Issue 1 | Remembrance

Download the 1st issue of The Phoenix here!

How 2024 Impacted Humanitarian Workers

• Killed: 282
• Wounded: 165
• Kidnapped: 79

Of those,

• 96% are national workers
• 4% are international workers

(Source: AWSD, incidents till 23/11/2024)

---

Editorial | First Issue of The Phoenix

Dear Reader,

What does it mean to be a humanitarian? After 35 years in this sector, I have witnessed both the best and the worst of humanity.
Humanitarian work is a delicate balance between giving and receiving, and it is profoundly transformative—we are never the same at the end as we were at the start.

But how do we navigate this kind of transformation? How do we live through its joys and pains? Who or what guides us through this journey, and who can we turn to for support?

At times, I feel like the mythical bird that crashes down in flames, just to rise again to experience a new cycle. The Phoenix zine aims to support and acknowledge our journeys, honouring your experiences, your processes, and the challenges you face along the way!

Christoph Hensch

The Phoenix is a publication driven by the desire to create a space for sharing our experiences. Being on a mission, here or elsewhere, is the exact opposite of tourism.

A humanitarian acts with their heart to help soften the world. A world that judges the “highly sensitive” and the “dreamers.” They are the ones who cry but who take action against indifference.

They are the unseen hands and, above all, the souls of NGOs. They are what makes the world more beautiful. Whether behind a stall at the Christmas market (a thought for Swiss-Group and Cécile) or out in the field, the same values remain. That is why, like the Phoenix, humanitarians die and are reborn with every mission.

This is our way of saying THANK YOU to all of you for what you accomplish—bravo and stay strong!

Sébastien Couturier

---

The Dead are not dead…

These words from the poem by Birago Diop ring so true. I fought against you for a long time—my ghosts from the field, with all your powerful faces, radiant with emotion.

You all accused me of living, of not having saved every one of you. I thought I should have died and paid my debt to you—that was my perception at the time. I had done my best, with all my heart and guts. I couldn’t have done more. I came back with so many questions and a head full of whys. I no longer want to run from you, nor erase everything in my vain quest to become “the Seb from before.”

I’ve stopped fighting the past that clings too tightly. From accusers and destroyers, you’ve become my friends—those who help me when I need to decide and act. My nights are growing more peaceful because I find myself with you again on the field, working together, united by the same commitment. Mark, Derek, Daniel, Ali, the three young girls martyred at the checkpoint, and you above all, beautiful stranger who was murdered. I no longer deny you, because I’ve understood what you’ve passed on to me: Together we survive, alone we die!

Together, living and dead—it isn’t strange. Ghosts of the past, you will always be within me, no matter what I do to chase you away. And time doesn’t make it any easier. That’s why the duty of remembrance matters so much to me. Forgetfulness and indifference are the true destroyers. Even if it hurts, our pain is a strength and a source of hope as well, because I want to remember the laughter, the smiles, the hardships we faced together, the monumental blunders, Mark’s sputtering motorbike, and everything that makes up life.

We have a duty to pass on your stories so that you didn’t die for nothing. You will remain in my heart, always.

Sébastien Couturier

Image: 2018, Novye Atagi, by Christoph Hensch

---

Remembrance

December is always a stressful month for many people. In my case, it feels like a physical tiredness, a heavy blanket over my body. Interestingly, on the evening of the 17th, the blanket lifts, and the tiredness is gone, as if blown away by a fresh wind.

The 17th of December is not just the day when we remember humanitarian workers worldwide who were killed, injured, or taken and held hostage – this date in 1996 has both a collective and deeply personal significance. On that early Tuesday morning at 3 a.m., now 28 years ago, there was a premeditated attack on the ICRC field hospital in Noyve Atagi, Chechnya (Russia), with the intended purpose of killing as many humanitarian workers as possible. Six of my colleagues were shot in their bedrooms. I was personally lucky to escape with only a bullet wound.

