26th January 2026
In this new opinion piece, HLA Director Pawel Mania reflects on solidarity in a world that often feels overwhelming, and why caring deeply doesn’t mean carrying everything at once.
Coalitions, not call-outs
January is usually when we pause and reset. We think about what we want to carry into the new year, what we want to leave behind, and how we use our energy. This year, that feels harder than usual. Many people describe the world as being “on fire”, and it is easy to see why. So many crises feel close, personal and emotionally heavy at the same time. They are no longer distant headlines. They live in our phones, our conversations and our relationships.
Many people are feeling the emotional weight of this constant exposure, even when they are not directly involved. Carrying crisis after crisis, day after day, can be exhausting and hard to hold.
In the humanitarian sector, though, the world has always been in crisis. That is not a dramatic statement, it is simply the reality of the work. In recent years, aid workers have been operating in some of the most complex and dangerous environments on record, from Gaza and Sudan to Eastern Ukraine, with intense physical risk and emotional strain. What has changed is not only the number of emergencies, but their visibility and the expectations placed on individuals.
There is now a sense that we are all meant to be constantly aware, constantly positioned, constantly responding, on top of the already demanding nature of humanitarian work, where many staff report stress, anxiety and exhaustion linked to their roles. Social and organisational pressure adds to this, alongside direct exposure to crises, and together they are part of what drives burnout.
For years, the question many of us were asking was: how do we bring more people in?
How do we create space for more care, more engagement, more responsibility?
How do we make Myanmar, Sudan, the DRC or Nigeria visible beyond specialist circles?
Many local and frontline responders in these crises have spoken for years about feeling invisible compared to more mediatised emergencies, even when the risks and needs they face are just as severe.
In addition, lately, that question sometimes feels like it has shifted. Not “how do we invite people in?”, but “why aren’t you doing enough?” or “why aren’t you caring in the right way, about the right things?”
I understand where that comes from. Pain creates urgency. Anger can be a form of care. When people feel that the world is not responding, it is natural to look for somewhere to direct that pressure. But when that pressure turns on regular people, or on organisations that are complex, imperfect and yet deeply engaged, I do not think it helps. Anyone who has worked in humanitarian teams knows how quickly overload, moral pressure and impossible expectations turn into burnout.
We challenge governments, systems and policies. That is where power sits. That is where responsibility lies. Shifting that pressure onto each other may feel active, but it rarely builds movements or sustains change. More often, it drains the energy of the very people we need alongside us.
The same applies to how international organisations are discussed and questioned. They are often treated as if they are single actors with single intentions and single voices. In reality, they are ecosystems of agencies, mandates and people working in very different ways, many of whom are deeply involved in the very crises they are being accused of ignoring. Criticism matters. It should exist. But it works best when it is informed and aimed at power, not at simplified or symbolic targets.
Another thing we need to be more honest about is how selective solidarity really is. Not as a moral judgement, but as a human one.
Some people speak about Israeli hostages but never about Nigerian girls kidnapped by Boko Haram. Some are very loud about Palestine but silent on Ukraine. Many calling for solidarity have never mentioned Myanmar, Sudan or the DRC.
That does not make people bad. It makes them human. As individuals we are shaped by our histories, our identities, our relationships and by what feels emotionally close at any given moment.
After more than fifteen years in this sector, I can say the same about myself. Some crises have always hit me harder than others. Sometimes because of my heritage. Sometimes because of where I was emotionally at the time. That does not cancel my professional responsibility to care about all of them. It simply reminds me that none of us engages from a neutral place.
The work, for me, is not pretending we do not have biases. It is noticing them, and choosing to widen our circle of care rather than turning those biases into tools against each other. People stay engaged longer when they are allowed to care in ways that feel personal and real, not forced or performative.
There is, of course, a line that matters. When bias turns into antisemitism, racism or anti-Muslim hate, that is not something to debate or soften. That is where care becomes harm, and it has to be named clearly. But beyond that line, I worry about how easily solidarity is becoming a performance. Who is speaking enough. Who is consistent enough. Who is visible enough. Who is getting it “right”. That kind of pressure does not build coalitions. It shrinks them.
As humanitarian organisations, we live with limits every day.
We cannot lead on everything, be present in every crisis, or speak with the same intensity on every issue. That is not a lack of care. It is the reality of prioritisation. Focus is not betrayal. It is how responsibility works. When teams are expected to be everywhere at once, the result is often people who care deeply but are exhausted by impossible expectations.
The same is true for individuals. Solidarity does not require us to hold everything at once. It does not require us to occupy every space or speak on every issue. It requires us to leave space: for different causes, different entry points, and different ways of contributing to exist alongside each other. We see clearly in humanitarian work that pacing, boundaries and the ability to step back are often what make the difference between care that can be sustained and care that turns into chronic stress, anxiety or burnout.
That feels especially important to say in January. This is the moment when many people are already tired, trying to find a pace that they can live with. A moment to think about how to stay engaged without asking ourselves, or each other, to carry the full weight of the world.
We can widen our circle of care and still allow ourselves focus.
We can be committed and still accept limits.
We can build solidarity without turning it into pressure on each other.
For a long time, the humanitarian sector has been asking how to bring people closer to this work. I would hate for us to replace that question with one that quietly pushes people away.
I have never believed in building movements through guilt or call-outs. I believe in building them through invitation, patience and generosity. Through leaving room for people to care deeply, in different ways, and at different speeds.
Coalitions, not call-outs.
Pressure on perpetrators, not on each other.
Solidarity does not require us to hold everything at once. It requires us to leave space: for different causes, different entry points, and different ways of contributing to exist alongside each other.
This is a personal reflection piece by Pawel Mania. To explore these themes further, watch the recording of our panel discussion held on 10 December 2025: Humanitarian Futures: Still here, still human – what next?, co-facilitated by Pawel.