Crisis Caravan

Crisis Caravan Plot Summary

Introduction

Humanitarian aid has become a vast, complex industry operating within the most challenging contexts of global crises. Yet beneath the noble intentions and compassionate rhetoric lies a troubling paradox: the same assistance meant to alleviate suffering may inadvertently fuel conflict, strengthen oppressive regimes, and prolong war. This fundamental tension between doing good and potentially causing harm represents one of the most significant ethical dilemmas in international relations. The crisis caravan—hundreds of aid organizations that move from one humanitarian hotspot to another—operates according to principles of neutrality, impartiality, and independence. However, these principles, first established by Henri Dunant in the 19th century, face unprecedented challenges in modern conflict zones where warring parties strategically manipulate aid for military and political advantage. By examining concrete cases from Rwanda to Afghanistan, Sudan to Sierra Leone, we confront uncomfortable questions about responsibility, complicity, and the limits of humanitarian action in a world where good intentions are weaponized by those who control access to suffering populations.

Chapter 1: The Unintended Consequences of Good Intentions

When humanitarian organizations rushed to Goma in 1994 following the Rwandan genocide, they believed they were responding to a straightforward humanitarian crisis. Hundreds of thousands of refugees had fled Rwanda into neighboring Zaire (now Democratic Republic of Congo), and cholera was decimating the population. In response, over 250 international non-governmental organizations (INGOs) descended upon Goma, creating what many called the largest humanitarian operation in history at that time. What these organizations failed to acknowledge, however, was that among the refugees were the very perpetrators of the genocide—Hutu extremists who had slaughtered nearly 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus. These génocidaires, including the entire Rwandan army and government-in-exile, were using the refugee camps as bases to regroup, rearm, and continue their campaign of extermination. The humanitarian aid flowing into the camps—worth approximately $1 million per day—directly supported this military strategy. The Hutu extremist leaders controlled the distribution of aid within the camps, diverted supplies, imposed "war taxes" on assistance, and used the protected humanitarian space to maintain military discipline and political control. They prevented refugees from returning to Rwanda through intimidation and murder. Despite evidence of this manipulation, most aid organizations continued their operations, arguing that neutrality and the imperative to save lives overrode political considerations. This collective failure to address the ethical implications of aid in Goma represents what one Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) worker called a "total ethical disaster." MSF France eventually withdrew from Goma, declaring that "far from contributing to a solution, aid only perpetuates the situation." However, most organizations remained, caught in what one aid worker described as "contract fever"—the pressure to secure and maintain donor funding regardless of the broader consequences of their assistance. The Goma experience illuminates a fundamental dilemma: when humanitarian principles of neutrality and impartiality serve as justification for avoiding responsibility for the consequences of aid. The humanitarian community largely treated this catastrophic misuse of aid as an anomaly rather than confronting the systemic issues it revealed about modern humanitarian action in complex emergencies.

Chapter 2: The Market Logic of Humanitarian Aid Organizations

Humanitarian aid has evolved from a marginal activity into a multi-billion-dollar industry dominated by market forces that shape organizational behavior in profound ways. Far from being a coordinated effort by like-minded actors, the humanitarian sector operates as a competitive marketplace where organizations vie for visibility, funding, and operational territory. This competition fundamentally affects how aid is delivered and to whom. The primary driver of this competition is the contract system. Aid organizations depend on short-term contracts from donor governments and institutions to survive. Start-up costs in crisis zones are enormous: organizations must hire staff, rent facilities, purchase equipment, and establish operations. To recoup these investments, they need to secure additional contracts in the same location. This creates powerful incentives to maintain presence regardless of effectiveness or ethical concerns. As one aid worker candidly admitted, humanitarian organizations worry less about how local populations will survive when contracts end than about how they themselves will survive. Media coverage plays a crucial role in this competitive environment. Aid organizations devote significant resources to "press and publicity" departments because media attention drives donor interest. They compete to position themselves at the center of humanitarian narratives, often through carefully crafted stories that highlight their indispensability while downplaying complexities. Sensationalism has become normalized; aid workers acknowledge exaggerating crises to attract funding. As Marcel Vos of MSF Holland admitted regarding inflated victim numbers in Goma: "That arose from the feeling: here's a disaster so great that you can't tackle it on your own as an aid organization." This market logic creates perverse incentives that can undermine humanitarian objectives. When one organization attempts to take an ethical stand—as MSF France did by leaving Goma—competitors simply step in to fill the vacuum. When one organization tries to impose conditions on aid to prevent diversion, others offer unconditional assistance to secure contracts. The result is a race to the bottom where ethical considerations become secondary to institutional survival. The competitive dynamics extend beyond funding to the operational level. In crisis zones, aid organizations engage in visible displays of presence—flying flags, distributing branded items, and placing logos on everything from water pumps to medical supplies. This "branding competition" serves no humanitarian purpose but consumes resources that could otherwise benefit recipients. Aid agencies also compete for qualified local staff, often drawing talent away from local institutions and inflating salaries beyond what communities can sustain. This market-driven approach fundamentally contradicts the humanitarian ideal of principled, needs-based assistance. Instead, aid flows where donors direct it, which is rarely aligned with the areas of greatest need but rather with geopolitical interests, media attention, and fundraising potential.

