https://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/jul/15/some-parents-are-so-shocked-they-cant-speak-nice-childrens-hospital-treating-victims
The Guardian
‘Some parents are so shocked they can’t speak’ – Nice children’s hospital treating victims
At the Fondation Lenval hospital on the Promenade des Anglais, professionalism mixes with intense grief at the number of children caught up in Bastille Day carnage
Latest updates: Bastille Day attack
Angelique Chrisafis in Nice
Friday 15 July 2016 17.14 BST
At the children’s hospital in Nice’s Promenade des Anglais on Friday afternoon, parents were still looking for their children.Amid the bloodshed and chaos of Thursday night’s attack – in which the suspect, Mohamed Lahouaiej-Bouhlel, had driven past the hospital at the start of his rampage – many families had been separated.
Hours after the truck drove at high speed into a crowd of people watching a Bastille Day fireworks display, one 10-year-old child in the intensive care unit at the Fondation Lenval still had not been identified.
One of the most harrowing aspects of the Nice attack was the devastating injuries of babies, children and teenagers, and the grief of their parents. French prosecutors said 10 children and teenagers had died in the attack.
Frederic Sola, a paediatric orthopaedic surgeon who worked in the hospital emergency room through the night, said: “The worst thing was the sheer number of children coming in, the nature of their injuries – serious head trauma and broken limbs – and the emotion felt by the children and their families. The children were physically very injured but also emotionally very hurt.”
The Fondation Lenval’s psychological support unit was caring not only for the devastated parents of two children who had died – with some relatives in such shock they were unable to talk. It was also looking after many young brothers and sisters who had witnessed their siblings hit in the attack and needed to express the horror of what they had seen.
“The psychologists have heard terrible things, there are awful stories that children are telling,” said Stéphanie Simpson, head of the hospital’s development and communications team who, as part of senior management, was trained on the logistics side of the hospital’s special attack-response unit and had rushed to the hospital moments after the attack.
She said 39 people hit in the attack had been brought to the children’s emergency department. Although Fondation Lenval is a specialist children’s hospital, those rushed in by ambulance included nine adults who were very seriously injured and were brought in alongside their injured children. Three of those adults died during the night.
A total of 30 children were treated at the hospital after the attack – the youngest only a few months old. Two children died in the night after being admitted. Several children were still in intensive care on Friday.
Intensive care doctor Philippe Babe said three to four children were between life and death, and thatchildren came in with “car crash injuries” – multiple trauma and breakages and haemorrhages. He said the psychological support unit and phone lines were running 24 hours a day because many families who were hit and separated in the attacks had not located their children.
Sola said a number of children from Muslim families had been among the injured. He said he knew one family well because he had already treated their young daughter for another health issue before the attack. She used a wheelchair and had been thrown from it in the attack, sustaining injuries.
Some children and teenagers were believed to have been taken to other hospitals. Final figures were not clear. The head of the local region, Christian Estrosi, told the media he believed a dozen children were among the dead and dozens more had been admitted to hospital.
The emotion on the Fondation Lenval emergency ward was heightened by the fact that the six-storey children’s hospital – with its vast airy atrium, kite mosaic, and teddy bear frescoes on a corridor wall – is located right on the promenade where the attack took place. The perpetrator, Mohamed Lahouaiej-Bouhlel, had passed the hospital as he set out to drive at high speed into the crowd of Bastille Day revellers.
“Our team had been very highly trained in crisis attack response,” said Simpson, pointing out that Nice had long been considered a potential attack target under France’s heightened terrorism alert. Because the city on the French Riviera hosts so many big family events, such as the Nice carnival, the city’s paediatric surgeons had undergone special attack training and practice runs.
“When the attack happened, around 60 doctors and nurses immediately came in as support, and we instantly set up the psychological support unit for parents and siblings,” Simpson said. “First, the life-threatening injuries were treated, which included severe bone breakages and trauma. On the psychological support side, some parents were so shocked they couldn’t speak. It’s really difficult. Each person reacts completely differently, so the psychological support is very important to help people formulate their feelings. Some people are completely petrified. It’s so massive, they can’t comprehend it.”
A lot of doctors and nurses live nearby, some of whom knew children and family friends who had been hurt in the attack.
