Resilience is a defining theme of my life at present – last week’s chapter for the distance learning course I’m writing was on personal resilience and this week’s is on organizational resilience.
In April, I’ll travel to Bangkok to spend a week working with the DART Center for Journalism and Trauma as they bring together journalists from around Asia for a week. Guess what I’ll be speaking on… Yup, resilience.
And back in November I completed a research report for a very cool organization in London, People In Aid, on Building Resilient Managers in Humanitarian Organizations. That project has recently been published and is available for purchase on People In Aid’s website. Over the next two days, however, I’m going to share the introduction and the executive summary of that report on my blog.
I’ll be back later in the week with more stories to share. Perhaps they will be stories of how my mother demonstrated resilience this morning when she realized – apparently for the first time – that I was going to be home for five whole months later this year around the time the baby is due (there was only a slight gulp and a couple of seconds delay before she smiled brightly and said that it would be absolutely lovely to have me). Perhaps they will be stories of whether or not our poor pup, Zulu, demonstrates resilience when he wakes up from the anesthetic this afternoon and realizes that his testicles have vanished. Perhaps they will be speculations as to whether my bladder will ever demonstrate resilience once there’s no longer a baby in there to squish it down to the size of a lima bean (please, anyone who has been pregnant, tell me this is so).
But that is all still to come. For now, here’s the introduction I penned to the report Building resilient managers in humanitarian organizations: Strengthening key organizational structures and personal skills that promote resilience in challenging environments.
International humanitarian and development work has been a part of my life for almost as long as I can remember. As the child of a development worker I grew up in Bangladesh, Zimbabwe, the US, and Australia – flipping regularly between worlds of poverty and plenty. As a young forensic psychologist with a background in stress and trauma I left Australia to seek humanitarian jobs of my own in The Philippines and Croatia, and then worked for seven years as the Director of Training for a non-profit that provides psychological support services to humanitarian workers around the world. Recently I married someone who was working with a humanitarian organization in Papua New Guinea when we met. Even more recently we moved to Laos to undertake development work.
During the last twenty-five years I have met many humanitarian workers in many countries. They are, for the most part, an amazing bunch doing fascinating work.
They are people who help provide water, food, shelter, and sanitation after disasters to help reduce the shocking number of people who die during these periods from exposure, starvation, diarrhea, or disease.
They are people who advocate for change in chronic emergency situations, or who document the stories of refugees in camps who are desperate for a chance at another life. Persecution histories, these stories are called, and they are largely tales of horror and fear.
On the development end of the spectrum – they are people who work in remote communities to help develop sanitation infrastructure, or build and equip schools, or establish rice and animal banks or small businesses. All of these initiatives can raise the standard of living in poor communities and help buffer the families within those communities from the impact of unexpected challenges such as illness or drought.
Humanitarian workers do not have easy jobs, nor are they particularly safe. During the last 15 years intentional violence has become the leading cause of death for humanitarian relief and development workers in complex humanitarian emergency situations, and kidnapping is on the rise. Humanitarian workers already confronted with the realities of poverty, conflict, starvation, and disease must also face the reality that their work is dangerous. Being shot at or bombed; being assaulted, kidnapped or carjacked; being threatened at a checkpoint by a child totting a gun – in many parts of the world these are not infrequent occurrences.
Most of the humanitarian workers I know, however, don’t pinpoint this sort of danger as the most stressful aspect of their work. Most humanitarian workers who leave the developed world and head for the developing world expect (on some level, anyway) to run certain risks. Fewer expect to find environmental hassle factors such as unreliable communications and shared accommodations, or organizational challenges related to bureaucracy, management, and communication quite so frustrating and wearisome. Perhaps even fewer expect to have their fundamental ideals and beliefs about meaning and purpose challenged, reshaped, and sometimes shattered during the course of their work.
Some of those who decide to pursue humanitarian work don’t make it past two years before burning out – spent, disillusioned, or traumatized. Some people survive for much longer than that, but do it at cost to their closest relationships and while flirting (or worse) with alcoholism or other addictions. But some people genuinely seem to thrive in this line of work. They seem able to bounce relatively quickly from traumatic events that come their way, and remain passionate and committed to the work. Some even seem able to do this without sacrificing their relationships, their health, or their sanity in the process.
After years of focusing on the impact of stress and trauma, of seeing people who were not coping, I started to wonder about those who were. What, I wondered, were the qualities that helped humanitarian workers thrive? What sets apart the resilient?
Tomorrow: What were some of the key findings of this report? I’ll post the Executive Summary.