How do you deliver food and
medicine to people in an area where
a cargo plane would be shot down?
It was a question that kept US Air
Force pilot Mark Jacobsen awake at
night after he met Syrian refugees in
Turkey. Then he had an idea - a
swarm of tiny drones, each
delivering 1kg or 2kg at a time.
On an airfield in Sacramento a group of
aircraft enthusiasts make noisy toy
helicopters perform stunts in the air. US
army vehicles sit nearby. It's a baking hot
California afternoon, everyone is wearing
caps and chasing children to smear sun
cream on them as they stare up at the sky.
But next to the regulars is another group,
testing custom-built drones. They catapult
them into the air at regular intervals and
make them circle repeatedly for kilometre
after kilometre.
There is something different about this
crowd. Along with the drone-flying geeks
and their computers are Syrian and Iraqi
refugees, girls in hijabs and an injured
man in a wheelchair, who has only
recently landed in California from Iraq.
And then their aircraft are all in the same
colours - red, black, green and white.
The reason? These drones are made to fly
into Syria, carrying vital aid to people in
towns and villages besieged and
deliberately deprived of food and
medicine by one or other of the warring
groups.
It's the deeply personal project of 33-
year-old Mark Jacobsen, whose meeting
with refugees in Turkey 13 months ago
was nothing short of life-changing.
"What I experienced there is more real to
me than almost anything else," he says,
pausing for a drink of water and to allow a
choking wave of emotion to pass.
"I just think a lot of people go through
their daily lives not really thinking about
what they're doing. And being over there
and seeing this really epic struggle -
doctors risking their lives to smuggle
medical supplies, stories of people who
were literally watching their children
starve to death - coming back from that,
nothing seemed important."
The goal of this project is huge - "to end
starvation and medical deprivation as
weapons of war". The concept of
"swarming airlift", if it works, is one that
can potentially be used not only in Syria
but anywhere a transport aircraft - such as
the C-17 Jacobsen flies for the US Air
Force - would be at risk from anti-aircraft
fire.
Unlike a big expensive drone, these little
drones would be barely worth shooting
down - and if they were, they could be
quickly and cheaply replaced.
What Mark and his team eventually want
to achieve is a conveyer belt of drones,
taking off from Turkey, flying into Syria
under cover of darkness and parachuting
small boxes of aid at GPS co-ordinates
agreed with contacts on the ground.
Then they want the drones return and do
it all again. It's been called the Syrian
Airlift Project.
For this testing weekend Mark's small
house on the campus of Stanford
University - where he is taking time off
from the Air Force to study for a PhD in
political science - is covered in planes.
They're on the bookshelf, on the bed,
there's a glue gun on the floor, and here
and there a spare wing.
He wears a T-shirt with the project logo -
which, for neutrality, combines the flags of
the Syrian rebels and the Assad
government - and tells me that the test
drones about to be launched carry a 1kg
box of aid and can travel 60km. That's
30km into Syria, if launched from the
Turkish border, and 30km back.
"Just imagine an army of ants moving a
picnic lunch," says the project's website.
A larger drone is on the way. This will
hold 2kg and travel 100km - far enough to
make a round trip to Aleppo, which holds
special significance for one of the team.
Ali, a PhD engineering student, left the
city to study in the US before the war, not
knowing he wouldn't be able to return.
His father is still there, not far from
Aleppo, though he doesn't know exactly
where.
Ali avoided news coverage from Syria for
some time - he says he was in denial about
what was happening to his country. But
then he started reading and watching
reports from the country, and it hurt.
"Most of the time it comes at night and it's
really hard to sleep. I can't forget the faces
of the children. Kids picking dirt to eat, I
can't forget this."
In tears, he says he feels almost guilty
being so far away from the conflict - but
what they're doing in California does give
him hope.
"The team I'm working with, there isn't a
single word in English that can describe
my gratitude, and I can't thank them
enough for what we're doing," he says.
"They're dedicating all this time and effort
to help people and a country they've never
been to. It's amazing."
The tiny aircraft are made out of simple
materials - foam board, packing tape, and
hot glue. The idea is that they will be
assembled by Syrian refugees in Turkey,
and decorated by Syrian children.
Even including the autopilot, battery and
motor, each costs less than $500.
As they are relatively quiet, Jacobsen and
his team are betting that few will be shot
down if they fly at night.
They are aware, though, that there will be
huge concern about the possibility of the
drones falling into the wrong hands and
are working on features to disable them if
they're lost.
"Isis has been using quad copters to take
video. This type of technology has been
used in the Ukraine for reconnaissance.
This stuff has already been happening,"
says Jacobsen.
"The technology is already out there. It's
not going away.
