Ten ways to build a new narrative for humanitarianism

The humanitarian system has not traditionally been known for talking about narrative. This was not because it operated without a narrative, but because the narrative it operated within was so pervasive that it was not even recognised as a narrative.

When a humanitarian crisis hit, the humanitarian system would “kick in”. Those working within it “knew the drill” about “mounting a response”. The story of “how” was log frames, the story of “why” was “they need our help”. A person questioning narrative risked looking like an indulgent dilettante amongst Action Men (yes, men), or being labelled an ideologue in a system that imagined itself as politics-free. But then the crisis response system suffered a crisis of its own.

Narrative has now been taken out from invisibility and is being widely discussed. This is a welcome shift. But in the power centres of the system, the re-evaluation of humanitarian narrative has not yet gone deep enough.

It is now broadly conceded by major institutions that there are humanitarian stories or framings that are harmful. But such concessions tend to limit the conversation to apologies for insensitivity or to accepting the need to give humanitarian communications a modern makeover. The recognition that there is certain language that needs to shift is important, but the nature and impact of narratives go far beyond that.

Narratives are not merely the words people choose to use. They are the stories that frame how societies understand the world. Built up over years, dominant narratives shape perception so profoundly that they feel to many people to be just common sense, just “how things are”. They are the lenses through which people see. This, in turn, makes them hard to disrupt and displace.

For example, the false image of a world divided between zones of competence and zones of crises is so ingrained that it is already in many people’s minds before anything is said, and whatever is said will be processed through that filter.

Similarly, the impact of the misdescribing of humanitarianism has been the undermining of humanitarianism’s potential. Humanitarian traditions have existed all over the world for eons: Neighbours and communities have always worked together to help overcome adversity. However, these traditions are unacknowledged in how many understand humanitarian action despite the fact that they encompass ethical approaches that the Western model that has been exported around the world could learn from. 

Building a new narrative for humanitarianism will not be easy because such a large swathe of the public, the media, governments, international institutions and humanitarians have been observing the world from inside the old dominant narrative. This is a “we problem”, not a “they problem”. 

There is an old joke about a conversation between two fish in which one of them asks the other, “What do you think of this water?”, and the other one replies, “What water?” How can we make visible that water that we have all been swimming in? How can we challenge assumptions so influential that they are not even recognised as assumptions? How can we escape algorithms we cannot see?

Why it’s time to change the frame

Narratives are hugely consequential. As the Global Cooperation Institute recent report, Public Good: Building a Winning Narrative to Bring the World Together, demonstrates, narratives shape the policies which shape the world. The stories which dominate determine the systems that follow.

Humanitarianism’s narrative challenge is not about politeness, modernity, word-play or spin. It is about creating a more accurate understanding of crisis contexts and driving more effective and ethical responses. 

When the frame is fundraising, then progress on policy is undermined – even when the evidence is clear that policy is more important than the funds that particular organisations raise.

When the frame is immediacy, the building of systems is undermined – so the next time people are more vulnerable.

When the frame ignores that crisis response is a public good and a function of government, then state capability and accountability is undermined.

All of these put people in danger. They undermine humanitarianism’s purpose.

Recently, we’ve seen how the frame of one group rescuing another did not only alienate people in the Global South, it alienated people in the Global North who have become resentful, especially at a time of economic stress, at this imagined role that they are the rescuers. In this way, the rescue narrative sowed the seeds of its own destruction.

In short, the reason we have to get narrative right is not because we need to “mind our language”, but because a system of effective crisis response is vital, and bad narratives undermine that. 

The Humanitarian Policy Group recently brought the two authors of this piece together on a panel at ODI Global in London on Humanitarian aid at a crossroads: making the case for global solidarity. We were privileged to be alongside Southeast Asian Women Peace Mediators’ Adelina Kamal and Islamic Relief Worldwide’s Shahin Ashraf, and to have thought-provoking questions and challenges from an audience of experienced, insightful humanitarians from across the world.   

Reflecting and building on that conversation and others, we propose that now is the time for a determined and coordinated effort to disrupt the dominant narrative of humanitarianism, and build a better narrative together, rooted in equality. 

