Refugees may cross national boundaries to seek safety, but IDPs are unable or choose not to do so.

Aid organizations often can’t help IDPs because of unsafe conditions. For these reasons and others you’ll read about in this post, Former UN Secretary General Kofi Annan has called IDPs, “among the most vulnerable of the human family.”

Read to the end of the post for information, photos, and a video about IDP communities Clowns Without Borders-USA has supported.

Who are Internally Displaced People (IDPs)?

Do you know someone displaced due to conflict or natural disaster?

The number of IDPs across the world has been increasing for some time, but in 2022, the population of this group jumped to the highest level ever.

By the end of 2022, people displaced from their homes worldwide reached 71.1 million, with 88% displaced because of conflict and violence. Disasters caused the displacement of the remaining 22%.

Note: Data in this post is from the Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre’s GRID 2023 Report unless otherwise noted.

Who are Internally Displaced People (IDPs)? by Maggie Cunha

Where are IDPs?

Internal displacement occurs worldwide.

At the end of 2022, sub-Saharan Africa accounted for 45% of the world’s total IDPs, with nearly 6 million in Democratic Republic of the Congo and 4.6 million in Ethiopia.

The Middle East and North Africa join sub-Saharan Africa as regions with the most IDPs in the world (18%). Syria had almost 7 million IDPs by the end of 2022 and Yemen had 4.5 million IDPs.

The war in Ukraine has caused the internal displacement of 5.9 million people.

IDPs and Urbanization

Most IDPs live outside formal camps, separating them from most humanitarian services. In urban areas, IDPs may have better access to education, housing, and healthcare services if discriminatory laws don’t block that path.

Another challenge IDPs may need to navigate? The people who already live in urban areas.

Urban residents may see an influx of IDPs as competition for housing or jobs. This can lead to harassment, discrimination, or violence.

FAQs: Frequently Asked Questions About IDPs

What does IDP stand for?

IDP = Internally Displaced Person. IDPs = Internally Displaced People.

What is an internally displaced person? Who are internally displaced persons?

A simple definition of IDP is from Wikipedia: “An internally displaced person (IDP) is someone who is forced to leave their home but who remains within their country’s borders.”

You may feel challenged to see internally displaced people (IDPs) as more than a distant, nameless group of people who you have nothing in common with.

But, at CWB, our supporters journey with us to where IDPs live, work, and play. We meet people, learn their names, and offer games — many, many games. Children and families connect through the magic of play and laughter.

And we share their stories.

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Are internally displaced persons (IDPs) refugees?

No, IDPs are not refugees.

To be considered a refugee, a person must cross their national border. If a family has the same experience as their neighbor but doesn’t leave the country, they will not have the chance to become a refugee. The neighbor that crosses the border has the chance to become a refugee.

Unlike refugees, internally displaced people, or IDPs, do not have a special status in international law. “Internally displaced person” is a descriptive term that does not come with rights or privileges.

What challenges do internally displaced persons (IDPs) face?

IDPs face many challenges:

• IDPs leave their home, and so leave behind a job, property, and livelihood
• IDPs are often out of reach of international aid organizations
• IDPs may not eat regular meals
• IDPs may get injured or lose loved ones to violence
• IDPs must rely on their government for support, which may not come
• There are more IDPs than refugees (over 2x), but receive less global attention
• International law does not protect IDPs from violence or persecution

What rights do internally displaced persons have?

Internally displaced people, or IDPs, have the right to the same freedoms and rights as everyone else in their country. However, a crisis may limit those rights, especially if the government responsible for protecting IDPs is also persecuting them.

Unlike refugees, IDPs lack protection under international law. The United Nations’ Guiding Principles on Internal Displacement sets out government responsibilities toward IDPs, but it’s not international law.

Below are documents for further reading.

• African Union Convention for the Protection and Assistance of Internally Displaced Persons in Africa (“Kampala Convention”), 22 October 2009
• International Standards Relating to Internal Displacement

You love to laugh — and you know how much laughter has helped you through difficult moments.

