Sociologists have long examined how states shape families. In the recent case of Syrian refugees resettled in Canada, state policy did more than shape. It dismantled and redefined the family, imposing a narrow structure that ignored the realities of refugee kinship systems.

Our seven-year ethnographic study followed 52 Syrian households resettled under Canada’s Syrian Refugee Resettlement Initiative. Most arrived with their extended kin networks intact. Instead, they came as reduced units: parents with young children, and rarely anyone else. Grandparents, adult children, siblings, and in-laws—core members of the family in their countries of origin—were systematically excluded.

In a new article published in Ethnic and Racial Studies, part of a special issue on “Refugee Resettlement as an Institution,” my co-author Laila Omar and I argue that this exclusion was not incidental. It was built into policy. Canada’s immigration law narrowly defines “family” for reunification purposes, and the United Nations’ guidelines for refugee referrals reinforce this restriction. The dominant assumption behind these definitions is that the nuclear family is universal. In reality, this model clashes with the kinship norms of many refugee communities.

The result was not just separation, but a fundamental restructuring of family life. One mother, Rima, explained, “We are used to being a family, not alone.” Her teenage daughter often cries after video calls with her aunt, who helped raise her and remains abroad. For this family, and many others, the physical distance from kin reshaped the emotional and developmental experiences of daily life.

Before displacement, caregiving was shared. In Syria, grandmothers bathed babies, aunts helped with homework, and uncles offered both discipline and emotional support. Families relied on dense kin networks that extended well beyond the nuclear unit. In Canada, those supports vanished. Mothers were left to manage everything alone, in unfamiliar systems and in a new language. Several were unable to attend English classes or pursue job training, not because of a lack of motivation, but because no one was there to help with the children. Integration was expected, but the social infrastructure that made it possible had been cut away.

The most common experience across our study was what we call unresolved protracted separation. Of the 52 families, over 40 remained separated from key family members throughout the research. These separations were not due to neglect or lack of effort. Instead, families encountered impenetrable bureaucratic barriers and financial hurdles.

Zeinab, a widow resettled in Canada through BVOR, a public-private partnership, described the process as unfair and corrupt. She had tried repeatedly to bring her sister to Canada. “I told them last time, ‘Bring my sister here. Just for my children. I can’t go back to Syria. They want to murder me and my children’,” she explained. But the UN rejected her sister’s application. Zeinab was devastated. “Even in Amman, the UN is all about money and bribes. Those who need help die, and those who lie come here.” Though she remained committed to working within the system, even imagining herself appealing directly to the Prime Minister, her experience reflects the exhaustion and helplessness many families voiced. Reunification was not simply delayed. It was denied.

A smaller number of families achieved what we term negotiated reunification. These households succeeded in bringing over extended kin through private sponsorship, often by taking on enormous financial burdens. Noor, a mother of eight, borrowed $40,000 to sponsor one adult son and his family from Jordan. She said her mental health improved dramatically once he arrived, but the family remained in debt. She had no hope of affording sponsorship for her other children. In Noor’s words, “There is no way other than through the UN.” For families like hers, reunification required both money and access to private networks. These resources are unevenly distributed.

A third group pursued what we call next-generation reunification. As their children reached adulthood, some parents arranged marriages with extended relatives abroad. These were not simply traditional matches. They were intentional strategies to reestablish broken kinship ties. Yasmin, for example, planned for her 23-year-old son to marry a cousin living in Turkey. She hoped the marriage would eventually allow the bride to immigrate and rebuild a family structure that had been lost in migration. Others did the same. These marriages became one of the few available paths for restoring the extended family, especially as families gained permanent residency or citizenship and greater mobility.

Across all three outcomes—protracted separation, negotiated reunification, and next-generation strategies—the underlying issue remains the same. The state forced refugee families to conform to a model that does not match their reality. Families that arrived with broader definitions of kinship were pressured to shrink. Those that resisted or tried to adapt did so under immense strain.

For family sociologists, this case offers a sharp illustration of how the state defines and regulates family life. In the context of refugee resettlement, that regulation is not abstract. It is felt in daily routines, missed celebrations, caregiving gaps, and long-term developmental impacts on children. The nuclear family is not simply encouraged. It is enforced.

Despite these constraints, families continue to assert their own understandings of what family means. They do so through sponsorship efforts, strategic marriages, and daily calls to loved ones still abroad. These acts are not just emotional. They are political. They reflect a refusal to accept the family model imposed by resettlement systems.

When policy continues to ignore the lived reality of family among displaced people, separation and loss will remain defining features of refugee life. But even in the face of exclusion, families continue to reimagine and rebuild. Their efforts deserve not only recognition, but support.

Neda Maghbouleh is the Canada Research Chair in Race, Ethnicity, Migration, and Identity and Associate Professor of Sociology at the University of British Columbia. Her work increasingly engages family, following the lead of study participants whose lives revealed these connections. Follow her on Bluesky/Twitter @nedasoc or reach her at neda.maghbouleh@ubc.ca.