"The bad guys have it. We want to give it
to the good guys."
After returning from his troubling
meeting with the Syrian refugees in
Turkey, Jacobsen and his collaborators set
about fundraising, and developing
software they have called Swarmify - a
mission planning tool for dozens or
hundreds of simultaneous flights.
The testing day at the Sacramento airfield
demonstrates, among other things, that
the drones can be launched quickly - the
idea is to launch 30 an hour - and can be
successfully tracked on a laptop. All land
safely, and one is kept flying until it
completes the full 60km.
In Arabic, Ali explains the mechanics of
the drones to two Iraqi boys who have fled
Syria - and who nine years earlier had fled
Iraq, the world's conflicts falling on their
doorstep twice in succession.
As the sun begins to go down, the team
tries out something they've all been
dreaming about.
They gather the children on the concrete
runway - Americans as well as Iraqis,
Syrians and Palestinians who've been
invited by the local refugee centre.
A drone launches and circles in the sky,
but this time it flies lower than the others.
A box drops, hanging from a parachute,
and showers the waiting children with
sweets. They hurry to grab a handful from
the floor and quickly open the sticky
wrappers.
The team are as happy as the kids. No-one
has ever been this emotional over some
Laffy Taffy. The empty box sits on the
floor. It's been decorated by the younger
refugees here, with the words: "Open for
food and meds". It represents what the
team wants to do in Syria.
"I can imagine the happiness on the faces
of the children," says Ali. "Dropping aid
from the sky and being able to have
medicine, or eat. It's just so, so beautiful."
Fingers are crossed that a bigger test will
be possible in Turkey this summer. If that
is successful the next challenge will be
scaling up - getting more funding and
making more drones. A four-man team of
refugees should be able to make 10 per
day, the team thinks.
But the biggest challenges may be legal.
Exporting drones from the US to a war
zone has to be done carefully, in
compliance with US law. Launching them
in Turkey, then flying them across an
international border and back again, also
raises delicate legal issues. The consent of
the Turkish government will be critical.
The team's law specialist has 12 folders,
each of which contains papers
documenting the progress made on the 12
core legal obstacles she has identified.
But as Jacobsen sees it, failure is not an
option - it hasn't been since his first
meeting with the Syrian refugees.
"This project has made me feel more alive
than any time in my life," he says,
"because I really think it matters…
"It's not just a few aeroplanes. This is a
movement."
medicine to people in an area where
a cargo plane would be shot down?
It was a question that kept US Air
Force pilot Mark Jacobsen awake at
night after he met Syrian refugees in
Turkey. Then he had an idea - a
swarm of tiny drones, each
delivering 1kg or 2kg at a time.
On an airfield in Sacramento a group of
aircraft enthusiasts make noisy toy
helicopters perform stunts in the air. US
army vehicles sit nearby. It's a baking hot
California afternoon, everyone is wearing
caps and chasing children to smear sun
cream on them as they stare up at the sky.
But next to the regulars is another group,
testing custom-built drones. They catapult
them into the air at regular intervals and
make them circle repeatedly for kilometre
after kilometre.
There is something different about this
crowd. Along with the drone-flying geeks
and their computers are Syrian and Iraqi
refugees, girls in hijabs and an injured
man in a wheelchair, who has only
recently landed in California from Iraq.
And then their aircraft are all in the same
colours - red, black, green and white.
The reason? These drones are made to fly
into Syria, carrying vital aid to people in
towns and villages besieged and
deliberately deprived of food and
medicine by one or other of the warring
groups.
It's the deeply personal project of 33-
year-old Mark Jacobsen, whose meeting
with refugees in Turkey 13 months ago
was nothing short of life-changing.
"What I experienced there is more real to
me than almost anything else," he says,
pausing for a drink of water and to allow a
choking wave of emotion to pass.
"I just think a lot of people go through
their daily lives not really thinking about
what they're doing. And being over there
and seeing this really epic struggle -
doctors risking their lives to smuggle
medical supplies, stories of people who
were literally watching their children
starve to death - coming back from that,
nothing seemed important."
The goal of this project is huge - "to end
starvation and medical deprivation as
weapons of war". The concept of
"swarming airlift", if it works, is one that
can potentially be used not only in Syria
but anywhere a transport aircraft - such as
the C-17 Jacobsen flies for the US Air
Force - would be at risk from anti-aircraft
fire.
Unlike a big expensive drone, these little
drones would be barely worth shooting
down - and if they were, they could be
quickly and cheaply replaced.
What Mark and his team eventually want
to achieve is a conveyer belt of drones,
taking off from Turkey, flying into Syria
under cover of darkness and parachuting
small boxes of aid at GPS co-ordinates
agreed with contacts on the ground.