You can give the gift of laughter to a child in crisis every month with a donation of just $11 monthly.

What are the causes of internally displaced persons (IDPs)?

Conflict or violence forces 88% of IDPs to leave their homes, while natural disasters like storms, droughts, fires, or floods displace the remaining 22%.

What are the needs of internally displaced persons (IDPs)?

IDPs’ needs may include food, shelter, healthcare, education, and childcare. However, getting help to IDP communities may be difficult for aid organizations because of dangerous routes.

The good news? Informing yourself about your government’s policies toward international conflicts can help IDPs. This is especially true when your government knows that you care about IDPs enough to affect the way you vote and contribute to civic life in your home country.

What are the examples of IDPs?

Great question!

Clowns Without Borders has gone to many IDP communities.

In the last section of this post, you’ll learn about people from IDP communities we’ve supported (including tour photos, videos, and links to blog posts).

IDPs and Clowns Without Borders (CWB) – USA

Clowns Without Borders-USA has supported IDPs across the globe. For a larger sample of our work, check out our blog.

The Middle East

Iraqi Kurdistan is an autonomous region in northern Iraq where stateless Kurdish refugees and IDPs represent about 28% of the population. CWB toured the region twice in 2022 to establish a new partnership.

East Asia

There are currently 1.5 million IDPs in Myanmar. CWB toured here in 2018, performing a mine safety show for internally displaced children in partnership with Mines Advisory Group. This video is a taste of the project.

The Americas

Agricultural intrusions onto their lands constantly threaten Indigenous communities of Southern Brazil. CWB exchanged art with the Guarani people in 2019 and again in 2022.

Colombia is currently home to 4.8 million IDPs. Here, CWB toured 10 times since 2009, most recently connecting with youth who are at risk for gang recruitment.

In El Salvador and Guatemala, CWB laughed and played with IDP families who fled their homes because of violence or climate disasters.

“Thank you for bringing us laughter. The community needed it.

Thank you for being professional and different.”

– Ken, a grandfather from the audience Guatemala, 2022

Conclusion

You can help internally displaced people, or IDPs, by connecting with organizations that support them.

At CWB, we share the faces (often smiling and laughing) we meet on tour with our supporters. Because people connect with people, not statistics.

If you’d like to hear stories about displaced people regularly, join us by signing up for our weekly newsletter!

Introducing Luz Gaxiola

One of the most iconic photos of Luz is from a 2015 tour to Lesvos Greece. A young girl and the clowns are bouncing on a rubber life raft, transforming it into a trampoline. The girl’s face is partially covered by her hair, but her wide smile peeks through. Luz is holding her accordion, also grinning. The photo does not show that the girl, a Syrian refugee, was still damp from crossing the Mytilini Strait. The photo does not show the girl’s loss, fear, or the uncertainty of her future. The photo shows her resilience. The photo shows her laughter.

Here’s a chance to get to know Luz a little better.

Do you wear a nose when you perform?

I love wearing a clown nose. For people who are culturally familiar with clowning, they see the red nose and it is a signal:  That’s a clown, it’s time to play! 

But I don’t always wear a red nose, especially if I dont’ know much about the situation where I’m performing or if I know I’ll be up close and will need to make a soft approach. Not everyone is ready to get into wacky play immediately. Sometimes not having a red nose leads to more flexibility to start with a gentle connection.

What is your favorite clown prop?

My accordion

You can hear the accordion before you see the clown. It evokes a mood and a feeling. A musical instrument is the most efficient way to establish a world.

Traveling with the accordion: you’ve got to really want to do it. It’s heavy and it’s delicate. It is definitely hard and sometimes annoying to travel with, but the accordion’s sound is so full and it’s such a big presence that it’s worth it.

The other cool thing about the accordion is that can take you where you need to go. If you show up with an accordion, someone will say, “Hey you with the accordion, come over here.” It’s like an entrance ticket. 