Chapter 3: DIY Aid: The Rise and Problems of Amateur Humanitarianism

The traditional humanitarian sector's perceived failures have spawned a countermovement of do-it-yourself aid initiatives. These "My Own NGOs" (MONGOs) represent well-intentioned individuals and small groups who believe they can deliver assistance more effectively, efficiently, and compassionately than professional aid organizations. Unlike established organizations with trained staff and institutional knowledge, MONGOs operate with minimal oversight, limited experience, and often dangerous levels of naivety. The phenomenon has exploded with the rise of social media and global connectivity. After the 2004 tsunami, a Google search for "tsunami" and "donation" yielded over 60,000 MONGO websites, most representing newly formed organizations. In the United States alone, the Internal Revenue Service grants tax exemption to an average of 83 new charities daily. This proliferation creates a humanitarian free-for-all where anyone with compassionate impulses can enter crisis zones regardless of qualifications or understanding of complex emergencies. MONGOs frequently cause harm despite their good intentions. The case of Feed My Lambs International in Sierra Leone exemplifies this problem. Its founder, Lonny Houk, assembled a team of volunteers with minimal medical training to perform surgeries on war amputees. Without proper facilities, supplies, or follow-up care, they conducted operations that left patients worse off. When complications arose, the team had already returned to Kansas, leaving local aid organizations to manage the aftermath. As Reverend Santiagu Kanu of World Hope International, who had to repeat some of the botched operations, described it: "Extreme recklessness." These amateur interventions create chaos in already fragile environments. MONGOs routinely ship inappropriate donations that clog supply chains and waste resources. After the tsunami, aid workers spent valuable time sorting through winter coats, expired medications, stiletto-heeled shoes, and Viagra tablets. During the Kosovo crisis, some 50% of medications donated were unusable—expired, unlabeled, or inappropriate for local conditions—yet required significant resources to sort and dispose of safely. Perhaps most troubling is the exploitation of vulnerable populations, particularly children. Multiple cases in Sierra Leone, Liberia, and elsewhere reveal MONGOs removing children from their communities under the guise of medical treatment or education. These children become fundraising tools in Western countries, paraded at events and media appearances. When Sam Simpson, another MONGO founder, was asked why he took Sierra Leonean amputee children to America, he replied bluntly: "Africa must be helped, and my girls are instrumental in that. A lot of fat lazy Americans are jolted awake when they see my girls' poor little arms." Traditional aid organizations have largely failed to address this phenomenon, instead often partnering with MONGOs to demonstrate grassroots engagement. Major donors increasingly channel funding through these amateur groups despite their lack of accountability or demonstrated effectiveness. This tacit endorsement reflects a disturbing trend: the prioritization of Western emotional satisfaction over evidence-based, ethical assistance to crisis-affected populations. The MONGO phenomenon represents a fundamental challenge to humanitarian professionalism. While Henri Dunant recognized in 1859 that "isolated enthusiasts" with "dispersed efforts" were inadequate to address suffering effectively, the humanitarian community has retreated from this principle, embracing or at least tolerating amateurism in the name of inclusivity and compassion.

