Cristina El Khoury, postgraduate researcher University of Geneva and former SCMR Visiting fellow, 2025
9 March 2026: 700,000 people are displaced across Lebanon.
Behind this number lies a familiar yet devastating pattern: families leaving southern towns in the middle of the night, carrying what they can, uncertain when (or whether) they will return. Since late 2023, hostilities along Lebanon’s southern border have repeatedly emptied villages and towns. After a fragile ceasefire in November 2024 allowed thousands to go back home, renewed escalation in early March 2026 has once again triggered large-scale internal displacement across the country.
A crisis that keeps returning
In southern Lebanon, displacement has become cyclical. Families flee bombardment, find temporary refuge elsewhere in the country, return home after a ceasefire, and then leave again when violence resumes. The latest wave of displacement follows renewed military escalation affecting southern Lebanon as well as parts of Beirut’s southern suburbs and the Bekaa Valley. Airstrikes, artillery exchanges and evacuation warnings have forced civilians to flee districts such as Tyre, Bint Jbeil, Marjayoun and Nabatieh, often with little time to prepare.

Internal displacement often takes place within urban spaces rather than in formal camps. Photo by the author (February 2025)
The scale of displacement increased dramatically in early March 2026. Within less than a week, humanitarian organisations reported hundreds of thousands of people leaving their homes. By 6 March, 300,000 people had already been displaced within less than 100 hours as evacuation warnings and attacks intensified. A few days later, Lebanon’s Minister of Social Affairs reported that around 517,000 displaced people had been registered on the government’s emergency relief platform. Of these, more than 117,000 people were hosted in approximately 538 collective shelters across the country. As of 9 March, 700,000 people were displaced.
Yet official shelter figures capture only part of the crisis. Many displaced families rely on informal arrangements, staying with relatives or friends or moving between temporary accommodation. This dispersed pattern reflects a defining characteristic of displacement in Lebanon: rather than large camps, displaced populations are spread across host communities. The current escalation builds on an already fragile situation created by previous waves of conflict. During the major escalation of late September 2024, internal displacement in Lebanon reached unprecedented levels, with around 1.2 million people estimated to have fled their homes.
Although the ceasefire reached on 27 November 2024 allowed many families to return during the following months, return did not necessarily mean recovery. Entire neighbourhoods had been damaged, infrastructure remained partially destroyed, and unexploded ordnance made some areas unsafe. By late February 2025, the International Organization for Migration reported that 949,571 people had returned, yet nearly 100,000 remained displaced.
In other words, the post-ceasefire period did not resolve displacement; it merely changed its form. The renewed escalation in 2026 therefore affects communities that had only recently begun reconstructing their lives.
Moving north: how displacement unfolds across the country
Internal displacement in Lebanon rarely takes the form of large, centralized camps. Instead, it unfolds through a dispersed pattern of mobility that stretches across multiple regions of the country. As violence intensifies in the south, families typically move northwards, relocating to Beirut, Mount Lebanon, the Bekaa Valley, and in some cases further north to cities such as Tripoli or districts such as Akkar.
Family and social networks play a crucial role in shaping these movements. Many displaced households initially seek refuge with relatives or friends living in safer areas. However, as displacement persists and the number of displaced families grows, the capacity of host households to provide accommodation quickly becomes strained.
Public infrastructure therefore becomes an essential part of the emergency response. Schools, community centres and municipal buildings are frequently converted into collective shelters to host displaced families. During the escalation of 2024, hundreds of public schools across Lebanon were repurposed as emergency shelters, and similar arrangements are once again emerging in 2026 as municipalities attempt to cope with the increasing number of displaced households.
This dispersed pattern of displacement also creates uneven pressures across the country. While southern districts experience rapid depopulation as residents flee ongoing violence, central and northern regions must absorb sudden population inflows. Municipalities in Mount Lebanon, Akkar and cities such as Tripoli have therefore become key receiving areas for displaced populations.