What’s a favorite memory from working with CWB?

One night in Lesvos, I went on a walk to the beach. Our day of work was done, we had done three shows. I was just going to the beach by myself to play the accordion and relax. When I got there, rubber boats were landing. It was about sixty people arriving. This was it, their moment of landing. There were a ton of people, and it was a really quiet, delicate moment. I didn’t play the accordion. In that moment, it didn’t feel right. After everyone was safely off the liferafts and on the beach, people from a Norwegian NGO sprung into action getting people water to drink. I heard them talking making calls to set up bus transport to pick up everyone from the beach and take them to a refugee camp.

All of a sudden, there was a lot of people by the street, standing around and waiting for the bus. I thought, “this is the moment for the accordion.” So I walked up with the accordion and people flipped out. They demanded I play and we had a dance party on the street. A lot of the people there were from Afghanistan, and some asked me if I knew any Afghani music, which unfortunately I didn’t. So they showed me Afghani folk dances set to Mexican music, Italian tunes, and whatever else I played on the accordion. There was a great feeling of relief, they had just completed the most dangerous part of their journey and it was time to celebrate. They still had a long way to go but arriving safely in Greece was a major milestone. I stayed with them for about an hour until the buses picked up the last people waiting. I don’t have any pictures, there is no official Clowns Without Borders documentation, but I think about that night all the time. It started as a moment that wasn’t right for play, and then it became the perfect moment for play. 

There was a woman who stood next to me while I was played, dancing with me and egging me on. She was about my age, and we connected. It was like we were instant best friends. A few days later, I saw her at the Moria camp and we hugged tightly. I think of her often and wonder where she is now.

What are you currently working on?

I’m really excited about developing a collection of acts that are ready for any circumstances, any weather. I want to make some rain-ready shows. So that’s my project, offroad, all-weather clowning!

What’s something you learned from another CWB artist?

I learned a lot working with Sabine. Sometimes people think we are diminishing someone’s situation by being silly. Sabine really helped me to see firsthand that it’s actually the opposite. Choosing to be silly can be an amazingly empowering decision for people living in stressful circumstances. It is a form of defiance to choose to engage in play, and Sabine was so good at showing that. 

We zoomed, whooshed, zapped, bammed, and tra-la-lad our way through most activities.

I now say “ZOOM” more frequently and with much less delight.

Zoom is the place I am stuck while dreaming of the places I want to be.

I never expected Clowns Without Borders to have online programming. For me, the core of what we do is physical and in-person. Our shows transform spaces, inviting joy, community, and connection into places defined by pain, strife, and isolation.

Can we do the same with Zoom?

I’ve spent much of the past four months grieving. Each time I logged onto Zoom, even after Clowns Without Borders started online programming, I thought about what was missing. I planned to spend June in Lebanon and Palestine, participating in CWB’s partnerships with Clown Me In and Diyar Theatre. When Rami and I started talking about how we could continue our scheduled training for Palestinian clowns, we both lamented that it would be another year before we met in person. We did what so many producers are doing, and transitioned the program online.

I expected the workshops to be tinged with sadness. To my astonishment, they are full of delight.

Mondays are a time when ZOOM is a place of transformation.

On Mondays, Mike Funt and I join clowns from Lebanon and Palestine. Soon we will be joined by clowns from Jordan and Syria. Zoom might be the only room, in the whole world, where we can all gather.

Why? Here’s a gross oversimplification: Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Palestine and Syria border each other. Palestinians hold Palestinian Authority Passports, though Palestine is not recognized as a nation. Travel within, and between, all of these countries (territories) is restricted.

Lebanon prohibits entry from anyone with Israeli stamps in their passport. Israel classifies Lebanon as an enemy state and Lebanese passport holders may only enter Israel with a pre-arranged visa and special permission, which prohibits entry to Palestinian territories. The workshop could not happen in Israel, Palestine, or Lebanon.

Israel and Syria do not have diplomatic relations, making travel between the two countries almost impossible. The workshop could not happen in Syria.

