What it's like to be a parent in a war zone

Worldwide, over 1.5 billion people
experience armed conflict.

In response,

people are force
to the leave their country,

leaving over 15 million refugees.

Children, without a doubt, are the most
innocent and vulnerable victims.

But not just from the obvious
physical dangers,

but from the often unspoken effects
that wars have on their families.

The experiences of war leave children
at a real high risk

for the development of emotional
and behavioral problems.

Children, as we can only imagine,

will feel worried, threatened and at risk,

but there is good news.

The quality of care that children
receive in their families

can have a more significant affect
on the their wellbeing

than from the actual experiences of war
that they have been exposed to.

So actually, children can be protected
by warm, secure parenting

during and after conflict.

In 2011, I was a first-year PhD student

in the University of Manchester's
School of Psychological Sciences.

Like many of you here,

I watched the crisis in Syria unfold
in front of me on the TV.

My family is originally from Syria,

and very early on,

I lost several family members
in really horrifying ways.

I'd sit and I'd gather with my family
and watch the TV.

So we've all seen those scenes --

bombs destroying buildings,

chaos,

destruction,

and people screaming and running.

It was always the people screaming
and running that really got me the most,

especially those
terrified-looking children.

I was a mother to two young,
typically inquisitive children.

They were five and six then,

at an age where they typically asked
lots and lots of questions,

and expected real, convincing answers.

So I began to wonder what it might be like

to parent my children in a war zone
and a refugee camp.

Would my children change?

Would my daughter's bright
happy eyes lose their shine?

Would my son's really relaxed and carefree
nature become fearful and withdrawn?

How would I cope?

Would I change?

As psychologists and parent trainers,

we know that arming parents with skills
in caring for their children

can have a huge effect on their wellbeing.

We call this parent training.

So the question I had was,

could parent training programs
be useful for families

while they were still in war zones
or refugee camps?

Could we reach them
with advice or training

that would help them
through these struggles?

So, I approached my PhD supervisor,

Professor [Rachel Kalem],

with the idea of using my academic skills
to make some change in the real world.

I wasn't quite sure what
exactly I wanted to do.

She listened carefully and patiently,

and then to my joy she said,

"If that's what you want to do,

and it means so much to you,

then let's do it.

Let's find ways to see if parent programs

can be useful for families
in these contexts."

So for the past five years,

myself and my colleagues --

Professor [Kalem] and Dr. Kim [Cartwright]

have been working on ways
to support families

that have experienced
war and displacement.

Now, to know how to help families
that have been through conflict

support their children,

the first step must obviously be
to ask them what they're struggling with,

right?

I mean, it seems obvious.

But it's often those
that are the most vulnerable

that we're trying to support

that we actually don't ask.

How many times have we just assumed
we know exactly the right thing

that's going to help someone or something
without actually asking them first?

So I travelled to refugee camps
in Syria and in Turkey,

and I sat with families,

and I listened.

I listened to their parenting challenges,

I listened to their parenting struggles,

and I listened to their call for help.

And sometimes that was just [paused],

as all I could do was
hold hands with them,

and just join them in silent
crying and prayer.

They told me about their struggles,

they told me about the rough,
harsh refugee camp conditions

that made it hard to focus on anything
but practical chores

like collecting clean water.

They told me how they watched
their children withdraw;

the sadness, depression, anger,

bed-wetting, thumb-sucking,
fear of loud noises,

fear of nightmares --

terrifying, terrifying nightmares.

These families had been through
what we had been watching on the TV.

The mothers,

almost half of them were now
widows of war,

or didn't even know if their husbands
were dead or alive,

described how they thought they
were coping so badly.

They watched their children change,

and they had no idea how to help them.

They didn't know how to answer
their children's questions.

What I found incredibly astonishing,

and so motivational,

was that these families were so motivated
to support their children

despite all these challenges they faced,

they were trying to help their children.

They were making attempts at seeking
support from NGO workers,

from refugee camp teachers,

professional medics,

other parents.

One mother I met had only been
in a camp for four days,

and had already made two attempts

at seeking support for
her eight-year-old daughter

who was having terrible nightmares.

But sadly, these attempts
are almost always useless.

Refugee camp doctors,

when available,

are almost always too busy,

or don't have the knowledge or the time
for basic parenting supports.

Refugee camp teachers and other parents
are just like them --

part of new refugee community
who's struggling with new needs.

So then we began to think.

How could we help these families?

