On-Screen, off-screen love affairs: the fairytale of Syrian actors in Lebanese television shows

A few months ago, a friend and I were laying on the couch, watching reruns of the television series Khamsa w Nos, a Lebanese-Syrian television show that ran for 2 seasons on MTV Channel. The show stars Lebanese actress Nadine Nassib Njeim and Syrian actor Motasem al-Nahar; Njeim plays a successful doctor trapped in a loveless marriage with her mafia-driven husband, played by Kosai Khauli, a fellow Syrian actor, and al-Nahar plays her bodyguard who falls in love with her. “I adore Motasem,” my friend said, gushing about the man on our screen. “But I could never marry a Syrian.”

Khamsa w Nos is not the first series with a leading Syrian-Lebanese couple. Njeim and al-Nahar have acted together in three series, and Njeim previously starred alongside Syrian actor Abed Fahed in the television series Law. Evidently, the Arabic television landscape is rife with representations of mixed Arab couples, especially Syrian men and Lebanese women. Although these romantic dramas sell viewers a fairytale affair, the reality of mixed couples is much grittier and more complicated than what is depicted on our screens.

“If I was in love with a Syrian man, I wouldn’t go the extra mile [to] marry him,” Sonia Abdullah Abi Haider, an avid fan of Arabic and Turkish soap operas, admits to Raseef22. “I don’t think [we] would be compatible in how we talk, how we think, and the way we live our lives.”

Sonia is the product of a mixed marriage; her father is Lebanese, and her mother Syrian. Still, she considers the love affairs portrayed on Arabic television fantasies not based on reality. Her own parents, she adds, did not agree on much because they came from different cultures.

“I admire Syrian actors. I think they’re more qualified than the Lebanese,” continues Sonia. “I especially admire [the Syrian actor] Basel Khayat, but I don’t believe in marrying a Syrian, or any foreigner.”

“If I was in love with a Syrian man, I wouldn’t go the extra mile [to] marry him,” Sonia Abdullah Abi Haider, an avid fan of Arabic and Turkish soap operas, admits to Raseef22. “I don’t think [we] would be compatible in how we talk, how we think, and the way we live our lives.”

When I point out that Njeim, Lebanon’s most popular television actress, was engaged to a Syrian businessman, Sonia quickly points out that Njeim’s wealth and fame is not representative of all Lebanese women. As the child of a Lebanese-Syrian marriage, I understand the repercussions and nuances of what a mixed cultural marriage might bring. I don’t mind Lebanese women who oppose marrying a Syrian man, it’s a free country. While their objections are arguably racist, they are also premised on a law which prevents Lebanese women from marrying foreigners by prohibiting them from passing their nationality to their husband and children.

“Article 1 of the Lebanese Nationality Law [Decree 15 of 1925], issued in French-mandate Lebanon, grants only Lebanese men the right to pass on their nationality to their offspring,” Karima Chebbo, a program manager for the “My Nationality is a Right for Me and My Family” campaign, tells Raseef22. “Article 5 also stipulates that if a Lebanese man marries a foreign, non-Lebanese woman, then his wife has the right to request the Lebanese nationality after [one] year of marriage has passed.”

Chebbo believes this law is a clear case of patriarchal discrimination, adding that passing on your nationality to your children is an essential right, and denying Lebanese women this deprives their families of the legal benefits of citizenship, including the right to education, healthcare, property, and employment.

Ghaydaa, a director at a think tank who works remotely in Lebanon, is also the child of Lebanese-Syrian marriage. Her mother, however, is Lebanese, and as such, she only carries the Syrian passport. At the beginning of her career, right after graduating from the Lebanese American University in Beirut, Ghaydaa could not be employed by her alma mater because of her nationality.

“As soon as the administration saw my passport, my application was refused,” Ghaydaa tells Raseef22, speaking in the distinct Lebanese dialect. “I personally identify as Lebanese, and I love this country, because it has a certain charm to it. But my experiences in Lebanon haven’t been easy at all, and I suffered.”

Racism towards Syrian refugees in Lebanon is also running rampant and has been well documented by the media. 76% of Syrians in Beirut don’t feel welcome in Lebanon, compared to more than 60% in North Lebanon and about 50% in Mount Lebanon and the South, according to a study from 2017 by the UNHCR. These figures have likely increased after the influx of displaced people fled their homes in southern Lebanon as a result of Israel’s ongoing bombardment, which has reportedly seen the repatriation of 300,000 Syrians.

Although the Lebanese entertainment industry continues to glamorize the perfect union between Syrian men and Lebanese women, they fail to represent the serious legal hindrances and social consequences that such a union would generate for a mother and her children.

“I spent half of my life at the Amn El-am [Lebanese General Security] either renewing my daughters’ residencies, getting this and that document, just to make sure my daughters stay in Lebanon legally,” Souhair, a retired editor, told Raseef22. “It hurts me to see my daughters subject to racism in every aspect of their lives, especially because Lebanon is the only country they have [ever] known.”

Racism towards Syrian refugees in Lebanon is also running rampant and has been well documented by the media. 76% of Syrians in Beirut don’t feel welcome in Lebanon, compared to more than 60% in North Lebanon and about 50% in Mount Lebanon and the South, according to a study from 2017 by the UNHCR. These figures have likely increased after the influx of displaced people fled their homes in southern Lebanon as a result of Israel’s ongoing bombardment, which has reportedly seen the repatriation of 300,000 Syrians.

My Nationality, the regional campaign launched back in 2002, has successfully targeted nationality laws in Egypt, Algeria, Morocco, Libya, Yemen, and Tunisia. Women in these countries can now pass on their nationality to their children. However, the campaign has not made any significant progress in Lebanon due to political, sectarian, and legal reasons. To address these real-time issues, the entertainment industry must reflect the harsh and gritty consequences of such a union, especially representations of Syrian-Lebanese love stories. Such fairytales deliberately mislead audiences about the legal and social repercussions of mixed relationships in Lebanon. Meanwhile, romantic depictions more closely aligned with reality can serve the larger purpose of encouraging discussions that could translate into real change.