Chapter 4: Aid as a Weapon: How Relief Serves Military Agendas

Humanitarian assistance does not operate in a political vacuum but exists within the strategic calculations of warring parties who view aid as a resource to be captured, taxed, or manipulated. The notion that aid can remain neutral while passing through conflict zones represents a dangerous fiction that humanitarian organizations persistently maintain despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Access to war zones invariably requires negotiation with armed actors who demand compensation for allowing aid to reach populations under their control. These payments take various forms: direct payments, taxes, import duties, inflated rents, hiring requirements, or diversion of aid supplies. In Liberia, then-president Charles Taylor demanded 15% of all aid value in cash. In Somalia, warlords extracted up to 80% of aid value. A 2006 UN report stated that Taliban fighters in Afghanistan received approximately one-third of all food aid and agricultural support. These diversions directly finance military operations and strengthen the position of armed groups. Exchange rates present another mechanism for extracting value from humanitarian operations. Aid organizations must convert foreign currency at rates determined by local authorities, providing windfall profits to regimes. During Saddam Hussein's rule, UN humanitarian departments were required to use official exchange rates, enabling his government to earn an estimated $250 million in 1992 alone from this single mechanism. In countries where humanitarian aid represents a significant portion of the economy, these currency manipulations constitute major revenue streams. The infrastructure of humanitarian assistance creates lucrative opportunities for war profiteers. In Kabul, property owners—often Taliban or Northern Alliance commanders—charged humanitarian organizations up to $5,000 monthly for basic accommodations. These inflated rents directly financed militias. Similarly, transportation, security services, and basic supplies are controlled by conflict actors who extract profits from every humanitarian transaction. A Médecins Sans Frontières study in Darfur and Chad calculated that 2.84% and 4.47% of their respective budgets were lost to looting or extortion. When multiplied across hundreds of organizations operating in these regions, these percentages represent significant financial transfers to armed groups. Beyond financial benefits, aid supplies themselves have direct military utility. Vehicles, communications equipment, fuel, and transport capacity seized from humanitarian operations enhance military capabilities. Food aid sustains combatants, allowing armed groups to direct resources elsewhere. As one American officer observed after Somalia: "We came, we fed them, they got strong, they kicked our asses." Even seemingly innocuous items like plastic sheeting become valuable military assets for shelter or camouflage. Humanitarian organizations maintain the fiction of neutrality by compartmentalizing these realities. They negotiate "humanitarian access" while pretending that the terms of that access—which invariably strengthen one party's military position—have no bearing on the conflict itself. This compartmentalization allows organizations to continue operations without confronting their role in conflict dynamics. As one aid worker in Sudan observed: "It drives me wild that the 'humanitarian community' is so spineless in its dealings with the regime. If there was some collective spirit, we might be able to avoid becoming in effect subbranches of the Sudan state." The core ethical question—at what point do the military benefits of diverted aid outweigh the humanitarian benefits of delivered aid—remains largely unaddressed within the humanitarian community. Instead, organizations retreat behind principles of neutrality and impartiality, while warring parties pragmatically integrate humanitarian assistance into their military strategies.

Chapter 5: Refugee Warriors and the Militarization of Humanitarian Spaces

Refugee camps and humanitarian enclaves—ostensibly created as safe havens for civilian populations—frequently function as military bases for armed groups. This phenomenon of "refugee warriors" has been a persistent feature of humanitarian operations for decades, yet aid organizations consistently treat each new instance as unprecedented. This institutional amnesia prevents the development of effective responses to a predictable pattern of militarization. International refugee law defines refugee camps as neutral, civilian spaces where those fleeing persecution can find protection. In practice, however, these spaces attract warriors for strategic reasons. Camps provide physical security from enemy forces, access to humanitarian resources, and a civilian population that serves as both cover and recruitment pool. Estimates suggest that 15-20% of people in refugee camps worldwide are refugee warriors who use these protected spaces to regroup, recuperate, and prepare for continued fighting. The pattern has repeated across decades and continents. Palestinian refugee camps established after 1948 became bases for armed resistance. Khmer Rouge fighters controlled Cambodian refugee camps along the Thai border in the 1980s, diverting 50-80% of humanitarian assistance. Taliban forces operated from UNHCR camps in Pakistan, receiving both humanitarian aid and military support. The African National Congress used refugee camps in southern Africa as operational bases. In the Great Lakes Region, Hutu extremists transformed refugee camps into military garrisons from which they launched attacks against Rwanda. Dave Eggers captures this dynamic in his novel "What Is the What," based on the experiences of a former inhabitant of Kakuma refugee camp: "We were used for war, we were used to garner food and the sympathy of humanitarian-aid organizations. Just a few miles away from our civilian camp, the Sudan People's Liberation Army had their own base... There was a steady pipeline of supplies and recruits that traveled between the two camps." Despite recurring evidence of militarization, humanitarian organizations continue establishing and maintaining camps without addressing this fundamental contradiction. The humanitarian principle of neutrality becomes meaningless when camps serve as military assets for one party to a conflict. Yet aid organizations rarely withdraw, instead arguing that civilians still require assistance regardless of the military activities occurring alongside humanitarian operations. The militarization of humanitarian spaces creates an impossible dilemma for aid workers. They lack both the mandate and the capacity to prevent armed groups from exploiting humanitarian resources. When MSF Holland withdrew from Afghanistan after five staff members were killed, research director Fabrice Weissman concluded that humanitarian organizations had fundamentally compromised their independence: "The vast majority of humanitarian actors placed themselves at the service of the UN Assistance Mission in Afghanistan and of the interim government. Both of these actors receive varying degrees of support from coalition forces." This integration of humanitarian assistance into political-military frameworks nullifies claims of neutrality. When humanitarian spaces become military assets, aid workers become perceived as parties to the conflict rather than neutral providers of assistance. The protection supposedly afforded by humanitarian emblems and principles evaporates when those principles have been compromised in practice. The refugee warrior phenomenon represents a systemic failure of the humanitarian system to reconcile its founding principles with operational realities. Rather than acknowledging this contradiction, aid organizations perpetuate the fiction of neutral humanitarian space while armed groups pragmatically exploit that fiction for military advantage.

