Hold them to account
The security of the zone felt unusually bad, with a terrifying warlord actively killing and displacing people by the thousands. I arrived at an area so isolated that the project I was joining had built an airstrip so we could have access by plane.
I started sensing an additional menacing vibe and felt uneasy as I was supposed to replace a colleague that refused to do the handover and had a petty attitude towards me. When finally our boss assigned me to a different project I felt a relief to leave that place, while at the same time it seemed I had become a pawn without agency, stripped of autonomy and power.
Unfortunately in the new project I still worked with the same abusive man. My fear increased as he belittled my work to the point of shouting at me in front of other employees. Another colleague had also been bullied by him and I shared my fear of this threatening person with a superior to no avail. I was left at his mercy until the situation resulted in sexual assault. At that point, exhausted and psychologically harmed, I left the country.
I reported the inappropriate behaviour to headquarters. They issued some sort of warning but discouraged me of any further action. Soon after these events, my psychological burden got too heavy and I took a break from the humanitarian work.
Years later, the compliance office reopened the case and closed it with the conclusion that my colleague’s behaviour had not constituted sexual harassment.
When I enquired if they had checked other potential victims they answered: “Of course not, the investigation concerned only your allegations.” My jaw dropped. I couldn’t find my words: “How can this be about me?” Investigating allegations of sexual misconduct should aim at protecting employees from an internal danger. Instead they performed some sort of investigative process — dark and unprofessional — aiming to keep whistleblowers quiet while stating “we take these matters very seriously”.
Why would the investigation revolve around the victim and not around the perpetrator?
Gathering evidence on predatory behavioural patterns proves feasible. The information circulates in whisper networks and one can find information if willing — but there is none so blind as those who will not see. For example, through modern technology, the nonprofit Callisto offers a program that detects repeat offenders through a matching process. In the aid world instead we find weak, unsecure and useless hotlines.
Reporting sexual misconduct resulted in a scrutiny of my person, not of the perpetrator. Lacking any explanation to why groping and exhibitionism was considered acceptable I was left wondering if they considered that I had given consent — my NO hadn’t been NO enough — or if they didn’t believe me.
Internal procedures should reflect a real commitment to the dull #ZeroTolerance affirmation. But in 2020 the sector remains the safe haven for sexual abuse — in 2018 a UK government report found sexual abuse 'endemic' in international aid sector — that has been described repeatedly.
Organisations protect predators with lame excuses that mirror the inefficiency of the legal systems they are embedded in. They could be tougher by believing and siding with the victims. They choose not to. A shift must take place from the current too high threshold to hold an abuser to account, towards an active purge of perpetrators to guarantee safety both for humanitarian employees as well as the population receiving assistance.
Illustration by Cristina de Middel
