Posted on 01 May 2025
Kia ora Humanitarians,
It’s been a week of sharp contrasts and solemn reminders.
In Gaza, the humanitarian situation has slipped from catastrophic to near-collapse. Aid convoys are still being blocked or delayed, particularly in northern Gaza, where malnutrition among children has spiked to emergency levels, and bags of flour are reportedly selling for over $300 USD (ReliefWeb). Some officials are now describing the aid blockade as a deliberate policy of deprivation. It’s hard to argue otherwise when Israeli ministers are openly calling for the territory to be cut off completely, and Israel has quietly stopped designating any part of the strip as a humanitarian zone (The Guardian).
Meanwhile, in Syria, a curious softening of Western sanctions has taken place (BBC). After years of isolation, some humanitarian-related sanctions are being eased to allow more aid into the country, even as the regime structures that sustained Bashar al-Assad’s rule remain largely intact. Although Assad himself appears to have lost direct control, with rival factions, including one led by former regime insider Ahmed al-Sharaa now vying for power, the machinery of state repression, from security forces to checkpoints, continues to operate. The calculus here is uncomfortable: easing sanctions is framed as a humanitarian necessity, but risks entrenching many of the same systems responsible for Syria’s devastation. Humanitarian principles and geopolitical interests remain uneasy bedfellows.
Across in the United States, the pace of democratic backsliding has gone from slow erosion to a full-on landslide. Yes, the first Trump presidency was chaotic, but institutions (just barely) held the line. Now 100 days into his term, they’re folding fast (The Guardian). Trump was never subtle about his intentions: threatening to jail opponents, cracking down on dissent, curbing immigration, and just generally ruling like a dictator for a day. But the velocity with which that rhetoric has become reality is truly staggering.
Student visa holders and permanent residents have reportedly been detained without cause (BBC). Deportations have gone ahead in open defiance of court orders (New Yorker). Law firms challenging the administration’s actions are being targeted (The Guardian). This isn’t politics as usual, it’s the systematic dismantling of legal and constitutional practices and values in real time.
And yet, none of this has come from nowhere. A group of U.S. advocacy organisations recently laid this out in a joint submission to the UN Human Rights Council. Their argument? That what we’re seeing now is less a rupture and more a culmination of two decades of bipartisan neglect of international human rights obligations. The national security apparatus built after 9/11 - the surveillance powers, indefinite detention, and militarised policing - wasn’t dismantled. It was quietly absorbed into the system. And now, it’s being turned inward. The warning is clear: the tools of repression are rarely scrapped. They’re shelved. And eventually, someone comes along who knows exactly how to use them.
Closer to home in New Zealand, Finance Minister Nicola Willis has signalled deepening cuts to public sector spending in her pre-Budget address (RNZ), except for defence, which is set to receive a significant funding boost of $12 billion over the next four years (Newsroom). These choices speak volumes. Funding hospitals, education, climate resilience, foreign aid? Tighten belts. Buying warships? Open the chequebook.
Which raises a fundamental question: What kind of security are we really investing in? Security shouldn’t be measured in dollars spent on tanks, but in lives lifted out of poverty, in communities resilient to climate shock, in children nourished and educated, in diplomacy over destruction. Humanitarianism, development, and peacebuilding are not luxuries; they are the most effective long-term security investments a country can make. That’s not some airy-fairy utopian ideal, it’s backed by decades of data, research, and most of all, logic. And yet, we still find ourselves arguing for it every Budget season.
And then came the death of Pope Francis. Francis, for whatever critiques he faced, remained a moral compass in an increasingly transactional world. He reminded his followers that humanitarianism is about helping those most in need. About dignity. About choosing justice even when it’s inconvenient. And his passing, amid a period filled with escalating violence and state-sanctioned cruelty, feels like more than just symbolism, it’s a quiet challenge to all of us to think about how we can help others.
I’m not a religious man, and I’m not overly familiar with scripture, but given the Popes passing and having just had time off over Easter to ruminate, I’ve stumbled across a verse I think is pertinent - Isaiah 2:4: “They shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks: nations shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.”
Any theologists please feel free to interject, but what I understand that to mean is if we use our energy lifting each other up, we’ll have no need to defend our patch. Or maybe we could make it even more simple and pithy and acknowledge last weeks ANZAC day by just saying “lest we forget”, lest we forget that if we want real security, it doesn’t start with missiles. It starts with meals, medicine and mutual respect. It starts with turning swords into ploughs.
Let’s get to work
Ngā mihi nui
Sam