Childhood: The Real Event - review

Kids Company comes to the Royal Academy.

"Often the deepest pain empowers you to grow into your highest self, but it can also destroy all your ambitions and dreams," Asha, 21,  Kids Company.

Outside the Royal Academy, a billowing, brightly coloured banner draws you in to the venerably institution's latest exhibition: “Childhood: the real event”. Take up the invitation and you'll see the work of children from across London exploring their real life stories.

Wandering through the first corridor, which is draped in acetate slides of children’s dreams for the future - varying from the widespread hope to play for Arsenal to the occasional aspiration towards a medical degree and, most touchingly, the hope to be loved - you are transported into another world. In the first room, with four large installations of sculpture, sound and video, is a world dominated by fear and distress. In the second room, coated in paintings, fashion, poetry and installations, the dominant tone is one of frank honesty. The third room, which features a selection of reflections and stories in all forms, is a world of healing, the last one a world of hope. These are the worlds of the "lone children", of whom are there are between 1.5 and 2 million in the UK - children who, whether in care, living with parents or fending for themselves, are subject to maltreatment.

Kids Company was established in 1996 by Camila Batmanghelidjh to act as an advocate, a therapist and a carer to these children. The exhibition at the Royal Academy is just one example of the work the organisation does with maltreated children and young people in London. It is beautiful, tough and, above all, moving. Speaking to the New Statesman, Batmanghelidjh agrees: “I’ve been doing this job for 20 years and I’m moved by it.”

Kids Company describes the service it offers to children and young people as “reparenting”, giving lone children who have suffered trauma and maltreatment access to key workers who fulfill a parental role in everything from attending parents’ evenings and taking them to school to helping with immigration law and council housing. Batmanghelidjh says:

It’s about not silo-ing these kids and their issues. If you don’t have a pair of shoes or you’re hungry it will impact right across your day. So it’s no good saying “we’re only in mental health provision” or “we’re only in housing provision” if you don’t address the rest of the things then what you provide isn’t robust.

Kids Company, above all, is a sanctuary to these children, away from trauma, maltreatment and fear. Batmanghelidjh says the project at the Royal Academy has offered the children involved the chance to work with artists as a form of therapy and an opportunity to tell their own stories:

The exhibition will give them a sense of pride and dignity and also diminish their invisibility. A lot of these children lead these lives in secret; these lives are not reflected back on the TV with them as the daily lives of children. By putting it in the public space in such a way, what we’re saying to the children is “your life experience is legitimate, it’s worth communicating and it’s important”

One of them, Karl Lokko, describes the children who took part in the exhibition as having been exposed to trauma at “ages where they’re not able to grasp totally what algebra is, never mind figure out the equations of life”. But their stories are awe-inspiring.

Children: The Real Story runs until 22 July at the Royal Academy, 12pm to 6pm, Tuesday to Sunday. Entrance is free.

Kids Company founder Camila Batmanghelidjh

Helen Robb reads PPE at Oxford University where she is deputy editor of ISIS magazine.

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Inside Syria's unending siege, civilians, not soldiers, are the victims

In Aleppo, civilian strife is just another tool of war.

Maria is a young mother who lives in Aleppo. She missed her opportunity to flee when the Syrian-Turkish border was closed to all but the seriously injured in early 2015. With her two children – Fadi, aged five, and Sama, aged nine – she stayed in the city.

Maria’s husband was killed by a barrel bomb that fell on their neighbourhood in 2014. After that, she took the children and moved in with her husband’s family. Her married brother-in-law asked her to be his second wife. She accepted the offer for the sake of security. This year he, too, was killed when a bomb fell on his shop.

Speaking to her on Skype, I referred to Aleppo as a city under siege and she quickly corrected me. “The city is not under siege,” she said. “We are human beings under siege.” Maria clearly felt offended by my words. She moved the conversation on to the images of a young Syrian boy, sitting in an ambulance, which have appeared on newspaper front pages around the world – a symbol of the human suffering in Aleppo. “What can I say? His silence and shock reflected all the pain of Syrians.”

