It has been a year since the seismic events in Syria thrust the country back into the global spotlight, sparking hope for millions. However, the massive change many believed would follow has not materialized for all Syrians.
Syria has been in the grips of a humanitarian crisis for more than a decade. While the long-awaited political change came swiftly, the daily reality for many Syrians remains painfully similar to life before the fall of the former government.
In many ways, this year felt no different from those before. We saw renewed conflict across parts of the country. Many remain gripped by poverty and instability, and climate change brought deadly drought and wildfires that decimated lives, lands and livelihoods.
As I reflect on what this year has meant for the people we work with and the communities we serve, it is difficult to find light in a landscape where more than 90% of people still cannot afford the basics, 60% still rely on aid to survive. Their reality could not change overnight, and without political will, investment, and structural change the needs of many Syrians remain unmet.
The women who had to work two or three jobs to feed their families are still working those same jobs. The children who left school to earn an income are not back in their classrooms. Farmers who struggled to water their fields are still battling one of the worst droughts in history. Communities once blacked out because of electricity shortages are still dark.
One year one, while there is much hope, for many across Syria what was broken remains broken.
For Syrians to see real progress, much more needs to be done. This means investing in people and services, building opportunities, and creating spaces for dialogue. There is an opportunity to help shape a Syrian future that is more inclusive and equal, and for the international community to do all they can to support this change. It must start from within. The transitional government must take responsibility to drive it forward, being accountable not only for what has happened in the past but also for what will happen in the future.
People across the country are happy, afraid, hopeful, and worried. Many struggle to put how they feel into words. For many the dream is not for a brighter tomorrow, but a normal one. One where they can afford to ensure their children have enough to eat, a safe roof over their heads, clean water, a sufficient wage, and their rights protected.
Marwa, a farmer I met who for 30 years harvested her five dunums of land, saw it reduced to ash by the deadly wildfires in June. What had taken decades to build had been erased in a single night. “We are farmers without land" " she said. “Guardians with nothing left to protect. At our age, starting over isn’t hope, it’s a cruel joke”.
Marwa’s story reflects the reality of millions of people across Syria. Many are simply unable to withstand emergencies while they live day to day, paycheck to paycheck. Because, for years, international aid has focused overwhelmingly on meeting urgent needs, while little has been invested in long-term, sustainable assistance. Families are reuniting after years apart, overjoyed as loved ones return home but for many, homecoming isn’t always easy. Some found their homes reduced to rubble, others discovered their communities erased and changed.
For Mohammed, who I met in Idlib, return was bittersweet. He was displaced to a camp in Northern Syria during the war. After returning to his destroyed home, he set up a tent where his house once stood. “We were living in a tent, and we are still living in a tent,” he told me. Even though Mohammed is happy to be reunited with his family, the daily reality remains a challenge.
However, in many communities I see signs of hopeful change. For too long, communities in Syria lived in silence and deprived of spaces where their voices could be heard. This silence is gradually breaking. Across the country, there is a growing momentum for dialogue. People who once felt excluded or afraid are now raising their voices and finding spaces to speak up.
From grassroot organizations to community forums - platforms for advocating and pushing for change are being created across the country. This momentum is a beacon of hope, but it needs support to grow.
Syria is stuck between realities, one of optimism the other of survival. While Syrians can see glimmers of change and a brighter future of family reunions and recovery, for millions it is overshadowed by the daily struggle to simply survive under the weight of poverty and violence.
We must build a Syria that prioritizes sustainable recovery rather than one that lurches from shock to shock. While the hope that has grown this year remains fragile, its very existence matters. It is what keeps families striving, communities rebuilding, and voices speaking up. This hope must be nurtured so all Syrians can look toward a brighter future in the years and decades to come.
