In the years since the Syrian crisis first made global headlines, I’ve seen my homeland and my people turned into headlines themselves. Sometimes I stop scrolling when I see yet another image of a dusty child crossing a border, a tent city in winter, or worse: faceless crowds labeled as “waves,” “burdens,” or “threats.”

As someone born in Syria and shaped by its complex realities, I know that refugees are not headlines. They are not metaphors. They are people.

But how media frames Syrian refugees has had a profound effect on how the world understands us, and how we come to see ourselves.

The Refugee as Victim, Hero, or Threat

Media coverage, especially in Western outlets, often swings between extremes. One week, Syrian refugees are painted as helpless victims, defined entirely by their suffering. The next, they’re held up as stories of inspiration, “resilient,” “determined,” “survivors.” And then, in a darker twist, they become potential threats, burdens on the system, or unwelcome outsiders.

The danger in all of these frames is reduction. People are complex. But when refugees are turned into symbols, their individuality disappears.

I remember meeting a young man in Germany who had fled Aleppo. He was studying engineering before the war. In the media, he was simply “a refugee.” But to his mother, he was still her son who loved football and sang off-key in the car. That version of him, the human version, rarely makes the front page.

The Language of Othering

Pay attention to the language used when the media talks about refugees. Words like “flood,” “swarm,” or “influx” reduce human lives to natural disasters. They strip people of agency and invite fear rather than empathy.

It’s no coincidence that this framing aligns with political rhetoric. The media doesn’t just reflect public sentiment. It shapes it. And how media frames Syrian refugees has real consequences: in border policies, in social integration programs, in how neighbors treat each other.

I’ve watched the shift happen in real time. One year, German chancellors spoke of “Willkommenskultur”, a culture of welcome. Then came images of crime, terrorism, and unrest linked to the word “refugee,” whether warranted or not. Public support slipped. Walls, both literal and figurative, began to rise.

Whose Story Gets Told, and Who Tells It?

Another troubling trend is who gets to tell the refugee story. Too often, it’s told by outsiders, journalists, NGOs, and academics, rather than by Syrians themselves. And while many of these people have good intentions, the absence of Syrian voices only reinforces the sense of marginalization.

When I wrote Damascus Has Fallen, I wasn’t writing to explain Syria to the West. I was writing to restore the interiority of those who’ve been reduced to labels. To capture the moments between crises, the silences, the questions, the small acts of humanity.

There’s a girl in the book who plays piano in an abandoned house. No one ever interviews her. But she exists, because I’ve met her in some form or another. And she deserves to be seen as more than a bullet point in a report.

When Storytelling Becomes Advocacy

I believe that literature can be a form of resistance. Not in the loud, dramatic way. But in the quiet act of telling the full story, of naming people, showing nuance, and reclaiming dignity.

The way the media frames Syrian refugees may never be fully neutral. But we can counteract that by writing fuller stories by inviting the world to witness not just the tragedy, but the humanity.

That’s what I try to do through my novels, whether in Guard Thy Heart, where love and identity battle under the weight of a traumatic past, or in Palmyre pour toujours, which remembers a city too sacred to be forgotten. Each story, in some way, asks readers to see Syrians not as headlines, but as people with dreams, losses, humor, and will.

Moving Forward, Changing the Frame

Now that you know how the media frames Syrian refugees, you can identify the truths from the lies. The good news is that things are shifting. More Syrian journalists, artists, and authors are finding platforms. More refugee-led organizations are telling their own stories. And more readers are starting to ask: whose voice am I hearing? Who’s missing?

We all have a part to play. Whether you’re consuming media, teaching a class, or writing your own novel, ask deeper questions. Recognize the frame, and when necessary, break it.

Because in the end, framing isn’t just about news. It’s about truth. And truth, especially in our times, needs allies.