Is the aid sector still failing victims of sexual abuse?

Back in 2002, the United Nations Refugee Agency, or UNHCR, and Save the Children UK published a joint report that rocked the aid world — at least, it seemed to. Titled “Sexual Violence and Exploitation: The Experience of Refugee Children in Liberia, Guinea and Sierra Leone,” the report detailed the massive degree to which aid workers across more than 40 organizations — including U.N. peacekeepers, international and local NGOs, and government agencies — were exchanging goods for sex from the populations they were meant to be serving. The majority of victims were girls between 13 and 18 years old. The perpetrators, meanwhile, were “often men in positions of relative power and influence who either control access to goods and services or who have wealth and/or income.” Officials were quick to express their horror at the paper’s revelations. Then-U.N. Secretary-General Kofi Annan said he was “clearly shocked and disturbed at the news of the possible extensive abuse of children in refugee camps in West Africa,” and that the allegations should be investigated “as thoroughly and urgently as possible.” At a UNHCR executive committee meeting, dozens of delegations took the floor, calling the situation an “indictment of UNHCR's protection regime.” Working groups were established, codes of conduct were drawn up, and calls for an independent watchdog force were issued. Eventually, though, the din of outrage quieted. In practical terms, little changed. Some high-level executives actively denounced the validity of the report, with Ruud Lubbers, the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees at the time, appearing on CNN to call the findings “scarce.” But in the years since the joint report was released, it’s become clear that “scarce” is not the right characterization, and new scandals have surfaced semi-regularly. The last one to capture global attention erupted in 2018 when British newspaper The Times published a bombshell exposé detailing the lengths to which Oxfam went to cover up abuse perpetrated by workers responding to the 2011 Haiti earthquake, quietly allowing three men to resign and releasing four others. As in 2002, a flurry of activity followed, with policy initiatives and coordinating mechanisms established with renewed vigor. Yet today, real change remains elusive. Asmita Naik, one of the authors of the original 2002 report, dissected these shortcomings at length in a 2022 article, citing a series of misdirected efforts that failed to get to the root of the problem. For example, aid leaders invested heavily in employment cycle schemes “based on the naive assumption that all would be well if organisations could avoid hiring perpetrators,” ignoring the fact that identifying them first requires a functioning complaint mechanism and disciplinary process. It should be no surprise, then, that a pilot program conducted last year by CHS Alliance revealed 133 incidents of sexual abuse committed by aid workers at two dozen organizations over the course of a single year — and experts say this small, self-reported sampling likely represents just the tip of the iceberg. Why, more than 20 years after UNHCR and Save the Children published their report, has sexual exploitation, abuse, and harassment — abbreviated as SEAH — continued to roil the aid sector? And more importantly, what will meaningful action look like in practice? Transactionalism and ‘survival sex’ One of the complicating factors of eradicating SEAH is that even identifying it can be difficult. Some instances, like the 2015 rape of a 14-year-old girl by U.N. peacekeepers in the Central African Republic, are obvious. But not every case is so clear. Dorothea Hilhorst, a professor of humanitarian studies at Erasmus University who has researched SEAH among aid workers, said that in many contexts, sex is viewed as “transactional” by both abuser and victim — an acceptable price to pay for access. “People don't often … give you their business card before they abuse you or exploit you. But the fact remains that they have been empowered by the aid process and by an aid agency to make decisions about who gets lifesaving resources and who doesn't.” --— Alina Potts, a research scientist at the Global Women’s Institute and principal investigator of the Empowered Aid project Hilhorst has done much of her research in the Democratic Republic of Congo, where she said sex is often regarded this way. Getting on the list to receive aid, being prioritized for resettlement, acquiring a job in the sector — for all of these things, the answer is the same: “You have to buy your way through,” Hilhorst said. The currency in question can be money, but it can also be violence, or sex. In the areas where she’s worked, Hilhorst said it’s not uncommon for mothers to tell their daughters to acquire a sugar daddy, assuring them that “everyone does it.” In one telling case, Hilhorst recalled a woman complaining that because of a crackdown on trading sex for aid directly, she had to work as a prostitute in town in order to buy assistance. Transactionalism is so deeply embedded that it’s bred its own perverse sense of humor: In camps for the internally displaced, tokens used as currency are jokingly referred to as “sexually transmitted tokens.” In some instances, men have even felt unfairly maligned by their lack of what they consider a coveted resource. Hilhorst recalled a Congolese doctoral candidate who was applying for a research position and revealed to her that he himself had been a victim of sexual abuse. When Hilhorst inquired further, he explained that he felt he’d been entitled to a promotion at the NGO where he worked, but the position went instead to a woman who “sexually