It’s been a long time since our last post. So long, we considered closing our proverbial doors—with a big thanks to all of you for sharing your words, and reading and sharing the words of others.
It was at that very moment that a post first sent in February re-surfaced, after a deep-dive to the hidden corners of gmail, where it lay dormant for 9 months. The author is still eager to share it and the piece (unfortunately, given the subject) is still relevant. Online next week.
Next, a fierce woman street artist reached out to offer her artistic services to design a logo + some merchandise for Missing in the Mission. In time for the holidays, with the idea of raising money for a cause of our choice. Stay tuned.
And an experienced aid worker, on her way back from responding to the Rohingya crisis in Bangladesh, asked if she could share Continue reading
Exhale. We made it. We’re in 2017. The churning jowls of last year didn’t devour all of us, even if they ground our souls to gristle.
Why did 2016 feel so existentially threatening? For those of us involved in international affairs, especially humanitarianism, the broad political trends were hard not to take personally. Brexit was a stunning reminder—a wake-up call?—that growing global cooperation is by no means a given; many components of the Leave Campaign demonstrated the power of xenophobic falsehoods, fear-fueled hatreds that then reared their ugly heads time and time again throughout the Republican campaign for the American presidency. As these efforts and others, like the “no” vote for Colombian peace, drew to their nasty, lamentable ends, we became increasingly distrustful of those around us: are my neighbors closet xenophobes? Are my friends secretly racist? What do my family members really think? The gap between public polls and private voting booths left us wondering if civility had crumbled behind closed doors. The loss of trust was one of 2016’s greatest casualties.
As humanitarian aid and international development workers, we were right to take far-right political campaigns personally: they targeted our livelihoods, which reflect core sets Continue reading
Writing is a matter of life and death. I sincerely believe that. If you do not, consider what it meant for a person’s name to be written—or not—on Schindler’s list. If writing were not so grave, governments would not target journalists with such chilling zeal. Words are power, and we face a moral obligation to harness them with as much heart and conscience as we can.
As crucial as I know the act of writing to be—a godsend for humanitarians and, we hope, a salve for readers—I marvel and sometimes despair at how much we are writing about so little. My natural inclination should be to support the proliferation of the written word. But when The Guardian published a “call to arms” last month, calling for an end to the “report writing madness,” I raised the pitchfork. We are writing into the void. When I Continue reading