Every so often there are tragic events which focus the world’s attention on a village or town which usually carries on its business quietly and unnoticed. Suddenly, there is a disaster - sometimes natural, such as an earthquake or hurricane, and sometimes caused by human inhumanity. To make things worse, there is the intrusion of the world’s media, poking their noses into people’s private grief and fears.

Who had heard of Guernica in Spain before the infamous air raid? Or of Aberfan in Wales before the spoil heap of the local coal mine turned into slurry and engulfed the school? Or of Bhopal in India or Seveso in Italy until their chemical works enveloped them in noxious gases? Or of Lockerbie until a plane blew up and dived onto the little Scottish village?

This time, the world’s media have focused on the unravelling of the siege of School No. 1 in Beslan, Northern Ossetia, in Russia. Unlike the other examples, we have been able to watch events from early on, the anguish of waiting relatives, the children escaping, the security forces failing to cordon off the area and then bursting in, following explosions, the casualties being brought out, and the families hunting desperately for relatives. It was like a Greek tragedy unfolding, as events proceeded with seeming inevitability to the final toll of pain and death.

Now the media have moved on, and the town of Beslan will presumably once more sink back into anonymity, remembered in the history books for the enormity of the conduct of the hijackers. Like the Twin Towers disaster, the Beslan tragedy will have had its impact on the world’s subconscious. Children were killed and scarred - physically and emotionally - in the place where they should have been safest, and at a time when they were celebrating peace. Such things may make all of us feel less secure. It is to be hoped that they also make us more determined to be vigilant and to work constructively for peace, so that no one wants to carry out such acts in the first place.

The FICE Congress in Glasgow was overshadowed by the Beslan tragedy, and those attending sent a message to the people of the town as a sign of sympathy and concern :

As delegates at the FICE International Congress held in Glasgow, Scotland, for people working with children and young people, we send our deepest sympathy

- to the children of Beslan
- to their parents and families
- to their teachers and members of other professions helping them
- to the citizens of Beslan

following the terrible tragedy at School No. 1, and we wish you courage in facing the future.

The events have hit home throughout the world and, as our tribute, we offer two poems. The first They Never Learn (which appeared in the Wakefield Express, 10 September 2004) is by Gladys Hollingworth of Normanton, and the second The First Day at School is by Tony Herro.

They Never Learn

There’s no sound of children singing.
There is terror in their eyes.
Doesn’t anybody listen
To the pleading of their cries?

Are they blind to all this madness?
Do they care how it began?
Is it just a way of showing
Man’s inhumanity to man?

Once again a land is paying
For the madness of its men.
Don’t they ever learn the lesson?
Must they start it all again?

The dove of peace is crying.
There is blood upon his wing.
It is time to end the torment
And let the children sing.

The First Day at School

Why are those men here, Mum?
What are they doing?
Are they from the army, Mum?
Are they putting on a display?
Why are they shouting Mum?
Why are they waving their guns?
It’s frightening, Mum.
Tell me what they’re doing.
Why have they shot that man, Mum?
Did he make them cross when he didn’t sit down?
Why are they so angry, Mum?
What do they want?
What are they going to do, Mum?
Will we get home for dinnertime?
It’s hot, Mum. I need the toilet.
Will they let me go to the toilet, Mum?
Will they give me a drink?

Why won’t they let us have any water, Mum?
I feel really tired. And thirsty.
And hungry. And frightened.
When will it all end, Mum?
Will they ever let us go home?
I’m tired, but I can’t sleep on this floor
Where is Dad, Mum?
Will he rescue us?
Will he get the police to come in and save us?
I’m very tired. And hot. And frightened.

What’s that noise, Mum?
Who is shooting?
Will those bombs go off?
What shall we do?
Where can we hide?
Look, here’s a window, Mum.
That man’s not looking.
Jump, Mum, and run.

Both poems raise questions. Are there answers? Our first response, as with the FICE delegates, was to feel enormous sympathy for the children and parents as they went through the tragedy. We can only guess at the depth of fear and anxiety if we have not suffered it ourselves, but it is a natural human response for us to feel for them.

Not only for them, but also for the teachers, police, soldiers, town officials, mediators and others caught up in the events. Each of them will have been affected fundamentally by what they witnessed. The town’s history will have been scarred for years to come. Even in the next century there could be very old people who were at the school when the hijacking took place.

Then there will be the other natural human responses - the anger, the wish for revenge (traditional in that area), but revenge against whom? neighbouring states? international terrorists? Muslims generally? local officials who failed to stop the hijacking? the Government because of the political situation in the Caucasus?

In the end, these responses will be fruitless, however attractive revenge may seem, as they will only lead to more suffering, and yet more, as succeeding generations try to be avenged. The creation of peace is hard work, and entails giving up something - if only the traditional bloodright of revenge - but it will be the only way for peoples with different beliefs, interests and cultures to live together.

Beslan should not be forgotten. It should become a focus for peace work. But it will be very hard work.