Bear Witness

AP News photo of USAID food distribution

In a previous post, I mentioned being in a location where I felt at times that all I could do was bear
witness, and others that I wanted a smoke. What I don't think I mentioned is that, in all that hard, dirty, imperfect work was the belief that this was the service I truly belonged in. That I felt more at-home-in-the-work bouncing around the back of Land Rovers and sitting on straw mats in the sand than in many other circumstances.

I'm not telling you this because I want kudos. This isn't white saviourism. This isn't me trying to bounce in and rescue "those" people. What I hope I am doing, and I know my colleagues around the world are doing, is aligning with people, supporting and working collectively for justice, freedom, safety and wellbeing. I don't deserve credit for this work - I am one part of many efforts to make the world a better place for vulnerable people and future generations. 

We aren't here to get rich and famous. 

We are here to work ourselves out of a job because the work is finished and we are no longer needed.

We aren't here to get fired from a job because billionaires don't care about people 5 miles away, let alone 5,000 miles away.

We have walked through actual hell, but this last month, we've been through a virtual inferno of demonization, threats, intimidation and denigration. We've been told this work is a viper's nest filled with radical-left Marxists. We've had our funding frozen, temporary restraining orders ignored, and threats of retaliation made for speaking out. We've witnessed vulnerable people in distress, and we haven't been able to help. I've personally received emails from refugees from a community in East Africa where my email address has been shared around. The last message ended with, "I am seriously sick and you are my only hope. Please save my life." If only I could.

We've now had our contracts cancelled and our government liaisons fired. We've spoken up at our peril.

We've won fights but we are losing the war, because the king doesn't play by any rules.

So today, I had the terrible honor of bearing witness again, as I sat virtually with a dozen people at my own agency, walking them through the process of losing their jobs. I was asked to have these conversations because the number of layoffs we had to do outstripped the capacity of our human resource staff to complete.

So I sat in silence as they sat stunned. I shared the options they had as they understood this was the end. I affirmed as best I could that this decision did not have anything to do with their value or worth, their performance or contributions. This decision was forced on us because of our external circumstances. I thanked them for their work. I tried to be as kind and gentle and honoring as I could in this impossible moment.

I watched the tears. I watched the strength.

I bore witness to the amazing dedication of men and women with families to care for, some the only income in the household, who came to this work to do good work. Who, in their last moments of employment, told me they came to this organization because they believed in the mission and believed we did good work. That they didn't blame anyone, because they knew this wasn't anyone's fault. That they weren't angry or resentful, and they wished us the best.

And many looked at me, saying "I'm so sorry you have to do this. I know that these meetings are hard for you too, and you have to meet with lots of people. I hope you will be ok." 

Bless these humanitarians, who lived out their work to literally the last minute of their jobs. My heart breaks for them, and for the opportunities we lose to benefit from their expertise, their passion and their dedication to the work. 

They are the ones that deserve to wear crowns.