I started working as a journalist at the height of the troubles in Northern Ireland, between 1972 and 1975, and then moved to Lebanon where the 15-year-long civil war was just beginning. I saw both countries as interesting but bloody and atypical, sad casualties of their divisive histories and out of keeping with the modern world.
Unfortunately, over the following 40 years it turned out that the Lebanese war was a foretaste of the violent sectarian, ethnic and social divisions that were to tear the Middle East apart. Nation states ruled by despots became more politically fragile by the year and foreign powers exacerbated civil wars by military intervention and by backing their local proxies. Extreme Islam flourished in conditions of chaos, replacing nationalism and socialism as the ideological vehicle for opposition to the status quo.
Just how Britain plunged into this morass without…
What changed Jewish attitudes to Israel was the 1967 Arab-Israeli War. The Americans saw Israel very much as a kind of outpost of American interests in the Middle East, and identified its people with great American heroes like Davey Crockett, and the struggle of the Texans for independence from Mexico. There was an equivalence between Israel’s soldiers and the heroes of the Alamo. The Israelis were invested with all the heroic values Americans believed characterised themselves, and from it being unpatriotic to support the Israelis, it became the reverse. It was super-patriotic to support them.
Crucial to this was the Israeli claim to have practised ‘purity of arms’. Unlike Vietnam, where the Americans were losing and committing terrible atrocities, the Israelis were winning without committing massacres and other breaches of human rights. This record has gradually darkened as the wars between Israel and its Arab neighbours continued. The classic case…
Mike over at Vox Political has put up a couple of posts keeping the Brussels attacks in perspective. The attacks, as well as those in Paris, were a horrible atrocity committed by fanatics with no conscience or respect for the lives of innocents. But Mike also reminds us that there have also been Muslim victims of Daesh’s terror campaign, that have not received anywhere near the same amount of coverage and outrage. These people too deserve our sympathy, and we should also be outraged and disgusted at their suffering.
Mike has put up a list showing the numbers of people killed by ISIS’ thugs and butchers, not just in Brussels, Paris and San Diego, but also in Yemen, Tunisia, Ankara in Turkey, Afghanistan, Beirut, Libya and Baghdad. The atrocities committed in these places have also killed tens and hundreds of people. And Mike’s article reminds us that…
‘……………By Caroline Anning Humanitarian Emergencies Media Manager at Save the Children
Among Syrian refugees in Lebanon’s Bekaa valley this week, there’s one hot topic of conversation – the swell of migration to Europe. They have seen the news on shared satellite TVs, and heard the stories of acquaintances forging new lives and futures in Germany, Sweden and elsewhere.
For young people who have been living hand to mouth in one-room tents with their families for the last four years, the chance of a fresh start in Europe is tantalising. The dangers of the journey, crossing by land, sea or plane to Turkey and on to Greece, are no deterrent for most. Families with small children are nervous of the risks, but the teenagers are full of bravado. “Here we are dying slowly, there we may die fast but at least we will have tried,” one told me.
The desire to escape is not surprising. Lebanon, a country the size of Yorkshire beset by its own problems, is hosting at least 1.2million Syrian refugees. Resources are in critically short supply. Many Syrians arrived with nothing after fleeing the crushing war over the border three or four years ago, and they still have nothing.
Just existing is a daily struggle and for the young – unable to work, marry or leave the squalid refugee camps and half-built apartments they now call home – their lives are in limbo. People feel trapped, caged in by a situation that is not of their making with no end in sight.
But for almost all of them, Europe will remain a distant dream. Making the crossing to Greece and on to the rest of the continent takes money, physical strength and valid papers to get out of Lebanon – things many of the refugees living here do not have.
It costs a minimum of $3,000 dollars to pay a smuggler to go to Europe, which is a struggle for everyone and impossible for a lot of people. In addition to providing things like school catch up classes and sanitation infrastructure, Save the Children give families financial assistance to help meet their basic needs. But that money barely covers the cost of rent (there are no formal refugee camps in Lebanon so even those in tents must rent the land), food and clothing.