That event was unprecedented at the time and sent shockwaves through the entire humanitarian sector. Sadly, nowadays, it seems that attacking humanitarian relief operations has become common practice in many conflicts.

For many, such attacks not only contribute to collective trauma but also have deep and unintended negative consequences for many individuals, both near and far. These consequences range from dealing with direct personal injuries (mental, emotional, as well as physical) to grappling with loss, grief, and guilt.

Personally, I don’t feel that I am particularly well-equipped to deal with death (maybe very few people are). It is a topic often marginalized, and in Western society, it is not well understood, other than the fact that when we die, we lose our physical bodies, and life as we know it ends.

Maybe the poem “Spirits,” by Birango Diop, can help us understand death and the dead a bit better. It arises from a culture where “the dead are not dead,” where those who have gone before us become ancestors. In this context, naming them becomes important, acknowledging their achievements and saying THANK YOU for their contributions is necessary.

While remembrance can happen on any day, setting aside a day shortly before the mid-winter solstice, when darkness is longest (in the northern hemisphere), is symbolic. Lighting a candle and tying a white ribbon to a tree become acts of acknowledgment of the achievements of those who have gone before, and yet are still present.

Christoph Hensch

---

Spirits

By Birago Diop (1906-1989)

Listen to Things
More often than Beings,
Hear the voice of fire,
Hear the voice of water.
Listen in the wind,
To the sighs of the bush;
This is the ancestors breathing.

Those who are dead are not ever gone;
They are in the darkness that grows lighter
And in the darkness that grows darker.
The dead are not down in the earth;
They are in the trembling of the trees
In the groaning of the woods,
In the water that runs,
In the water that sleeps,
They are in the hut, they are in the crowd:
The dead are not dead.

Listen to things
More often than beings,
Hear the voice of fire,
Hear the voice of water.
Listen in the wind,
To the bush that is sighing:
This is the breathing of ancestors,
Who have not gone away
Who are not under earth
Who are not really dead.

Those who are dead are not ever gone;
They are in a woman’s breast,
In the wailing of a child,
And the burning of a log,
In the moaning rock,
In the weeping grasses,
In the forest and the home.
The dead are not dead.

Listen more often
To Things than to Beings,
Hear the voice of fire,
Hear the voice of water.
Listen in the wind to
The bush that is sobbing:
This is the ancestors breathing.

Each day they renew ancient bonds,
Ancient bonds that hold fast
Binding our lot to their law,
To the will of the spirits stronger than we
To the spell of our dead who are not really dead,
Whose covenant binds us to life,
Whose authority binds to their will,
The will of the spirits that stir
In the bed of the river, on the banks of the river,
The breathing of spirits
Who moan in the rocks and weep in the grasses.

Spirits inhabit
The darkness that lightens, the darkness that darkens,
The quivering tree, the murmuring wood,
The water that runs and the water that sleeps:
Spirits much stronger than we,
The breathing of the dead who are not really dead,
Of the dead who are not really gone,
Of the dead now no more in the earth.

Listen to Things
More often than Beings,
Hear the voice of fire,
Hear the voice of water.
Listen in the wind,
To the bush that is sobbing:
This is the ancestors, breathing.

Image: Thierno I. Kane, CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Birago Diop born to a wolof family was a Senegalese poet and storyteller whose work
restored general interest in African folktales and promoted him to one of the most
outstanding African francophone writers. A renowned veterinarian, diplomat and leading
voice of the Négritude literary movement, Diop exemplified the “African renaissance man”.

