The world abandons humanitarian principles - but aid workers don’t

Christian Modino Hok is the Humanitarian Director at Caritas Internationalis.

Every year on World Humanitarian Day, we stop for a moment. To honour those who’ve lost their lives in service, and those who keep showing up, day after day, on the frontlines of crisis. It’s not about ceremony. Or applause. It’s about bearing witness to courage and standing with those who choose compassion when everything around them is falling apart.

But this year feels different. Heavier. More fractured.

The sorrow hits harder, not because the crises - in Sudan, Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Ukraine, Myanmar, Haiti or Yemen, to name a few, - are new. They’re not. But the violence … It’s escalated beyond what we thought possible.

The brutality is deeper. The scale, honestly, staggering. And then there is Gaza, the place where the international community’s failure has reached its most unbearable and profound depth. We’re watching the slow unravelling of the very principles meant to protect civilians.

Stretched to breaking point

International law is being tested in ways we haven’t seen before. The international humanitarian and human rights norms we rely on - against repression, abuse, and dehumanisation - are being stretched to breaking point.

And still, humanitarians show up. Often with barely any protection. Often with almost no resources. Because for them, this work isn’t symbolic, it’s survival. For the communities they serve, it’s the last lifeline.

On this day we honour the 248 humanitarians who lost their lives and 196 others wounded, kidnapped or detained so far in 2025 alone, 95% of them local workers - a disheartening record high and sobering reminder of the risks borne by those closest to the crisis.

We owe them more than recognition – we owe them systems that actually work, laws that actually hold, and solidarity that doesn’t vanish when the headlines fade.

The humanitarian system is being dismantled right in front of us. Gaza has become a death trap disguised as aid. Sudan’s warlords cut off relief while the world just watches. Haiti’s gangs run the show, and the international community shrugs. In the DRC, millions flee while donors quietly cut and run. Myanmar’s junta starves its own people, and no one stops them. Yemen bleeds out slowly, forgotten. 

The International Criminal Court gets punished for chasing war criminals. The European Union dithers and deflects. And the U.N. Security Council - paralysed, vetoed into silence.

Aid isn't charity

These aren’t just failures. They are choices. Governments are walking away from the laws they wrote and civilians are left to die. Aid workers are left to pick up the pieces, with no protection, no funding, no backup. The world forgets that these are real people.

Doctors, nurses, social workers, community leaders, faith groups. Often unpaid. Often unrecognised.

In places like Sudan, where entire communities have been displaced, it’s these individuals who stay, long after the spotlight fades. Aid workers live by humanitarian principles, knowing that principles alone don’t feed, protect, or give hope to families. But when governments fail, aid steps in, if it’s allowed in and properly funded.

Because aid isn’t charity. It’s essential infrastructure. We’ve seen it work. In South Sudan, aid helped avert famine and kept fragile peace talks alive. In Bangladesh, it stabilised the Rohingya crisis. In West Africa, it stopped Ebola from becoming a global catastrophe.

In Syria and Türkiye, it prevented secondary displacement after earthquakes. In Ukraine, it’s helped preserve civil society under siege. 

But now, governments are slashing aid budgets, forcing humanitarian actors to make impossible choices. The current model is struggling to keep up.

In 2025, global summits and consultations are demanding real reform, faster, bolder, more decisive. From simplifying coordination systems to prioritising protection and securing more flexible funding, the agenda is packed. But one shift stands out: putting communities at the centre of humanitarian response.

When local people lead the results are faster, more cost-effective, and better aligned with long-term goals. It’s not just more efficient. It’s fairer. More dignified. And absolutely essential to closing the widening resource gap, with over $38 billion in unmet needs.

To governments around the world: every dollar spent on principled aid today saves exponentially more in future military interventions, refugee crises, and economic fallout.

When humanitarian systems collapse, instability spreads. When communities are abandoned, extremism fills the void. When dignity is denied, trust erodes, and rebuilding it takes generations.

And to anyone wondering if this work still matters, yes. It does. It is what we turn to when universal protection breaks down, when rights are denied, where accountability is nowhere to be found. It’s a real expression of justice, solidarity, and humanity.

Doing what’s fair isn’t just policy, it’s a promise. A promise to keep showing up, even when the world turns away.