For a lot of Syrians, their financial situation is getting steadily worse. People are in debt up their eyeballs, while the opportunities for work are diminishing and aid agency budgets are being cut as funding dries up – WFP has been forced halve the amount of food aid it gives. Last winter families couldn’t even afford firewood, so they were forced to burn rubbish in their homes to keep warm during the brutally cold winters. When you don’t know where your next meal is coming from and you have nothing to sell, paying thousands of dollars for a one way ticket out is not an option.
The only recourse for these people is resettlement through the official programme, coordinated by UNHCR, which identifies the most vulnerable families in the regional host countries and puts them forward. This is the scheme that the UK recently offered to take 20,000 Syrians through over the next five years, which was a huge step forward.
Even then, though, only a fraction of the people here will qualify for formal resettlement. UNHCR expects to put 9,000 names forward this year from Lebanon – 0.75% of the registered refugees in the country. The reality is that for the vast majority of these refugees, their near future is in Lebanon, until the day they can go back to Syria and rebuild their homes and lives.
That future will be difficult and will involve families having to manage their expectations and dreams about what their lives would be like, the ones they had before war cruelly interrupted. But Syrians are resourceful and resilient, and we as the international community can help the ease the burden a little.
By increasing aid funding to the region and ensuring that refugees’ rights are recognised, we can make sure that at least no one freezes to death in the winter snows, as two babies did last year, or that children are not forced to work in the fields to support their hungry families. Making the dangerous journey to Europe should not be the only hope of a decent life. …..’
Ninety-five thousand Syrian children in Lebanon have been traumatized by the conflict—can painting help them?
(John Knefel)
BARJA, LEBANON–Anita Toutikian stands alone in a bare-bones classroom, huddled over a table covered in art supplies. She carefully arranges paint bottles and brushes, and sets out a sleeve of plastic cups for pallets.
In a few minutes, 22 students, five of whom are Syrian refugees, will burst into this room for a two-hour art therapy session. Toutikian, a working artist and a clinical psychologist, is there to help alleviate tensions between the refugees and their Lebanese classmates. According to the UN, at least 1.3 million Syrians refugees are currently living in Lebanon, which has led to a crisis-level strain on resources that impacts virtually every facet of society – and education is no different. This is the second time Toutikian has come to the Barja Technical School, a secondary school in this coastal town 30 minutes south of Beirut. The first time the students all drew a figure – a firefighter, to be specific – individually. But today the students will be painting in groups.
Barja Technical School is one of the hundreds of schools in Lebanon that are struggling to accommodate the nationwide surge of Syrian children into the Lebanese school system, which the UN has called “under served prior to the Syria crisis.” As a result, Syrian children all over Lebanon are facing a crippling lack of access to education. A recent UN report found that only 22 percent of school-age children are receiving a formal education. “The Syrian influx has increased the demand on the limited public school places by almost 134 per cent,” according to the report.
sources that impacts virtually every facet of society – and education is no different. This is the second time Toutikian has come to the Barja Technical School, a secondary school in this coastal town 30 minutes south of Beirut. The first time the students all drew a figure – a firefighter, to be specific – individually. But today the students will be painting in groups.
Barja Technical School is one of the hundreds of schools in Lebanon that are struggling to accommodate the nationwide surge of Syrian children into the Lebanese school system, which the UN has called “under served prior to the Syria crisis.” As a result, Syrian children all over Lebanon are facing a crippling lack of access to education. A recent UN report found that only 22 percent of school-age children are receiving a formal education. “The Syrian influx has increased the demand on the limited public school places by almost 134 per cent,” according to the report.
Anita Toutikian leading a class. (John Knefel)
“There’s an education crisis,” in Lebanon, says Amnesty International’s Lama Fakih. And that current crisis could result in a heightened susceptibility to recruitment to violent groups. “When you talk about a person’s ability to care for himself and his family and have a fulfilling life, obviously the opportunities are very limited without an elementary education,” adds Fakih.
