Beneath a clear sky that seems too calm for the scale of tragedy, the ancient columns of Palmyra rise toward the clouds as if in silent witness. Yet today, the city is haunted not by the roar of warplanes or the thunder of tanks, but by a quieter, deadlier enemy: unexploded ordnance buried in its soil and rubble. Cluster bombs and remnants of fierce battles now turn Palmyra and its surroundings into an invisible minefield, claiming innocent lives day after day.
These munitions, left behind after brutal clashes, particularly during the years when Iranian-backed militias controlled the city, are no longer just relics of past wars. They are silent killers, waiting for children at play, farmers returning to their land, and displaced families desperate to rebuild their homes among the ruins. This is a war without sound, as deadly as the battles themselves.
“We came back because we could no longer bear displacement,” says Um Mustafa, a mother of five who returned recently to her shattered home. “We live crammed in one room of a destroyed house. My youngest son, only ten, went to get groceries. Minutes later, we heard a deafening explosion. We found only his remains next to a small blue bomb hidden under the dirt. Who will protect our children? Death is beneath our feet here.”
For farmers like Abu Ali, the fields that once gave life now bring only despair. “My land is my honour,” he tells +963. “When I tried to plant again, something exploded under my hoe. I lost my right leg and three fingers. How can I feed my family now? The earth that once fed us now kills us.”
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The younger generation is no less trapped. Su’ad, a teenager who dreams of becoming a doctor, admits that fear shadows her daily walk to school: “Every day, I worry an explosion could happen near me. A friend’s younger brother was killed just weeks ago. How can we focus on studying, when death can strike at any moment? I want to see Palmyra as our grandparents described it; beautiful, alive, not as a graveyard.”
Humanitarian workers warn the situation is deteriorating. Issa Hassan, a volunteer with the “Hand in Hand” demining group, explains: “There are thousands of unexploded cluster bomblets scattered everywhere. They attract children because of their colours and shapes. Demining efforts are minimal, no proper equipment, no international support. Our local teams are brave, but it’s like trying to empty the sea with a bucket.”
International responsibility is undisguised. Many of the explosives were left by Iranian-backed forces that once fought to control Palmyra. Yet civilians remain the victims, facing not only hidden bombs but also a collapsed health system. Local hospitals barely function, with little medicine or capacity to treat amputations and life-altering injuries.
“This is an ongoing crime against humanity,” says Ibrahim Saleh, an activist from Palmyra. “Children and women are paying the highest price. There are no awareness campaigns, no real support. Victims suffer amputations, blindness, and deep trauma. Even our heritage, the monuments that survived for 2,000 year, is at risk, as the explosives threaten researchers and future visitors.”
Saleh calls for urgent international action: specialized demining teams, funding for medical care, and accountability for the use of banned weapons. Yet the response remains weak.
A Syrian army source, speaking on condition of anonymity, admits the challenge: “Engineering units are working to clear explosives across the country, but priorities remain along active frontlines. Palmyra is vast, and the contamination is severe. We welcome international support, but it must be coordinated with the government.”
