Posted on 15 December 2025
Photo Credit: The Weight of the Rubble – Rico’s Story of Response and Resolve, Photographer: AnnRuth Luke (ADRA Vanuatu Comms Officer)
Kia ora Humanitarians
It’s that time of year again when everything seems to shift into an impossible dual state: the frantic scramble to finish absolutely everything by close of play, and the slow slide into that liminal fog where productivity goes to die as everyone mentally checks out ahead of the break.
So, while people are whittling down the last week or two of the year, I thought I’d offer a recap of the one we’ve just come through. The older I get (and dare I say, wiser?), the more I feel the need to reflect at this time of year. And there was a lot of year in this year. It’s astonishing how easy it is to forget everything that has happened, compressed as we are between rolling crises and relentlessly accelerating news cycles.
2025 did not so much begin as continue. January arrived without the courtesy of a reset, carrying forward a world already stretched thin. The EU opened with a €1.9 billion humanitarian funding pledge, significant, but instantly overshadowed by the sheer volume of need. Early analysis from ACAPS placed the Democratic Republic of the Congo among the year’s most severe but least visible crises, with over 25 million people projected to face food insecurity by mid-year. Instability simmered elsewhere: Ukraine weathered another winter of bombardments, Red Sea shipping disruptions nudged global markets, and tensions in the Horn of Africa resurfaced.
March brought the first major natural disaster of the year: a powerful earthquake in central Myanmar layered directly onto an existing conflict, fracturing roads, buildings, and humanitarian access. Haiti’s long breakdown crossed a new threshold as the UN human rights chief warned the country had reached “yet another crisis point.” FAO and WFP’s Hunger Hotspots report confirmed rapidly worsening risks in Sudan, South Sudan, Somalia, the DRC, and Haiti. The quarter was not defined by a single shock but by a steady accumulation of strain.
By April, the pressure was no longer subtle. Gaza’s humanitarian emergency deteriorated sharply as hospitals closed and medical supplies ran out. A ceasefire later in the quarter offered a pause in the bombing, but it revealed a humanitarian landscape already hollowed out. Around this time, the internationally backed Gaza Humanitarian Foundation collapsed in a very public demonstration of how quickly a poorly designed mechanism can breach humanitarian standards and basic human rights. Its disappearance was not mourned.
Sudan’s food crisis deepened, with seasonal assessments warning of famine-like conditions in areas cut off by conflict. In the West Bank, a surge in demolitions and movement restrictions displaced new communities. The DRC saw further upheaval as M23 advanced, while unseasonal flooding in East Africa and searing heat across South Asia underscored WMO and IFRC warnings of a volatile climate year. Funding shortfalls persisted, and humanitarian planning tilted toward protecting what could be preserved rather than meeting what was required. By June, the system was being asked to function beyond its designed limits.
Q3 brought the year’s most consequential turning point. The sudden suspension of all USAID foreign assistance under Executive Order 14169 removed a pillar on which much of the global humanitarian system rests. Programmes closed overnight, partnerships dissolved, and years of localisation work were abruptly placed in jeopardy. Mid-year assessments showed deepening funding gaps across nearly every major crisis.
Meanwhile, the geopolitical environment grew sharper still. The United States conducted strikes on Venezuelan boats in the Caribbean, ostensibly part of counter-narcotics operations, but seen by many as another sign of the shifting balance between norms and hard power. And in Ukraine, reports of new damage to the Chernobyl containment structure, long considered secure, highlighted the increasingly fragile line between chronic and acute risk.
Climate shocks compounded everything: East African floods displaced hundreds of thousands; South Asia faced brutal heatwaves; and the Asia-Pacific region saw early storm intensification. Attacks on aid workers rose, access narrowed, and humanitarian responses shrank to the bare minimum. By September, resilience had transformed from a policy requirement into something more like a collective wish.
The final quarter of the year offered no relief. The UN marked its 80th anniversary with dignified speeches and earnest calls for cooperation. And yet the moment carried a quiet melancholy: the institution now felt like the wise elder in the room - respected, admired, and politely ignored by those with the most power to make decisions.
Gaza entered a catastrophic phase, with famine conditions unfolding in real time and access reduced to a sliver of what was required. Sudan’s displacement surpassed historic levels as conflict carved the country into increasingly inaccessible enclaves. Across the Pacific and Southeast Asia, powerful storms and flooding tested national systems already under strain, reminding countries like New Zealand that regional security, humanitarian need, and climate instability are tightly intertwined.
Defence spending continued to rise globally, including at home, a tacit acknowledgement that governments now see the world not through the lens of shared rules but through the calculus of strategic advantage. The humanitarian sector, meanwhile, faced an openly acknowledged burnout crisis as staff contended with impossible workloads, shrinking budgets, and expanding crises. End-of-year funding data confirmed the largest recorded gap between humanitarian need and available resources.
And yet, even amid strain, fragmentation, and exhaustion, something still holds. Here are the green shoots of optimism I promised at the beginning.
This year I’ve experienced extraordinary support from humanitarians navigating some truly difficult moments. They are remarkable. They keep answering the phone, replying to the emails, and offering help even as the ground shifts beneath them. They crack jokes through restructures, absorb the stress of cuts, and wear three hats when they were only ever contracted for one. Across this sector, there are incredible networks, formal and informal, of generous, principled people who hold each other up while doing everything they can for others.
What I am slowly coming to understand is that this solidarity is not just an attribute of humanitarian work; it is its foundation. While our lexicon continues to fall short in describing the escalating severity of need and true scale of crisis, solidarity remains the one word we get to claim and shape. We get to define what humanitarians are, and what we need to be.
And that sentiment isn’t something an outsider or observer feels. It comes from a sense of belonging, of being part of a community that chooses to look after one another when the world becomes overwhelming.
So as 2026 rolls in, I’m genuinely looking forward to working alongside, and lifting up, the humanitarians who make this work possible. That’s where my optimism lies: in the simple, stubborn truth that we still have the opportunity to shape our world and our place within it, and that we do so by first looking after each other.
Because in the end, the most important thing has never been the system, the doctrine, or the jargon. It has always been He tangata, he tangata, he tangata.
Merry Christmas,
Sam
Sam London is the Standards and Humanitarian Manager at the Council for International Development. For more information on CID's Humanitarian Network, click here. All other inquires regarding CID's Humanitarian and Standards (including Code of Conduct) can be made to Sam directly at code@cid.org.nz