Yet one can only wonder at the anguish felt by an Iraqi prisoner of war whose son is forbidden from seeing his face. The image was published early on in the conflict - a child being held by his father whose head is covered by a hideous black hood. Both are in a PoW camp behind barbed wire. Presumably, the child can hear his father's voice, but is denied the intimacy of reading into his eyes, or sharing a smile. And one can only imagine what the child thinks, witnessing a symbol of authority, respect and love brought low before his very eyes. Why add to the humiliation of detention by forcing the detainee to wear a hood in the presence of his son? What hope can be conveyed in such circumstances? While the Geneva Conventions stipulate that near relatives should not be separated in PoW camps, surely the spirit of the conventions implies that the parent-child relationship should be accorded dignity and respect.

International covenants regarding the treatment of children at times of conflict seem to have been put aside during the current war on terrorism. Last week, many rejoiced when Saddam Hussein's sons Uday and Qusay, were killed by U.S. missiles fired into a villa where they were hiding. But another person in the house, believed to be Qusay's teenage son Mustafa, was shot to death by troops storming the house.

In 2003, The New York Times Magazine reported on the condition of juvenile detainees at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. These detainees include a 16-year old Canadian who is alleged to have killed a U.S. marine in Afghanistan with a grenade. Three child soldiers, between the ages of 13 and 15, are imprisoned in Camp Iguana; the adults are in Camp Delta. But the Canadian youth, along with his 17-year-old brother, have been detained in the adult camp, where, according to the Times report, conditions are harsher than solitary confinement. Notably, the Canadian government has not protested the treatment of this pair of Canadian citizens too loudly.

While all prisoners are reported to have access to health care, nutrition and full right to religious practice, the American administration has chosen not to designate these combatants as prisoners of war, thereby foregoing application of the Geneva Conventions.

Most troublesome is the condition of the juvenile "enemy combatants." The UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (the CRC) specifies that detained juveniles shall have the right to legal assistance and to a court's prompt decision on their detention.

Instead, the United States has decided to keep these child prisoners in limbo - indefinite imprisonment without access to a lawyer.

The 2001 UN Secretary-General's report, We the Children, highlighted the need to promote legislation and inclusion of child protection provisions in the statutes and rules of war crimes tribunals and courts. This recommendation was part of a larger list of implementations to assist young victims of war. War Child, a network of independent organizations working across the world to help children affected by war, has compiled mind-numbing statistics. In the last decade alone, 1.5 million children have died in wars, four million have been disabled and a further 10 million traumatized.

The poet William Wordsworth observed that the "child is the father to the man," implying that childhood experiences will shape attitudes of the adult. What does the future hold when we see a generation of traumatized children in so many parts of the world? In order to counteract fear and hate engendered by conflict, we must surely be guardians for children caught in the crossfire.

Ideally, this is the purpose of a covenant such as the CRC. When nations fail to exercise their responsibility, individuals can and must step in.

In this respect, one Canadian's initiative is worth noting. Twelve-year-old Iraqi Ali Abbas lost his entire family and both his arms in a U.S. missile attack in April. The photo of Ali, lying in a hospital bed with bandaged stumps is seared in the minds of many. Dr. Falath Hafuth, a father of three based in Cambridge, Ont., has decided to sponsor Ali and his guardian as refugees to Canada. Dr. Hafuth speaks daily to the boy who, not surprisingly, is angry with the Americans. Yet, Dr. Hafuth's vision is to nurture the child with the many benefits we sometimes take for granted: "My goal is just to educate him and have continuity of health care for him. I don't want that boy to grow up with hate. I want him to be an ambassador of peace."

Such powerful individual gestures are all the more urgent - for the sake of the world's children.