The US Aid Freeze and Collective Grief

Grief is a big part of working in the aid sector. And I’m not just talking about the grief we feel over the suffering of those we are helping. If you have been working in the sector for many years – or maybe even not that long – you may also feel grief over the loss of how things used to be.

Ways that you used to work that you enjoyed. The values that were held so dearly. The positive contributions you made.

Perhaps at some point in your career, there has been a massive upheaval in your working environment which has meant you and others will never feel, or even be, the same.

The US Aid Freeze and its impact

Many are facing this point, right now. With the news of the Stop Work Order and aid freeze from the US administration, many thousands of people working on humanitarian and development programmes throughout the world are faced with uncertainty, possible job loss, office closures. And the distressing knowledge that many more thousands who were recipients of US aid are likely to suffer.

Maybe you are one of the staffers who is directly affected by this draconian measure. If you are, I am sending you all my love and support for this difficult time. This is a moment of huge turbulence and I can only begin to imagine the concern you and many others must be having over the consequencesof this action.

We still do not know the full consequences, or what the future holds. And yet, I see much analysis on social media about what this means for the sector. There is anger over what this represents in US policy, but also some satisfaction that this is the beginning of the end of American imperialism. There are beliefs that this marks a shift - if a rather brutal one - from overpaid western consultants and country managers to more locally led and more creatively funded aid programmes. There is hope that this is a pivotal moment on the disappointingly slow journey towards localisation and shifting power to the global south. (For some insightful analysis over all of these factors, read this helpful piece from Tobias Denskus.)

I have seen and felt this grief before

But amidst it all, there is grief. Is it possible to recognise that such feelings are valid? And, as I stated at the start of this post, it may not be first time to feel this grief. Many of us have been in aslow and often painful letting go process ever since we started our career in the sector.

For me, it came a number of times over the more than 15 years I have spent working directly on humanitarian and human rights programmes. I felt grief during the two occasions I was experiencing burnout – with the realisation I simply could not carry on with this work, and that I would need to (at least temporarily) step away from it.

And, although people wouldn’t admit it at the time, there was a collective grief over the many restructurings that occurred during my career. When staff who had worked for many years on specific programmes, hugely dedicated and passionate about their work, unceremoniously lost their jobs. When new country offices were established, and entire teams in head offices ‘disestablished’ (one of the many euphemisms that were used).

It continues to occur today – I have lost count of how many of my friends and colleagues have lost the jobs that they loved through restructuring.

The impact of unprocessed grief

Too often, no one is given the chance to express how they are feeling; instead, the sector’s emergency and urgency culture mean that people are pulled into quick decison-making and tough choices without the opportunity to acknowledge that what is happening is hurting them.

It is another example of where vulnerability is unwelcome, and emotions get pushed down and left to fester - often showing up later in the form of burnout and chronic illness. Many of the clients I have worked with are suffering from burnout not because of the work itself, but the way they are treated by their employers and by a working culture that doesn’t allow them to share their sorrows and struggles.

But some of this is good, isn’t it?

And of course we can argue, persuasively, that restructuring and job losses are the consequence of ending the colonial, white supremacist culture that has reigned within the sector for decades. For people like me, if we believe in decolonising and localising aid work (and that includes changing this very language I am using), then we have to accept that our work in the sector – at least in this form, as it has been for many years – will finish.

There is the rational part. But I would like to return to the emotional part of this reality. We are human beings, who love routines and structures we recognise and feel comfortable within. And we are also (many of us) motivated by a deep desire to help others – even if this desire is flawed and even if we, somewhat foolishly, make this our whole identity and raison d’etre.

I know this because I have been there, and it has taken me many years to let go of that identity and build a new one; one that is a bit more aware of my place in the world and my role in decolonial and anti-racist practice within aid work (and of course, I’m not ‘there’ yet – there is no end point on this journey).

You are allowed to grieve

So I say to all of you who are affected by the US aid freeze, or by any other measures being taken by governments, donors, managers that are leaving you feeling lost, anxious and alone: You are allowed to grieve. You are allowed to fear for yourself and your colleagues, and the populations you are supporting.

Maybe what has happened is ultimately a good thing, or a turning point that will eventually lead to more equitable, empowering outcomes for those who have historically been left out of the story of our sector. But for now, we can know for sure there are thousands of people – from many countries, ethnicities, classes and genders – who will be feeling hurt and upset by what is happening in this very moment. Let us honour that.

If you would like a place to share your feelings, in a spaceof non-judgement and mutual support, then come along to the Vulnerable Humanitarian Circle of Practice. We meet next week on 11th February 5.30pm UTC, and 12th February 1pm UTC. Pick which time suits you best, and I hope to see you there.