My organization, the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), has a slogan: “One refugee forced to flee is too many.” In the Syria context, we have to repeat this every 15 seconds. That is the rate that the country is hemorrhaging its people across borders.
In March this year, there were one million Syrian refugees. Last week, just six months later, there are now two million Syrians who are refugees.
By official count, Lebanon has taken in more than 728,000 refugees–or close to 20% of its population. If, proportionally, the U.S. would take in the same percentage, it would be hosting over 50 million refugees.
With five million people also displaced inside the country, we estimate that one third of the Syrian population is on the run –a mass of traumatized people too large for most of us to fathom.
Syria is in the news because of the politics of the crisis and the question of military intervention. But for UNHCR, the focus remains on the human suffering which António Guterres, the High Commissioner for Refugees, is calling “the great tragedy of this century.”
Our staff in Lebanon, Jordan, Turkey, Iraq and Egypt find refugees on borders, in shacks, in abandoned shops. They give them an identity through registration, and offer them a place in a camp or plastic for a roof, blankets, mattresses, pots and pans, a doctor.
But there is not enough giving for us to help these refugees–victims of a war they neither started nor wanted–as they deserve. And not enough access inside the danger zones of Syria to allow us to come to their aid.
One of the saddest statistics is that more than half of Syria’s displaced are children. That is more than one million kids, three-quarters of them under the age of eleven.
Many students around the world have returned to school by now. Not Syrian kids. UNICEF estimates that two million children in Syria dropped out of school last year. At the Za’atari refugee camp in Jordan, of the 30,000 children living there, only 12,000 are registered for school.
Most of the children have only distant memories of a classroom. Memories from before the war, when they were safe back home in Homs, in Aleppo, in Hassakeh, when the loudest sound in the air was the call to prayer. When they strolled down quiet streets, played in parks and lived happily in the moment. When all of their family members were alive. When their house smelled of meat and vegetables roasting. When bad dreams were forgotten the moment their eyes opened.
Now, nightmares haunt their sleep and follow them through their waking moments.








