War (What Is It Good For?)

It is not every day you get to speak to someone living in a warzone. Not just someone who has experienced war, but someone who is actually right there in it. And not just some bored soldier on active duty in a fortified compound, but a civilian hiding in a basement from heavy bombardment. And not just any bombardment, but the horrific sustained bombardment of Eastern Ghouta on the outskirts of Damascus that the UN chief has described as “hell on earth”.

We sat in a small room in Machynlleth's town hall, thirty or forty of us, whilst the call was set up. Amongst us were perhaps ten Syrian refugees, who now live in Aberystwyth and Newtown, who had come to this public gathering to testify and explain to us what was happening in their home country. We had just been shown the short film “The White Helmets” which followed a few men of the Syrian Civil Defence, the non-partisan first-responders who rush to the site of every plane attack and pull out the wounded, dying and dead. It was distressing to watch, but particularly so for the Syrians, one of whom told us he knew some of the people in it as it was filmed in his area.

One of the Syrian women had good English, having been in the UK since 2014. It was her idea to hold this event, and she took the role of spokesperson. She told us of the loss of hope that had kindled back in 2011, that now the tiniest of hopes that they had was to stay alive. She was so angry at the misinformation put about by Russia, tarring the White Helmets as partisan ISIS supporters and justifying Assad targeting them with bombs. Someone asked her how it was to live here, knowing what was going on there. She said it was so hard trying not to be constantly telling people about it, and that this evening was a chance to relate it to those willing to hear. She ended by saying how helpless she felt, that she could do nothing. To which someone replied no, she was doing something by speaking to us here.

The voice link was established over Facebook. No video, not enough bandwidth. The Syrian woman's friend was at the other end, in the basement. He spoke (in Arabic) matter-of-factly, without discernable emotion. We couldn't hear the bombs but I could occasionally make out a child speaking in the background. As his words were translated, we heard of the difficulty of getting food, water and medical supplies. The basement had nothing. Food prices were escalating out of reach. He asked for the West to send supplies and money. They were desperate.

It left me feeling ashamed on a number of levels - of our comfort, of our ignorance and indifference to the terrible need of others, of our Government's lack of meaningful action, of the peace and security which we take for granted.

But what to do?

One thing we can do is to make them welcome, those few who make it here.