Chapter 6: When Aid Extends Suffering: The Political Economy of Crisis

Humanitarian aid frequently serves as a tool for governments and armed groups to achieve political and military objectives that extend rather than resolve suffering. In Ethiopia and Sudan particularly, regimes have repeatedly manufactured humanitarian crises as counterinsurgency strategies, then invited international aid organizations to manage the resulting displacement while continuing military operations with resources freed by humanitarian assistance. In Ethiopia during the 1980s, the Mengistu regime launched campaigns to depopulate northern provinces where rebels maintained support networks. Government forces systematically destroyed villages, poisoned water sources, and burned crops to drive civilian populations from rebel-held areas. When famine inevitably resulted, the regime invited international media to document the "drought-induced humanitarian crisis." Western aid organizations and celebrities eagerly responded, with Bob Geldof's Live Aid concerts raising over $100 million for "victims of drought in Ethiopia." The reality was far more sinister. Aid supplies became bait to lure starving villagers into government-controlled camps, where they awaited deportation to state farms in the south. The aid operation directly facilitated the regime's forced relocation program, which resulted in approximately 100,000 deaths. When confronted with this reality, Geldof dismissed concerns: "In the context [of the famine], these numbers don't shock me." Sudan employed similar tactics. Government forces attacked villages in southern Sudan, driving populations into "peace villages" sealed off by troops. The regime then negotiated Operation Lifeline Sudan with the United Nations, allowing airdrops of food aid only to government-approved locations. This arrangement gave the regime complete control over humanitarian access. When authorities imposed a months-long ban on aid to the southern region of Bahr el Ghazal, an estimated 60,000 people starved to death. The government army sustained itself on diverted food aid, while using resources freed by humanitarian assistance to continue military operations. The pattern repeated in the Ogaden region of Ethiopia in 1999 and in Darfur beginning in 2003. In each case, regimes engineered humanitarian crises through deliberate attacks on civilian populations, invited international aid organizations to manage the resulting displacement, then manipulated aid distribution to further military objectives. Aid organizations, constrained by access negotiations and committed to neutral humanitarian principles, became functionally integrated into counterinsurgency strategies. This manipulation yields significant financial benefits for regimes. International aid workers must obtain visas, work permits, travel authorizations, and import clearances—each requiring payment to government ministries. A worker from an American NGO in Sudan explained: "It's an open secret among donors, UN organizations, and INGOs that the government earns several million dollars a quarter on visas, travel permits, work permits for humanitarians, and permit extensions." These revenue streams directly finance the very governments engineering humanitarian crises. The economic logic is compelling for regimes with few alternative revenue sources. By creating humanitarian emergencies, they attract billions in international assistance, extract substantial percentages through various mechanisms, and simultaneously advance military objectives. Meanwhile, aid organizations maintain the fiction that they operate independently of these political-military dynamics. The Sudan and Ethiopian cases reveal a fundamental contradiction in humanitarian action: by responding to manufactured crises without addressing their political causes, aid organizations become functionally integrated into strategies of displacement and control. This contradiction is not accidental but systemic—embedded in humanitarian principles that prioritize access to victims over the political context creating victimhood.

