Clyde Collins Snow, a pioneering forensic scientist who developed the field of investigation of individual and mass graves to gather evidence of human rights violations, died on May 16, 2014 at the age of 86. He mentored dozens of forensic scientists and consulted with Physicians for Human Rights on critical projects including exhumation of graves in Iraqi Kurdistan and in the former Yugoslavia.

Clyde Snow. I could just let his name stand for itself. It would be the sensible thing to do. The last thing Clyde tolerated were revisionists, and – to that point – considering what a tremendous influence the man has and will continue to have, I’m not going to get into his historical merits. He’s not around to dispute anything with his one-line forensic assessments, such as, “It’s very difficult to argue with a skull with a bullet in its head.”

I first met Clyde hunkered over a grave in the highlands of Guatemala in 1991. Along with him were members of the Argentine Forensic Anthropology Team, all young students just like myself. I had traveled to Guatemala to accompany a friend who was working for Reuters. At the time, I had never heard of forensic anthropology, but offered my services to Clyde, and from there, the world changed for myself and many others.

To me, Clyde was the quintessential American. His crumpled up hat, cowboy boots, cigarettes, cigars, and whiskey (or, when available, martinis) made you think of John Wayne. He believed in empowering those who had been disenfranchised by being denied the truth, those who bled between the fronts, and those who died without even understanding what communism is or – in today’s context – what terrorism means. Clyde fought injustice with truth, giving voice to the victims nobody hears because they don’t figure into the overall GDP. He inspired me to join law enforcement in the United States, where I gained an appreciation for a perhaps flawed justice system, but one that fundamentally upholds that justice is for the people and done by the people. That was what Clyde was about.

Clyde was contradictory and controversial, and therefore, fiercely independent; we all admire him for that. He always insisted that forensic anthropologists are not advocates, but scientists – a statement that to this day rings in my ears and continues to give me headaches. On my first international investigation with Clyde, Physicians for Human Rights (PHR), and Human Rights Watch to Iraq in 1992 (after the first Iraq war), I could hear and see the bomb strikes by jet fighters originating from Türkiye falling on neighboring Iraqi villages, while sitting in a grave exhuming the remains of captured Kurdish fighters who had been summarily executed by Saddam Hussein’s forces. At some point one evening, I broke down in fury over the fact that we were pouring all our resources into documenting Saddam Hussein’s heinous abuses, not looking into the horrendous deaths of those who were being bombed indiscriminately a few kilometers away. Clyde took me aside and essentially told me: “Kid, you have to pick a side. That’s what this is about. Cry when you go to bed and are by yourself.” In other words, you have to choose your battles even as a scientist and deal with it on your own. It’s that one step that most scientists don’t want to do, that Clyde did best. That’s why I decided to study forensics, rather than pick up a gun and fight back.

Clyde Snow will always be an inspiration as a scientist that scoured the battlefields of the world for truth. The last time I saw him, he told me that he was proud of me. Coming from him, that compliment meant the world to me. Until the day I leave, every whiskey and cigar I enjoy will remind me of Clyde. Without him, most of us in the business of telling the truth through forensic science wouldn’t be here, including the International Forensic Program here at PHR.

This student toolkit provides comprehensive information on the principle of medical neutrality – which ensures safe access to medical facilities, protects health care workers and their patients, and allows medical workers to provide unbiased care. The toolkit includes resources on medical neutrality, provides ways for students to get involved in the protection of medical neutrality, and lets you know how to connect with PHR staff. Access the full toolkit here.

Despite continued death and destruction, the Syrian people have shown incredible resilience. In conflicts as tragic as the one in Syria, hope for a better future is essential to survival.

But what happens when optimism dissipates and hope fades? More than three years into the Syrian crisis, civilians are increasingly targeted by indiscriminate barrel bomb strikes, and recent reports indicate renewed use of chemical weapons by the regime. Syrians are being tortured, raped, starved, and imprisoned on a daily basis while the world stands by and wrings its collective hands.

One of the Syrian doctors in Physicians for Human Rights’ training program, who works in a hospital where victims of the carnage seek treatment, sadly shares, “I have no more tears.” She and her colleagues live with the anxiety and fear of being targeted because of the vital work they do. Despite her strength, competence, and dedication to her people, this long war has taken a toll, testing her faith in humanity. She simply cannot understand why the rest of the world refuses to intervene to stop the suffering, a sentiment shared by Syrians and human rights defenders alike. Another Syrian colleague recently updated his status on Facebook: “There is no light at the end of the tunnel.” His quote paralyzed me, knowing that I was powerless in responding to such a hopeless statement from someone who must confront the realities of civil war every day.