Then they want the drones return and do
it all again. It's been called the Syrian
Airlift Project.
For this testing weekend Mark's small
house on the campus of Stanford
University - where he is taking time off
from the Air Force to study for a PhD in
political science - is covered in planes.
They're on the bookshelf, on the bed,
there's a glue gun on the floor, and here
and there a spare wing.
He wears a T-shirt with the project logo -
which, for neutrality, combines the flags of
the Syrian rebels and the Assad
government - and tells me that the test
drones about to be launched carry a 1kg
box of aid and can travel 60km. That's
30km into Syria, if launched from the
Turkish border, and 30km back.
"Just imagine an army of ants moving a
picnic lunch," says the project's website.
A larger drone is on the way. This will
hold 2kg and travel 100km - far enough to
make a round trip to Aleppo, which holds
special significance for one of the team.
Ali, a PhD engineering student, left the
city to study in the US before the war, not
knowing he wouldn't be able to return.
His father is still there, not far from
Aleppo, though he doesn't know exactly
where.
Ali avoided news coverage from Syria for
some time - he says he was in denial about
what was happening to his country. But
then he started reading and watching
reports from the country, and it hurt.
"Most of the time it comes at night and it's
really hard to sleep. I can't forget the faces
of the children. Kids picking dirt to eat, I
can't forget this."
In tears, he says he feels almost guilty
being so far away from the conflict - but
what they're doing in California does give
him hope.
"The team I'm working with, there isn't a
single word in English that can describe
my gratitude, and I can't thank them
enough for what we're doing," he says.
"They're dedicating all this time and effort
to help people and a country they've never
been to. It's amazing."
The tiny aircraft are made out of simple
materials - foam board, packing tape, and
hot glue. The idea is that they will be
assembled by Syrian refugees in Turkey,
and decorated by Syrian children.
Even including the autopilot, battery and
motor, each costs less than $500.
As they are relatively quiet, Jacobsen and
his team are betting that few will be shot
down if they fly at night.
They are aware, though, that there will be
huge concern about the possibility of the
drones falling into the wrong hands and
are working on features to disable them if
they're lost.
"Isis has been using quad copters to take
video. This type of technology has been
used in the Ukraine for reconnaissance.
This stuff has already been happening,"
says Jacobsen.
"The technology is already out there. It's
not going away.
"The bad guys have it. We want to give it
to the good guys."
After returning from his troubling
meeting with the Syrian refugees in
Turkey, Jacobsen and his collaborators set
about fundraising, and developing
software they have called Swarmify - a
mission planning tool for dozens or
hundreds of simultaneous flights.
The testing day at the Sacramento airfield
demonstrates, among other things, that
the drones can be launched quickly - the
idea is to launch 30 an hour - and can be
successfully tracked on a laptop. All land
safely, and one is kept flying until it
completes the full 60km.
In Arabic, Ali explains the mechanics of
the drones to two Iraqi boys who have fled
Syria - and who nine years earlier had fled
Iraq, the world's conflicts falling on their
doorstep twice in succession.
As the sun begins to go down, the team
tries out something they've all been
dreaming about.
They gather the children on the concrete
runway - Americans as well as Iraqis,
Syrians and Palestinians who've been
invited by the local refugee centre.
A drone launches and circles in the sky,
but this time it flies lower than the others.
A box drops, hanging from a parachute,
and showers the waiting children with
sweets. They hurry to grab a handful from
the floor and quickly open the sticky
wrappers.
The team are as happy as the kids. No-one
has ever been this emotional over some
Laffy Taffy. The empty box sits on the
floor. It's been decorated by the younger
refugees here, with the words: "Open for
food and meds". It represents what the
team wants to do in Syria.
"I can imagine the happiness on the faces
of the children," says Ali. "Dropping aid
from the sky and being able to have
medicine, or eat. It's just so, so beautiful."
Fingers are crossed that a bigger test will
be possible in Turkey this summer. If that
is successful the next challenge will be
scaling up - getting more funding and
making more drones. A four-man team of
refugees should be able to make 10 per
day, the team thinks.
But the biggest challenges may be legal.
Exporting drones from the US to a war
zone has to be done carefully, in
compliance with US law. Launching them
in Turkey, then flying them across an
international border and back again, also
raises delicate legal issues. The consent of
the Turkish government will be critical.
The team's law specialist has 12 folders,
each of which contains papers
documenting the progress made on the 12
core legal obstacles she has identified.
But as Jacobsen sees it, failure is not an
option - it hasn't been since his first
meeting with the Syrian refugees.
"This project has made me feel more alive
than any time in my life," he says,
"because I really think it matters…
"It's not just a few aeroplanes. This is a
movement."
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