The momentary concern

The Syrian conflict has caused immense suffering, but we must focus on humanity and support healing efforts.

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Eight years ago, in December 2016, I accompanied a team to a small camp at the Lebanese-Syrian border. It was cold and there was snow on the ground. Some of the tents in the camp had been leaking, making the already difficult situation even more miserable. A few days before I went, a number of people had died on the journey to escape Syria due to severe weather. Firewood was difficult to gather in the camps, so people had been burning trash, tyres, plastic bottles, old shoes or anything else they could find to keep warm. The pungent smell of burned plastic or rubber was suspended in the cold December air.

In that small camp, I met a woman who told me about the street she used to live in. A man shared a story about the wedding of his daughter. A family, despite having little to eat themselves, insisted I break bread with them. They would not take no for an answer. On my way back, I stopped at a clinic that was run by a Pakistani doctor, working around the clock to take care of those who were forced to leave Syria. I wrote about him in this newspaper on December 14, 2016.

Over the course of the next eight years, I returned to Lebanon dozens of times and heard firsthand stories of endless suffering from shopkeepers, grocers, farmers, construction workers and housewives. Close to our home near Boston, we met people who lost family members as bombs rained on their homes. My family and I got to know a young Syrian boy at our mosque who lost both of his arms during one such incident. That boy is headed to university next year. These incredible people – without knowing – changed me. I learned about humanity and lack thereof, the pain of displacement, and what home really means. Today, I am thinking of all of them, those who I am in touch with, and those who I met only for a few minutes. I owe a great deal to their kindness and decency. I hope that they find peace and comfort in the days ahead. I hope their wounds heal, and that the future for them, wherever it may be, is better than the past.

Much is being written already about the how, what and why part of the current moment in Syria. There are theories and arguments, connections between the dots and the explanations about the sequence of events. But our interest cannot simply be about the academic debates or explanations. It must not be about thinking of an abstract notion of population without recognizing that these are real people, just like all of us, we are talking about. We have to care about people, and help in the healing process. This does not mean taking advantage of the situation, or trying to impose solutions from the outside. Instead, this has to mean putting humanity, considerations and the concerns of the people front and centre. This means supporting local efforts to rebuild, and providing resources to strengthen those local efforts.

The news cycle – and with that our attention – is going to get diverted to the next big event. This may happen in weeks, or in months, but will inevitably happen. The global community has been here before – and unfortunately – our track record is not that great. It is, in fact, awful. For example, think Afghanistan. Events of August 2021 made headlines around the world. Today few remember, even fewer care about the endless suffering of Afghan communities. Yemen provides another example. Libya, yet another one. The list is long. The point is not to say that Syria is like Afghanistan, Yemen, Libya or any other country. Each country is indeed different and the people of each country are incredible in their own ways, but there is a common thread here. And that has less to do with the country, and more to do with us. The future can be, and must be, different.