Elise Kant, director of Haella, came to visit.

Outspoken and passionate, a real hands-on type.

During a sabbatical on Lesbos, she witnessed a new vitality among young volunteers that gave her courage. As far as she’s concerned, the widely used Theory of Change in philanthropy belongs in the trash—because failure should be allowed in project funding.

She doesn’t need the government for her plans. In fact, when officials tried to ride the wave of success of the small poverty relief fund, she told them to take a hike.

She was named the most influential professional in Dutch philanthropy.

Listen and find out why…

https://app.springcast.fm/20328/22-elise-kant

It feels like a lesson in humility. The camp on Lesbos lies right by the sea, and today it is bitterly cold—piercing rain, an all-penetrating wind. People in slippers, in jackets unfit for this freezing weather. But more than anything, it is the realization of everything these people have endured. Waiting, an interview, more waiting.

You might wonder: how hard can it be? But the man from Afghanistan holding a small girl in his arms, the mother with her newborn baby, the man with piercing blue eyes from Syria—they all came here with the hope of something better. And that better life is not here. The fact that, for most of them, it may never come at all—that is a kind of emotional gymnastics for everyone involved.

What strikes me most today is how the system demands an impossible level of abstraction from people telling their stories at the start of their asylum process. They must be consistent, provide details—like a grotesque form of horror storytelling. The more harrowing, the better. But the cruel irony is that the more traumatic an experience, the harder it is to recount. Before they even begin, they are caught in a Catch-22. The man with blue eyes still has hope, but his story may not be ‘horrific’ enough. His country’s asylum procedures are on hold. He drifted off during his interview—how could he not?

And what I wish I could shout to the world is that these are all just people. People you could meet anywhere. People who could be your neighbors. People who smile, or walk away completely broken. People who watch their dreams fade, lost in a system. And today, it is unbearably cold.

Thankfully, there are people like Aron, who confides in me where he finds his hope. He speaks kindly and clearly about what Fenix can and cannot offer—and that matters so much. And Lily, who explains the entire procedure with care and attention. In both of them, you feel what the world so desperately needs: love for people. I truly believe it is that simple.

I wish I could drag a few people here and say: Look. Really look. This is how you make the world a safe place for everyone. Here at Fenix, they do exactly that. A glimpse of sunlight breaking through a dark sky.

Here’s a first video with Aron, also from the Netherlands, briefly explaining what Fenix does in the camp. And Fenix does so much more. More videos will follow.

These words come from asylum interviews with people who have arrived on Lesbos. Reality, as it turns out, is often far harsher than we can imagine.

The same applies to today’s news about the possible dissolution of USAID. Beyond the catastrophe this would be for countless organizations worldwide, it is also a deeply alarming signal. The drumbeat of dehumanization grows louder for those who do not fit into a privileged framework. It chills me to the bone—even here, under the generous spring sun shining over the island.

You could become cynical, or deeply saddened. Or you could look at the people who, against all odds, are trying to make a difference. The courageous team at Fenix, the many small initiatives in the Netherlands supporting those who fall through every crack, our partners in Uganda, and others around the world.

Now more than ever, it is both good and necessary to recognize and feel that there is a broad movement saying no to these voices, to these ways of treating one another.

And that each of us can do something to stop this tide. No matter how small—it matters. Whether you donate, speak up even when it feels daunting, or do something for another person, even a stranger—it all counts. And it is more necessary than ever.