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New York Times
5 minutes ago
- New York Times
A Summertime Haven for Homeless Children
Visuals by Monique Jaques Text by Sarah Nir At the edge of Lake Kanawauke in New York's Hudson Valley, third graders splished in the shallows, giggling till they came ashore spluttering. On the portico of a bunkhouse, teenage boys raced paper boats in buckets. Under the eaves of their tent, 7-year-old girls in a bunk bed exchanged friendship bracelets. Beneath a nearby beech tree, their bunk mates held a solemn funeral for a ladybug. Daniel Velazquez, 10, first-time camper. Summer camp is always an oasis, particularly for urban children like those who splashed, played and poked sticks at beetles on a recent serene Friday. But perhaps none more so than Camp Homeward Bound, 45 miles north of New York City, which may be the longest running sleep-away camp in the country exclusively for homeless children. Shanely Green, 10, fourth-time camper. For the past four decades, the camp, which is run by the nonprofit Coalition for the Homeless, has provided refuge to thousands of the youngest residents of the city's homeless shelters. Camp Homeward Bound in 1993. Joyce Dopkeen/The New York Times On this day, campers played underwater tag in the lake, tumbled in three-legged races and waited out a passing sun shower with arts and crafts. The challenges that normally pervaded their lives seemed to slip away like the sun into the lake as the campers lined up for a taco dinner, practiced for a talent show and then hunted for the perfect sticks on which to toast their marshmallows. 'So many of these kids have been devalued and dehumanized just going through the shelter experience,' said Dave Giffen, executive director of the Coalition for the Homeless. 'So to be able to come to a place like this, where they don't have to hide it, they don't have to worry about it — it is a truly freeing experience.' About 30,000 children sleep in New York's shelter system each night, according to the city comptroller. Each summer Camp Homeward Bound takes in about 360 of those children, ages 7 to 15, for its no-cost 16-day sessions. The cost, about $4,000 per camper, Mr. Giffen said, is covered by donations. Khalil Richards, 10, fifth-time camper. Chloe Reynolds, 9, first-time camper. There can be fraught moments for campers, far out of their comfort zones, according to Bev McEntarfer, the longtime camp director. To help them cope, camp counselors receive training from social workers and mental health professionals. But equally valuable are the junior counselors, all of whom are formerly homeless campers and can offer support — and hope. One former camper, Homeward Bound's culinary arts instructor, is enrolled in culinary school. Another, the camp's art teacher, is pursing a degree in arts education.'People think of them as just these downtrodden kids that have no future,' Ms. McEntarfer said. 'They just need to have their world opened up so that they know what their future can be.' At Homeward Bound, the tough situations the campers face back home are deliberately not emphasized. Yet the undercurrent of trauma that cuts through many campers' lives still eddies between campfire singalongs and games of Uno on the bunk steps. Endrismar Sanabria, 13, from Queens, proudly showed off the blue wristband that indicated she was a strong enough swimmer to cannonball off the dock into the deepest part of the lake. When she first came to camp, two summers earlier, she could not swim, she said — a fact that had terrified her when, at age 10, she forded rivers and piled into an ocean raft as she fled Venezuela with her family. At night, there were cicadas and stars, where most campers were more used to sirens and streetlights. Seated on the grass, looking out at the glimmering lake, Diomer Ortiz, a 12-year-old from the Bronx, said his favorite part of camp — after bike riding — was the view. 'The mountains, the islands, the sky,' Diomer said. 'It feels like you're in heaven.'
