A small British early childhood education organization sending emergency funds to the Philippines following a devastating typhoon seems almost ridiculous. The World Organization for Early Childhood Education’s United Kingdom committee, OMEP UK, is primarily funded by membership dues and small grants. There are no famous people who represent it. No fancy dinners for fundraising. Nevertheless, OMEP UK managed to organize assistance for young children and their families caught in the debris when Typhoon Haiyan devastated the Visayas in November 2013, affecting over 11 million people and destroying entire coastal towns.
The scale mismatch is worth pausing over. $500 million in loans for reconstruction were promised by the Asian Development Bank. A $301 million appeal was made by the UN. Significant emergency aid was provided by the UK government through DFID. In comparison, OMEP UK’s contributions were minuscule in absolute terms. However, the size of the check is not the only factor in disaster relief. It concerns whether anyone considers asking what happens to the three-year-olds once the cameras are gone.
OMEP’s work has always revolved around that question. The international organization, which was founded in 1948, has national committees in dozens of nations that are all dedicated to sustainable development, children’s rights, and early childhood education. The UK chapter’s decision to focus on emergency relief was actually an extension of the same issue rather than a true pivot. The youngest children lose not only their homes when a community is devastated by a typhoon, but also their routines, educational settings, and the adults who provide stability to their everyday lives. Rebuilding a preschool or reviving a feeding program are examples of ground-level interventions that influence whether recovery is sustained, but they don’t make headlines.
Following Japan’s March 11, 2011, Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami, the same reasoning was used. Coastal communities in the prefectures of Iwate, Miyagi, and Fukushima were devastated by a massive wall of seawater that followed a 9.0-magnitude earthquake. It makes sense that the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear crisis dominated global attention. In the meantime, OMEP UK raised money for community reconstruction, using its Japanese counterpart to distribute resources to families who were still residing in makeshift housing months or even years after the catastrophe. Perhaps even something as simple as a play area for kids or a parent support group was restored thanks to those funds. Contrary to popular belief, that level of specificity is crucial.
People who work in large-scale humanitarian response often feel that grassroots organizations are disregarded because their budgets aren’t recorded on the spreadsheets. The World Bank, JICA, and the ILO employ hundreds of specialists and transport millions of people. With the help of a few dedicated volunteers and whatever money its members can raise, OMEP UK operates. Nevertheless, the group was able to visit both Japan and the Philippines and establish direct connections with local OMEP committees that were aware of the needs of local families.
It’s difficult to ignore the irony. Entangled in logistics, coordination meetings, and bureaucratic approvals, organizations with billion-dollar portfolios occasionally find it difficult to deliver aid to the right people at the right time. Working from university offices and kitchen tables, OMEP UK merely asked its network what was required and sent what it could. It’s reasonable to wonder if that model is scalable. It is more difficult to argue against its effectiveness. The clearest sense of purpose can sometimes be found in the smallest budgets, and it is this clarity—rather than any monetary amount—that keeps relief efforts going.
