Column: “Are You Prepared for Emergencies?”

A few months ago, a small booklet appeared in my mailbox: a brochure from the government titled: "Prepare for Emergencies." The message was innocently intended, a practical guide, but the words ultimately triggered something deeper than a list of items in a cupboard. It spoke to fear, uncertainty, responsibility, and above all, humanity.

The booklet describes how the likelihood of emergencies is increasing. Not only due to natural disasters, such as storms, heatwaves, and heavy rainfall, which we experience more frequently, but also because of geopolitical tensions. War is mentioned, not as a certainty, but as a possibility.

In the Netherlands, we live in freedom and safety, the brochure states, but elsewhere in the world, think of Ukraine, that is far less self-evident. At the same time, it warns of digital threats: fake news, attacks on critical systems, and the collection of information about our networks and infrastructure. It paints a picture in which the word “safety” feels multifaceted and ambiguous.

That kind of language affects people. It touches not only our minds, but also our hearts. Because the word “war” carries weight. It feels vast, intangible, almost as if it is unfolding, even though we still live without actual conflict in our country. That is precisely why it cuts when such a word appears in a practical brochure.

And then there’s the practical part: an emergency kit. Water. Food. Batteries. Medicines. A radio. It sounds logical, almost self-evident. But what the brochure normalizes as simple preparation suddenly feels like a burden to many. Who can afford this easily?

For some, it is feasible. For others, living on fifty euros a week, it quickly means choosing between putting food on the table and buying a flashlight. Is that fair?

Inequality is not a theoretical concept: it determines who is hit hardest, who remains vulnerable, and who needs support.

Yet I recognize something important. The intent to inform is not wrong. Transparency is better than silence. There are situations where practical preparation can make a difference. Information without context, without attention to the people behind it, can, however, become cold instruction rather than warm support.

Perhaps there is an important lesson here. Preparation is not just about items in a box. It is about the people around us: the neighbor who cannot supplement her social benefits, the single father or mother who already has to stretch every euro, the elderly man living alone with a small social network. A society that prepares should first ensure that no one is left behind.

Because, at its core, an emergency doesn’t just require a flashlight and a radio. It requires connection, solidarity, a community in which we know, support, and protect each other. Alone, you are weak. Together, you are stronger.

The booklet recommends keeping it in the kitchen drawer, the meter cupboard, alongside important papers. Perhaps that is symbolic: always having information at hand. But what if we also always had the conversation at hand? What if we didn’t just collect items, but also conversations, care, and compassion?

Who ensures that no one is forgotten? Perhaps that is the central question this brochure evokes for me.

Questions to reflect on:

• How do you view this?

• Do you think the government has handled this topic well?

• What does “being prepared” mean to you, practically and emotionally?

• How can we ensure that no one stands alone when things truly get difficult?