San Francisco Chronicle
34 minutes ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Japan's aging atomic bomb survivors speak out against nuclear weapons
HIROSHIMA, Japan (AP) — Eighty years after the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, many of the remaining Japanese survivors are increasingly frustrated by growing nuclear threats and the acceptance of nuclear weapons by global leaders. The U.S. attacks on Hiroshima on Aug. 6, 1945, and three days later on Nagasaki killed more than 200,000 people by the end of that year. Others survived but with radiation illness. About 100,000 survivors are still alive. Many hid their experiences to protect themselves and their families from discrimination that still exists. Others couldn't talk about what happened because of the trauma they suffered. An English-speaking guide at Hiroshima's peace park Despite numerous health issues, survivor Kunihiko Iida, 83, has devoted his retirement years to telling his story as a way to advocate for nuclear disarmament. He volunteers as a guide at Hiroshima's Peace Memorial Park. He wants to raise awareness among foreigners because he feels their understanding of the bombings is lacking. It took him 60 years to be able to talk about his ordeal in public. When the U.S. dropped a uranium bomb on Hiroshima, Iida was 900 meters (yards) away from the hypocenter, at a house where his mother grew up. He was 3 years old. He remembers the intensity of the blast. It was as if he was thrown out of a building. He found himself alone underneath the debris, bleeding from shards of broken glass all over his body. 'Mommy, help!' he tried to scream, but his voice didn't come out. Eventually he was rescued by his grandfather. Within a month, his 25-year-old mother and 4-year-old sister died after developing nosebleeds, skin problems and fatigue. Iida had similar radiation effects through elementary school, though he gradually regained his health. He was almost 60 when he finally visited the peace park at the hypocenter, the first time since the bombing, asked by his aging aunt to keep her company. After he decided to start telling his story, it wasn't easy. Overwhelmed by emotion, it took him a few years before he could speak in public. In June, he met with students in Paris, London and Warsaw on a government-commissioned peace program. Despite his worries about how his calls for nuclear abolishment would be perceived in nuclear-armed states like Britain and France, he received applause and handshakes. Iida says he tries to get students to imagine the aftermath of a nuclear attack, how it would destroy both sides and leave behind highly radioactive contamination. 'The only path to peace is nuclear weapons' abolishment. There is no other way,' Iida said. A regular at anti-war protests Fumiko Doi, 86, would not have survived the atomic bombing on Nagasaki if a train she was on had been on time. The train was scheduled to arrive at Urakami station around 11 a.m., just when the bomb was dropped above a nearby cathedral. With the delay, the train was 5 kilometers (3 miles) away. Through the windows, Doi, then 6, saw the flash. She covered her eyes and bent over as shards of broken windows rained down. Nearby passengers covered her for protection. People on the street had their hair burnt. Their faces were charcoal black and their clothes were in pieces, she said. Doi told her children of the experience in writing, but long hid her status as a survivor because of fear of discrimination. Doi married another survivor. She worried their four children would suffer from radiation effects. Her mother and two of her three brothers died of cancer, and two sisters have struggled with their health. Her father, a local official, was mobilized to collect bodies and soon developed radiation symptoms. He later became a teacher and described what he'd seen, his sorrow and pain in poetry, a teary Doi explained. Doi began speaking out after seeing the 2011 Fukushima Daiichi nuclear disaster following a strong earthquake and tsunami, which caused radioactive contamination. She travels from her home in Fukuoka to join anti-war rallies, and speaks out against atomic weapons. 'Some people have forgotten about the atomic bombings ... That's sad," she said, noting that some countries still possess and develop nuclear weapons more powerful than those used 80 years ago. 'If one hits Japan, we will be destroyed. If more are used around the world, that's the end of the Earth,' she said. 'That's why I grab every chance to speak out.' At Hiroshima, learning from survivors After the 2023 Hiroshima G7 meeting of global leaders and the Nobel Peace Prize awarded to the grassroots survivors' group Nihon Hidankyo last year, visitors to Hiroshima and Nagasaki peace museums have soared, with about one third of them coming from abroad. On a recent day, most of the visitors at the Hiroshima peace park were non-Japanese. Samantha Anne, an American, said she wanted her children to understand the bombing. 'It's a reminder of how much devastation one decision can make,' Anne said. Katsumi Takahashi, a 74-year-old volunteer specializing in guided walks of the area, welcomes foreign visitors but worries about Japanese youth ignoring their own history. On his way home, Iida, the survivor and guide, stopped by a monument dedicated to the children killed. Millions of colorful paper cranes, known as the symbol of peace, hung nearby, sent from around the world. Even a brief encounter with a survivor made the tragedy more real, Melanie Gringoire, a French visitor, said after Iida's visit. 'It's like sharing a little piece of history.'
Associated Press
35 minutes ago
- Associated Press
PHOTO ESSAY: Religious schools fill the education gap for Afghan boys
KABUL, Afghanistan (AP) — In Kabul's alleys and courtyards, boys in white caps and tunics recite verses from the Quran in a growing network of madrassas, the religious schools increasingly filling the gaps in Afghanistan's fractured education system. While public schools still operate, their reach has been weakened by limited resources, teacher shortages and decades of conflict. In response, many families now turn to madrassas, which offer structured learning rooted in Islamic teachings. Enrollment is booming. One school north of Kabul has grown from 35 students to more than 160 in five years. Most madrassas focus on Quranic memorization, jurisprudence and Arabic, but some now include basic secular subjects like math and English. Still, many fall short of national and international education standards, raising concerns about the long-term impact on students' broader development. Girls face even greater challenges. With secondary education banned under Taliban policy, some girls now attend madrassas as one of the few remaining options for continued learning though opportunities are limited even there. Critics say the madrassas are often centers of religious indoctrination and their increased popularity will have long-lasting consequences for Afghanistan's future. But for many children, these schools are the only form of education they can access. ___ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