Despite these moments of despair, Syrians persevere with remarkable determination, focusing not only on their own survival, but also supporting their fellow Syrians and preparing to rebuild their country after the conflict has ended. The importance placed on family and community contributes to the Syrians people’s ability to look forward even while embroiled in conflict. Every new birth is greeted with incredible joy, regardless of tight finances, displaced family, and an uncertain future. Living in the present, welcoming a new life, and believing in a better future are essential to keeping hope alive.

Occasionally, a beautiful story provides for renewed optimism. Last week was the birthday of a friend’s brother who was killed in the Syrian conflict. He would have turned 22 years old on April 17. On that day, which otherwise would have been a day of mourning, a new baby was born into the family, returning that date to a day of celebration. While the baby will never know the uncle for whom he was named, his family will ensure that he learns about the brave man who was willing to die for his beliefs and for his country.

In our media-savvy world, YouTube and other social media outlets provide near instant coverage of violent attacks across the globe, galvanizing shock and outrage among a broad-range of viewers. But not all deaths are caused by conventional weapons that can be captured on camera.

Last week, Radio Dabanga, an independent radio station in Darfur, reported the expulsion of Merlin, a British humanitarian organization working in Sudan. According to Sudanese officials, Merlin’s merger with Save the Children in July 2013 allegedly rendered the organization illegal under Sudan’s law. Merlin’s work supported 28 permanent medical facilities and numerous mobile clinics, providing medical services for approximately 600,000 Darfuris. Merlin is the third NGO in Darfur to be shut down in the past three months. The expulsions are deliberate attempts to block care for Darfuris.

Unfortunately, the Sudanese government is not unique in targeting medical NGOs as a means of inflicting suffering on specific ethnic or religious groups. In late February, the government of Burma issued an order for Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) to immediately cease all work after MSF reported treating injuries from a Muslim massacre in January. Although the order was reversed in most parts of the country, MSF was not allowed to resume its operations in Rakhine State, where the majority of the Muslim Rohingya minority lives. As a result, approximately 750,000 people – mostly Rohingya, many of whom are internally displaced – have not received medical care in nearly two months.

In both Sudan and Burma, NGOs are targeted as part of a larger strategy to not only deprive already persecuted communities of basic necessities for survival, but also to remove outside observers who could act as witnesses to the human rights violations and abuse perpetrated against minority populations. Both Merlin and MSF adhere to the principle of medical neutrality, which mandates treating the sick and injured regardless of politics, race, or religion. Without the life-saving care of organizations like Merlin and MSF, thousands of vulnerable and marginalized individuals, including children, are at risk of death from preventable diseases or terminal illnesses.

Withholding medical and humanitarian assistance can amount to crimes against humanity, which is why PHR documents violations of medical neutrality around the world. In our condemnation of the more visceral violations of international humanitarian and human rights law, we must not forget the equal harm that occurs when medical professionals are not allowed to carry out their daily work.

This post originally appeared on Wing of Zock.

Physician colleagues and their hospitals have been the targets of direct attacks during the past three years in Syria. According to UN war crimes investigators, Syrian forces have deliberately targeted hospitals, attacked field hospitals, and prevented patients from receiving medical care.

A United Nations Commission of Inquiry independent panel published its findings to draw attention to what it called “an enduring and underreported trend” in the conflict. The report cited attacks on hospitals shelled by artillery or bombed by jets or helicopters. The attacks have injured and killed both civilians and medical personnel, damaged hospitals’ infrastructure, and impeded their ability to treat patients. Most of us cannot imagine working in such circumstances.

My recent experiences in training Syrian physicians in a border community opened my eyes to levels of courage and commitment I have never seen in my 30 years of practice and international work. I came to grips with my own ignorance as I heard and saw the challenges faced by our brothers and sister physicians in Syria, and by their physician colleagues who are refugees in neighboring countries. Three of my colleagues shared their experiences about working in a field hospital, treating their fellow Syrian people. What follows are their stories.

I am a surgeon, specializing in bone and joint diseases. I work inside Syria in a field hospital with operating rooms, emergency and patient rooms, and a dedicated staff. Since the end of 2012, we have seen daily explosions of cars, barrel bombs, battles and war fronts near our hospital, and direct bombardments. Each week I leave my family behind to go to work; my wife and children live in one strange country, and I work in another strange one, my own country. I am sad when I leave them, as I do not know when I will see them again or if I will die this time in Syria. It is very difficult to reach the hospital, it takes hours crossing checkpoints.