---

Being Humanitarian in 2024

2024 is the deadliest year on record for humanitarian workers. No fewer than 282 aid workers, colleagues and friends, lost their lives in the course of their duties. This unprecedented violence is rampant in Gaza, Sudan, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Ukraine, and which some of us have experienced and continue to experience. A violence that reminds us, that despite the condemnation of the international community, humanitarians continue to be targeted and to pay a high price. Humanitarian aid workers are also victims of physical violence, threats, kidnappings and attacks, and obstruction of their activities. These are no longer isolated incidents, but deliberate attacks. They are targeted for what they represent: neutrality, humanity, respect, altruism, etc,

It is our duty to salute the courage and commitment of everyone involved and to denounce the impunity of these attacks. We support and accompany those who were victims and to remember those who lost their lives. Men and women we have known and whose first name, laugh or look will remain forever engraved in our memories.

Image: Benin, by Asma Rassouad

---

Gallery: Memorials

Reflections, inspiration and/or any other good things you like to share with colleagues in the sector

---

What is the Phoenix?

The phoenix is an immortal bird that cyclically regenerates or is otherwise born again. While it is part of Greek mythology, it has analogs in many cultures, such as Egyptian and Persian mythology. Associated with the sun, the phoenix obtains new life by rising from the ashes of its predecessor. Some legends say it dies in a show of flames and combustion, while others claim it simply dies and decomposes before being reborn. (Wikipedia)

We have chosen to name this self-published online paper The Phoenix because it strongly relates to the feelings and experiences many humanitarians have—one of burning out through work and encountering all the challenges in the field, only to remember why we decided to engage in humanitarian work in the first place. The phoenix is an appropriate symbol, helping us understand the transformative process many undergo, and why, despite everything, we feel drawn back to follow our humanitarian calling.

This publication is self-published by the Culture of Care Initiative to raise topics that should be addressed in an organizational culture of care—issues we should not be reluctant or afraid to discuss. 

Topics: In the future, we aim to address topics such as recognition, the duty of care, diversity, inclusion and belonging, the balance between giving and taking, healing and being a healer, and many more. Equally important, and regardless of any particular topic, is your input and feedback. In fact, please let us know what topics interest you most or what you are currently struggling with as a humanitarian. Share your own story and memory. 

Subscriptions: This publication will be made available for free to everyone. We format it in a way that is easy to distribute electronically and readable on a phone screen. You can subscribe by emailing us at phoenix@culture-of-care.org and letting us know whether you would like to receive it by email or via a messaging service (WhatsApp, Signal, Telegram, etc.).

Language: In order to make this publication as accessible as possible, we are starting by publishing it in both English and French. For the time being, both languages are mixed, but please let us know if we should arrange it differently to make it more easily readable. Additional languages may be added in the future.

Contributions: The purpose of this initiative is to support well-being. As a platform, we aim to provide inspiration, links to resources, encourage dialogue, and offer space for your own messages and contributions. To contribute, please send us your story, image(s), or letters to phoenix@culture-of-care.org.

---

The Culture of Care Initiative’s goal is to advocate for and to promote healthy and safe working environments within humanitarian teams, projects, and organizations, and to build a respectful peer community that is supportive of the lifelong healing journey that we are all experiencing.

The Initiative provided approx. 100 hours of peer support since September 2024. If you are looking for peer support, please contact us on info@culture-of-care.org.

Would you like a review of you CV, either for your first job in the humanitarian sector or for a career move? We are happy to help you with this as well (info@culture-of-care.org).

You can find us on LinkedIn and we invite you to follow us there: https://www.linkedin.com/company/ culture-of-care-initiative/

Resources

How the Five Stages of Grief Can Help Process a Loss:
www.verywellmind.com

Aid Worker Security Database:
www.aidworkersecurity.org

ICRC Memorial:
We remember

17 December 1996:
Six ICRC delegates assassinated

Insecurity Insight – Data on People in Danger:
insecurityinsight.org

Deuil’S:
deuils.org

Booster Solidaire:
boostersolidaire.fr

The Editorial Team of The Phoenix

– Christoph Hensch, Humanitarian, Lived Experience Expert, Philosopher
– Sébastien Couturier, Pair aidant pour travailleur dans le secteur humanitaire

With contributions by Asma Rassouad and the support of a dedicated small team of volunteers.