bribed” his boss. Because of this, Hilhorst said, the candidate “felt he was a victim.” Understanding the complexity of SEAH, and the way it’s interwoven into the fabric of culture is crucial, Hilhorst said. “How can we eradicate a problem that we just refuse to understand?” she asked. Alexandra Filippova, a senior staff attorney at the Institute for Justice & Democracy in Haiti, agreed. “If someone uses high levels of violence in order to get penetrative sex … that’s easier for people to wrap their minds around,” she said. What’s actually more pervasive is what is referred to as “survival sex.” Often, survival sex can superficially appear consensual. “It doesn’t necessarily look like violence, because it’s someone who desperately needs a resource,” Filippova explained. A vulnerable person might not identify this exchange as abuse — which, of course, makes accountability difficult. Accountability in action Regardless of how the power imbalance is weighted, transactional sex between two consenting adults is not generally illegal. From a professional conduct perspective, however, the U.N. maintains a “zero tolerance” policy, and NGOs typically have codes of conduct prohibiting any form of SEAH, including transactional sex. In addition to protocols, many NGOs do have accountability mechanisms in place — in theory. Delu Lusambya Mwenebyake, a Ph.D. researcher at Erasmus University’s International Institute of Social Studies who works with Hillhorst, studies the effectiveness of SEAH accountability in humanitarian contexts. He became interested in the topic when, while doing research in his native Democratic Republic of Congo, he saw “white children” running around the village where he was conducting interviews — the offspring of since-departed U.N. peacekeepers. “A burden,” was how one mother described the children. Even though many organizations theoretically offer tools for survivors to report instances of misconduct, the reality is that those tools tend to have limited effectiveness. There are several factors that determine whether someone will take advantage of an SEAH reporting resource. If the option is to file a complaint via a phone hotline or suggestion box, who is on the receiving end? Not only is it necessary to trust that person or group of people; you also have to have reason to believe there will be some benefit to doing so, Mwenebyake said. Unfortunately, many of these accountability mechanisms seem to exist more for appearances than utility. Mwenebyake recalled a spate of issues that people encounter when trying to report abuse: Hotline recordings that are not in the local language, or reliance on hotlines in places where a large percentage of women don’t have access to phones. To fill out a complaint form, you first have to know how to write. These barriers are not insignificant, and create the impression that they exist solely for the purpose of checking a box. “Sometimes I ask myself, do humanitarian actors put these [mechanisms in place] to allow people to report their cases? Or do they just put them there to convince donors?” Mwenebyake asked. Lip service to accountability has frequently stood in place of action. In the wake of the 2018 Oxfam scandal, which itself was powered by the energy of the #MeToo movement, the aid sector seemed motivated, however briefly, to tackle SEAH in a meaningful way. The British government was especially assertive, convening a safeguarding summit that yielded policies, strategies, and agreements like the Development Assistance Committee’s Recommendation on Ending Sexual Exploitation, Abuse, and Harassment in Development Co-operation and Humanitarian Assistance report. Naik, the co-author of the 2002 report, told Devex in an email that, while there has been an increase in international coordination and some progress in institutionalizing responses, “there have also been wasted efforts, a reinvention of the wheel and a reluctance to hold aid organisations accountable for the conduct of their staff.” “For those of us who have long advocated for investment in practical measures at community level to address the sexual exploitation of beneficiaries, the continued focus on top-down schemes is disappointing,” she wrote. A lack of will The tepid effort to seriously tackle SEAH is born of a few root causes. Filippova attributes the lack of will to a sense of paternalism toward affected populations, and a failure to think of them as rights-holders. There is, she said, “a complete reluctance to acknowledge when there are real failures.” There has also been active resistance on the part of governments and aid organizations to take steps to address the matter. In the wake of the Oxfam scandal, Hilhorst and Naik, along with humanitarian researcher Andrew Cunningham, co-authored a study examining the feasibility of establishing an international ombudsman — an independent institution designed for citizens “to raise complaints about public institutions and services.” But for as detailed as the study was, there was little interest among agencies or donors to move ahead, Hilhorst told Devex. “Zero,” she clarified. “There’s just no appetite.” Partially, this is because people recall the failure of a similar proposal attempted in the 1990s following the Rwandan genocide, which was eventually axed in favor of a mechanism of “voluntary self-regulation.” Hilhorst said another aspect of the resistance is that agencies don’t want to add yet another institutional layer to the already difficult process of distributing aid, much less finance it. There’s also, of course, trepidation at having the extent of abuse exposed. Still others simply feel that addressing SEAH is a distraction from the business of distributing aid. This is