Unlike camp-based displacement contexts, Lebanon’s urban and socially mediated displacement makes it harder to monitor needs and coordinate humanitarian responses. Displaced families are scattered across apartments, temporary shelters and host households, creating a less visible but highly complex displacement landscape.
The ripple effects of displacement
Beyond the immediate humanitarian emergency, internal displacement produces far-reaching social, economic and environmental consequences.
One of the most immediate effects concerns education. During displacement crises in Lebanon, public schools are often repurposed as emergency shelters for displaced families, interrupting the academic year for thousands of students. In a country where the education system is already struggling with the consequences of economic crisis and institutional instability, repeated school closures risk widening learning gaps and increasing the likelihood of long-term school dropout.
Displacement also severely affects livelihoods. Many families fleeing southern Lebanon depend on agriculture and small-scale rural economies tied to the land. As hostilities intensified, farmers were forced to abandon olive groves, tobacco fields and other crops during critical cultivation and harvesting periods. Agricultural production has therefore been disrupted not only by direct damage caused by shelling but also by the absence of farmers who are unable to safely access their land.
The environmental consequences of conflict further complicate prospects for recovery. Bombardments have damaged agricultural land, irrigation systems and water infrastructure in several southern districts, while unexploded ordnance poses serious risks for cultivation and reconstruction. These environmental impacts may significantly delay the possibility of safe return.
Finally, host communities across Lebanon face increasing pressure as they attempt to accommodate large numbers of displaced people. Municipal services such as housing, water supply, waste management and healthcare are already under strain in a country experiencing one of the most severe economic crises in its modern history. The arrival of hundreds of thousands of displaced families therefore places additional burdens on local infrastructure and public resources.
The long shadow of displacement
The Lebanese case illustrates how internal displacement can evolve from a temporary humanitarian emergency into a recurring condition shaped by cycles of violence and fragile recovery. Families flee, return after ceasefires, and then find themselves displaced again when hostilities resume. Yet the significance of displacement in Lebanon goes beyond the number of people forced to move. As this crisis shows, displacement reshapes territories and societies in lasting ways – interrupting education, destabilizing agricultural livelihoods, and placing new pressures on already fragile urban infrastructures. In this sense, internal displacement in Lebanon is not only a consequence of conflict but also a process that gradually transforms the social and spatial landscape of the country.
For many of the 700,000 people currently displaced, the central question is therefore not only when they will return, but whether the next return will finally be able to last.







Displaced Before the Strike: Evacuation Warnings and Anticipatory Displacement in Lebanon
Hucen Sleiman, École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, Paris.
As of 9 March 2026, around 700,000 people are displaced across Lebanon, fleeing bombardment in the south, Beirut’s southern suburbs, and parts of the Bekaa Valley to seek refuge further north. This is the latest wave in a crisis that has repeatedly emptied towns since late 2023. But behind these numbers lies a less visible pattern: in many cases, displacement begins before the bombs fall, triggered not by destruction itself but by the anticipation of it, communicated through digital evacuation warnings.
Warnings before bombs
At 11:47 PM on 3 October 2024, a satellite image of Haret Hreik in Beirut’s southern suburbs began circulating on WhatsApp. A red circle roughly 500 metres in diameter marked several apartment blocks, a mosque, and a cluster of shops. The image, originally posted on the Israeli military’s Arabic-language X account, ordered residents inside the marked area to evacuate immediately.
Within hours, the screenshot had spread across neighbourhood groups. Families compared maps, called relatives, and debated whether their building fell inside the circle. By morning, the buildings were empty. The strike came two days later.
Scenes like this repeated across South Lebanon and Beirut during the 2024–2025 escalation, and again in March 2026. Between late September and early November 2024, the Beirut Urban Lab documented more than one hundred announced strikes targeting over 160 buildings, with warnings posted shortly before bombardment and rapidly recirculated through messaging networks.
These warnings are often presented as humanitarian precautions intended to reduce civilian casualties. But they also have another effect:they compel people to leave. A red circle on a phone screen can trigger hurried packing, late-night departures, and sudden decisions about where to go. Displacement begins with the warning, not only with the explosion.