Chapter 7: The Ethics of Intervention: Nightingale vs. Dunant

The foundational ethical tension in humanitarian action remains unresolved more than 150 years after Florence Nightingale and Henri Dunant articulated opposing views on humanitarian responsibility. Their disagreement—whether providing aid regardless of consequences is morally justified—continues to divide humanitarian thought and practice. Dunant's position, which has largely prevailed in humanitarian orthodoxy, holds that the moral imperative to relieve suffering exists independent of political context or consequences. His philosophy of "tutti fratelli" (we are all brothers) emerged from his experience at the Battle of Solferino in 1859, where he witnessed thousands of wounded soldiers left to die without care. Dunant believed that humanitarian action must transcend political and military considerations; the duty to help suffering human beings was absolute and unconditional. Nightingale fundamentally disagreed. Based on her experience in the Crimean War, she argued that humanitarian action could not be separated from its political context or consequences. When Dunant proposed establishing volunteer organizations to care for wounded soldiers, Nightingale objected that such efforts would simply make it easier for governments to wage wars by externalizing the costs of caring for casualties. "If the present Regulations are not sufficient to provide for the wounded they should be made so," she insisted, placing responsibility squarely on governments rather than charitable organizations. This ethical tension manifests dramatically in contemporary humanitarian crises. When aid organizations provided assistance to Rwandan génocidaires in Goma, they followed Dunant's principle—suffering people deserved care regardless of their actions or identities. But the consequences aligned with Nightingale's critique: humanitarian aid enabled armed groups to continue fighting and ultimately contributed to a regional war that has claimed millions of lives. Similarly, when aid organizations in Afghanistan became integrated into counterinsurgency strategies, they followed Dunant's imperative to reach suffering populations, yet undermined their neutrality in ways Nightingale would have predicted. The humanitarian community has largely avoided confronting this fundamental contradiction. Instead, organizations retreat behind principles of neutrality, impartiality, and independence without acknowledging how these principles themselves may contribute to harm. This avoidance appears in common responses to criticism: "Should we simply do nothing at all then?" or "We just want to help people in need." Such responses evade the central ethical question of responsibility for consequences. The International Committee of the Red Cross confronted this dilemma during the Holocaust when it knew of Nazi concentration camps but remained silent to maintain access to prisoners of war elsewhere. The ICRC later called this decision a "tragic mistake." Yet humanitarian organizations continue making similar calculations, prioritizing access over accountability in Sudan, Ethiopia, Afghanistan, and elsewhere. The unresolved tension between Dunantist and Nightingalian ethics raises profound questions about humanitarian responsibility. If aid extends suffering by strengthening belligerents, at what point does the moral calculus shift? Is there a responsibility to withhold assistance when it demonstrably prolongs conflict? What obligation do humanitarian organizations have to understand and account for the political consequences of their interventions? These questions remain largely unaddressed within a humanitarian system that prizes action over reflection and access over analysis. Mike Lamin, a rebel leader in Sierra Leone, articulated the resulting perverse incentive: "Without the amputee factor you people wouldn't have come." This statement captures the dark logic that Nightingale feared: humanitarian action responds to suffering but may inadvertently incentivize its creation.

Summary

The fundamental paradox of humanitarian aid lies in its dual capacity to both alleviate immediate suffering and inadvertently fuel the very conflicts that cause such suffering. From refugee camps that function as military bases to food aid that sustains armies, from the competitive market logic that drives organizational behavior to the manipulation of crises by regimes seeking international resources—the humanitarian enterprise consistently fails to reconcile its noble principles with its practical consequences. This contradiction exists not because aid workers lack compassion or competence, but because the humanitarian system itself resists acknowledging the political dimensions of its work. The unresolved ethical tension between Henri Dunant's unconditional imperative to help and Florence Nightingale's insistence on responsibility for consequences remains at the heart of humanitarian action. When rebel leaders recognize that creating amputees attracts international attention and resources, when governments manufacture humanitarian crises as counterinsurgency strategies, when aid agencies compete for contracts rather than coordinate responses—we confront the uncomfortable reality that humanitarian aid has become integrated into the logic of contemporary warfare. To move beyond this impasse requires not merely technical improvements but fundamental reconsideration of when, how, and whether humanitarian principles serve their intended purpose of limiting human suffering in an increasingly complex world.

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Linda Polman

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