As I was walking through the woods, I came across a painted stone on the path that said, “Love and Change the World.” It stopped me in my tracks. I thought, Isn’t that what this is all about? When students and young people ask me why I chose this line of work, it’s always a tricky question. I see a mix of sarcasm, curiosity, and genuine interest in their eyes. It makes me uncomfortable because how do you explain the times when things fall short, when the world doesn’t match the hope we teach? It’s easy to talk about human rights in a classroom, but how do you respond when those teachings don’t align with the reality outside?
I was reminded of something from my youth when I was told to be practical: become a lawyer, doctor, or engineer—those dreams of yours won’t pay off. I never gave that advice serious thought, and I am glad I did not follow it. Yet, it’s hard to ignore the harsh truth that in a world where millions are struggling, we are witnessing an alarming trend of international apathy. The gap between the urgent need for lifesaving aid and actual funding has never been so stark. Humanitarian assistance falls far short, with only a handful of crises receiving the necessary attention and funding, while countless others are overlooked.
It is disturbing to see where resources are being channelled—into the weapons industry, into infrastructure aimed at containing so-called “illegal migrants,” and into outdated funding mechanisms that favour only the major players.
The ideals that drew many of us to this field seem to be fading. Why did we choose this work in the first place? It was never for the fancy offices or polished policies. It was for the ideals, the dreams, the empathy—the commitment to stand by others, to listen, to support, and to fight for a world where justice and dignity are a given for everyone. So, where did go wrong?
How do we guide the next generation when so many of us have lost sight of the reasons we started?
We often talk about supporting those in need, valuing inclusiveness, and encouraging participation, but how much do we genuinely practice these values? How often do we truly include and listen to others, living alongside them to understand their perspectives and needs? Are we really comfortable with the answers to these questions? How committed are we to being true allies to those we claim to serve?
We say we prioritize human rights, but how far are we willing to go to defend them? Are we prepared to step out of our comfort zones, speak up, march in protests, or challenge and boycott systems that violate those rights?
We promote gender equity and women’s rights, but are we genuinely creating equal opportunities for women and people of all gender identities? Are we truly supporting their path to leadership, whether they choose to be parents or not? We stress the importance of addressing gender-based violence, but are we ready to break the silence when it happens—not just in the office but in our personal lives too? And do we draw a line when it comes to working with those whose private actions contradict our values?
We promote innovation and opportunities, but how willing are we to let go of big paychecks to support initiatives that don’t promise quick wins? Are we still living up to what we say we believe, even when it costs us something as challenging the system rules and narrative?
Over time, people get caught up in a system that wears them down. Bureaucracy, politics, and the pursuit of power take over, eroding those values. It creates a space where ambition overshadows purpose, leaving those we are supposed to serve, and generations of today and tomorrow the perception, often convincement, that we are ineffective or untrustworthy.
We have passed the turning point, much like when future generations warned us that there is no Planet B. This work is not just a job—it’s a calling that demands commitment beyond the workplace, reaching into our personal beliefs and actions. Being a humanitarian or human rights advocate should be more than just a title; it should be a way of life, dedicated to building just and equitable communities. Living by these principles shouldn’t jeopardize our work but should instead enhance it, adding value and trustworthiness to what we do and who we are.
Maybe we underestimated how easily love for humanity could be replaced by power and business interests.Is time to refocus and recommit.
Zeudi Liew
Comments