Fuzzy Brown Line

We all need something. But what exactly is it that we need? Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is one way of setting out the simple things that an individual human (or bear) requires – at a most basic level these are the elements needed for survival: food, water, shelter. As we climb the pyramid our other more high-level needs appear – our hunger for love and affection, for self-fulfilment and purpose, for knowledge perhaps. And so too on a societal level there are the basics, the less immediate needs and the nice-to-haves. Beyond societies we can look at the world, and see areas of huge and immediate need: a war-zone perhaps, or a country undergoing major food shortages or struggling in the wake of a natural disaster. There are scales of suffering and levels of need.

When we look beyond our own needs in this moment, we can see that all needs are relative. To put it another way, we can always find people worse off than ourselves. We may feel we have little income, but there are people out there who have no money at all. We might feel that we don’t have much to eat, but there are people who are starving. Our opportunities might seem limited, but there are some for whom the idea of opportunity beyond immediate survival is unthinkable. Whatever our situation, we can usefully remind ourselves that we are at least living and breathing in the here and now. That in itself is a major advantage and indeed an opportunity not to be missed!

Linked to this idea of our needs being hierarchical, and so too the needs of a country or society as a whole, how can we best divide and share what resources might be available? For instance, in the case of humanitarian aid work, where might we best invest and place our money so as to help the largest number of people? Should we focus on the highest need individuals who may have very specific needs, or simply try and reach as many people as possible, even if it’s only in a little way? As individuals, are we better off strapping on our boots and helmets and entering the war zone warts and all, or is it more effective to work from afar? Where should the money go – directly to those who need it, or into the pool of a large organisation or outfit for them to distribute? Who should have the final say as to how or where that money is spent? Does it matter who leads the effort to rebuild a country?

These questions largely did not enter my thinking until I visited Ukraine towards the end of last year. Prior to that, foreign aid was just something which I knew happened and the logistics of it did not really cross my mind at all. In Ukraine I met some people who were taking huge – and at least as far as I could tell – largely unpredictable risks, in order to drive aid into the “hot” zones close to the frontlines. The modus operandi amongst the international aid distributors is largely van, truck or even car-based delivery of goods. This requires purchasing or gathering the supplies, and then driving them off to areas of high need. I admire the courage required to repeatedly dash into these places in a small van loaded with groceries or other items, and then dish them out to the no doubt grateful recipients of towns and villages under siege, before dashing back to re-load.

Ukraine is a large country, populated by many proud Ukrainians. Even surveying a small corner of the devastation makes one realise that the level of need multiplied across the country, particularly in the worst-affected areas, must be immense. I wondered about the delivery van idea in the face of all this. It had its benefits in being small, flexible and potentially quick to respond. Its smallness was also an obvious downside, given the scale of the need. Along with the fact that for many of us foreigners, there were the additional hurdles of largely not speaking the language, not knowing the lay of the land, the existing logistics networks or the exact nature of a war zone.

There were also wider questions in my mind around who should do what. Just seeing a foreign volunteer is a bright ray of hope and sunshine for some people in the worst-affected areas. Simply the thought that there are people out there who care about their plight, not just politicians or celebrities but ordinary folks dashing around in cars and vans, can be a valuable form of moral support. At the same time, I wondered if this idea of foreigners taking up roles as volunteer van-drivers could undermine the potential for locals to do the same for themselves, and so help their country on their own terms. It could be more difficult for a Ukrainian to do the same, for the simple reason that the access to funds might not be there. But looking at it in terms of empowerment, of doing the stuff that needs doing rather than being a passive recipient of foreign aid, I wondered if that was perhaps a role better suited to locals than foreigners.

By the end of my time in Ukraine, I wondered if the real value of foreign visitors to a country at war lies largely in a moral support and liaison capacity, rather than actually doing the more hands-on stuff on the ground. And so, as someone wanting to help, I might just be more useful in a distantly remote fundraising role so that the money is there for the locals to do for themselves what needs doing. As with anything, it will be important to have mechanisms in place to ensure that funds are well-spent, reach those who need it most, and are distributed equitably. Long may the locals prevail at relief and rebuilding, wherever that might be! The best I can hope to do is support.