AFTER government forces burned their family to death, Muhammad and Mukhtar, two brothers in their early twenties, fled Syria. Since then they have got by doing odd building jobs in the Lebanese port of Tripoli, while so far unsuccessfully applying for resettlement. Now, two years later, they are hoping to join the exodus to Europe if they can raise enough money to pay smugglers for a passage. “There is nothing for us here,” says Mukhtar.

Over the past few summers—when the paths are clear and the seas calm—Syria has churned out people. But this year has seen the greatest outflow yet. The latest, as yet unpublished, UN figures, obtained by this newspaper, show that Syria’s population has shrunk to just 16.6m, down from a pre-war level of around 22m. With 4m UN-registered refugees abroad, at least 1m more unregistered and 7m internally displaced people, more than half the country’s population has been forced to move. UN officials think the number could be significantly higher than that, since estimates of the pre-war population vary widely. Up to 250,000 people have died.

The Middle East has witnessed mass movement before: Palestinians, Jews, Armenians, Kurds, Iraqis, to name but a few. Yet while many of them settled in the region—often in Syria, which only a few years ago offered refuge to over 1m Iraqis and 560,000 Palestinians—more are now choosing to go farther afield. So common has the flight by sea towards Europe become that airlines have special announcements. “Please leave the life-jackets,” pleads a steward through the tannoy on the flight from Lebanon’s capital, Beirut, to Adana in Turkey, the country from which most of the boat-people leave.

Those leaving cite several motives for moving now. Syria’s war is intensifying: the number of armed incidents rose from 4,000 in January to 6,000 in August, according to a data agency with scores of monitors on the ground. Some are fleeing Islamic State (IS) though many more are leaving from rebel-held areas that are being attacked by the regime.

Goodbye Damascus

Syrians are also leaving relatively peaceful regime-held areas in larger numbers, too. “Every Syrian wants to leave, more than ever,” says Omar, a student who recently arrived in the Netherlands from a safe part of Damascus. Many come from the regime’s outposts, such as western Aleppo, which, relying as it does on air cover to maintain supplies, feels increasingly fragile. Services have deteriorated even in the richest parts of the capital. A middle-income country has collapsed into one in which over 80% of people are “in need”, according to the UN.

Where Syrians find their refuge

Poor and often falling living conditions also explain why Syrians are fleeing the neighbouring countries where, at first, they found safety. Many who thought they would soon return to Syria have now despaired. “The worsening conditions in Lebanon and Jordan and restrictions on the Syrians are contributing to a sense of hopelessness,” says Ariane Rummery of the UNHCR. Some refugees say the host countries are actively encouraging them to leave, frustrated with what they see as a burden on their already stretched resources. In Lebanon refugees now account for well over a quarter of the population.

None of the four main countries hosting Syria’s registered refugees—Turkey, Lebanon, Jordan and Iraq—recognises them as such. This means that they are unable to work legally. In Jordan they are encouraged to go to a camp, though most live on the edge of cities. In Lebanon official camps are banned, so Syrians live in makeshift shacks fashioned from wood beams covered with sacking. By their own accounts, hostility towards them is rising.

The UN has cut assistance to Syrians, since to date it has received only 37% of the $4.55 billion it says it needs this year. This month, for example, it dropped thousands of Syrians in Jordan from its food assistance programme. Food aid in Lebanon fell by half in July, to just $13.50 per head per month. Money promised this week by EU leaders should help a lot.

Europe is by far the most favoured destination for those who leave. Lawrence Mala Ali, an engineer who recently arrived in Norway, laughs when asked why he didn’t go to an Arab country: “Which one? The Arab Gulf won’t accept us. Jordan offers us Zaatari camp. Lebanon is the capital of humiliation,” he says. “I chose Europe because it’s the only possible place that makes me feel that I am a man again.”

There are no good statistics on the economic background of the refugees. But many, like Mr Ali and the brothers in Tripoli, are middle-class by Syrian standards—after all, they have to find the $2,500 or so the smugglers demand. According to Swedish figures, 40% of Syrians arriving there have upper-secondary education or higher, compared with, say, 20% of Afghans. Many who are leaving had flats and jobs. Even were they safe, after four years of war many Syrians want a better standard of living, and education for themselves or their children.

The factors pulling people towards Europe have become more powerful, too. When Angela Merkel said last month that she was setting aside the rule that those seeking safety must apply for asylum in the first EU country they reach, it was interpreted as an open door. TV images of warm welcomes added to the impression. “Look how the Germans met Syrians arriving on trains! And look how the Austrians brought food!” says Mukhtar.

The flow is likely to lessen when winter comes, but most Syrians reckon the exodus will resume in the spring. Syrians in Europe pass news back to friends and relatives elsewhere via social media. Since many men set off with the intention of bringing their families later on, more people are likely to follow. UNHCR statistics say 80% of migrants arriving in Europe are male. One problem for the Syrians is a growing number of other nationalities who are pretending to be Syrian, sometimes armed with fake passports, and sometimes with none, to claim asylum.

Just the start of it

So far in 2015 the UN says that half a million people have crossed the Mediterranean, 40% of whom were Syrian. Despite those figures, the vast majority of Syrians are still in their country or its neighbours. The most vulnerable and poorest are among them. In a plot of farmland covered with tents in the Bekaa valley, where sewage flows in open ditches, Riad, 36, watches satellite news reports of refugees arriving in Germany with envy. “We are here, struggling to feed our families,” he says.

As Iraq has found, rebuilding a country is hard when the educated have left. Their departure is making sectarian divisions increasingly pronounced, too. Most people in areas held by the regime, headed by its Alawite president, are Sunnis, but the proportion is declining. Mostly-Sunni Idlib province, for instance, has been taken by the Sunni opposition.

Syria’s many rulers are seeking to hold onto their populations. The Assad regime wants men who can fight. Syria’s Kurds want refugees to return so their lands can’t be “Arabised”. IS is publishing videos showing how life is better in the caliphate than in Europe. But if fighting intensifies in Aleppo or Damascus, many more will leave. The worst could be yet to come.