We suggest 10 ways to challenge existing assumptions and foster a new story for humanitarianism’s future: 

1. Convey and embody empathy, not pity, as the response to all suffering and all situations of crisis. Especially in an era when an exclusionary politics is rising that demeans others as lesser, as a threat, even as “human animals”, it is vitally important to counter that by honouring the fullness of people’s humanity.
2. Emphasise that the measure that matters most in crisis response is how safe people around the world will be whatever crisis comes. Centre the people affected, not the humanitarian responders. Humanitarian effectiveness cannot be defined by how much money an organisation raises, or how brightly an institution’s star shines.
3. Remind people that crises can happen to any of us. It’s not about “people over there”, it’s about all of us everywhere. “Disaster-affected” refers not to a category of people but to a category of situation. When people can visualise “that could have been me, and it’s possible someday it will be me”, their image of what kind of system is sufficient also shifts.
4. Convey that we are interdependent. As is taught by Ubuntu, “I am because you are”. As public health illustrates, “I am because you are” is not just theology, it’s biology – if a communicable disease is not overcome in one place, it comes to another. In tackling crises our interests are mutual. So when leaders consider whether to agree to waive patents on medical technology for countries hit by a pandemic, or to pause debt interest payments from countries responding to a natural disaster, or to pool resources to ensure effective multilateral responses, it should be emphasised that the right thing to do is also the smart thing to do. Effective humanitarian responses are in all of our interests.
5. Emphasise that most important crisis response is always local. A 2019 report by ODI found that international humanitarian assistance – even to the most high-profile crisis contexts – comprises less than 2% of resource flows to the impacted communities. Outside help matters, of course, and it would be wrong, unwise, and dangerous to get rid of it. However, it is secondary and complementary; overstating its significance is not only misleading, but also drives bad practice, and alienates people in the Global South and North. Break the myth of saviour organisations. International humanitarians are sidekicks.
6. Ensure that it is never forgotten that crisis response is a public good. When a person’s house is on fire in London or Paris or New York, the response is not an act of charity, it is because it is understood that they have the right to support in a crisis, and because it prevents the house next door from burning. And the fire brigade comes – the state, not an NGO or a volunteer group. And if bad policy had created that fire risk, then people push for better policy to be brought in. The humanitarian approach to addressing floods and typhoons in the Global South should not be a world apart from that. Of course, states are problematic, but the claim made on the state cannot be reduced to “leave us alone”. Enabling state capacity and accountability is core to effective crisis response.
7. Don’t underestimate people’s ability to process a complex reality. Too often, humanitarian narratives have started from a patronising rock-bottom assessment of the capacity of the public to understand. Instead, treat your audience with respect. Tell the fuller story. Many of us have had conversations with our kids about climate activism: They get – and they explain to our generation – that economic policy drives risk. So too, in response to Gaza, we saw huge mobilisations in many Western countries where citizens demanded an end to their government’s complicity in Israel’s genocide. Western publics understood absolutely that people in Gaza weren’t just starving, they were being starved. As Desmond Tutu remarked, the point is not only to dive into rivers in which people are drowning but to go upstream and help stop those pushing them in.
8. Broaden the conversation from a single humanitarianism rooted in one origin story to telling of the roots found in a range of humanitarianisms, across cultures and geographies, each with something from which others can learn. For example, the principle expressed in Bahasa Indonesia as “gotong royong" – “shoulder the load together” – conveys the importance of horizontal relationships in which we all help each other, that the way to overcome the hardest challenges is through cooperation, never alone.
9. Embrace the risk of this more human humanitarianism. It is not certain to work. But trying to cling on to global humanitarianism’s imploding status quo is certain not to work. Indeed, the status quo has already stopped working, cannot be saved, and the weakness of its foundations meant it was always going to fall. The chance of success beats the certainty of failure. Active hope in what can be built is both justified and essential.
10. Remember that the purpose of building a new narrative is not about rebranding. It’s about remaking something better, together.  

 We offer this list not as a finished answer (indeed, the new narrative needs to go beyond finished answers), but to help prompt debate. We’re keen to hear from readers: What do you think that a new narrative for humanitarianism needs to be formed from, and how can it be built?