The refugee crisis is destabilising nations

The greatest fear among all the countries involved, however, is about the kind of Syria that will finally emerge from the conflict.

The human cost of the increasingly savage civil war in Syria can be seen in the faces of its displaced children. Some outlined their deeply disturbing stories to me earlier this month at the Zaatari refugee camp in Jordan, where about 60 per cent of the current population of 180,000 is of school age. Boys and girls described experiences that hardened soldiers would find it difficult to cope with, all the while displaying physical and psychological wounds that in many cases will never heal.

That the youngest victims of Syria’s violence are among the best placed to tell us about its wider effects is beyond doubt, but there is a great deal more to be learned from the refugee communities growing on the country’s perimeter. Spend just a few days in camps such as Zaatari – which opened less than a year ago but is now the fourth-largest city in Jordan – and you soon begin to realise that these new settlements threaten to provoke an economic, social and security crisis that could have repercussions as grave as the fighting that created them.

The scale of the refugee problem was made clear by the United Nations recently when it called for a $5.2bn fund to help cope with the flight of men, women and children from Bashar al-Assad’s tyranny. This amounts to the largest appeal of its kind in history. Even that enormous figure might not be enough, as the UN estimates that the number of Syrian refugees across the region – now 1.6 million – could reach 3.5 million by 2014.

Aid workers I spoke to pointed to growing resentment among host populations. Despite the lavish wealth often displayed by Jordan’s monarchy, many of the 6.5 million people living in the country are relatively poor – yet their government is currently accommodating roughly half a million Syrian refugees. Up to 2,000 more arrive every day, putting an immense strain on resources.

While in Jordan, I often saw local people being turned away as they demanded a share of the aid being distributed by charity groups to Syrian newcomers. Water is becoming particularly scarce among Jordanians, who are unhappy about the 35 litres per person each day that the Syrians are using. This is six times more water than the average Jordanian gets through.

Water deliveries are few and far between in towns and villages where crowds took to the streets as recently as December to complain about the high cost of gas and electricity. As summer droughts begin and the lack of water drives up food prices, many believe it could be the catalyst for severe civil unrest.

“It is always economic shortages which trigger the street demonstrations,” said Hind, a teacher who lives close to Zaatari. “Jordan is considered one of the most secure countries in the region but, with more and more Syrians arriving every day, there will be a breaking point. It will be the same in other countries nearby.” Syrian rebels are openly using refugee camps for rest and recuperation. Zaatari is just five miles from the border and an obvious place for combatants to travel to. Armed groups can establish a firm and relatively safe base in a neighbouring country before heading back to the front line. This raises the prospect of conflict proliferating across the region.

Lebanon, which has experienced a 20 per cent increase in its population since the start of the war in Syria in 2011, is the home of Hezbollah militants who are fighting for and alongside President Assad’s troops. Turkey, which is pro-rebel, is sheltering more than 200,000 Syrians. Turkey, like all of Syria’s immediate neighbours, is becoming increasingly fearful of terrorist attacks directly linked to the civil war.

The greatest fear among all the countries involved, however, is about the kind of Syria that will finally emerge from the conflict. It was King Abdullah II of Jordan who, in April, presented President Barack Obama with a map of Jordan’s neighbour divided into rival fiefdoms and – most sinisterly of all – showing its surrounding deserts dotted with terrorist training camps.

The prospect of sectarian hatred and murderous extremism being formalised by new borders is terrifying, especially when one considers the role that ordinary Syrian people played at the start of the Arab spring in 2011. It is easy to forget that it was their street protests demanding change that grew into a nationwide movement – one that was crushed by Assad as he set about massacring his own people.

As many of the surviving protesters find themselves forced abroad, their problems not only remain unresolved but are being exported to countries that are increasingly unable to cope with them.

This is the latest of our weekly reports exploring aspects of the war in Syria

Syrian refugees at the Oncupinar refugee camp in Kilis near Syria border. Photograph: Getty Images

This article first appeared in the 01 July 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Brazil erupts

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The deafening killer - why noise will be the next great pollution scandal

A growing body of evidence shows that noise can have serious health impacts too. 

Our cities are being poisoned by a toxin that surrounds us day and night. It eats away at our brains, hurts our hearts, clutches at our sleep, and gnaws at the quality of our daily lives.

Hardly a silent killer, it gets short shrift compared to the well-publicised terrors of air pollution and sugars food. It is the dull, thumping, stultifying drum-beat of perpetual noise.

The score that accompanies city life is brutal and constant. It disrupts the everyday: The coffee break ruined by the screech of a line of double decker buses braking at the lights. The lawyer’s conference call broken by drilling as she makes her way to the office. The writer’s struggle to find a quiet corner to pen his latest article.

For city-dwellers, it’s all-consuming and impossible to avoid. Construction, traffic, the whirring of machinery, the neighbour’s stereo. Even at home, the beeps and buzzes made by washing machines, fridges, and phones all serve to distract and unsettle.

But the never-ending noisiness of city life is far more than a problem of aesthetics. A growing body of evidence shows that noise can have serious health impacts too. Recent studies have linked noise pollution to hearing loss, sleep deprivation, hypertension, heart disease, brain development, and even increased risk of dementia.

One research team compared families living on different stories of the same building in Manhattan to isolate the impact of noise on health and education. They found children in lower, noisier floors were worse at reading than their higher-up peers, an effect that was most pronounced for children who had lived in the building for longest.

Those studies have been replicated for the impact of aircraft noise with similar results. Not only does noise cause higher blood pressure and worsens quality of sleep, it also stymies pupils trying to concentrate in class.

As with many forms of pollution, the poorest are typically the hardest hit. The worst-off in any city often live by busy roads in poorly-insulated houses or flats, cheek by jowl with packed-in neighbours.

The US Department of Transport recently mapped road and aircraft noise across the United States. Predictably, the loudest areas overlapped with some of the country’s most deprived. Those included the south side of Atlanta and the lowest-income areas of LA and Seattle.

Yet as noise pollution grows in line with road and air traffic and rising urban density, public policy has turned a blind eye.

Council noise response services, formally a 24-hour defence against neighbourly disputes, have fallen victim to local government cuts. Decisions on airport expansion and road development pay scant regard to their audible impact. Political platforms remain silent on the loudest poison.

This is odd at a time when we have never had more tools at our disposal to deal with the issue. Electric Vehicles are practically noise-less, yet noise rarely features in the arguments for their adoption. Just replacing today’s bus fleet would transform city centres; doing the same for taxis and trucks would amount to a revolution.

Vehicles are just the start. Millions were spent on a programme of “Warm Homes”; what about “Quiet Homes”? How did we value the noise impact in the decision to build a third runway at Heathrow, and how do we compensate people now that it’s going ahead?

Construction is a major driver of decibels. Should builders compensate “noise victims” for over-drilling? Or could regulation push equipment manufacturers to find new ways to dampen the sound of their kit?

Of course, none of this addresses the noise pollution we impose on ourselves. The bars and clubs we choose to visit or the music we stick in our ears. Whether pumping dance tracks in spin classes or indie rock in trendy coffee shops, people’s desire to compensate for bad noise out there by playing louder noise in here is hard to control for.

The Clean Air Act of 1956 heralded a new era of city life, one where smog and grime gave way to clear skies and clearer lungs. That fight still goes on today.

But some day, we will turn our attention to our clogged-up airwaves. The decibels will fall. #Twitter will give way to twitter. And every now and again, as we step from our homes into city life, we may just hear the sweetest sound of all. Silence.

Adam Swersky is a councillor in Harrow and is cabinet member for finance. He writes in a personal capacity.