Survivor: Life After Cluster Bomb

Survivor: Life After Cluster Bomb

Survivor: Life After Cluster Bomb

By : Laura Boushnak

Survivor is a decade-long documentary photography project following the story of Mohammed, a young cluster bomb survivor. During the summer 2006 Israel-Hizbollah war in Lebanon he was riding as a passenger on his father`s motorbike when it struck a cluster bomb. Over the past 10 years I have documented how Mohammed, like so many other survivors around the world, lives with the horrifying repercussions of cluster munitions.

Mohammed was eleven years old when he lost both legs during the last week of the conflict. The fact that he lives a five-minute drive from my parents` home made it easier to follow him through the years. I saw the young boy who had to endure physical and emotional trauma. I saw the teenager who loves to swim but needs help with everyday tasks. And I know the young, jobless man who spends hours surfing the Internet trying to meet a girl who might become his girlfriend. His daily reality continues to be shaped by the sudden loss of his legs, as it always will.

A cluster bomb is a large canister dropped from the sky. It opens up in midair to release hundreds of bomblets. They scatter widely and on impact many fail to explode. Those submunitions act like landmines, laying on the ground, waiting for someone or something to set them off. If someone steps on them by accident, or picks them up, they can explode. These weapons are extremely unpredictable, which makes the threat they pose even greater. One day, a farmer might be able to work his land without any problems. The next day he might be burning some branches and submunitions close by could be set off by the heat. Another problem is that children mistake these bomblets for toys, because they can look like bouncy balls or soda cans.

When the conflict started in Lebanon in 2006 I was sent on assignment to cover the war by Agence France-Presse. I witnessed many people, including my own family, fleeing their homes in southern Lebanon. The day the war ended I saw the roads jammed again, but this time with people rushing back to their abandoned homes, unsure of what they would find there. Many encountered some of the estimated four million submunitions that were dropped on Lebanon during the thirty-four day conflict, according to the UN’s Mine Action Coordination Center South Lebanon.

As a documentary photographer I decided to go back to Lebanon a few months after the end of the conflict to meet cluster bomb survivors. That’s when I met Mohammed, in January 2007, exactly four months after the accident. When I first saw him, he was going through painful physiotherapy to recover from his fresh wounds. Still in shock, Mohammed was struggling to get used to his new body. He would sometimes wake up at night wanting to scratch his lost feet. 

Cluster bombs affect the poorest of the poor. The high cost of medical treatment is a burden to the families. They end up relying on humanitarian agencies, but this is usually insufficient and unsustainable, especially when injuries require life-long support for the injured. In Mohammed’s case, the appropriate medical care and psychosocial support was not available. One of the worst, yet invisible, impacts of the weapon is the psychological scars it leaves. In one of Mohammed`s early medical reports he was diagnosed with signs of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). He suffered from anxiety, poor appetite, sleep disturbance, and showed signs of anger. The reality is that Mohammed never received proper help to fully recover. Ten years after his injury, he is still unable to afford good prosthetic legs. He is very cautious with his steps since a couple of falls over the years brought him embarrassment among his friends.

Even before his disability, Mohammed’s life was not going to be easy. He was born in the Rashidiyeh Palestinian refugee camp near Tyre, Lebanon, where he still lives. Around 450,000 Palestinian refugees live in Lebanon and suffer from discriminatory laws. They are not allowed to work in the public sector, or practice certain professions, and are denied the right to own property.

A few months following his injury, Mohammed dropped out of school. He said, what’s the point of a university degree when he can’t find a job to begin with. Because of this, he is illiterate and spends most of his time at home. In addition to the continuous physical pain and the experiences of feeling isolated, cluster bomb injuries create a vicious cycle of impacts on communities and not only on the lives of their victims. Like Mohammed, many drop out of school, cannot find jobs or lose their jobs. Without prospects for good work, he cannot support his family and his sisters, as would be expected. Swimming in the sea has been his favorite activity. It is the only time when he can move his body effortlessly and enjoy racing his friends without worrying about being left behind.

