Irma is record-breaking all round, did enormous damage to islands in the Caribbean, and has at the time of writing just cut-off 4 million people from electricity in Florida. Hurricanes turn everything on its head; metaphorically, but also painfully literally. My fieldwork area, St. Maarten, St. Eustatius and Saba, was hit by Irma in the night of Tuesday 5th to Wednesday 6th of September, and images of upside-down cars and torn down houses flooded the media.
Trump warned Irma to potentially be even worse than Harvey, which left many homeless in Texas. And indeed, the images of flooded St. Maarten streets look eerily familiar to those a week before. From the island of beach ‘n bliss, St. Maarten has turned into something of a war zone. A lack of drinking water, food and medicine has resulted in armed looting, while a break-down of all communication channels makes the exertion of control impossible. Roofless houses, upside-down cars and water where land used to be – pictures show St. Maarten completely overturned.
Street of SXM. Photo Ministerie van Defensie via Reuters All this happened while I was at a conference on invasive plant species in sunny Lisbon. I was being flooded by new insights and practices in invasion management, while my beloved islands were overtaken by sea water, uprooted trees and despair. Emergency aid sent by the Dutch government was having trouble reaching the island, due to severely damaged infrastructure. Now that Irma’s successor José has passed, marines and the Red Cross can really start helping those who became homeless. Dutch civil servants and tourists are being evacuated to Curaçao (which I’m sure will soon receive accusations of priority treatment) and the army is taking control to end the lawlessness. Following these news reports closely, I wandered about the conference wondering what use all that knowledge of my fellow scientists is to those without a roof.
Science in a disaster area
From my master’s at Wageningen university I remember a lecture on conducting research in a disaster area, for example hit by a hurricane or warfare. The lecturer argued that scientists should not feel bad about not being aid workers, because that is not what they are good at. They are trained to conduct research, and can contribute in that way. And indeed, research on humanitarian aid after disasters such as conducted by professor Thea Hilhorst should help improve emergency relief in the future. But what if your research is not on disaster relief, but for example, the management of an invasive vine....? Shouldn’t everyone working in such an area adjust whatever they are doing so as to lend support?
Whenever I attempt to help in situations where I cannot, my grandma enjoys pointing out that I am not the Red Cross. Factually true, emotionally not resonating. After two fieldwork visits to St. Eustatius and Saba, conducting many interviews with locals who welcomed me into their community, I have come to care a lot for these islands. Although objectivity and distance to your research object are deemed important for scientific research, the human being behind the researcher functions differently. Seeing water in the streets of Oranjestad (St. Eustatius) or houses without a roof in St. John’s (Saba) make it hard to sit at my desk, analyzing interviews with the people living on that very same street or in that very same house.
From my master’s at Wageningen university I remember a lecture on conducting research in a disaster area, for example hit by a hurricane or warfare. The lecturer argued that scientists should not feel bad about not being aid workers, because that is not what they are good at. They are trained to conduct research, and can contribute in that way. And indeed, research on humanitarian aid after disasters such as conducted by professor Thea Hilhorst should help improve emergency relief in the future. But what if your research is not on disaster relief, but for example, the management of an invasive vine....? Shouldn’t everyone working in such an area adjust whatever they are doing so as to lend support?
Whenever I attempt to help in situations where I cannot, my grandma enjoys pointing out that I am not the Red Cross. Factually true, emotionally not resonating. After two fieldwork visits to St. Eustatius and Saba, conducting many interviews with locals who welcomed me into their community, I have come to care a lot for these islands. Although objectivity and distance to your research object are deemed important for scientific research, the human being behind the researcher functions differently. Seeing water in the streets of Oranjestad (St. Eustatius) or houses without a roof in St. John’s (Saba) make it hard to sit at my desk, analyzing interviews with the people living on that very same street or in that very same house.
Inside of the Quill volcano on St. Eustatius, before and after Irma. Photos by Hannah Madden
Jumping on a plane and putting my close to non-existent carpenter skills to work is however impossible due to the airport of St. Maarten being severely damaged. So I sit at my desk writing this blog, transfering a donation to the Red Cross, liking a concert organised to raise money for St. Maarten on Facebook and wondering how my research, knowledge and contacts could be of help in this situation. Could we for example contribute to nature restoration while testing ways to keep Coralita from taking over disturbed sites? Maybe patching up some fences while we’re at it? Because although I am not the Red Cross, currently all help is needed – also that of scientists.
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