Storms Expose Collapse in Post-Assad Syria—Aid Heroes Pay the Price

Paul Riverbank, 2/9/2026Floods compound Syria’s crisis—displaced families endure, aid workers risk all amid relentless storms.

A drive through Idlib or coastal Latakia these days is no longer familiar. Streets—once lined with homes and small shops—have vanished beneath brown water, the debris from broken lives drifting past. Families, already displaced by war, scrambled for any patch of high ground left dry. Gathered amongst their rain-soaked belongings, they watched as what little they had left was carried away.

For aid workers, the storm brought a test no drill could prepare them for. Roads collapsed or disappeared and every hour counted as they tried to find isolated families. A Red Crescent vehicle, in a desperate mission to reach those caught by the flood, slid off the road and into a ravine; yet another volunteer was injured, another reminder of the perils when disaster strikes places where even sturdy infrastructure is a distant memory.

“And then the tents started to float,” one emergency official recounted outside a camp in Idlib, staring at the patchwork shelter that soaked up the night’s rain. Fourteen camps across the province suffered the same fate: hundreds forced out, tents mangled, what few possessions people had scattered or destroyed. About 300 families were left with little more than the clothes on their backs. For children, the trauma doubles — daily uncertainty replacing any sense of home.

The numbers behind such hardship are staggering. The United Nations puts the tally of internally displaced Syrians at around seven million, a figure so colossal it’s almost impossible to grasp. Northwest and northeast Syria together host some 1.4 million in camps, most with nothing to return to—bombed-out houses, streets blocked by rubble, no real infrastructure to speak of. December’s removal of Bashar al-Assad generated hopes for rebuilding and return, but the view from the ground tells a bleaker story.

The evidence is everywhere: roofless homes and vanished neighborhoods, children’s shoes drying on fences outside ruined tents. When rains pick up, aid groups work around the clock just to keep up, but they are often outpaced by fresh misery. Phone lines ring with worried calls about missing relatives. In some corners, hope flickers—a family might recover a stray photograph from the mud—but more often these moments are swallowed by the grind of survival.

Red Crescent teams don’t hesitate, even after losing one of their own. Their work, as they put it, is simply “humanitarian duty,” performed regardless of the odds or the attention span of the world outside. And the reality is, as the crisis drags on, attention fades—even as new storms keep coming. Each one, it seems, piles hardship on those who’ve known nothing but.

For many in northwest Syria, endurance is measured storm by storm. With wars behind them and floods in front, families remain — not quite defeated, but achingly aware they remain one heavy rainfall away from another disaster.

Floods swept through northwest Syria last week, crashing down on an already fragile region and leaving chaos in their wake. In Latakia, the muddy torrent claimed two young children. In a cruel twist of fate, a Syrian Red Crescent volunteer lost her life trying to rescue others; news of her death rattled through aid circles, a stark reminder of the risks these teams face.A drive through Idlib or coastal Latakia these days is no longer familiar. Streets—once lined with homes and small shops—have vanished beneath brown water, the debris from broken lives drifting past. Families, already displaced by war, scrambled for any patch of high ground left dry. Gathered amongst their rain-soaked belongings, they watched as what little they had left was carried away.For aid workers, the storm brought a test no drill could prepare them for. Roads collapsed or disappeared and every hour counted as they tried to find isolated families. A Red Crescent vehicle, in a desperate mission to reach those caught by the flood, slid off the road and into a ravine; yet another volunteer was injured, another reminder of the perils when disaster strikes places where even sturdy infrastructure is a distant memory.“And then the tents started to float,” one emergency official recounted outside a camp in Idlib, staring at the patchwork shelter that soaked up the night’s rain. Fourteen camps across the province suffered the same fate: hundreds forced out, tents mangled, what few possessions people had scattered or destroyed. About 300 families were left with little more than the clothes on their backs. For children, the trauma doubles — daily uncertainty replacing any sense of home.The numbers behind such hardship are staggering. The United Nations puts the tally of internally displaced Syrians at around seven million, a figure so colossal it’s almost impossible to grasp. Northwest and northeast Syria together host some 1.4 million in camps, most with nothing to return to—bombed-out houses, streets blocked by rubble, no real infrastructure to speak of. December’s removal of Bashar al-Assad generated hopes for rebuilding and return, but the view from the ground tells a bleaker story.The evidence is everywhere: roofless homes and vanished neighborhoods, children’s shoes drying on fences outside ruined tents. When rains pick up, aid groups work around the clock just to keep up, but they are often outpaced by fresh misery. Phone lines ring with worried calls about missing relatives. In some corners, hope flickers—a family might recover a stray photograph from the mud—but more often these moments are swallowed by the grind of survival.Red Crescent teams don’t hesitate, even after losing one of their own. Their work, as they put it, is simply “humanitarian duty,” performed regardless of the odds or the attention span of the world outside. And the reality is, as the crisis drags on, attention fades—even as new storms keep coming. Each one, it seems, piles hardship on those who’ve known nothing but.For many in northwest Syria, endurance is measured storm by storm. With wars behind them and floods in front, families remain — not quite defeated, but achingly aware they remain one heavy rainfall away from another disaster.