They’re hunting us now —A humanitarian’s reckoning

The world is no longer safe for those who choose the path of humanitarian work.

In recent years, humanitarian workers have been systematically targeted, their lives taken in full view of the international community. We have learned, painfully, that not all human lives are valued equally. Too often, decisions are shaped by political calculations, not moral duty.

19 August was once a day to celebrate achievements and honour the spirit of humanitarian work. This year, it feels like a day of mourning — not only for the lives we have lost, but for the morals and values cut down by the same powers that once championed international humanitarian law.

In this blog, I will lay bare what it means to be a humanitarian worker in a world turning its back on moral values and humanitarian principles.

Context and background

Since October 2023, over 400 humanitarian workers have been killed. It’s the highest number ever recorded in such a short time. Many were wearing visible IDs. Some were in marked vehicles. Others killed in buildings that should have been protected.

From 1997 to 2023, about 2,636 humanitarian workers were killed worldwide. Gaza alone has seen 333 and 408 lives taken since 7 October. That’s almost one-sixth of the 27-year total in less than a year. On average, 20 humanitarians are dying every month there — two every three days. You can’t call that anything but one of the deadliest crises for aid workers in modern history.

These aren’t accidents. This happens because the rules meant to protect civilians and aid workers are being ignored. And when governments don’t step in, it tells armed groups everywhere: you can target aid workers and get away with it.

This isn’t just our problem as humanitarians. It’s a warning sign for the whole system. If we can’t protect the people risking their lives for others, the cost will spread far beyond the frontlines.

The deliberate targeting of humanitarian workers

Let’s be honest, in some wars now, aid workers aren’t just “in the wrong place at the wrong time.” They’re being picked off. Convoys get bombed even after agreements have been made to keep the route is safe. People die in buildings with huge visible markings saying they’re protected. I’ve even heard of cases where coordinates were given to make sure a place wouldn’t be hit — and it was.

It’s not random. It’s about control. Stop food deliveries and medicine, and people are forced to move or bend to whoever is in power. Or they use aid as a bargaining chip. Either way, civilians suffer.

And every time someone is killed, agencies pull out. Projects stop. Communities that rely on that help are left hanging. Trust breaks. Over time, the whole idea of neutral aid starts to feel like a myth.

Impunity and the lack of accountability

Here’s the other problem. There is no accountability. If an aid worker is killed, maybe there’s an investigation. Maybe. But it drags on for months, and nothing comes out of it. Families get no answers. Leaders protect their allies. Some don’t even speak up.

When you can kill a humanitarian worker and nothing happens, you’ve basically told the world it’s fine. And the next group of armed men who think aid is in their way? They’ll use it as a precedent.

And sure, we get the statements, the “deep concerns,” the resolutions that don’t actually bite. But the attacks keep coming.

As one Palestinian colleague wrote:

We are keeping receipts. We are recording every second the world watched our massacre televised and ‘people power’ failed Palestinians.

To my colleagues in the so-called humanitarian sector: you came to our region thinking you had the power to make change, boasting about your progressive European and Western values. Look at yourselves now. You belong to the ugliest chapter in human history.

You should carry that shame forever.

That anger is not abstract. It’s what happens when promises of protection and justice turn out to be empty words. And without accountability, that anger will only grow.

The erosion of humanitarian space

Humanitarian space — the ability to work without political or military interference — is collapsing. Now, we need ten permits just to move supplies, and half the time they “lose” the paperwork. Some groups demand to decide who gets help. Others block access until you give up. In some countries, just being an aid worker can get you arrested.

So you’re stuck making impossible choices. Risk your team’s safety or leave people with nothing. People notice when aid stops or when it only reaches certain groups. Trust gets weaker.

And when humanitarian space is gone, it’s gone. People die waiting for food and medicine that never comes. And the principle that aid should be about need, not politics? That’s out the window.

What this means

These aren’t three different problems. They’re one big one: the world’s promise to protect humanitarians is falling apart.

If it keeps going like this, working in the hardest-hit places will become impossible. People will starve. Diseases will spread. Wars will drag on because no one’s there to help rebuild or even keep people alive in the meantime.

And here’s the thing — if we can’t protect the people risking their lives to help, all that talk about protecting civilians in war is empty. Words don’t stop bullets.

We’ve had enough statements. The only way this changes is if leaders actually act — enforce the law, punish those who break it, protect humanitarian space. Until then, we’re going to keep losing people. And with them, we’re losing the whole point of what humanitarian work is supposed to be.

Call to action

Protecting humanitarian workers is not optional. It is a legal obligation and a moral duty. Governments must move beyond expressions of sympathy and act decisively. This means pressing for independent investigations into every attack, imposing consequences and sanctions on those responsible, and ensuring that aid can be delivered without political interference.

The humanitarian sector must also push harder. Silence and caution may feel safer, but they have not stopped the killings. Speaking out together — loudly and consistently — is the only way to challenge the impunity that fuels these crimes.

For the public, there is a role too. Hold leaders to account. Demand that your government defends humanitarian law, not just in words but in policy and practice. Support organisations that refuse to compromise their principles.

World Humanitarian Day should not be a day of mourning alone. It should be a turning point — the moment when the world decided that the lives of those who serve others are worth protecting at any cost.