Cluster bombs have been used by over twenty states during armed conflict in over thirty five countries, and continues to kill on a regular basis, without distinguishing between military or civilian targets. So far, 119 states have joined the Convention on Cluster Munitions, an international treaty banning cluster bombs. But some of the biggest producers, namely the United States, Russia, and China, have not. They continue to produce cluster bombs and reserve the right to make and use them in the future. The deep damage to communities lasts for generations.

[Watch Boushnak`s TED talk about Survivor and cluster bombs here.]

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The Art of Healing: Syrian Refugee Children Express Themselves

[Note: The children`s portraits are not paired with their drawings, for the sake of their privacy. The young artists of the drawings are kept anonymous and all children are only referred to by first name, when permitted.]

The Syrian civil war has created the largest refugee crisis in a generation, yet the world has not provided for nearly enough of them. Many Syrians, mostly children, still need the basics: shelter, education, food, and security. Many also need psychosocial support and therapy to cope with their traumatic experiences.

As a photojournalist I have covered war, conflict, natural disasters, and their aftermath. However, when it came to depicting the Syrian war I decided that traditional journalistic images were not enough. There are many photos of destruction and refugees already in circulation, and the dangers of traveling inside Syria make it impossible to work there.

I decided to try something different. In the winter of 2013, Mieke Strand and I joined with, among others, a Turkish art therapist, Ezgi Içöz, and a Syrian theater and arts teacher, Khalid Eid, to bring art classes and therapy to four Syrian refugee schools in the south of Turkey, near the Syrian border. Our project was called The Inside-Outside Project. Its primary goal was to provide a joyful, open space for the children to express together through art all kinds of emotions in a non-judgmental and accepting environment.

We also created formal photographic portraits that present Syrian children as dignified individuals. We were experimenting with a new visual language meant to break through the filters of distance and otherness that are often produced by traditional journalistic images of refugees.

Working with the children opened my eyes to the power of the arts. At first, I could not shake the feeling that the work was insignificant in the face of the difficulties these children faced as refugees. After all, what good is an hour of painting? The answer came from Khalid, who said, “Art is important. It’s not like wasting time. Before, it was nice to have art. Now, it has a new mission. In this situation, art has a greater value. Before the revolution, we had art classes. It was important, but not a big deal. But now, it is important. This is the door, the way, the window to take feelings outside.”

However, asking children to relive painful and traumatic experiences should not be done without the proper long-term therapeutic structure, which can enable the memories to become catharsis. While the art classes we led allowed the children to express feelings about the war when they arose spontaneously, we did not ask them directly to reflect on it. Refugee children are too often asked by adults around them to remember the war, to speak about it, to take a political stand. Children also absorb the fear, anxiety, rage, and sorrow of adults around them. They are not fooled by adults` calm exteriors. These children often feel powerless and controlled. The art classes were designed to be a time of much needed self-expression, communication, and fun. While some class projects allowed for negative emotions and difficult memories to emerge, many brought out positive thoughts and dreams and all sessions actively created empathy and bonds of support among the children and teachers.

The news media, perhaps unsurprisingly, has been most interested in reproducing the pictures that depict violence, but what is most important to the children is the freedom to let their imaginations roam unrestricted in an environment that enables their thoughts to be heard.

One of the schools we worked at in Turkey is the Free Syria School in Reyhanli, located in the basement of a six-story building. The headmistress, Maysaa Hamoud, was enthusiastic about a drawing exercise that taught free drawing, saying that was the kind of learning her students needed: breaking boundaries and thinking for themselves. Finger painting, in particular, was a big hit with the girls, a class which demanded getting messy. In the end, with official sanction to “go crazy,” they smeared paint with their whole hands and painted faces on their fingers. The school has few resources but the atmosphere is one of ambition, hope, and friendliness. Maysaa and her husband Hussam El Din Shehadeh started the school themselves and use their own savings rather than ask the children’s families to pay. They are refugees too. Hussam was a member of the Free Lawyers of Aleppo pro-democracy group and was forced to flee with his family to Turkey after his car was blown up.