The families were struggling with things
much bigger than they could cope with.

The Syrian crisis made it clear how
incredibly impossible it would be

to reach families on an individual level.

How else could we help them?

How would reach families
at a population level,

and at low costs

in these terrifying, terrifying times.

After hours of speaking to NGO workers,

one suggested a fantastic, innovative idea

of distributing parenting
information leaflets via breadwrappers.

Bread wrappers that were being delivered
to famlies in a conflict zone in Syria

by humanitarian workers.

So that's what we did.

The bread wrappers haven't changed
at all in their appearance,

except for the addition
of two pieces of paper.

One was a parenting information leaflet
that had basic advice

and information
that normalized to the parent

what they might be experiencing

and what their child
might be experiencing.

And information on how they could
support themselves and their children,

such as information like spending
time talking to your child,

showing them more affection,

being more patient with your child,

talking to your children.

The other piece of paper
was a feedback questionnaire,

and of course, there was a pen.

So is this simply leaflet distribution,

or is this actually a possible means
of delievering psychological first-aid

that provides warm, secure,
loving parenting?

We managed to distribute 3,000
of these in just one week.

What was incredible was we had
a 60 percent response rate.

60 percent of the 3,0000
families responded.

I don't know how many researchers
we have here today,

but that kind of response rate
is fantastic.

To have that in Manchester would be
a huge achievement,

let alone in a conflict zone in Syria --

really highlighting how important
these kinds of messages were to families.

I remember how excited and eager we were
for the return of the questionnaires.

The families had left
hundreds of messages --

most incredibly positive and encouraging.

But my favorite has got to be,

"Thank you for not forgetting
about us and our children."

This really illustrates
the potential means

of the delievery of psychological
first-aid to families,

and the return of feedback, too.

Just imagine replicating this
using other means,

such as baby milk distribution,

or female hygeine kits,

or even food baskets.

But let's bring this closer to home,

because the refugee crisis

is one that is having an effect
on every singly one of us.

We're bombarded with images daily
of statistics and of photos,

and that's not surprising,

because by last month,

over one million refugees
had reached Europe.

One million.

Refugees are joining our communities,

they're becoming our neighbors,

their children are attending
our children's schools.

So we've adapted the leaflet to meet
the needs of European refugees,

and we have them online,
open-access,

in areas with a really high
refugee influx.

For example,

the Swedish Healthcare uploaded it
onto their website,

and within the first 45 minutes,

it was downloaded 343 times --

really highlighting how important it is
for volunteers, practitioners,

and other parents

to have open-access, psychological
first-aid messages.

In 2013, I was sitting on the cold
hard floor of a refugee camp tent

with mothers sitting around me

as I was conducting a focus group.

Across from me stood an elederly lady

with what seemed to be
a 13-year-old girl lying beside her,

with her head on her elderly lady's knees.

The girl stayed quiet
throughout the focus group,

not talking at all,

with her knees curled up
against her chest.

Towards the end of the focus group,

and as I was thanking
the mothers for their time,

the elderly lady looked at me
while point at the young girl,

and said to me,

"Can you help us with...?"

Not quite sure what she expected me to do,

I looked at the young girl and smiled,

and in Arabic I said,

"Salaam Alaikum,

mā ismak?"

"What's your name?"

She looked at me really
confused and unengaged,

but then said,

"Halul."

Halul is the pet's name for the Arabic
female name, Hala,

and is only really used to refer
to really young girls.

At that point I realized that actually
Hala was probably much older than 13.

It turns out Hala was a 25-year-old mother
to three young children.

Hala had been a confident, bright,
bubbly, loving, caring mother

to her children,

but the war had changed all of that.

She had lived through bombs
being dropped in her town;

she had lived through explosions.

When fighter jets were flying
around their building,

dropping bombs,

her children would be screaming,

terrified from the noise.

Hala would frantically grab pillows
and cover her children's ears

to block out the noise,

all the while screaming herself.

When they reached the refugee camp,

and she knew they were finally
in some kind of safety,

she completely withdrew to acting
like her old childhood self.

She compeltely rejected her family...

her children, her husband.

Hala simply could no longer cope.

This is a parenting struggle
with a really tough ending,

but sadly, it's not uncommon.

Those who experience armed
conflict and displacement

will face serious emotional stuggles.

And that's something we can all relate to.

If you have been through
a devastating time in your life,

if you have lost someone or something
you really care about,

how would you continue to cope?

Could you still be able to care
for yourself and for your family?