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

Trust as a Starting and Ending Point

The two most common questions or remarks I get when I travel to visit partners and projects are these: Are you going there to evaluate or monitor them? and Oh, how brave — isn’t it incredibly hard to travel through those countries and witness all that suffering?

The answers are: no, no, and yes.

Haella is built on one solid foundation: trust. I don’t need a theory of change or a five-year plan. I actually dislike the word impact, or worse, impact indicator. I believe in people who see a problem, observe it closely, and then take action. And in situations like those here at the borders (and elsewhere), you shouldn’t burden people with requests for detailed plans or only give money for activity X or Y. The situation literally changes every day. So what do we do? We simply give money because we believe in what people do. What we do here is mostly observe, listen, ask questions, and talk to a wide range of people — and then zoom out to ask: what does this mean for Haella? What more can we do to fill the gaps, to tell the world what’s happening here, and to support the people working in these organizations? A project doesn’t improve because I ask for long reports. On the contrary — bureaucracy has crushed many good plans. We truly try to be a partner. Trust is our starting point, and our end point.

Traveling isn’t hard — as long as you’re prepared for things to never go as planned. We’ve been stuck in a violent storm for days now. We were supposed to take the boat to Chios and then to Samos, but it was taken out of service. So we flew to Samos instead, which turned out to be quite a terrifying experience — landing in a storm with strong crosswinds… let’s just say it wasn’t exactly a soft landing. Lianne and I held on to each other for a moment.

Seeing suffering — that always hits you. Especially this kind, on the edges of Europe. It doesn’t have to be this way — no, it shouldn’t be this way — in fact, it must not be this way. And yet, it is. It’s a journey along barbed wire, police, military zones, and meetings with people in organizations who are incredibly brave — and sometimes just exhausted. They bring hope, but they often have to pull it up from the depths of their souls. We speak with people who have endured so much, who carry heavy sorrow behind their smiles. That means listening, feeling deeply, sometimes crying, and then moving forward with even more conviction. And knowing: there’s a huge group of people out there who really care. We want to stand with them. We want to support them. And we want to show the world that this is truly unacceptable — and that things can be different. In the end, it’s actually just that simple.

And would you like to join us?

You are more than welcome.

When people hear “Lesbos,” various associations come to mind: a beautiful vacation island, a vast refugee camp, or the home of the poet Sappho.

Lesbos is indeed a beautiful island, where kindness, tranquility, and simplicity set the rhythm. It’s a place where one can find oneself, surrounded by expansive vistas, basking in the sun, and simply feel happy.

It’s also a place of nearly constant earthquakes, most of which go unnoticed, though some are felt. Last week, my bed and windows suddenly began to shake during a prolonged tremor measuring 5.1 in magnitude—unusual even for here. The advice: take cover under a table. Fortunately, my tiny rooftop dwelling has a table.

And then there’s the massive refugee camp, currently housing around 4,000 people in tents and shipping containers. In April of last year, there were only 1,000. When severe weather struck after the earthquake, I could only think: how must it be there?

I’m here visiting Fenix, where I’ll be volunteering in the camp for several weeks, working on stories and films, and seeking ways to engage people in the Netherlands with the harrowing ways Europe handles those seeking safety, and to support the courageous organizations making a difference here.

Fenix – Humanitarian Legal Aid is a remarkable organization. Driven by a deeply felt mission that refugees should not be approached as pitiable or, worse, as criminals, but as people like you and me with the right to a dignified existence, they provide assistance in various ways. They help individuals navigate the asylum application process informedly and overcome the immense obstacles placed before them. The stories are harrowing and heart-wrenching.

What struck me most profoundly are the additional challenges faced by traumatized individuals, which often means they cannot or dare not speak about their experiences because it feels like they might fall apart. Yet, in the procedure, they must. Suddenly, these experiences must be laid bare, as they often form the basis for approval. This is incredibly difficult for everyone, but especially for LGBTQ+ individuals. If you’ve been silent about something, particularly your orientation, for a lifetime, you often lack the language for it. Then, to suddenly have to discuss it during an interrogation is, in my view, nothing less than mental torture.

Tomorrow, I’ll accompany Aron from Fenix to the camp. It will be a balance of what I can and cannot share (strict rules apply in the camp), and photography is also prohibited.

This morning, I had an extensive conversation with Maaike, Fenix’s coordinator. So brave, young, and passionate, along with her team.

It is an enormous privilege for me to be here. I hope that, in a very different role than usual, I can contribute something, no matter how small, that makes a difference.

Contribute? See below.

fenixaid.org