Crisis situations inevitably require resources to be prioritised. Scarcity is inescapable, and may even be a driver of the crisis itself. There is a hierarchy of human needs with food, water, shelter, and sanitation at the top. Education has long been considered on the secondary tier of services required. This is understandable – many of the benefits of education are long term, indivisible with other influencers on well-being, and frequently assessed through economic return, which may not be of immediate importance in the aftermath of a humanitarian crisis or in the midst of a war zone.

However, for two reasons education in emergencies, meaning in a context where state provisions are eroded, non-existent, or not fit for purpose, is now recognised as fundamental in both responding to crises and mitigating their start. The first reason is the recognition that crises, whether through natural disaster or conflict, are where the most serious challenges exist. Improved monitoring over recent years has told us that of the 58 million children missing out on primary school education, up to two-thirds of them are based in crisis settings. A lack  of education in emergency contexts is now the greatest barrier to reaching full primary education. The second reason is the way in which the perception of crises has changed. Rather than short-term emergencies, the majority of humanitarian contexts around the world are now considered to be ‘protracted’, with conflicts lasting an average of at least a decade.

Crises are now more frequent, longer, and represent the greatest barrier to accessing education. However, there still remains the issue of outcomes. Considering that these protracted contexts are inherently unpredictable, the usual returns to education of skilled labour, having socially-aware citizens, and a knowledge-based economy become increasingly less likely in such situations. A wider, rights-based conception of education has developed that instead looks at education as a form of resilience and social justice, a tool for maintaining psychological health, and as a way of integrating displaced populations.

The vast majority of funding for education in Afghanistan has gone to the Ministry of Education – building a system from the top down, seeing the children as the end point rather than at the start…In the meantime a generation is missing out on their right to education, and the country is, as a result, losing even more.

Indeed, the argument should be less about why children in crisis settings should receive an education but rather why they should not. What is different about these children, already suffering from multiple levels of inequality, which means that they are denied access to something we consider a human right for those living outside emergency settings?

Afghanistan, where I have worked for several years, is very much in the midst of a protracted crisis – insecure, politically fragile, poor, and prone to natural disasters. As much as 75% of the population has been displaced at least once in their lives, while the limited reach of public services means that most children do not have the chance to go to school. For instance, last year I spoke to a girl called Hiba, who was 14 years old, born in Daikundi Province but having left there before she could remember. She moved with her family, first to Pakistan and then back to Afghanistan after a lack of documentation forced them to do so. She had moved to three different provinces in the last five years and is now in Kabul, the capital, in a makeshift house half way up a hillside.

Hiba has had a hard life, and this will continue to be the case. She talked about the places where she had lived; the camps near the border, and the rooms and tents where she had stayed, sometimes for years. She spoke with a mix of dejection and humiliation. We started to talk about school and she suddenly changed. She talked about a small town where she had lived for a year (she thinks it was in Khost Province but could not be sure). It was there that she first went to school. Her teacher was a woman called Mohira. What she remembered most was having a set of colouring pencils for her to draw pictures with. She remembers that she was put in a class with other girls who spoke her language. She made friends, played cricket, and sat and chatted around a big tea urn that was never let off the stove.

The family moved a year later to find work and the next place did not have a school; neither did the place they moved to after that.

The vast majority of funding for education in Afghanistan has gone to the Ministry of Education – building a system from the top down, seeing the children as the end point rather than at the start. Almost nothing has gone to the humanitarian sector. In the meantime a generation is missing out on their right to education, and the country is, as a result, losing even more.

Hiba is now in one of our adult literacy classes. We opened a centre soon after we met. Now 15, she is pregnant with her first child. When I saw her recently she asked me when we would be starting classes for children at the centre.

Pete Simms is from the United Kingdom and has worked in education and development for the last eight years. Originally trained as a teacher, Pete has worked in various parts of Asia and the Middle East, focusing on Iraq and Afghanistan in the last few years. Pete previously specialized in literacy and non-formal education with UNESCO and currently oversees the Afghanistan program for Children in Crisis.