“It happened so close to the hospital that the emotion is very strong,” said Simpson. She herself had been at the fireworks display with her 10-year-old son and had posted pictures on Facebook of him grinning in front of blue and red fireworks exploding in the sky 20 minutes before the attack. She left 15 minutes before the lorry struck because she had spotted a drop of rain falling on her phone while she was taking the photos, and felt it was getting a bit chilly. “There were so many families there – children and grandparents – and many of them had been picnicking on the beach,” she said.
An 11-year-old boy who sustained a head injury after he was hit by the truck had told his grandfather while lying on the ground: “I’m dreaming, granddad. Am I dreaming?” His grandfather said: “I told him, yes, that’s right, you’re dreaming.”
The boy was still being treated in hospital with his 14-year-old sister, whose elbow was broken. They had been staying with their grandparents in Nice during the school holidays.
The fact that so many children were caught up in the attacks at a Bastille Day fireworks display, a symbol of French family get-togethers on a long weekend, has deepened France’s intense grief. It was also the start of the French school holidays in a Mediterranean city with a culture of seaside evening strolls with babies in pushchairs and young children.
Ever since the attack on Charlie Hebdo magazine in January, and then November’s coordinated Paris attacks on a stadium, bars and a rock concert, French authorities have dreaded the possibility of large numbers of children being caught up in a fresh attack.
Security was increased around French schools and special measures taken, including restrictions on outings and strict door-policies for dropping off and collecting children. Under the state of emergency in place since the November attacks, many Paris high-school children, aged about 15 and up, had been allowed to smoke in their own school playgrounds for fear that the crowds of pupils who went outside the school gates for a cigarette at break times could be vulnerable to cars full of gunmen with Kalashnikovs. It was controversial among doctors who warned of the dangers of smoking but, as one Paris headteacher said, by having lots of children on the pavement in a city neighbourhood “the danger is immediate”.
France still carries the trauma of the 2012 attack on a Jewish school in Toulouse, in which three schoolchildren and a rabbi were shot dead by the gunman Mohamed Merah, who was known to security services but who had still managed to kill three soldiers in the previous days without being apprehended by police.
More recently, a man with a previous terrorist conviction last month carried out a gruesome knife murder of a police commander and his partner at their home outside Paris in the presence of their three-year-old son.
BBC NEWS
Magazine
Why don't Syrian refugees stay in Turkey?
15 July 2016
More than a million migrants crossed the Mediterranean last year to reach Europe - usually in dangerously overcrowded boats. Many were Syrians who had fled their country's civil war - as featured in a series of videos published on the BBC website this week. Here we answer readers' questions about why they were prepared to risk drowning at sea to reach Europe, after crossing the Syrian border into Turkey.
Turkey is a safe place - why don't they stay there?
The majority of Syrians in Turkey and other countries that neighbour Syria are staying where they are. It's only a minority who try to make the journey to Europe.
An estimated 4.9 million Syrians have left their homes to seek asylum abroad since the conflict started in 2011. By the end of 2015, Turkey was hosting 2.5 million refugees - mostly from Syria. But things are often getting worse for the refugees rather than better, as time goes on.
"After five years of conflict, many are slipping deeper and deeper into poverty," says UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR) spokesperson Ariane Rummery.
"Many children are still not in school... in Turkey for example only about 40% of the refugees are in school.
"Further afield, many of them think they will have a better chance of education and rebuilding their lives."
People don't want to stay in camps indefinitely. It has also been hard for refugees to get work in Turkey, although legislation has recently been introduced that may make it easier to get a work permit.
Why don't they travel to Europe legally - can't they go to an embassy in Turkey and apply there?
The British Home Office says that people seeking asylum should do so in the first safe country they reach. As the UK deems Turkey to be a safe country, they are unable to go to the British embassy in Ankara to apply to move to the UK. The UK is not alone in taking this approach - many other countries do the same.
There are very few legal ways to travel, says Rummery. "The vast majority of countries do not issue visas for people fleeing danger so they can book a plane ticket and fly safely and then apply for asylum."
However, a few nations, such as Brazil, offer special humanitarian visas. Brazilian embassies in countries neighbouring Syria issue visas so that people can travel legally. They can then claim asylum as soon as they arrive in Brazil.
