Urvi Gupta
In conflicts, children are neither fighters nor decision-makers, yet they often suffer the most. Their laughter is drowned by sirens, their homes reduced to rubble, and their sense of security shattered. While adults engage in ideological wars, young, unheard voices are left to carry invisible wounds. War-like situations go beyond traditional battles. Riots, terrorism, domestic conflicts, and militarized zones expose children to emotional trauma that cuts deeper than physical scars. For them, safety isn’t just physical protection it’s a psychological need. In such environments, fear becomes constant manifesting as nightmares, clinginess, withdrawal, or hyper-vigilance. Over time, these fears can grow into anxiety or post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Childhood is meant to build trust and identity, but conflict fractures these foundations. Displacement, loss, and destroyed homes strip children of their sense of self. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” whispers a child in a refugee camp. Without stable caregivers or routines, emotional numbness or dissociation often follows.
Play vital for emotional growth is also stolen. Empty playgrounds and mined fields replace safe spaces for games. Instead of dolls and trucks, children draw tanks and guns or act out soldiers. This premature exposure to violence sows distrust and aggression far too soon.
Parents unknowingly pass on trauma. A father’s silence or a mother’s flinch at loud sounds teaches: “The world is unsafe.” This intergenerational fear can make children withdrawn, distrustful, or burdened by survivor’s guilt. Yet even in despair, resilience emerges. Ukrainian children paint peace signs amid bombings; in Gaza, they attend makeshift schools; in Syria, football rises from ruins. Supportive adults, safe spaces even temporary ones and creative outlets help preserve this hope. Sadly, mental health support in conflict zones is often overlooked. Relief efforts focus on food and shelter, but healing invisible wounds is equally urgent. Storytelling spaces, art and play therapy, and trauma-informed care are critical. Rwanda’s post-genocide programs showed how communities can help children heal.
Education becomes therapy. Schools provide structure and routine, anchoring children in a semblance of normalcy. Teachers trained in psychological first aid are lifelines. But modern conflicts add a digital threat children exposed to propaganda, fake news, and violent imagery risk losing their sense of reality. Media literacy and adult supervision are vital, even in crises.
The suffering of children in conflict zones isn’t just an academic concern it’s a moral one. We must support trauma recovery programs, demand child-safe zones in policies, and ensure children’s voices are included in peace building. Above all, no child’s fearful gaze should ever feel normal; each one must awaken our collective conscience. Children’s minds are clay, not steel. Though war leaves harsh imprints, love and care can soften and reshape them. Every child deserves to swing above shelters, giggle through sirens, and grow up believing love triumphs over grief. True peace begins with healing the smallest hearts.
(The writer is Clinical Psychology Scholar Sharda University, Greater Noida, Uttar Pradesh)