wrongheaded, Hilhorst said. “It’s not a fringe phenomenon. It goes right to the heart of the effectiveness and efficiency of aid.” In Filippova’s experience, there’s a sense that anyone working within the aid ecosystem are inherently “good guys,” and therefore, can do no wrong. But that’s not the case — as the ongoing instances of abuse demonstrate, aid can be damaging. Part of aid delivery has to be that it’s done responsibly, Filippova said. “And if you can't do that, then you shouldn't be doing it.” The power of prevention For all the many convenings, working papers, statutes, proposals, and initiatives dedicated to SEAH accountability, experts widely agree that the clearest path to eliminating abuse is through prevention. Some solutions are startlingly straightforward. Alina Potts, a research scientist at the Global Women’s Institute and principal investigator of the Empowered Aid project, said a lot of problems can be solved simply by having more women in aid, from the distribution level up to project design and implementation. Consider the way food aid is handed out: In order to collect it, you first have to travel to the distribution site, which can be far from home and require hiring a taxi or other form of transit. The site itself is monitored by aid workers, who are often male. The food is usually packaged in bulk quantities, making it a challenge to transport without help. All of these steps — and the mostly male workers employed to assist along the way — represent opportunities for exploitation, Potts explained. Having more women in roles throughout the aid pipeline, from drivers to distribution site guards to engineers, has had proven results in many different contexts. ​​”What we really want to show with this work is that it is possible to make aid safer, and it's not necessarily more expensive or less efficient,” Potts said — in fact, it may be even less expensive and more efficient. “Inevitably … global public attention will only fall on this issue intermittently; it is incumbent on donors to step up and prioritise PSEA [Protection from Sexual Exploitation and Abuse] over other interests.” --— Asmita Naik, co-author of the 2002 report on sexual violence and exploitation Working to make the aid ecosystem as a whole more gender-balanced can also decrease the burden of proof placed on survivors. If someone is exploited or abused, it’s hard to say whether the perpetrator was a staff member, a contractor, a volunteer, or not affiliated with a particular organization at all. “People don't often introduce themselves or give you their business card before they abuse you or exploit you,” Potts said. “But the fact remains that they have been empowered by the aid process and by an aid agency to make decisions about who gets lifesaving resources and who doesn't.” Having protocols — and rigorously enforcing them — is another form of prevention that can make an impact, said Filippova. If abuse does occur, reporting mechanisms need to be transparent, accountable, and ideally result in financial compensation for victims. “You want recourse to be something that is understood and feels meaningful and accessible,” she explained. If it’s not, it both undermines the harm caused, and creates the impression that reporting abuse is not worth the risk. Ending abuse for good Over 20 years ago, following the first U.N. report investigating SEAH, Naik argued that a watchdog was needed to tackle the issue. So far, this recommendation has not been implemented. It would be difficult to put an exact dollar amount on the price of accountability, however, the cost of a watchdog could be substantial: To tackle SEAH effectively in other fields has required regulators with significant powers and multimillion-dollar budgets. But there are many steps that could come before that. Hilhorst said it would require a combination of what she calls “round” and “square” approaches: A square approach consists of codes of conduct, investigation, prosecution, investigation, and other official measures. Round approaches entail addressing the culture of impunity itself, and dispelling myths around masculinity and sexuality. Ultimately, it may be that donors are the only force powerful enough to convince organizations to take SEAH seriously. Donors, in turn, are influenced by public pressure. The occasional media firestorm illuminates these issues for a time, Naik said, but “history shows us that donor pressure wanes as media and public attention disappears.” This was the case when Oxfam hit the headlines in 2018. At that point, the U.K. government pushed for international action, but other donors did not follow suit, and relatively little change took place. Quickly, the opportunity was lost. “Inevitably with everything that’s going on in the world, global public attention will only fall on this issue intermittently; it is incumbent on donors to step up and prioritise PSEA [Protection from Sexual Exploitation and Abuse] over other interests,” Naik told Devex in an email. “Donor governments need to do more to hold aid agencies to account; they cannot rely on media and public attention to force them to act.” It’s true that in the more than 20 years since UNHCR and Save the Children published their report, the sector has not addressed the issue with the urgency it requires. But that doesn’t mean it can’t. “Having a sense that this is actually being monitored and will come with consequences attached, I think does discourage these things,” Filippova said. “I do think this kind of culture change is doable,” she added. “It requires acknowledging [the problem] and saying, ‘We have not been doing this well, we need to change our systems, and we actually are committed to it, not in passing, but as a central principle.’”