The Friendship School in Gaziantep is not private like the others. The city pays for the school and has installed a Turkish director to oversee its operation. Children wear uniforms and the school has proper classrooms and materials. Ezgi and Khalid used games, exercise, and physical play as part of the art therapy. Ezgi noted that one of the themes that came up with these children is that of missing home. She says, “We opened the sessions by expressing emotions through play, imagination, images and sharing… We worked with the negative images, emotions, and memories. The children expressed them through drawing, painting, and storytelling. Then, we tried to find ways to heal the negativity by finding strength in the art.”

Al Fateh school in Gaziantep is a small school, not specifically for needy refugees, but rather designed to create a new educated class of dedicated young people who will return to Syria to solve their homeland’s problems. The concerns of the adults about the war, violence, and the fate of country are clearly conveyed to the children, who in turn have developed adult fears and anxieties along with a strong sense of duty towards others inside Syria. These students drew more political pictures, with flags, slogans, and images of President Bashar al Asad being murdered. 

Torches of Freedom, in Karamaranmaraş, Turkey, was founded and is directed by Sanabl Maranadi. It is a center for activism for local refugees as well as a school for around eight hundred children. Ezgi was asked to teach the teachers new methods for working with the kids so they could benefit from her skills even after we left. Ezgi recounts about our experience here, “We began our sessions [with the 5th grade students] by making an agreement not to hurt ourselves or each other, and when I asked them what they needed from their friends during the session to feel safe, they said ‘I need the others not to lie.’ The 8th graders were very excited about the arts. …They chose to call the group ‘the artist friends.’ When we talked about what we wanted to paint, they said they were tired of drawing war. They said they wanted to paint happy things.”  Before we left, Ezgi asked them to make mementos for us: “a postcard about their strengths, their gifts to the world. They were very supportive of each other, and they told each other how funny, how smart, how kind, and how strong they were. It was so beautiful to see how they had a lot of good and inspiring things to say to each other. Their need for support and compassion was very touching - as was their strength - and it was very difficult for us to say goodbye.”

In 2015, to continue the project, I went to Beirut to train local teachers of Syrian refugee children how to use art therapy techniques. An upcoming lesson, which has been used in California schools but not yet in Turkey or Beirut, will also teach the basics of classical portrait lighting. The project will allow the children to experiment and express themselves through photography. It uses tools most children have access to: a phone camera (or a point-and-shoot) and a household lamp. The therapeutic aspect, in this case, is the opportunity for children to present themselves in new and attractive ways, to take control over their own images. The portraits will also allow them to see themselves as dignified and important, as this classical Renaissance portrait style was designed to do.

I decided to formalize the project under the name Artivism, a broader concept that expanded upon what I’d done with the Inside-Outside Project. It also includes a new program, an art exchange between children. In the exchange, refugee children and students around the world create and share art and stories. The children paint postcards and write messages to each other. The artwork is becoming part of an Internet archive of children’s drawings of war, a new and unique resource for research and advocacy.

My hope is that the program forges community between refugees and people in other countries, changing the relationship between refugees and their supporters from one of  “victim” and “helper” to a community of people.

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Caption to the drawing in the slide show above: “The Tree, the Clouds and the Very Scary Birds”
Artist: 11-year old girl
Topic for this session: Scary bad things in two colors.

These are the scariest colors, she said. These black clouds and these black birds, they scare me so much. 

Ezgi asked, why are they scary? Then, the girl was afraid, and Ezgi said, I will sit beside you to make you feel safe. The girl said, I feel when I was drawing this, it was like night, and the birds and clouds and tree were black. I suddenly felt afraid. 

Ezgi said, what do you feel now, seeing it on paper? The girl said, I feel better, more comfortable because I saw it before all the group. 

The girl was still stressed, so Ezgi asked, what do you need from the group? To close their eyes? The girl said, to not lie to each other.

Ezgi asked, what do you say about this painting? You can hold my hand. The girl turned to the painting and said, I am not afraid of you. I was afraid of it before, but not now.