The Home Office points out that the UK has committed to resettling 20,000 Syrians in the UK during this parliament, which is due to run until 2020.
These people will be selected from the countries neighbouring Syria, with the help of the UNHCR. Those who have crossed the Mediterranean and entered the European Union will not be eligible.
Why don't Syrian refugees go to countries closer to home?
The vast majority of Syrian refugees are being hosted in neighbouring countries. As well as the 2.5 million in Turkey, there are about one million in Lebanon - whose own population is only just over four million. Jordan has 628,000 and Egypt 117,000.
Rummery adds that the Gulf Cooperation Council has released figures showing there are 1.5 million Syrians in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, the UAE, Qatar, Bahrain, and Oman.
Because these countries are not signatories to the Refugee Convention, Syrians there are not officially counted as refugees and they are not included in the UNHCR's 4.9 million figure. Also, some were already in these countries as migrant workers before the war began; their families have since been allowed to join them.
Why are they coming to the UK instead of going to other European countries?
Many migrants are applying for asylum in other European countries. UNHCR figures show that Germany had the most new applications in 2015 - 441,900 in total, of which 158,700 were made by Syrians. Sweden had 156,400 new applications for asylum - 50,900 from Syrians.
In October last year, the Home Office reported that the UK had taken in more than 5,000 refugees and asylum seekers from Syria since 2011. In the year to March 2016, a total of 1,981 asylum requests were granted, plus a further 1,667 under the vulnerable person resettlement scheme.
Why don't young Syrian men stay at home and fight for their country?
Some have fought to defend their own cities, and have fled only after being defeated. Others may be at risk of forced recruitment into an armed group they do not support.
"People will try to avoid fighting for IS or other armed groups who stop them at checkpoints," says Rummery.
Some Syrians may be unsure whether any of the warring factions are fighting for the good of the country.
"There isn't a simple clear narrative of who the different parties are - there is a multitude of armed actors," says Rummery.
How can they afford mobile phones?
Many of the refugees had well-paid jobs before the war and had a high standard of living.
Phones are crucial for migrants - they are a way to stay in touch with family, as well as a source of information such as maps and contacts. If they have not got a smartphone anyway, a family planning to travel to Europe will do whatever they can to buy one.
Exodus: Our Journey To Europe was broadcast on BBC Two at 21:00 on Monday 11, Tuesday 12 and Wednesday 13 July.
The Evening Standard
Syrian refugee Hassan Akkad on his new life in Brixton after Exodus to Europe
On Wednesday night he eloquently shared his story of escape in the BBC documentary Exodus: Our Journey to Europe
PHOEBE LUCKHURST Friday 15 July 2016
Hassan Akkad: “I love London. It feels like home but we won’t be here for ever. We will return to Syria one day.” BBC
Hassan Akkad knows exactly the date he arrived in London. “I have been in the UK since September 27, 2015,” he tells me, precisely. “I was worried. I’d never been to Europe — I’d never been to England before. But I have made so many friends. I love it here.”
Hassan is a Syrian refugee. He left his home town of Damascus in 2012. There, he was an English teacher in a high school, and also worked as a photographer; he fled after being imprisoned and tortured by the Assad regime. And on Wednesday night he eloquently shared his story of escape in the BBC documentary Exodus: Our Journey to Europe.
The film ends with shots of itinerant refugees, some still waiting for solace, Hassan providing a voiceover. “Anyone could be a refugee,” he observes. “It’s just something that happens to you.” There is shaky footage of Hassan inside a plane bound for the UK as it takes off. Although his relief is palpable, we are not told what happens to Hassan.
Talking yesterday from Brixton, where he now lives, Hassan explains how he felt at that moment: “I started crying,” he says. “It was one of the happiest moments of my life. There was this English couple sitting next to me and the guy asked, ‘Why are you crying?’ and I didn’t want to tell him. So I said, ‘I just said goodbye to my family’ and he said, ‘How old are you? Why would you cry?’” He laughs. “I thought, ‘Leave me alone! You don’t know!’”
Hassan is now living with a family in Brixton, in their spare room. Having found the safety and stability he sought, he has become a campaigner, travelling to universities to tell his story. “I have a talk every single day,” he says. When he isn’t talking, he works with refugee charities in London. “I volunteer for Help Refugees — sending donations. And I also volunteer as an interpreter for Safe Passage, the people who get unaccompanied children from Calais to here.” He worked in an Oxfam charity shop for a while and is also working part-time with a photographer on Oxford Street.
