Given our recent work on the mental health crisis in Syria, combined with the distress we can all feel in and around Gaza, I wanted to share some very practical observations on the psychological effects of conflict, through the lens of "trauma". 🧵
It’s important, in this context, to understand the difference between two types of trauma. A single traumatic event can break the continuum of one’s life journey: Because we can’t process it, we stay stuck in a loop.
That’s what is treated, effectively, as PTSD.
But war can create conditions that are almost the opposite: a continuum of traumatic events that envelop one’s life journey.
The difference is similar to surviving a rape, on one hand, or building oneself despite repeated abuse, on the other.
War can be akin to the latter: an extended experience of extreme powerlessness in the face of threats. These threats may be real or perceived, direct or ambient, material or emotional.
The point is that powerlessness is key, in addition to threat.
That’s the origin of a major misunderstanding concerning trauma. We naturally tend to play up the magnitude of the threat: The bigger the hurt, the greater the trauma, surely. That implies a hierarchy of suffering, which silences people who haven’t been through “the worst”.
But in a place like Syria or Gaza, pretty much everyone has been exposed to the second kind of trauma: when people must adjust to unremitting threats over which they have very little control.
This is called complex PTSD, which is trickier than PTSD.
It’s a nastier condition to tackle because it’s harder to pinpoint events amid a deeply disturbed chronology. People also develop all sorts of coping mechanisms that become part of themselves, part of a system: Tellingly, breakdown may even occur as threats decrease.
This distinction has implications for mental health support programs. In the West, we now have sophisticated response mechanisms designed around single events, in support of soldiers, expats evacuated from a conflict zone, or victims of an earthquake.
In our societies, however, complex trauma tends to be associated with things like childhood abuse or gender-based violence, simply because in recent decades we haven’t experienced war or occupation, not as a persistent mix of intimate violence and extreme powerlessness.
In other words, well-meaning professional interventions can miss the point, when applying run-of-the-mill PTSD techniques to people whose trauma is deeply layered.
Moreover, the problem of ambient threats is another regional trait that is insufficiently understood.
Although many people, in Syria or Gaza and beyond, have lost a home, a loved-one, or a limb, the trauma doesn’t stop at that. It encompasses everyone's exposure to everyone else’s suffering, notably through an endless stream of raw, terrifying content relayed by all media.
That’s also what connects Syria with Gaza, but also with Iraq and Yemen, with repression in Egypt, with a catastrophic flood in Libya, and so on. The region faces an overload of fear and pain, whereby nothing can truly be processed anymore.
Grief chases grief.
The booming drugs business that we describe is just one aspect of a much deeper crisis, of which we see many signs region-wide. By the same token, mental health is becoming less of a taboo. We’d like our own research to be part of this rising awareness. synaps.network/post/syrian-dr…
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If you don't follow closely events on Israel's northern border, it's easy to believe a regional war is unlikely, that things have already played out.
Seen from Lebanon, things look different: months of slow escalation, calculated but unrelenting and plausibly unstoppable 🧵
Spectacular attacks aside, this escalation is mostly based on "subtle" changes, across multiple variables: choice of targets, weapons employed, number of strikes, expected casualties, and so on.
Both sides are not just attacking each other but negotiating as they do.
For instance, Hizbollah's rocket systems make for an infinite graduation. They may strike near or far; many times the same day or the same target; with varying payloads; and hit either troops, sensitive military assets or civilian infrastructure.
Behind the destruction of the cities of Gaza lies another form of violence, ever so intimate and ominous: the destruction of home.
This is important to unpack, as a key to understanding the emotional shockwaves this war is causing across the region. 🧵
Gaza's fabric, even more so than other cities in the region, was largely built by its inhabitants, in ad hoc fashion. That makes for a punishing urban space: cramped, chaotic, weak on public infrastructure.
Thus the crucial importance of private fallbacks. Especially, the home.
The home itself may be small and have little daylight, electricity, or air. But it is home: It is filled with all the things of greatest importance: the people we love, the memories we treasure, the hopes we hold, the objects that anchor us.
In Gaza, this man-made tragedy not only never ends, but gets ever worse, which makes it hard to analyse the war underway. That in itself makes the war all the more dangerous.
I'll therefore try to distance myself from the suffering to formulate four broad analytic hypotheses. 🧵
The real battlefield.
The West Bank, arguably, is where it is happening. Israel is pushing consistently to dramatically change the rules of the game: no PA, more settlements supported by troops fighting a chaotic insurgency. In other words, Israel is set to absorb the West Bank.
A devastating diversion.
In Gaza, there is no end game. Man-made famine captures this absence of horizon, a permanent "humanitarian crisis" inviting only relief: no rights, no governance structures, no reconstruction other than consolidated camps. Yet it focuses all attention.
I've been trying to think about this deepening, dangerous split we are witnessing between Europe and the Arab world. In over 25 years living and working in the latter, I've never seen anything like it.
Why is it deeper and more dangerous than our other, age-old disputes? 🧵
What worries me most in that respect is the complete breakdown in communication. In the past, our narratives would often conflict, but within a framework that was mostly shared.
Today, Gaza creates a situation where differences are not only profound, but incommunicable.
Many Europeans see this war, whether they blame Hamas or Israel, as just another tragic conflict.
For many Arabs, however, this isn't yet another round: This time, the bulk of European states will have chosen to back, overtly or indirectly, a genocide on the Mediterranean.
Genocide is a useful, frightening, and tricky word. Israelis have used it to define 7 October. Many others have described subsequent retaliations as such. Some experts concur, others disagree. It all depends on what one means by genocide. 🧵
As a legal term, its current usage is restrictive. Prosecuting a genocide requires, for instance, solid proof that orders were given specifically to eradicate a well-delineated group. That is why the massacre of some 8000 people in Srebrenica qualified.
In a legal framework, a genocide can only be determined in hindsight, once investigations have yielded such proof, possibly years after events happened. Relatively few formal determinations have been made and widely accepted internationally.
A defining feature of the Gaza war is the volume of videos in which fighters film themselves committing war crimes.
This has important implications for the future. 🧵
Hamas equipped fighters with go-pros, although part of the atrocities they recorded could only fall into the hands of the enemy.
Since, Israeli soldiers have posted numerous videos of themselves looting, maltreating prisoners, and destroying civilian buildings they had secured.
This material invariably ends up becoming the opponent's most effective propaganda. It also opens avenues for legal pursuit, notably in the case of fighters who live abroad, such as Israeli dual-citizens.