What displacement looks like
The movements produced by these warnings rarely resemble the large-scale displacements that humanitarian statistics usually capture. Instead, they are smaller, closer, and often repeated.
Many families do not leave the neighbourhood at all. In Beirut’s southern suburbs, residents frequently evacuate their apartments but stay in the same building’s basement, a neighbour’s ground-floor flat, or a relative’s home nearby, waiting to see whether the strike will happen.
In southern villages such as Meiss al-Jabal or Kafr Tibnit, some residents move only a few hundred metres, relocating to the edge of the village just outside the marked radius rather than leaving the area entirely.
These movements are also cyclical. As warnings circulate, families who had returned home may leave again within days. During the 2024–2026 escalation, many households kept bags packed, keys within reach, and phones nearby, ready to move if another warning appeared.
This kind of mobility does not fit easily into the usual categories of displacement. People may not cross administrative boundaries, register in shelters, or appear in official counts. Yet their lives are repeatedly interrupted, their routines suspended, and their homes treated as places that might have to be abandoned at any moment. Even without immediate destruction, evacuation warnings create a persistent sense of insecurity and fear. As anthropologist Stephen Lubkemann has shown in other conflict settings, wartime mobility is often fragmented and localised, shaped by conditions that do not amount to permanent flight but still fundamentally reorganise everyday life.
Why this matters for displacement research
These patterns matter because not all displacement looks the same, and contemporary conflict often produces forms of mobility that fall outside the categories through which displacement is usually measured, including short-distance or repeated relocations
First, many of these movements remain statistically invisible. Humanitarian figures tend to count people who enter collective shelters, cross districts, or register for assistance. They often miss those who stay with relatives a few streets away, move temporarily within the same village, or return home between strikes. The International Organization for Migration has repeatedly noted the difficulty of capturing dispersed, short-term, and informal displacement in Lebanon, where families frequently rely on personal networks rather than official shelter systems. As a result, a significant share of wartime mobility never appears in the numbers that guide humanitarian planning.
Second, invisibility has concrete consequences. Even short-distance displacement can disrupt work, schooling, healthcare, and access to land. Children may miss weeks of classes, farmers may be unable to reach their fields, and daily routines may be suspended for long periods, even when families remain within the same locality. When such movements are not recognised as displacement, they often fall outside the scope of assistance and policy response, despite producing real social and economic strain.
Third, evacuation warnings raise difficult questions about responsibility. Military authorities present warnings as measures intended to reduce civilian casualties. Yet when warnings repeatedly compel people to leave their homes without offering any guarantee of safety, they also function as a form of governance. By designating certain buildings or neighbourhoods as temporarily uninhabitable, warning maps reorganise how civilians move, where they stay, and how they plan their lives under threat.
In this sense, warnings do not simply inform. They actively reshape everyday life by producing conditions in which people must live in anticipation of possible destruction.
Not only Lebanon
Lebanon is not the only place where displacement begins with a message on a phone.
In Gaza, residents often receive phone calls or text messages ordering them to leave buildings before strikes, a practice documented by organisations such as Amnesty International.
In Ukraine, air-raid alert applications send constant notifications that structure daily routines in cities under threat.
In Sudan, local Telegram and Facebook groups circulate informal “danger zone” maps that compel people to move before fighting reaches their neighbourhoods.
In each case, the warning arrives before the violence, and civilians move in anticipation of threat. In each case, there are implications for the ordering of space, the legibility of the disruptions of armed conflict, and for how responsibility for this displacement is framed.
Conclusion
The hundreds of thousands displaced across Lebanon today include those who fled bombardment, but also those who left because a warning appeared on their phones. Evacuation messages circulated through social media have become part of how contemporary conflict reorganises space, compelling civilians to move before violence occurs. These anticipatory displacements are often small, repeated, and difficult to measure, yet they profoundly disrupt everyday life. Paying attention to them shifts how displacement is understood: not only as the result of destruction, but as a condition produced through the management of threat itself. In this sense, war displaces not only through what it destroys, but through what it makes people expect.
Posted in Migration Comments