Palestinian Refugee from Syria: A Story of Statelessness and Asylum

He was born in a camp for Palestinian refugees in Syria. He had no citizenship and, before he could choose the direction of his own life, he had already inherited a precarious legal status passed down through generations. His is not simply a story of migration. It is the story of someone compelled to live in a land he could never fully call his own—and from which he eventually had to flee again.

To protect his safety, I will not disclose his name, age, precise locations, dates, family composition or any other details that might identify him. I will refer to him simply as "the young man." This account is based on statements he made during the procedure for recognition of international protection. It must therefore be understood as his personal testimony, subject to assessment by the competent authorities.

The young man grew up in a community of Palestinian refugees whose families had lived in Syria for generations. His family was registered with and assisted by UNRWA, the United Nations agency established to support Palestine refugees. He held documents recording his identity and administrative status, but lacked a citizenship that would secure the full protection of a state.

The 1954 Convention relating to the Status of Stateless Persons, adopted in New York, defines a stateless person as someone who is not considered a national by any state under the operation of its law. Statelessness does not necessarily mean having no documents. A person may hold an identity certificate, be registered with an authority or receive international assistance, yet still lack the fundamental legal bond of citizenship. The Convention regulates the status of stateless people and establishes the minimum rights to which they are entitled.

The camp had schools, places of worship, a healthcare facility and some essential services. Yet this seemingly ordinary daily life was overshadowed by war, the presence of security forces and pressure on residents. The Palestinian community sought to remain outside the conflict. In an armed conflict, however, neutrality can itself become a source of suspicion.

According to the young man's account, a relative was arrested after opposing the involvement of Palestinians in the fighting. He reports that his relative suffered severe torture in detention, with lasting physical and psychological consequences. The young man and another family member were also reportedly beaten when the authorities came to take their relative away.

Following these events, the family was forced to leave the camp and seek safety elsewhere. This was not a freely chosen move, but an attempt to escape an environment in which their personal safety had been compromised. Some relatives later managed to reach a European country, while the young man remained in Syria.

He stayed because someone had to work, support the family financially and help pay for the others to reach safety. He found work in construction and postponed his own departure. His education and employment reflect his efforts to build an ordinary life despite the war, his lack of citizenship and the gradual separation of his family.

As the political and military balance shifted, his position became even more precarious. The young man said he feared the new authorities and believed that Palestinians from the camp were viewed with suspicion because of presumed political affiliations attributed indiscriminately to the entire community. Alongside this fear was the possibility of being drawn into armed activities or facing consequences for avoiding obligations imposed by the authorities.

When he realised he could no longer stay, he entrusted his life to a smuggling network and began the journey towards Europe. For part of the journey, he travelled concealed beneath trucks in extremely dangerous conditions. After reaching Italy, he was discovered and identified, and subsequently applied for international protection. This stage of his story also reveals the gap between the bureaucracy of asylum and the human reality behind it. To the administration, he is an applicant undergoing a procedure. In his own life, he is a son and a brother who, after years of separation, wants to be reunited with those he loves.

Article 10, paragraph three, of the Italian Constitution recognises the right to asylum within the Republic, under the conditions established by law, for foreign nationals who are denied the effective exercise in their own country of the democratic freedoms guaranteed by the Constitution. International protection is also grounded in the 1951 Refugee Convention and, within Italian law, Legislative Decree No. 251/2007, which governs both refugee status and subsidiary protection.

For Palestinian refugees assisted by UNRWA, Article 1D of the Refugee Convention is particularly relevant. It establishes a specific framework whose application requires careful examination of whether the person can actually continue to receive protection or assistance from the agency. UNHCR guidelines emphasise that this provision must be interpreted in a way that safeguards continuity of international protection, rather than turning it into a mechanism of permanent exclusion.

His case must be examined individually, taking into account the overall credibility of his statements, his personal circumstances, conditions in the place from which he fled and the concrete risks associated with any return. It is not enough to ask whether the country is still experiencing widespread war. The assessment must consider whether this particular person can obtain effective state protection and whether he faces persecution, torture, inhuman or degrading treatment, forced recruitment or other forms of serious harm.

The principle of non-refoulement prohibits returning a person to a territory where they may face persecution, torture or serious violations of fundamental rights. It is not a concession motivated by goodwill, but a legal limit on the exercise of state power. Human dignity does not depend on citizenship, and its protection cannot end at a border.

This story also illustrates the burden of intergenerational statelessness. The young man did not lose his citizenship because of a decision he made: he was born without being able to acquire one. He grew up bearing the consequences of a displacement that preceded his birth, then experienced another flight from the land where his family had sought refuge. First a refugee by inheritance, then displaced by war, and finally an asylum seeker in Europe.

He is not asking for privileges or shortcuts. He asks for his story to be heard without prejudice and assessed in its entirety. He asks not to be returned to a place where he lacks the effective protection of a state. Above all, he asks for the succession of forced departures that has shaped his family's life to come to an end.

Behind every administrative record is a person. Behind every application for protection are broken ties, fears, responsibilities assumed too early and decisions made when every alternative had already disappeared. Recognising this complexity does not mean prejudging the competent authorities' decision. It means applying the law without separating it from the humanity that gives it its deepest purpose.

The young man born a refugee cannot change his past. Europe, however, can still decide whether to offer him a future in which he will not be forced to flee a third time.