“I left for Beirut in 2023, but even far away, I carried the weight of home, unable to escape the same disappointments that bound me to other Syrians.
Now, standing in this moment of history, I look back and see a world that has vanished. And a world that is yet to come. What we lived feels like a relic—fragile, surreal, and irreplaceable. We tried to love, even as the world around us collapsed.
And now I wonder: can we ever reclaim those moments—this time, without fear?” - Ameen Abo Kaseem
Coming from the photographer’s very personal place, About love, homeland, despair and other existential problems captures the journey of Syrian "secular" youth from different backgrounds and beliefs, who dreamed not just of toppling a brutal regime, but of escaping the suffocating traditions that chained them. After years of war, they found themselves at the crossroads of hope and despair.
When one revolution was lost, people turned to another. They built new communities, created new ideas, and dared to believe that change was still possible. Life, in those fleeting moments, felt surreal—like stepping into a dream.
This didn't last for long, the collapse of the economy and its aftermath was relentless. No jobs, no stability. Migration hollowed out our cities. Survival became our only ambition—day after day, stripped of plans and hope. Communities that had once held us close began to dismantle, turning us once again into strangers in the cities we had called our own.
Portraits of former Syrian president Hafez al-Assad hang at the entrance of the medical university in Damascus, as in many state institutions across the country, appearing as a constant reminder of state control, watching over daily life like an omnipresent deity. Damascus, Syria on 26 March 2021.
A line of cocaine on a child's plate, with a thousand Syrian pound note used as a straw.
Lattakia, Syria on 17 April 2022.
Wadi al-Mashari' is considered as one of the poorest slum areas in Damascus, where houses are very small and lack the basic human needs, people tend to spend day time next to the house in search of sun and fresh air. Damascus, Syria, on 9 May 2020.
A group of friends who all study theater, while being asked to create a scene that represents their current lives. Each of them creates a posture to all together create a “scene”.
Damascus, Syria on 22 May 2023.
A corporate lunch in the ministry of power in Syria. Damascus, Syria on 16 March 2021.
Doaa in a moment of deep sadness. Her body used to react to those emotions, often manifesting physical pain as a reflection of her inner turmoil. It was as though her heartache lived not just in her mind but in every inch of her body. Damascus, Syria, on 6 February 2021.
Stranded after running out of fuel en route from Damascus to Latakia, a group of friends walks nearly 15 kilometers in search of black-market gasoline. Fuel shortages are common, often leading to long delays and encounters with security forces. Homs, Syria on 29 July 2022.
“Security forces stopped us, mistaking us for spies. After an intense search, they let us go (in the middle of nowhere). We returned to the car with the fuel—frustrated, exhausted, but determined to keep going.”
“I feel heavy here, alone. I've learned to live under the radar, slipping by with the constant, ‘You don’t look Syrian.’ Blending in has become a survival tactic—a way to dodge the questions, the stares, and the weight of my identity.” Beirut, Lebanon on 15 November 2024.
A celebration of Syrians in Beirut following the fall of Assad—a glorious yet bittersweet moment. A number of the crowds were few compared to the ones in Syria, but they celebrated as if their small gathering could fill the void of all they had lost. The joy was real, but it carried the weight of years of struggle, a reminder that victory could never fully erase the pain. Beirut, Lebanon on 8 December 2024.
A printed sky on a billboard covers a rooftop in Mazzeh 86, a district in Damascus. The photographer jokes that it may be the closest they will get to the open sky—Even after the Fall, this still seems the reality. Damascus, Syria on 2 April 2021.
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Ameen Abo Kaseem is a Palestinian-Syrian documentary photographer and cinematographer. Ameen started using photography in 2016 as a way to communicate and express himself, and his work focuses on himself and his family, friends, and community. He has been working on this project for the past 5 years, now at its final stage conceptualizing it as a book to publish.
World Press Photo has partnered with the Samir Kassir Foundation to offer a free masterclass program for photojournalists based in Lebanon.
The masterclass’s objective is to develop and guide photographers with 4-8 years of experience in their practice, placing special emphasis on building skills for long and sustainable careers in photojournalism, documentary photography, and beyond. Moreover, this course is designed to help photographers based in Lebanon reach the international community, providing guidance on diverse topics such as safety, research, photo ethics, writing, legal requirements, pitching, career development, and avenues for publishing.
See more work by Samir Kassir Foundation Masterclass participants here
