How can a disaster be unprecedented and yet also entirely predictable and preventable? And how can it be that, when such a catastrophe can be halted, we still fail to do so? That is the situation now unfolding across four countries, where 20 million people may starve to death within six months. The first famine recorded worldwide in six years has already been declared in part of South Sudan. Yemen, northern Nigeria and Somalia are also on the brink, according to the Famine Early Warning System, which says global hunger levels are at their highest for decades.
In the past, famine was often misunderstood as an inadequate food supply. Now we have grasped that – notwithstanding the alarming implications of a soaring global population, climate change and the effects of current farming practices – the key question is who can access food. People die because of disintegrating governments as well as poor rains. In each of the current cases, the problem has complex roots, but the striking common thread is conflict: the impact of jihadist group Boko Haram in northern Nigeria, the civil war in South Sudan and a war – fuelled in part by British and US bombs – that has destroyed and paralysed Yemen’s ports, to devastating effect in a country which imported 90% of its food. In Somalia, the primary immediate cause is drought, but decades of conflict have left it vulnerable.
So these crises are in large part manmade; and they were seen coming. Agencies began warning about the risks in South Sudan almost two years ago. In November, Médecins Sans Frontières warned that malnutrition appeared to have wiped out young children in parts of Borno state, Nigeria. Yet even now, attention is minimal and the response limited. Our unwillingness to recognise such creeping disasters – compared with, say, earthquakes – is remarkable; one expert has described it as “‘no corpses, no food aid’ myopia”. Their gradual nature gives us a greater opportunity to intervene but seems to reduce our inclination to do so.
When the pictures of starving children with bloated bellies appear, we have already failed. In 2011, “the best chronicled descent into mass starvation in history” saw a quarter of a million people die in Somalia, many of them before the famine was declared, despite scores of warnings. Never again, people said – but here we are again, and the indifference is equally pronounced. The UN says it needs $4.4bn by the end of March to avert a catastrophe. So far, it has $90m in hand. Pledges need to be fulfilled, and quickly; and much more is needed. The department for international development announced £100m in “new humanitarian support” for South Sudan, but it soon emerged that the money had already been allocated to the country.
Those at risk need more than emergency support, of course. The international community must continue to pursue peace and, in the meantime, do their utmost to ensure aid can be delivered. Supporting longer-term development work is essential.
The shortfall must also be put into context: there have been massive increases in global humanitarian aid, but they have not kept up with the rising tide of need. Even the best-intentioned perhaps feel too overwhelmed by the world’s other woes to register this fresh human misery. Populist politicians such as Nigel Farage grumble that “charity begins at home”, meaning it should end there too. There are concerns that the United States, currently Nigeria’s biggest donor, will scale back aid in Africa. In the UK, Conservative MPs seek to end the commitment to spend 0.7% of national income on aid.
Defenders say that it is in the developed world’s own interests to promote the well-being and stability of other communities, but it is also a question of basic human decency. As the UN secretary-general António Guterres stated, there is no excuse for inaction in a world of plenty. The growing food crisis not only has the makings of a tragedy, as he warned, but of a scandal.
