Sarah Tayara travels to the Turkish-Syria border to hear from people who have been affected by the almost decade-long conflict. She has written short stories about those who she met and their experiences of living through the war.
Jahida’s story: innocent lives taken too early
All my life I was under the impression that the military was the protector the population- the National Heroes. But I was wrong. The Syrian army sold us out for the sake of a few guns and glory…” - Jahida.
{ I was on my way back from the Turkish-Syrian border where I had fled to with my family when the situation in Idlib had gotten really bad. I wasn’t alone and I was grateful for that. While other people had been separated in the chaos of war, I had managed to stay with my husband, four children and my sister who was pregnant. It was a Saturday. We were heading back to Idlib and everyone was excited to go back. “Finally,” they were saying, “we’re going back to our homeland.” I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t feel the same. I had a bad feeling. A sinking one in my gut. They were all making fun of me, telling me that I was paranoid. My daughter, Aalia looked at me and asked me why I wasn’t excited. “Daddy said we're going home, mama. Isn’t that good?” I faked a smile and said “Of Course that’s good, my love”. I paused for a second, deciding on my next words before I turned to my children. “I want you all to listen to me. If anything happens, I want you to open the door and run. Run as far as you can until you find someone. Give them your ID and ask for help. Don’t worry about me or your dad. Just run.”
It wasn’t long after uttering those words that my fate was sealed.
A few moments later, an airstrike came down onto our car.
We were clearly civilians, but I guess that made no difference to them. One second I was sat down and the next I was launched what felt like 15 metres up into the air before I thudded back onto the ground. I felt numb. My vision went black. The pain surging through my body as I tried to move was unbearable.
I had to get to my children and pregnant sister. I had to make sure they were okay. But I couldn’t. I was powerless - a lump of meat laying on the ground, motionless. “Someone say something,” I shouted out. “Say anything, just let me hear your voice. Let me know you’re okay.” No one responded. I told myself not to panic, that they were fine - I just couldn’t hear it amongst the pain ridden screams in the background.
I don’t know how much time passed, but I started regaining my vision. I turned my head and the first thing I saw was an arm and leg detached from a body. My arm and leg. The pain pulsated through my body, but I didn’t have time to think about that- I needed to find my children. As I turned my head I instantly felt sick. There, a few metres away from me lay my sister, dead, with her baby just a few metres away from her - the youngest victim of oppression and injustice. I started to panic. I saw bodies strewn over the ground but I couldn’t differentiate them, I couldn’t tell them apart enough to find my children.
At some point I felt a blanket cover me and I was rushed over to the back of a truck. As I laid down, I saw a leg detached from a body- but the pain in seeing this was different, more powerful. Not for me, but for my little Zaido. He lay there motionless. He was gone. The dread kicked in as I looked to see if my other children were here. That’s when I saw my Aalia’s face. Her eyes were slightly open, looking straight at me almost as if she was trying to comfort me. She was smiling. For a split second I felt hope, surely if she was smiling, she couldn’t be in pain.
“Listen to me”, I said to her. “Listen to me, my little angel. They’re going to help us,” I repeated again and again. “Can you hear me?” That’s when I realised that Aalia was gone too. The same words she had said to me just moments before resonating through my brain. “We’re in the homeland Mama, why aren’t you happy?” The grief surmounted me. I didn’t have much time to react before another strike came down on us.
I blacked out.
I woke up later on in the hospital, asking for my children as soon as I opened my eyes. The Doctor didn’t say anything, he just looked at me filled with pity and regret. That’s all I needed. My little angels had died. “And my husband?” He shook his head in response. This was my fate. The dignity and rights we always hear about – they are a myth, a dream neither I or my family were granted.
When I think about it now, I realise that my family ended up in their homeland just like they wanted, and they’re not alone. My arm was buried with my three daughters. My leg was buried with my husband and my son. So I guess it isn’t so bad. A little part of us will always be together… }
AFTERWORD
Wars are an unfortunate part of the world we live in. However, there are legal frameworks in place, under the broad label of international human rights law, which are meant to ensure that in the darkness of warfare there remains hope. This hope is embedded in the obligations imposed on states to adhere to minimum rights, dignity and respect towards civilians. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) strengthens these rights by solidifying the right to freedom of thought and expression, the right not to be tortured and be subjected to cruel, degrading treatment or punishment. Similarly, the Geneva Convention forbids the targeting of hospitals and schools, the targeting of innocent civilians and in theory immunises children from being targeted in war.
That being said, the Syrian conflict which began in March 2011 has violated its citizens' rights with countless war crimes having been committed against innocent civilians. While the UDHR should ensure a duty to respect all human rights indiscriminately, the Syrian Regime has twisted this and continuously violated fundamental rights. The regime has showed no mercy in pursuit of what has effectively been a purge on innocent civilians. It is clear that the rights which the Syrian Government and the international community should have ensured that the Syrian Civilians received were not honoured.
The number of Syrians who have been able to speak up about their experiences of the conflict is few and far between. Making sure they are heard is just one way of reinstating, however marginally, their right to dignity and respect that has been taken away from them.
Sarah is a second year undergraduate student studying BSc Philosophy, Politics and Economics at the University College London. She has a keen interest in human rights - with a particular interest in Middle Eastern Affairs due to her Syrian origins.