Theoretically, the workshop could happen in Jordan, but only with an exceptional number of visas, and the participants putting themselves at personal risk. Palestinians’ travel is restricted within Israel. For a Palestinian Authority passport holder to get to Jordan, she needs both an exit visa from Israel and an entrance visa from Jordan.

I’m ashamed to admit that inviting other artistic partners didn’t occur to me until after the first two workshops with the Palestinian clowns. I was so focused on what I was missing—eye contact, standing in a circle, meeting Rami’s baby—that I didn’t think about the opportunity be truly without borders.

It hadn’t occurred to me that ZOOM has no checkpoints, no visas, no border crossings. Geopolitical boundaries are so ingrained into how I think.

We say we’re “Clowns Without Borders” but really, we’re clowns negotiating borders. COVID reminded me that the borders are also in our minds. It hadn’t occurred to me to have a training for Lebanese and Palestinian clowns in the same workshop. I had accepted that it wouldn’t be possible. I reinforced the border.

In its own way, the Zoom Room has become a place of play. It has also become a place of resistance. A place of resilience. And space for transformation.

As we drove to our final performance of the tour, I thought, “I’m tired.” I’d spent the break between shows packing and worrying about CWB’s end-of-year fundraising campaign. We were all quiet in the van, taking in our last views of Myitkyina, Myanmar.

Our show format includes a steady parade of volunteers joining us onstage. Anytime a child volunteer comes up, the audience gets more excited. I can feel a little bit of tension, feel the audience wonder, “Will these people make fun of the child?” That’s a fair concern. It’s our job to make sure the child feels supported and validated. It’s our job to make them the star of the show. We have to be worthy of their trust. We invite a chorus of kids onstage for the finale of each show in Myanmar. Together, we say and act out the “Safety Signs.” It’s the moment where the clowns turn the show over to the kids and the kids become the experts.

In our final audience in Myanmar, there’s a young boy with a disability that impacts his motor skills and speech. Throughout the show, he breaks away from the audience and into the circle, momentarily joining us onstage. Sometimes an adult leads him offstage, and sometimes he leaves on his own. There are whole scenes in which he provides the fourth counterpoint to our action. As I approach a section of the audience in search of my final volunteer, the crowd parts to reveal the little boy. He claps his hands and steps forward, but his caregiver holds him back. She’s protective: The earlier volunteers did challenging acts, like holding spinning plates, climbing on shoulders and making foam balls disappear. I make eye contact with her and she looks a little nervous. I feel a little nervous too. I can tell she doesn’t want to set him up for failure. “What if he can’t do it,” we both think.

I kneel down toward his eye level and hold out my hand for a high-five. The whole section of audience is watching the two of us. He eagerly taps my hands, giggling and grinning. We do it again, and the audience applauds.

I know that Leah, Andres, Hla Mo, and a whole crew of volunteers are carrying the show for the rest of the audience, but for me, it’s just about this kid. The section of audience where he had been standing is watching and laughing, acting out the “Safety Signs” along with us. When we take a bow with the rest of the volunteers, that little boy receives a huge cheer.

No Comedy Without Conflict?

One of the great joys of physical comedy is watching a fight unfold. Clowns are relatable because they wear their heart on their sleeve, much as a toddler might go from laughter, to shock, to tears, and back to laughter. What may start with one clown mistakenly taking the other’s suitcase can escalate into an all-out brawl.

Clowns Without Borders shows come together very quickly, so we rely on easily accessible, common vocabulary. As a performer, I love slapstick. It’s a nearly universal clown language, and I have so much fun getting carried away in the absurdity of a clown fight. But when clowning in conflict zones, some of the familiar slapstick tropes lose their charm. For communities experiencing acute or generational violence, a punch is not a punchline—it’s an exhausting reality.

Is It Safe?