The hurdles I face at work include the large number of patients requiring consultation and surgery each day. I have to make very rapid assessments of patients because of the overwhelming volume. I feel fatigue continuously because I am running between the OR, sick bay, and emergency rooms. We perform five to ten complicated surgical cases per day in the OR. These include the amputation of upper and lower extremities, fractures and external fixations, debridement, tendon repairs, vascular and neurological repairs, compartment syndrome, avulsion of large areas of muscle, skin and bone, and removal of bullets/shrapnel.

I have little time to eat with my colleagues, leading to isolation; I have little time for prayer, which leads to spiritual tension for me. The surgical team must operate on some cases for many hours without a break, which leads to great physical stress and anxiety within my team. The electricity often shuts down because our generator breaks or our diesel fuel runs out. This interrupts the surgical procedures and creates worry and loss of concentration for us all.

The hospital building itself has been targeted more than five times by air missiles, rockets, and barrel bombs. We hear frightening noises often and this leads to chaos inside the hospital. We feel tense and sad because we cannot perform our jobs in the best way, due to lack of concentration and fear in our hearts. We know that we are all at risk of being killed at any time. This impacts the quality of my work, and my psychological state; I feel down on myself because I cannot always deliver good care.

Another physician’s account:

My life before the revolution was a normal quiet life and quite joyful, Sometimes my mother even said to me while I was young “You will never grow up!” I always created fun wherever I went. I worked as a lawyer, played cards, and had a wonderful group of friends. Then the revolution began and things became tense. In the beginning, there were only peaceful protests, but many of us had heard about the events that occurred in the prior regime in the 1980s. When the violence increased in 2012, I could no longer go safely to work.

Some of my friends established a field hospital and needed an administrative leader. The local ambulances could not be relied upon to collect Syrian people who had been seriously injured and many of them died, therefore a field hospital was critical. My office was at the front of the hospital and I saw casualties arrive every day. I remember the first time I saw someone die; I remember that day well and did not sleep that night. I felt as if I was seeing a relative or friend dying. I frequently experienced bombardments of our hospital but especially recall the day I saw a man carrying a 7-year-old girl whose leg was amputated by a bomb. I saw that the leg was not in place and I saw the burned flesh all over her body. It was such a frightening scene.

When cars explode in front of our hospital or bombs explode nearby, we see many dead bodies, burned and mutilated people injured and dying. There are blood and screams everywhere. The psychological pressure on me has been great and I find myself becoming silent, absent-minded and angry for no reason. Sometimes during eating, I recall a patient, and I cannot finish my food. My life is constricted: I sleep, work and do it all again. I try to find ways to release my pressure but the effect is temporary and does not lessen my sadness. I am now living in an unchangeable routine. I now live without knowing the future. I do not know if I am still a normal person. All I know is that I have to be strong, because there is no way back.

And finally, from a young resident:

We are working doctors in Syria. We suffer from physical, psychological problems and difficult life conditions. I work in two field hospitals. I work all week long, 24 hours per day with one day off per week, and frequently no days off. We suffer from work pressure and lack of doctors because so many have left Syria or are detained. We have little time to sleep and our mood has changed negatively because of the current circumstances. As for me, I had to leave residency training in my second year because of the war. I now have no alternative to finish my specialization, and I do not think that these circumstances will end. Believing that I will never be able to go back to study makes me sad, tense, and angry.

We also suffer from lack of security and live in great danger because at any moment, we can have an air raid. We feel terror when we hear the aircraft’s voices (sounds). In my time at the hospital, we have been shelled many times. Now I feel that the pilot is actually targeting ME. I feel horror and fear, it is very tragic when you see one of your colleagues injured and dying. When I help them, I later collapse and feel that destiny is taking all my friends. I swear, this feeling cannot be described. In the end, I believe that we are people who got old too soon. We carry burdens and problems that exceed our capacity. The work even takes the joy out of food. It is now tasteless and once again, I say, we are too old too soon.

The Syrian crisis is not simple. But what is simple is this: Doctors, hospitals, and patients continue to be targeted throughout this conflict. These violations can happen in any country: Let’s not wait to act. What can you do to help? You can educate yourself about on-the-ground realities of Syrian physicians and other colleagues in conflict zones, you can speak out about it, and you can support international political action to protect medical neutrality by contacting your elected representatives, the White House, and the United Nations, demanding that our medical colleagues be allowed and supported to treat patients, save lives, and alleviate suffering without the fear of attacks or reprisals. Our colleagues are counting on us.

*The three narratives are translated and anonymous. All identifying details have been removed.