as an existential threat to Lebanon, echoing long-standing political rhetoric that reduces their presence to a temporary crisis to be resolved through return. While Aoun’s inaugural address made a point of rejecting “racist proposals” and affirming the need for a “clear and humane return mechanism,” the central message remained clear: the Syrian refugee presence must be ended. This approach is echoed in ministerial statements and parliamentary debate, where Syrian displacement is discussed almost exclusively through the lens of national security, economic strain, and service delivery. Human dignity is invoked only insofar as it facilitates repatriation; refugees are not positioned as part of Lebanon’s envisioned reformed state, but as a population to be managed and ultimately removed.

The case of Palestinian refugees is equally revealing. President Aoun reaffirmed Lebanon’s rejection of tawteen (naturalization), emphasizing the need to preserve the right of return and protect Lebanon’s demographic balance. His promise to safeguard the “human dignity” of Palestinians in the camps appears largely symbolic, functioning as a moral concession within a framework that resolutely denies long-term integration or expanded rights. In both Syrian and Palestinian cases, the state’s reformist agenda offers no discussion of durable solutions, nor any effort to include refugees in broader visions of justice or social cohesion. They are treated as passive beneficiaries of international aid and state tolerance.

Moreover, Lebanon’s new discourse on “diversity” and “equality” is notably bounded by citizenship. Aoun’s celebration of Lebanon’s sectarian pluralism and civil coexistence is presented as a triumph of internal harmony, not as a basis for broader inclusion. The phrase “all Lebanese” is invoked repeatedly as the unit of reform, reaffirming a civic imaginary that excludes stateless, non-citizen populations by default. In practice, this means that calls for justice and reform do not extend to refugees’ legal status, labor rights, or protection from deportation. This bounded notion of inclusion allows the state to embrace progressive language without confronting the exclusionary logics embedded in Lebanon’s legal and political structures.

The result is a discourse in which refugees appear as a humanitarian problem with a technical solution, rather than as political subjects. Their omission from national recovery narratives is not accidental; it reflects a consensus that reform must not disturb the sectarian or demographic status quo. Even as Lebanon’s leaders seek legitimacy through alignment with international norms, they strategically avoid applying those norms to displaced populations. The political utility of refugees lies not in their inclusion but in their exclusion as symbols of burden, misgovernance, or international abandonment.

This strategic sidelining also performs a constitutive function: by projecting displacement onto a marked “other,” the post-war state reaffirms a purified image of the Lebanese “self.” Successive governments have repeatedly mobilised external refugees – and, in moments of crisis, even marginalised Lebanese sects or rural constituencies – as negative mirrors through which to police the boundaries of citizenship and moral worth. Casting Syrians and Palestinians as perpetual guests who threaten economic balance, while depicting disenfranchised Lebanese communities as irresponsible or backward, allows elites to present themselves as the guardians of modernity, order, and reform. In this sense, refugees are instrumentalised twice: first as proof of state fragility, and second as the indispensable “outside” against which a sovereign, supposedly progressive Lebanon can imagine itself, without ever confronting the exclusionary foundations on which that vision rests.

Syria

In post-Assad Syria, displacement has been rhetorically transformed from a symptom of state violence into a symbol of national reconciliation and renewal. The government led by Ahmed al-Sharaa has repeatedly framed internally displaced persons (IDPs) and returning refugees as essential contributors to Syria’s reconstruction. Speeches delivered at national dialogues and transitional gatherings have invoked return as both a patriotic duty and a measure of the country’s healing. Returnees are cast as protagonists in a collective national revival, their homecoming celebrated as proof that the country has turned a page.

Yet beneath this welcoming posture lies a tension between performative inclusion and the absence of rights-based guarantees. The interim authorities’ embrace of refugee return is not accompanied by substantive commitments to restitution, legal security, or transitional justice for the displaced. References to return are often wrapped in the language of unity and sacrifice, but with little detail on the mechanisms through which returnees will reclaim property, access basic services, or participate politically. Displacement is acknowledged, but the conditions that led to it, including state-led violence, forced evictions, and sectarian reprisals, are downplayed or omitted altogether.

This gap between symbolic welcome and material neglect reveals the political utility of the displaced population in the post-conflict order. Returnees function discursively as proof of legitimacy: their presence is cited as validation of the interim regime’s success in stabilizing Syria and overcoming the legacy of civil war. In this context, the act of return becomes a credentialing tool – an optic of confidence, even if the infrastructure to support return is fragile or non-existent. Moreover, IDPs still inside Syria are largely invisible in political discourse, except when their return to their original homes can be presented as a triumph of national reconciliation. The challenges they face (continued displacement, insecurity, lack of compensation) are seldom addressed. Like their refugee counterparts, their inclusion is symbolic, not structural. Their plight is leveraged to bolster narratives of stability, but their rights and agency are rarely at the center of policy proposals or governance reforms.

The Politics of Selective Inclusion

Although the language of justice, inclusion, and reform now dominates post-2025 political discourse in Syria and Lebanon, its application remains narrowly bounded. These terms are selectively applied – largely to citizens and politically recognized groups – serving to bolster legitimacy and signal alignment with international norms. Displaced populations, meanwhile, remain outside these reformist visions, excluded from the political community they are meant to rebuild.

