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The Children of Aleppo: The Reality We Must Face
The heaviness in my heart has been persistent all day. On the morning of August 18, I scrolled through social media and was met with the haunting image of 5-year-old Sami Nour, blankly gazing from the back of a Syrian ambulance in the war-torn city of Aleppo. It felt like the air was knocked out of me, and tears threatened to spill.
War is terrible—this is not a groundbreaking revelation. Yet, witnessing the plight of an innocent child, thrust into the spotlight due to years of unimaginable violence in a region often dismissed as a nuisance, hits us deeply. A volunteer with the White Helmets who carried Nour to safety told NPR that this is a daily reality. “This just happened to be caught on camera.”
If you haven’t yet seen or listened to Carla Thompson’s powerful speech at a recent UN Security Council meeting, I urge you to take a moment to do so. Forget any biases you may have about news outlets and just absorb her words. We need to understand what’s happening in Syria. In her address, she provides a gripping account of her experiences covering the conflict, revealing the dire situation on the ground.
Toward the end, she paints a picture of the horror that’s almost beyond comprehension. “This is truly hell,” she says, describing the constant fear and exhaustion. “There’s no way it can get worse than this. But it did. It got so much worse.”
Let’s take a moment to wipe away the jaded lens we often view the world through due to media overload and really consider those words. Thompson’s comparison of Aleppo to hell is something few of us can grasp fully.
The image of Nour is reminiscent of the heart-wrenching moment we all shared when the picture of 3-year-old Aiden Zahir, a Syrian refugee, washed ashore in Turkey, made headlines back in September 2015. That image brought me to tears, and the parental instinct within me ached. I felt a visceral pain for the parents who had lost their child, as if someone had hit me in the gut. “Don’t look at that,” my partner said. “I have to,” I replied, unable to turn away.
I saw my own child in that tragic photo—clothed, lifeless, and caught in the sea’s embrace, a stark reminder of “humanity washed ashore,” as it was described. On that fateful morning, I listened to an NPR interview with a Human Rights Watch spokesperson, who spoke about the tragedy of Zahir.
“I can’t stop thinking about his little shoes,” the spokesperson said, his voice thick with emotion. “His parents dressed him that morning, knowing the risks they faced. All for a chance at a better life.” That thought sent me into tears while driving.
Now, as I sit here with my nearly 4-year-old asleep beside me, limbs sprawled out, peacefully breathing, I feel the stark contrast of our lives. Our home is safe, with no sounds of war echoing from the Chicago suburbs. We have food, water, and electricity.
Yet, the pit in my stomach remains. It serves as a reminder: it could have been him.
This article was originally published on Aug. 24, 2016.