When the world gets closer.

We help you see farther.

Sign up to our expressly international daily newsletter.

Already a subscriber? Log in .

You've reached your limit of one free article.

Get unlimited access to Worldcrunch

You can cancel anytime .

SUBSCRIBERS BENEFITS

Exclusive International news coverage

Ad-free experience NEW

Weekly digital Magazine NEW

9 daily & weekly Newsletters

Access to Worldcrunch archives

Free trial

30-days free access, then $2.90
per month.

Annual Access BEST VALUE

$19.90 per year, save $14.90 compared to monthly billing.save $14.90.

Subscribe to Worldcrunch
Migrant Lives

In Syria, Casualties Of War Include Loss Of Place

Countless displaced by the war in Syria include those forced to move from one part of the country to another. Misery tends to follow.

A man walks past a poster of Syrian President Bashar al-Assad in Latakia
A man walks past a poster of Syrian President Bashar al-Assad in Latakia
Alia Ahmad

LATAKIA — "I hope to God we'll go back to Aleppo," 13-year-old Muhammad writes whenever he has a chance to express his longing for his hometown. "I didn't imagine we weren't going back to Aleppo when we left it two years ago. I was very happy there, and now I pray to God to go back there."

Muhammad was displaced with his family of seven after his father, a policeman, was murdered by unknown assailants in the al-Bab area of Aleppo. Muhammad didn't return to school after that. He now lives in Latakia, where he sometimes works in the fish market or in a supermarket where his brother is employed as a delivery boy.

"We didn't bring our school papers with us, and when my mother took us to register in school, the principal said we must take a level-determination test set by the Ministry of Education," he says. "But we didn't go because we needed to work to help our family — the rents are high and everything's expensive, and my father's pension salary doesn't cover enough."

He has a difficult relationship with some of the local kids, boys his age who tease and taunt him. "Some of them don't like me. We fight with them sometimes, me and my brother, and they call me al-Halabi "from Aleppo" as if it's an offense! So what if I'm from Aleppo. Isn't that in Syria too?"

He shakes his head with great resentment and continues, "But there are also nice kids, and they play with us, but not always because we're mostly working."

Abdul Rahman, 56, is the owner of the supermarket in Latakia where Muhammad and his brother work. "I'm actually against child labor and I don't need workers in my shop, but their family is very poor," Rahman says. "They rent a room in our neighborhood, and their mother begged me to help them work in a safe place. I understand their circumstances as displaced people, and I'm doing this only as humanitarian help."

Displacement in itself is a problem, but many others stem from that, says Nisreen, a 42-year-old Latakia social worker. Communities often reject refugees, she says. "The displaced are generally poor, and they move to live in poor places, too, so each party blames the other for any problem that happens."

Samer, a 55-year-old Latakia teacher, sees a social and cultural divide marking the local dynamic. "There are many aspects to the relationship between the displaced community and the environment of Latakia, the most important of which are the differences in lifestyles and traditions between the displaced communities coming from the very conservative societies of Aleppo, Idlib or Homs, and the community of Latakia, which is considered to be somewhat more liberal," he says.

In Latakia — Photo: Yazan Badran

Cultural differences

"There's also a very important point that we must not ignore — and it's that many of the people of Latakia and the coast, and their sons, were killed in places such as Aleppo, Idlib and other internal areas," Samer says. "This makes these displaced people guilty in the minds of many, as they believe them to be the relatives of those who joined the Islamist groups and caused them to lose their sons."

This is evident for Nadia, a 51-year-old nurse in Jabla. "I won't lie, I can't deal with any of the displaced people coming from Aleppo without thinking that their relative could be the one who killed my brother, who died in Aleppo," she says. "And I don't think it's fair to put the son of a martyr, who sacrificed his life, in school next to the son of the armed man fighting against our government and our army. I know it's wrong to generalize, but ... I won't rent my house to any of them."

Om Adnan, 45, was displaced from the Homs countryside three years ago and now lives in Saqubein with her family of five since the death of her son in the army. "We're all Syrians, and this is a plague on all of us," she says. "I miss my big house, and it makes me so sad to think that everything I made in my life was either stolen or burned."

As she wipes away her tears, she continues, "But most importantly, my kids are fine here. They have friends in school and in college, unlike some of our relatives who considered us traitors because my son didn't escape his military service and stayed in the army until he died."

Bashir, a 34-year-old tailor, came with his small family from Idlib to Latakia. "I understood the rejection of the displaced by some of the people of Latakia at the beginning, because many of them don't respect the privacy of the society here," he says. "Some of the teenage boys who came with their families from conservative areas, they harassed the girls here rudely, but they weren't respectable in their own homes in the first place. If one wants to live peacefully and with dignity, then one must respect others. I have a lot of customers from the people of Latakia, and they all treat me with respect and kindness. I wish I could go back home and to my old life, but this is what I have right now."

You've reached your limit of free articles.

To read the full story, start your free trial today.

Get unlimited access. Cancel anytime.

Exclusive coverage from the world's top sources, in English for the first time.

Insights from the widest range of perspectives, languages and countries.

Future

Livestream Shopping Is Huge In China — Will It Fly Elsewhere?

Streaming video channels of people shopping has been booming in China, and is beginning to win over customers abroad as a cheap and cheerful way of selling products to millions of consumers glued to the screen.

A A female volunteer promotes spring tea products via on-line live streaming on a pretty mountain surrounded by tea plants.

In Beijing, selling spring tea products via on-line live streaming.

Xinhua / ZUMA
Gwendolyn Ledger

SANTIAGO — TikTok, owned by Chinese tech firm ByteDance, has spent more than $500 million to break into online retailing. The app, best known for its short, comical videos, launched TikTok Shop in August, aiming to sell Chinese products in the U.S. and compete with other Chinese firms like Shein and Temu.

Tik Tok Shop will have three sections, including a live or livestream shopping channel, allowing users to buy while watching influencers promote a product.

This choice was strategic: in the past year, live shopping has become a significant trend in online retailing both in the U.S. and Latin America. While still an evolving technology, in principle, it promises good returns and lower costs.

Chilean Carlos O'Rian Herrera, co-founder of Fira Onlive, an online sales consultancy, told América Economía that live shopping has a much higher catchment rate than standard website retailing. If traditional e-commerce has a rate of one or two purchases per 100 visits to your site, live shopping can hike the ratio to 19%.

Live shopping has thrived in China and the recent purchases of shopping platforms in some Latin American countries suggests firms are taking an interest. In the United States, live shopping generated some $20 billion in sales revenues in 2022, according to consultants McKinsey. This constituted 2% of all online sales, but the firm believes the ratio may become 20% by 2026.

Keep reading...Show less

The latest