Watching as the last petals fall but the stem and 🙅♀️ remains - 🏴 Something in me triggers a reaction to a neighbour when she asks if I have been going to Third World (read: poor) countries, to work, and her husband had also asked if I were doing social work. “I”m not doing humanitarian work,” I tell her, watching my inner seethe begin—she has no hint of my inner condition except a certain bluntness to my tone. She is bemused. “I don’t see the work in that way.” 🛃the act of love, applied with best intents, can strip people of their sovereignty. Doesn’t the coo-ing over poor adults and children reduce people not only to material lacks, which may be real or a matter of poverty policy/rhetorical framing, and to spiritual and emotional lack, but also reduces them to an inability to care for one’s people? Thus failures of leadership, long-term thinking, good executive decision-making, and other qualities associated with functional adulthood. Humanitarian aid built on uneven ground is flawed from its foundations... 🚸 〰️It is made for the powerless in exchange for their bodies and their future〰️ ...foundations that frame people so that the “population wearing out in the space of ordinariness becomes a figure saturated with emotion that is said to have been generated by a lack of or need for the responsibility of the still seemingly sovereign privileged classes.” (Berlant, 2008, 101) Poverty porn functions after all, as a rhetorical device that frames and encloses people into essentialised recipients of affective (love, care), and monetary donations. In humanitarian aid we find people continually making the subjects of aid “rhetorically radiant with attention, compassion, analysis, and sometimes reparation” (101). They are wearing out, worn out - Not only from their everyday living, but the very rhetorical guise of being helpless, forlorn, and love-starved, that we ask them to carry. 🛂 And from the eternal line between hope and subjugation ... possibility and probability ♾ #appadurai #berlant #humanitarian aid