Even those who are enrolled in school face significant barriers. Lebanese classes are often taught in either French or English, which most Syrians don’t speak. That’s an issue at the school in Barja. “This is one of the challenges, but teachers who teach languages are helping with this, are working with Syrians,” says Haifa Abu Hader, who works for the school. “It’s not easy. They’re very brave,” he says, referring to the harassment Syrians often encounter in schools across Lebanon. Prejudice against Syrian children and even some teachers is a growing concern for the U.N. Refugee Agency. “Syrian girls and boys face blatant discrimination, bullying and violence,” the agency noted in a recent report. “Violence against boys can be serious—in Mount Lebanon a 13-year-old was hospitalized after being beaten up outside his school.”
At Barja Techincal School, many of the refugee students initially fled Syria to the northern Lebanese city Arsal. Regular cross-border fighting between the Lebanese army and jihadi groups, including ISIS, then pushed those families deeper into Lebanon. Between the trauma of the war and the continuing struggles that come from a precarious living situation, many students aren’t receiving the support they need. The U.N. estimates that there are 95,000 Syrian children in Lebanon who have been traumatized by the conflict, which has diminished their learning abilities. “There is a lot of pressure on Syrian children in schools,” says Chantal Chedid, prevention coordinator at Skoun, a Lebanese NGO that works with adult drug users as well as young people through their early intervention program. Though Skoun – who organized the session I’m observing – doesn’t see some of the worst manifestations of trauma, school administrators say many of the Syrian students struggle with a variety of issues related to fleeing the war. “We see dropouts of Syrians, many are feeling sad, or depressed,” says Chedid. She adds that other common symptoms are “insomnia, [and] trouble concentrating.” An estimated 20 percent of Syrian refugee children in Lebanon dropout of school.
After the 22 students file in, Chedid breaks them into three groups of seven or eight, and each group crowds around a canvas roughly three feet by four feet. For the next hour, the students paint brightly colored landscapes full of sailboats, cars, and trees. “We are not teaching art here, and we are not doing full therapy. It is a psychosocial support with art, therapeutic art, we can say, because we are not addressing the problem of each child,” says Toutikian. “We are offering them the opportunity to express themselves freely, without judgment, without evaluation of their work.”
“In this work, we are not exploring the trauma,” she adds. “We are working in a group setting, and in a group setting it is not easy to address individual traumatic experience. We are giving them the opportunity to release the trauma.” One can’t help but wonder what some of the young adults who have fled the war might paint given a darker palette, but that answer isn’t for today. “When they’re happy, they all become children,” says Toutikian.
Observing the group, which is assembled from several different classes, there’s no question they are enjoying themselves. How well does it work to combat bullying? “Usually when someone from outside the school comes to the school, the students are commenting, ridiculing them, etc,” says Hader, the school employee, through a translator. “We didn’t see this today.”
“We are offering them the opportunity to express themselves freely, without judgment, without evaluation of their work, says Toutikian. (John Knefel)
I take out my camera to take close ups of the paintings, which initially doesn’t elicit much of a response. “It’s good, right?” says one girl. But when I take out my phone to snap a few more, the kids immediately strike poses. “Selfie!” yells one of the boys. Many of the students speak English very well, but even those who don’t know the word “selfie.” I pose with several of the students for a shot, not realizing that I’ve now opened the door for a new distraction – a picture with a native English-speaking interloper – that virtually every one of their classmates finds irresistible. By the end of the hour I’ve snapped over a dozen selfies with a rotating cast of characters, and, inexplicably, signed the tops of several students’ outstretched hands.
One of the students, who I’ll give the pseudonym Ali because he’s a minor, is excited to practice his English on me. “My favorite subject is electricity,” he says, and explains that he works at his father’s shop repairing washing machines. Does he like painting? “I like it, but this is kid stuff for my friend,” he jokes, bopping a boy lightly on the back of the head.
As the students file out, and return to their regular schedule, several complain and plead for Toutikian not to leave. After a few more requests for selfies all but a few students have cleared the room. One boy extends his hand to me, like many of the others, excited to practice his English. “I love you,” he says, as we shake hands goodbye. Then adds: “Nice to meet you,” and walks out the door. …………..’
I started working as a journalist at the height of the troubles in Northern Ireland, between 1972 and 1975, and then moved to Lebanon where the 15-year-long civil war was just beginning. I saw both countries as interesting but bloody and atypical, sad casualties of their divisive histories and out of keeping with the modern world.
61chrissterry 