Humans of New York has become a phenomenon in its own right, a hugely successful Facebook page where photgrapher Brandon Stanton collects portraits and interviews of New York's colourful population. This summer, Stanton embarked on a UN-sponsored trip around the world. His lens has proved a powerful tool for humanising people previously ignored or stereotyped and his portraits of Syrians in Zaatari and Erbil are no exception.
“I think the real gravity of these stories is only understood when you realise that these posts weren’t handpicked for emotional heft — they were a completely random sample. It makes you realize that each of the hundreds of thousands of refugees from the Syrian conflict are carrying around their own tragedies, often filled with horrifying complexity and detail, complete with their own cast of characters, many of whom are no longer part of the story. One of the paradoxes from my visit was the levity with which some of these stories were told. Often the subject would stop mid-story, to make a joke, or remark on something mundane. When I asked my translator about this discrepancy between tragic story and upbeat storyteller, he shrugged, and said: ‘Life must go on.’ It was a phrase I heard a lot.” – Brandon Stanton on his trip to Zaatari Refugee Camp in Jordan
Zaatari Refugee Camp, Jordan
“We’re trying to get to Grandma’s.”
Zaatari Refugee Camp, Jordan
“The refugees have been given very limited resources, but they’ve found ways to maximise the usefulness of these resources. We established a lighting system to provide security. Before long, we noticed that shopkeepers had been tapping into our electrical lines, and using the electricity to light their shops. We tried to prevent this, because our electricity is limited, but more and more people figured out the trick. More and more wires began appearing. Eventually we succumbed to the inevitable. We found the first group of shopkeepers who had siphoned the electricity. We told them: ‘OK, we’re going to allow this. But you’re in charge of regulating it.'”
-Gavin White, External Relations Officer of UNHCR
Zaatari Refugee Camp, Jordan
“Please join us for lunch.”
Zaatari Refugee Camp, Jordan
“What are your hopes for them?”
“We left our hopes back in Syria.”
Zaatari Refugee Camp, Jordan
“One day I drove into the city to buy goods for my shop. I repaired antennas and satellite dishes, so I needed some replacement parts. But on the road there was a checkpoint for the Syrian government, and two soldiers came up to my car. They began to argue with each other. ‘Let’s take him,’ said one of them.
‘Let him go,’ said the other. And they went back and forth, and back and forth. But finally the first man won the argument, and they took me out of my car, put a blindfold on me, and took me to jail. When I got to the jail, they began beating me with a cord. They asked me if I supported the rebels. I kept saying ‘No,’ but they kept beating me. They took off all my clothes. They said: ‘We are going to whip you 35 times, and if you say ‘ouch,’ we will start from the beginning. They whipped me and kicked me and broke 3 of my ribs.
They said: ‘Tell us how many soldiers you’ve killed.’
I said: ‘None.’
They said: ‘Tell us how many soldiers!”
I said: ‘None. I haven’t killed anyone.’
But they kept beating me and they ripped off my toenails and I screamed: ‘Eleven! Eleven! I killed eleven soldiers!’ So they put me into prison. But I never killed any soldiers. I never fought anyone. I’m a good person. I have a very sweet heart. You believe me when I tell you this, don’t you?”
Zaatari Refugee Camp, Jordan
“This one likes photos too much. If he takes one more photo, I will break his camera. But don’t translate that.”
Erbil, Iraq
“I was going to one of my first exams, and suddenly there was a bombing. In downtown Damascus! I couldn’t believe it! I didn’t think this was possible. Windows were broken everywhere, and there were people on the ground, and the sounds of ambulances. Then over the next few weeks, everything changed. The taxis in the streets were replaced by tanks. You no longer knew who was your friend and who was your enemy. Suddenly you could be killed, and nobody would ask why. Before war, you have rights. People will ask why you were killed. When war comes, nobody asks why you were killed anymore.”
Erbil, Iraq
“She always dreams about the bombs.”
Zaatari Refugee Camp, Jordan
“Back in Syria, I sold antiques and Orientals. I had all sorts of things in my shop: glass vases, old stamps, coins from the Roman and Ottoman empire, valuable laces, antique furniture. But they beat me with rifles and knocked out my teeth. Then they burned my store to the ground.”
Zaatari Refugee Camp, Jordan
“Tell me about the day you decided to leave Syria.”
“Our house was next to a checkpoint for the government, so we thought it was safe. There were snipers around, but we thought they knew us. They’d seen us everyday. But one day the electricity got very weak. The television was still working, but the refrigerator and washing machine cut off, so my brother went into the yard to check it. And then we heard a scream. It wasn’t exactly a scream, more like an ‘Ahhhh!’ And I ran outside. And there he was.”
“What is your fondest memory of your brother?”
“When we built a second story for our house, my brother and I spent the whole day working together. We were playing tricks on people. We were putting salt in their tea. We were hiding instead of working. We were laughing the entire day.”
“What were you thinking when you found him in the yard?”
“‘How can I save him?’ How can I save him?’ How can I save him? How can I save him? How can I save him?'”
“What did your mother say?”
“She didn’t say a thing. The whole family was screaming. But she didn’t make a sound.”
Erbil, Iraq
“I had a mobile phone and computer store back in Syria. It was completely looted during the fighting. I came here to find work, but I couldn’t afford to bring my family with me. When I left, I kissed my son and told him that I was leaving and I didn’t know where I was going. He was crying so hard that we had to lock him in the house as I said ‘goodbye’ to my wife. I haven’t even met my second son.”
“What are your happiest memories of your son?”
“Every time I went to work, he’d run after me. And every time I came home, he’d run to me.”