Heroism permeates our society, embodying traits like courage, selflessness, and virtue. We often encounter heroes in fiction. From high-octane, blockbuster movies to more grounded, slice-of-life TV shows, we find ourselves admiring an on-screen ‘hero’. Fictional heroes can either feel extraordinary or ordinary. The latter reminds us that any person in real life can be heroic.
A recent podcast from The New Humanitarian underscored the pivotal role of storytelling in humanitarian crises. How the stories of local people in a humanitarian crisis are told has significant knock-on effects. It can affect how much money is poured into aid efforts, as well as helping to pinpoint where that money can be best used to help people in need. Humanitarian storytelling, put simply, can make a big difference in saving lives.
However, beyond financial support, humanitarian stories shape public perception. Narratives shape how we think about people in crisis, as well as our understanding of the people meant to solve the problems. Humanitarians sit somewhere in between these two groups. Humanitarians strive to alleviate suffering, but they lack the capacity and mandate to treat its root cause. The humanitarian role is modest in that it looks to support in crises rather than take the lead, and seeks to learn from the communities they serve rather than teach them. Humanitarians do not save lives per se, but they can help to save lives.
The modesty of humanitarian work can make it misleading to label it as ‘heroic’ in a traditional sense. The label can also be problematic. Heroism is a quality that we often apply to individuals, not to organisations or systems. Characterising aid agencies as heroic may lead to uncritical acceptance of their actions. In contrast to the popular portrayals of heroes as inherently virtuous, humanitarian agencies can sometimes prioritise self-preservation over altruism to secure donor support.
International aid agencies frequently employ terms like ‘crisis’ or ‘emergency’ to attract donor funding. Not only does it bring a sense of urgency to a situation, but it has also become language that we exclusively associate with humanitarian agencies. When we think of a crisis, we immediately think about humanitarian agencies arriving at the scene. This association can tend to make agencies look like indispensable saviours, sidelining grassroot initiatives. It is implied that agencies have the know-how and expertise to save the day. Yet, humanitarian work is not a specialist profession. Unlike a medical doctor, you do not need years of advanced formal education to become a humanitarian. Anyone can become a humanitarian, but the sector can make it look exclusive.
Local organisations, deeply embedded within their communities, often end up losing out to larger agencies in the competition for funding. If we are truly putting the needs of vulnerable communities first, the opposite should happen where local organisations with more knowledge of the country and its people get priority funding for aid efforts.
The priority of giving voice to vulnerable communities can also be lost in how agencies are wired to report about crises. In humanitarian narratives, data often supersedes personal stories. That is not to say that data is unimportant. The International Rescue Committee’s top 10 emergency watchlist for 2024 highlights global crises based on clear evidence, with Sudan ranking highest on the list with 6.6 million people having been displaced because of the ongoing conflict. Data helps to make accurate assessments of where needs are greatest. However, data can only do so much. More needs to be done by aid agencies to share personal accounts and case studies from the communities they work with. While statistics provide a broad overview of needs, personal stories dig deeper to capture nuance. Stories prove more impactful because they guide us to where help is most appreciated and needed by local communities. For instance, while data can reveal food shortages, it is personal stories that elucidate what foods are appropriate for communities based on their cultures and traditions.
Personal stories also help to present the fullness of life in crisis zones. Aid agencies often run the risk of misrepresenting the lives of people in crisis by only focusing on their suffering. Yes, crises cause suffering. Yes, humanitarians need to present this reality to demonstrate how urgently aid is needed. But to focus only on a person’s suffering is to flatten them of their complexity and deny them their fullness as a human being. There are many stories that show that suffering does not define people in crisis. Marriage, new life, and camaraderie remind us that each person still has agency, even in difficult circumstances.
The wider point is that people in crisis do not need saving – they just need a helping hand. Yet, humanitarian narratives can sometimes echo superhero tropes that end up framing communities as passive beneficiaries awaiting external rescue. The parallels with the superhero genre are noticeable. The humanitarian coming to the aid of vulnerable communities mirrors the superhero rescuing the powerless civilians. The excessive use of logos and branding by agencies in crisis zones mimics the symbol of hope we associate with the superman emblem or the bat signal. The Secretary General of the NRC has even highlighted recently how logos from aid agencies are applied on almost anything they supply, from schools all the way down to even toilets. It seems undignified and unnecessary to constantly remind communities affected by crises about the benefactors providing basic necessities.
Superheroes do not exist in real life and humanitarian agencies are not extraordinary. Looking to popular culture again, we tend to forget about another hero archetype. When we broaden our understanding of heroes, we can find inspiration in characters from grounded TV shows who bring joy and support to those around them. Take Uncle Phil from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, or Leslie Knope from Parks and Recreation – on-screen heroes can also feel real and relatable. In the context of humanitarian work, that is to say that heroism can exist on a smaller scale. In Sudan, local communities have set up self-help groups known as Emergency Responses Rooms (ERRs) to address the need for key services where traditional humanitarian aid has been lacking. ERRs demonstrate that vulnerable communities are not passively waiting to be rescued. Communities help each other and are truly the first humanitarians to respond to a crisis. While ERRs are not without their challenges, with underfunding and limited resources being key issues, they have been a support system that demonstrates a more grounded understanding of heroism.
Storytelling often looks for a hero. In contrast to the simplistic heroism depicted in fiction, real-life narratives should highlight the resilience and agency of crisis-affected populations. Aid agencies can do more here to more accurately represent themselves and the people they serve. By thinking of heroes more broadly as people that step up in difficult situations, we can move away from superficial tales of pity and heroism to more realistic accounts of independence and agency.
An interesting take, I guess all heros do wear capes!
Really accessible framing of humanitarian assistance in crisis settings. Especially valuable given the current landscape. Thoroughly enjoyed the parallels drawn to ‘superhero’ narratives in pop culture and the measured critique of conventional humanitarian aid. Highly insightful and informative – thanks for sharing with us!