Tearfully, she described her living conditions. “There are two widows, with three children, who live all together with our old mother-in-law. The good people around us try to give us food and clothing.”

She added: “Before, I used to cook a big meal for me and my family-in-law every day. My late husband was well off.” The children don’t go to school but they get some lessons at home – Maria used to work as an Arabic language teacher at a high school in the city.

The household’s other widow, Safaa, joined our conversation. “Since the first day of Eid ul-Fitr [the festival that marks the end of Ramadan, this year on 6 July], the siege began in Aleppo. There was no food or water. Children cried and could not sleep because of hunger.”

Safaa made food from pulses that she had managed to save, particularly lentils. As the area around the city is rich in olives and well known for producing za’atar herbs, the extended family depended on reserves of these for nutrition. “Al-za’atar al-akhdar [a dish of the herb, olive oil and a few other basic ingredients] has saved the reputation of Aleppo and its people,” Safaa joked, and both women laughed.

Then, suddenly, the Skype connection was lost and they both disappeared.

Another Aleppo native to whom I spoke, Ayham, described his desperation as he finished his engineering degree before fleeing Syria. “I am my mother’s only son, so I didn’t want to do military service, and I left, as I felt so insecure,” he told me. He had been living in Shahbaa, a neighbourhood controlled by Bashar al-Assad’s regime, while completing one application after another to study abroad. Eventually he was successful and he has now made it to a university in Europe.

Ayham’s parents were pushing him to leave because they knew that he was part of an underground anti-Assad protest movement. “There are two Aleppos,” he explained. “One is free and the other is controlled by Assad’s regime. Both are very unsafe . . . Living hungry was easier than living under threat.”

There are roughly two million people in the city, most of them women and children. Since the second day of the siege, there have been no fruit or vegetables available and only a few bakeries are producing bread. Compounding the starvation, the bombing has been intense, hitting hospitals, ambulances, blood banks and the Syrian Civil Defence base. Assad’s regime is targeting vital resources for civilians.
Even after rebel forces, in co-operation with the Islamist faction Jaish al-Fateh, managed partly to break the siege and open a new road into the south of the city through the Ramoussa area, they could not bring in enough food. The little that made it inside immediately sent prices soaring. Civilians could not use this road to escape – jets were targeting the routes in and out.

The eastern areas of Aleppo, which are still under the opposition’s control, are also still without aid, because of how risky it is to get there. All the talk coming out of the city today is about decisive battles between Assad’s forces and the rebels in the southern quarters. Civilians put the recent air strikes down to these conflicts – it has long been believed that when the regime loses ground, it intensifies its bombing as revenge, and to send a message to those who continue to resist.

People in Aleppo and the north-eastern territories of Syria are suffering and dying. They have no other choice. It seems that both Isis and the Assad regime are trying as hard as they can to destroy Syrian civilians, whether through direct attacks or by gradual starvation.

There is little information available, as both sides attempt to prevent the media from documenting life under siege. Isis accuses journalists of being agents of Assad, while the regime portrays reporters as terrorists. Pro-Assad social media accounts have alleged that Mahmoud Raslan, who took the footage of the boy in the ambulance, has links with terrorism. The same channels have yet to say much about Raslan’s subject – Omran Daqneesh, the five-year-old whom he showed, bloodied and stunned, after the boy was pulled from the rubble caused by multiple air strikes. Omran’s ten-year-old brother, Ali, has since died from injuries sustained in another attack.

After four hours, I heard back from Maria. She apologised for losing the connection and asked me not to worry about her. “All of us are fine. We did not die yet,” she said. Her daughter, Sama, has not been to school since last year, she told me, and now studies only Arabic poetry. They have no books, so she depends on the verses that Maria knows by heart. Sama misses her school and her friends, and though she remembers their faces she has forgotten their names.

Maria has made a doll for her out of scraps of fabric and they call it Salwa. Together, they sing Syrian folk songs for the doll, in particular one that goes: “Hey Salwa, why are you crying? I need a friend.” Maria is resigned. As she says, “We are back in the Stone Age.” 

K S is a Syrian journalist, based in Sweden since 2014

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser