YAYLADAGI AND REYHANLI - In Istanbul's Taksim Square, the masses are calling for Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan to resign, but in other parts of the country, the Turkish leader is a popular, even venerated figure. Ahmed Hussein proudly presents a photograph on his mobile phone of his 18-month-old son, Erdogan. "We named him after Erdogan" said the Syrian refugee, "because he was the only one who helped the Syrian people. A lot of Syrians have called their sons that." Little Erdogan is officially a Syrian citizen, but has spent all his short life so far in neighboring Turkey, in the Yayladagi refugee camp in Hatay province.

Click here for an interactive map of Anshel Pfefer's journey along the Turkish-Syrian border

In Syria's northern province of Idlib, a major rebel hub since the beginning of the civil war, and in the border towns of south-eastern Turkey, hundreds of little Erdogans are taking their first steps. But today, as they learn their first words, their namesake is less eager to help the Syrian people than he was in the past.

The Erdogan government was the first to sternly condemn Syrian President Bashar Assad's regime for the bloody repression of pro-democracy protests in Syria, which started in March 2011. It was also the first to open refugee camps for the thousands of civilians fleeing for their lives, and the first to allow rebels to operate and transfer weapons from its territory. But the continuing warfare south of the border is seeping into a Turkey increasingly afraid of getting sucked into the fighting.

Life in Hatay province is inextricably linked to what happens across the border in Syria. Many of the Turkish citizens in Hatay are of Arab descent and have relatives in Syria. The local big city is Aleppo, a short drive away when the border is open and there are no battles for the road. The province's economy relied on the large crossings at Yayladagi and Reyhanli working 24 hours a day, with convoys of goods going to and from the Mediterranean ports of Tartus and Latakia. For nearly two years, the military commanders and province governors tried to keep the crossings open, while supporting the rebels and aiding refugees. That policy has failed for now.

The crossings are now closed, however, and the only vibrant economy in the region is smuggling. Throughout the district, suspicion and resentment is mounting towards the refugees whose livelihood is borne by the Turkish taxpayer. At the same time, the security situation is worsening as hundreds of Sunni volunteers from around the world gather to join the rebels while pro-Assad movements become more active. One sign of the times is that Turkish army outposts on the border seem abandoned. Upon closer inspection, however, it turns out they are guarded by soldiers wearing steel helmets and body armor, who are standing in hidden concrete bunkers.

A soldier serving in one of these outposts admitted that, "We are not allowed to wear uniform in the towns here and we have to be ready at all moments for an attack on the outpost." Even Turkey's large and modern air force refrains from flying too close to the border for fear of shoulder-borne anti-aircraft missiles.

A Syrian refugee who has been a smuggler for the last two years admitted that recently his job has become easier. "The Turkish soldiers barely patrol the border anymore and don't prevent us from passing. On the other hand, there are a lot more security police in the area, arresting people and checking what you have in the car." The security around the Yayladagi refugee camps has also been seriously beefed up and refugees are finding it much more difficult to leave or rent rooms in the area.

Weapons shipments are not going through as easily as before either, and the Turkish security forces are much more circumspect as to which organization receives weapons and volunteers. Turkey still officially supports the Free Syrian Army (FSA) but fears the jihadist rebel groups. Two months ago they arrested ten men in Hatay, some of them foreigners, trying to supply advanced missiles to Jabhat al-Nusra, or the Nusra Front, the main Islamist rebel movement which is aligned with Al-Qaida. Two weeks ago, more arrests were made, this time of men suspected of supplying rebels with chemical materials for making nerve gas.

"We got the message" says a resident of a Syrian village near the border who recently moved his family to a refugee camp, but continues to cross the border every few days in an effort to maintain his fields. "We demanded the al-Nusra people leave the village so the Turks won't suspect us. Now we only allow FSA to operate."

Every move of the Turkish government is met with anger by a different local community. In Hatay, Assad still has many supporters who are enraged by Erdogan's policies against his regime. The stationing of American Patriot missiles in the area, defending civilians from missiles carrying chemical weapons, was also met by anti-U.S. protests. Other demonstrations were against the refugees; some of them were attacked by pro-Assad demonstrators. Such protests in the province's capital, Antakaya, fed into the latest round of anti-Erdogan riots taking place around Turkey. In Hatay province, however, they were much more violent than in Istanbul.

The anti-refugee protests reached their peak last month following the explosion of two car-bombs in the border town of Reyhanli. At least 51 civilians were killed in the attack, mainly Turks and a few Syrian refugees.

Three and a half weeks after the attack, the effects of the explosions can barely be seen in Reyhanli's main square. The scaffolding will soon be taken off the municipality building and nearly all the windows have been repaired. Even the large statue of modern Turkey's founding father, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, has been repainted. But beneath the surface, the local people are still tense and suspicious. Salim, who works in the mobile phone store opposite the square seems to agree, after a few minutes of persuasion, to speak about the events of that day. The conversation ends, however, when three elder men enter the store and ask us to stop talking without identifying themselves.

The Turkish police has suppressed the protests in its traditional way - with water cannons and lots of tear gas. Syrians are once again walking in the streets of Reyhanli and some of the cars have Syrian license plates. "The protests are over for now but they have lowered their profile," says Karim, a driver from Reyhanli. "The Syrians now understand we see them as potential terrorists." Despite that, those arrested so far for alleged involvement in the explosions are Turkish civilians. The authorities accused them of "contacts with Syrian intelligence" and did not add details.

In Hatay, people are convinced that the mastermind behind the attack was Mirhac Ural, a former leader of the Turkish People's Liberation Front (THKP-C), a Marxist underground group outlawed in the late 1970s. Ural, a member of the Alevi minority, was indicted on terror charges and has been in hiding since 1980, probably in Syria. Persistent rumors in Hatay claim that he is still active in the region, drafting young estranged Alevi men to the Shabiha, the pro-Assad Alawite militia. At the same time, anti-Assad movements are also active in Turkey, signing up young Sunni men to fight against the regime, greeting the hundreds of volunteers arriving from around the world to fight in the war, and guiding them over the border to Idlib and other battlegrounds.

Unlike in Lebanon, open warfare between Assad's supporters and rebels has yet to break out on Turkish soil. The central government and security forces are still strong enough to prevent that from happening. But the Reyhanli bombings prove that it may not be long before the Lebanonization of Turkey's border regions.

Open gallery view A Syrian refugee girl flashes victory signs as others look out from behind a fence at Yayladagi refugee camp in Hatay province near the Turkish-Syrian border, April 10, 2012. Credit: Reuters