I noticed this firsthand in Myanmar. CWB – USA toured in partnership with Mines Advisory Group, and part of the show contained safety messages about explosives. Our ideas for the show had to be approved, and also needed to uphold the educational messaging. We couldn’t add anything to the show that made mines look fun, or showed us playing with a mine. Nor could we add anything that made light of an explosion or injury.

This meant that a lot of our initial ideas were cut. One was to pretend the diavalo was a mine and play a comedic game of “hot potato.” Of course, this meant the clowns would have to touch “a mine,” which went directly against the safety message. Ditto for the idea of a ball rolling into an unsafe area, and the clowns using acrobatics to get it back. Finally, after a lot of trial and a lot of error, we found a story that worked: The clowns are arriving in a new place and learning about what’s safe for that area.

Is It Funny?

As we learned about the real-life consequences of living with land mine contamination, it felt considerably less fun to create violence or aggression in the show. In response, we shifted some of the slapstick moments. Instead of overt clown conflict, our conflict was accidental (mostly). This meant that when Andres took a bow, he would accidentally hit Leah and me. Instead of pulling Leah’s pants down, they would fall off “accidentally” as she jumped rope. We decided that it was more fun to be clumsy (very, very clumsy) than overtly violent.

The most violent part of the show was when Leah stole my newspaper. This results in a tug of war, but Leah gets so carried away that she continues the tugging action after I stop. To get her attention, I tap her with the rolled up newspaper, which sends her into a dramatic fall. This leads to “Dead or Alive,” a skit wherein one clown (Leah) pretends to be dead, and the other (me) goes into hysterics. Why is it funny to watch one clown grieve her friend’s death, especially for an audience who shares this experience? Maybe because the outcome (death) doesn’t match the action (a tap from a newspaper). Or maybe because we know all along that this is a joke on me. As I sob, over Leah’s “dead” body, she sits up and makes fun of me. It reminds the audience that this is all a game.

What Do We Want To Leave Behind?

Ultimately, each group of clowns works together with local partners to decide what is appropriate for the team and the audience. Sometimes, like this summer in Colombia, we have a specific request not to include violence. Other times, the team makes those decisions on its own. We always ask, “What archetypes are harmful to uphold?” and, “Is there a way to shift some of the norms around how violence might normally play out?”

So for Clowns Without Borders, “No comedy without conflict” isn’t always true. Rather, we say, “No comedy to promote or normalize violence.”

The Right to Play

Yes, the right to play. Just as everyone is entitled to freedom from slavery and torture, freedom of opinion, and the right to food, everyone is also entitled to the right to play. Article 24 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights is the Right to Play.

Clowns Without Borders – Sweden received feedback from a project partner that sums up the importance of play: “Before the clowns came, the children played war. Now they play clown.”

Universal Children’s Day

On November 20, 1959, the UN General Assembly adopted the Declaration of the Rights of the Child. Thirty years later, the UN adopted the Convention of the Rights of the Child. In addition to special protections for children, it’s the first international treaty that explicitly extends human rights to children.

Today, Universal Children’s Day 2018, we celebrate the children who had the idea for Clowns Without Borders. That’s right, the idea for CWB came from children! Children in a Balkan-region refugee camp wrote to children in Spain, “We’re okay. We have food. We have shelter. We have medicine. But what we miss is laughter.” Long story short, the kids in Spain found a clown (Tortell Poltrona) and suggested that he offer a free performance to their new friends. Voila, Clowns Without Borders was born.

Clowns Without Borders exists because Tortell trusted the wisdom and creativity of children. To this day, CWB seeks to emulate and reinforce that trust in each performance. When we train new artists, we emphasize an ethos of “lifting up the child” (often literally!). This means that it’s the child, not the clown, who’s the star of the show. It’s the child, not the clown, who sets the pace and discovers many of the punchlines.

Lift The Child

Lift the child up—you can see this in pictures of kids on shoulders, kids on buckets, kids on stage. Some of our best performance moments, spontaneous and planned, happen when we invite our young audience members onstage and let them have the spotlight.

For children, play is education. Join us as we promote this right.