In Lebanon, the language of reform is intimately tied to restoring the state’s authority over its fractured institutions and fragmented sectarian system. Justice is presented as a means to curb corruption, inclusion as a path toward intra-sectarian coexistence, and reform as the process of rebuilding a broken republic. Yet this vision of inclusion ends at the boundaries of citizenship. Palestinian and Syrian refugees who have resided in Lebanon for decades, in some cases, are absent from discussions of national renewal. Their presence is acknowledged only in the context of return logistics, demographic anxiety, or humanitarian burden-sharing. When inclusion is invoked, it is directed inward: toward “all Lebanese,” toward rebalancing sectarian representation, and toward revitalizing the judiciary for citizens.

In Syria, a parallel dynamic unfolds. The post-Assad leadership has emphasized unity, reconciliation, and civil peace. But in practice, these values are extended primarily to citizens perceived as aligned with the new order or capable of reintegration on the state’s terms. Returnees are celebrated as patriotic, yet the conditions of their return are framed almost exclusively in technical terms: border crossings, reconstruction aid, and administrative clearance. Displaced Syrians are not engaged as agents of political reconstruction or consulted in shaping the transitional process. Instead, their return is instrumentalized to signal stability and closure. The more displaced Syrians come home, the more the new regime can claim legitimacy, both domestically and in the eyes of foreign actors eager for an end to the conflict. The humanitarian imperative of return is thus entangled with a political strategy of normalization.

What emerges in both cases is a strategic ambiguity at the heart of reformist discourse. By embracing the vocabulary of inclusion while quietly circumscribing its scope, both governments bolster their credibility without undertaking the deeper political reckoning that genuine inclusivity would require. Displaced populations serve a dual purpose: domestically, they are cast as either burdens or testaments to recovery; internationally, their treatment is used to signal compliance with humanitarian norms. Yet the structural conditions of their exclusion remain unaddressed. This selective application of justice and inclusion reveals the limits of current reform agendas and underscores the need to interrogate not only what is said in the name of reform but also who is silently excluded from its promises.

Displacement as a Litmus Test for Reform

Displacement serves not only as a marker of past state failure but as a diagnostic of current political intent. In the wake of leadership transitions in Syria and Lebanon, how displaced populations are addressed offers insight not just into humanitarian priorities, but into the recalibration or retrenchment of state legitimacy. Reformist rhetoric in both countries invokes inclusion and justice, yet displacement poses a challenge that cannot be solved through discourse alone. It requires the redistribution of rights, the redefinition of belonging, and the restructuring of power, precisely what post-2025 reform agendas often sidestep.

In Lebanon, the new leadership’s reform narrative hinges on restoring institutional integrity and civic trust, yet it treats displacement as an anomaly to be resolved rather than a constituent part of the national fabric. The state’s governance model, rooted in sectarian proportionality, has long positioned refugees outside the social contract. Thus, even as reforms target corruption or revive civil institutions, they do so within a framework that assumes the political non-existence of over 1.5 million refugees, over 35 percent of the country’s presumed population of 4 million. Here, displacement tests the limits of reform by exposing a contradiction: one cannot claim to rebuild a democratic, pluralist state while structurally excluding large swaths of its residents from rights and participation.

By contrast, in Syria, displacement is not denied; it is appropriated. The interim regime has folded the narrative of return into its own claim to legitimacy, portraying the homecoming of refugees and IDPs as evidence of national healing. Yet this performance of reconciliation is hollow in the absence of mechanisms for restitution, legal redress, or genuine political participation. Unlike Lebanon, where displaced populations are erased from reformist visions, Syria casts them as proof of its success, while withholding the institutional reforms that would restore their agency. Return becomes a spectacle of normalcy, not a pathway to justice.

This divergence reveals how displacement both mirrors and molds state-building trajectories. Lebanon’s avoidance strategy reflects an entrenched fear of demographic imbalance and the erosion of sectarian consensus. Syria’s symbolic embrace reflects a regime-driven effort to reassert control and neutralize dissent by repatriating populations under its terms. In both cases, however, displacement is instrumentalized: either ignored to preserve the status quo or co-opted to validate a new one.

To treat displacement as a true litmus test is to ask harder questions of reform itself. Is reform about institutional reengineering, or about expanding political membership? Can a state claim transformation if it reaffirms old hierarchies of belonging? If the displaced are seen merely as statistics to be managed, or symbols to be paraded, then the promises of inclusion ring hollow.

Concluding Remarks

For reform in Syria and Lebanon to move beyond performance, it must confront the strategic exclusions that displacement has both revealed and enabled. The promises of justice, diversity, and national renewal cannot be realized while millions of displaced people, Syrian and Palestinian refugees in Lebanon, and IDPs and returnees in Syria, remain outside the bounds of political recognition and reform. These communities are not merely humanitarian cases or logistical considerations; they are political actors whose displacement both reflects and reshapes the contours of state power.

To date, neither Damascus nor Beirut has substantively integrated displaced populations into their visions of national transformation. In both contexts, displacement is not confronted as a rupture in the political order, but managed as a tool to consolidate it.

A genuinely inclusive political transformation would do more than invoke displaced populations in rhetoric. It would engage them as co-architects of the future: participating in reforms, transitional processes, and the remaking of social contracts. It would dismantle the systems that sustain their marginalization, whether through demographic anxieties in Lebanon or authoritarian recovery strategies in Syria. It would reject the dichotomy of invisibility or instrumentalization and insist instead on rights, agency, and political voice.

Displacement, then, is not a peripheral challenge; it is the central test of reform’s sincerity. It reveals whether new regimes are prepared to confront the exclusions on which past orders were built, or simply rebrand them in more palatable terms. If reform does not begin with those most structurally excluded, it risks becoming little more than a selective rearrangement of the political imaginary. To ignore them is to repackage exclusion in the language of renewal. To include them is to begin, finally, the work of repair.