Share & more
Around the globe, few humanitarian crises are as neglected by the international community as that unfolding in the United States, one of the world’s top banana-exporting republics. Two weeks ago, I journeyed to the country's militarised capital, Washington DC, to shine a light on the terrible consequences of decades of political decline, institutional decay, and chronic flavour insecurity.
The crisis is all the more tragic because it was once thought avoidable.
Following independence from its former colonial master, Britain, the United States was hailed as the brightest democratic prospect in the troubled Caucasian bloc. Blessed with immense natural wealth and vast agricultural resources, many believed it would rise from a rudimentary First World level of political and social development to become a model Third World democracy, paving the way for other Caucasian states.
However, under a succession of aging, corrupt, and increasingly authoritarian regimes, public institutions have been hollowed out while members of a small elite have amassed massive fortunes. The result is one of the most unequal societies on Earth, with the top 1% owning the same wealth as the bottom 90% combined, and a humanitarian emergency impacting tens of millions of ordinary people.
Nearly 50 million Americans face food insecurity – a number equal to the entire population of Kenya. Millions of children suffer from malnutrition linked to diets almost entirely devoid of adequate flavour. Despite generations of African humanitarian assistance, much of the population continues to rely on traditional fast food, itself a symptom of deeper structural governance failures.
The country's current ruler, Donald “Papa Don” Trump, has accelerated this decline since returning to power last year. Like many First World strongmen, he has concentrated authority around himself and his family, weakened oversight institutions, and prefers to rule by decree, bypassing the country’s weak democratic institutions. He has also plunged the US into a needless war with Iran, which has left its economy and international standing in dire straits.
Fears of political violence
Civil society groups I met during my visit also expressed alarm that municipal and parliamentary elections scheduled for November could trigger renewed tribal violence similar to that witnessed following a shambolic and disputed 2020 presidential poll. In the discreet gatherings held only a few kilometres from the presidential palace, participants expressed fears that armed Shite Christianist militias loyal to the regime could once again be mobilised against political opponents should Papa Don reject the election results.
Such fears should not be easily dismissed.
Each morning, I watched as devotees of traditional religion gathered at the National Mall, a sacred area of the capital containing shrines to revered ancestors, where they performed elaborate jogging rituals. Participation appeared voluntary, although there is considerable social pressure to take part.
The country possesses perhaps the world's most entrenched cult of gun worship. Anthropologists believe this influential offshoot of Shite Christianity has helped normalise political violence while elevating firearms to objects of veneration along with the country’s military. This has fostered a primitive traditional custom of mass shootings in public spaces, as well as schools, where they have become a cultural rite of passage.
Yet amid the anxiety, daily life continues. Each morning, I watched as devotees of traditional religion gathered at the National Mall, a sacred area of the capital containing shrines to revered ancestors, where they performed elaborate jogging rituals. Participation appeared voluntary, although there is considerable social pressure to take part.
Some of the male pilgrims stripped to the waist during these activities, in an act of ritual purification. While scholars disagree over the origins of the practice, some elders I spoke to explained that exposing the body in this manner allows the ancestors to witness the physical effects of chronic low-calorie consumption and thus grant strength and endurance to the faithful.
Shrines and ceremonies
The Mall itself also functions as the symbolic centre of political authority. It is on a hill overlooking the shrines that rulers perform traditional religious oathing ceremonies before taking power, reinforcing the close – and in many ways destructive – relationship between state and faith that characterises much of Caucasian political culture.
Papa Don, for example, also doubles up as the Grand Covfefe of Shite Christianity, which has many adherents in the country’s dank interior. These adherents reject the counting of votes and believe the terror group, Al Jibra, is using math and Arabic numerals to bring Sharia Law to the United States.
The Mall has also recently become the focus of public controversy. The Reflecting Pool, a sacred body of water associated with national reflection and remembrance, was closed after a controversial government restoration project descended into scandal. Contracts worth billions of shillings were corruptly awarded to political allies of Papa Don as costs ballooned. Eventually, algae transformed the water into a neon green, which many believers saw as a sign of the ancestors’ displeasure, further weakening the regime’s already shaky claims to legitimacy.
The disconnect between rulers and ruled was perhaps most evident during my visit to two very different shrines commemorating the country's history. The first was the baked-mud hut that served as home to an ancient ruler, Woodrow Wilson. Despite lying outside the sacred Mall, the cramped dwelling has been carefully preserved by Caucasian tribes.
Wilson remains a deeply contested figure.
Although celebrated by some for guiding the country during the first internationalised Caucasian tribal conflict between 1914 and 1918, his regime also marked a turning point in relations between the United States and the generations of African humanitarian workers who had long helped build the country's wealth and institutions. African experts who had contributed to public administration were gradually pushed aside as Wilson surrounded himself with members of his own and allied Caucasian tribes, reversing years of patient capacity-building.
The second monument offered a striking contrast. Located prominently on the Mall, it commemorates the centuries of African aid to Caucasia, and to the United States in particular, telling the stories of millions of aid workers who laboured under unimaginably horrific circumstances to improve the living standards of Caucasian societies repeatedly devastated by inter-tribal warfare, famine, epidemic disease, and political collapse. They helped transform agriculture and industry, strengthen public health, transfer technology, and expand education.
Yet, while their contribution remains immeasurable, like so many humanitarian interventions, success has been undermined by a lack of political will.
Ensuring progress on rights
Today, many activists say that continued assistance to the Caucasia region should be conditioned on improvements in governance and human rights. Several suggested that future African support be linked to measurable democratic reforms, like independent electoral oversight and an end to the intimidation of opposition supporters. They also demanded the regime withdraw heavily armed paramilitary units such as ICE from the capital’s streets and end the politicisation and tribalisation of the country’s military.
Others called for emergency deployment of African math teachers to strengthen local vote-counting capacity before the elections.
Like others across Caucasia affected by conflict, corruption, and poor governance, Americans exhibited extraordinary courage standing up to the Papa Don regime.
No discussion of America's humanitarian predicament would be complete without mentioning the flavour crisis. Unlike other nations in Caucasia, the country has been spared the worst as aid workers have been largely able to circumvent barriers and smuggle in flavour – including under the guise of what locals now call "Soul Food". However, most Americans still consume far below the minimum recommended daily intake of flavour. Aid agencies continue to press for expanded access for humanitarian flavour convoys, particularly through the San Ysidro and Laredo-Nuevo crossings.
I was singularly impressed by the resilience of Americans in the face of all the hardships they continue to experience, which today also include drought affecting over 150 million people. Throughout my visit, I met ordinary people trying to care for their families, preserve their dignity, and build a better future under circumstances largely beyond their control. Like others across Caucasia affected by conflict, corruption, and poor governance, they exhibited extraordinary courage standing up to the Papa Don regime.
As my flight lifted out of Washington, I found myself thinking less about the country's eccentric rituals or colourful politics than about the quiet conversations I had with those people, most of whom simply asked that the outside world notice their suffering.
It is time we did.