It is a world away from his existence back home in Damascus. “Going on protests in Syria was like going on a suicide mission,” he says. Once, he was beaten for 20 minutes with iron poles. He threw his hands across his face (“It was all I thought about: I don’t want to lose my face”) and the forces broke both his arms and two of his ribs. His left leg was badly damaged. He ultimately fled, first staying in the Middle East, assuming he’d be able to return to Syria, before realising this was impossible. He travelled towards Turkey, with Europe in his sights.
After a traumatic dinghy crossing to Greece — the “lowest moment of the entire experience”— he spent two months in the Jungle, the makeshift refugee camp in Calais, each night attempting unsuccessfully to swim the short distance from the shore onto the ferries that cross the Channel.
At one point he paid £3,500 for a fake Czech passport and an easyJet ticket and made it to the gate before being summoned back by border officials. He finally made it to the UK, flying from Brussels to Heathrow on a counterfeit Bulgarian passport.
At Heathrow, he tells me, he was offered food and medical help; he called a volunteer he met in the Jungle who let him stay with her for a while.
The rest of his family have left Syria but remain in the Middle East. He misses them but says Skype is near miraculous. “As a typical Arab family, we lived in the same house,” he says. “No one moved out. For us to be dispersed is really hard.” They’re proud of him for telling his story and helping other displaced people.
Six months after arriving in London he was granted right to remain, which means he can now stay for five years. “My heart feels at ease now,” he says. “I can settle down.” He “loves” London. “It definitely feels like home,” he continues. “It’s very diverse — you meet people from every corner of the world.” Though he was worried after Brexit. “I obviously didn’t want Britain to leave the European Union. [And] after Brexit, it seemed like one of the fallouts was the rise of racial attacks.”
He was disturbed by some of the imagery used during the Brexit campaign. “What really bothered me was when the Leave campaign started using posters of refugees in Croatia,” he says. “I’ve experienced that — I’ve stood in that queue. For me to get here and then see that happening here… I was very disappointed. I didn’t expect that any politician here in Europe would do such a thing. It was horrendous.”
Indeed, his story is quiet testament to the spirit of those who seek asylum here. “I want to pay my tax,” he says. “I want to make money, I want to learn. That’s the thing about Syrians — we don’t like to do nothing, we want to be part of any society that we’re in.”
What now? He hopes to get a Masters degree in either conflict resolution or development. “Because at some point we’re going to go back home. We’re not going to be here for ever. We’re going to rebuild a country that has been destroyed.”
Exodus is on bbc.co.uk/iplayer
On this day in 1789 Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, is named by acclamation Colonel General of the new National Guard of Paris.
The national flag of France is a tricolour flag featuring three vertical bands coloured blue (hoist side), white, and red. It is known to English speakers as the French Tricolour or simply the Tricolour (French: Tricolore).
The royal government used many flags, the best known being a blue shield and gold fleur-de-lis (the Royal Arms of France) on a white background, or state flag. Early in the French Revolution, the Paris militia, which played a prominent role in the storming of the Bastille, wore a cockade of blue and red, the city's traditional colours. According to Lafayette, white, the "ancient French colour", was added to the militia cockade to create a tricolour, or national, cockade. This cockade became part of the uniform of the National Guard, which succeeded the militia and was commanded by Lafayette.
The colours and design of the cockade are the basis of the Tricolour flag, adopted in 1790. The only difference was that the 1790 flag's colours were reversed. A modified design by Jacques-Louis David was adopted in 1794. The royal white flag was used during the Bourbon restoration from 1815 to 1830; the tricolour was brought back into use after the July Revolution and has been used ever since 1830.
Lafayette's tricolour cockade was adopted in July 1789, a moment of national unity that soon faded. Royalists began wearing white cockades and flying white flags, while the Jacobins, and later the Socialists, flew the red flag. The tricolour, which combines royalist white with republican red, came to be seen as a symbol of moderation and of a nationalism that transcended factionalism.
The three colours are occasionally taken to represent the three elements of the revolutionary motto, liberté (freedom: blue), égalité (equality: white), fraternité (brotherhood: red).
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