Column: “Are you prepared for emergencies?”

A few months ago, a small booklet landed on my doormat: a government brochure titled Prepare for Emergencies. The message was meant to be neutral, a practical guide, but the words stirred something that reaches far beyond a checklist of supplies in a cupboard. It spoke to fear, uncertainty, responsibility, and above all: humanity.

The booklet explains how the likelihood of emergencies is increasing. Not only because of natural disasters; storms, heatwaves, and heavy rainfall, which we are experiencing more and more frequently, but also due to 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, there are warnings about digital threats: misinformation, attacks on vital systems, and the gathering of data about our networks and infrastructure. It paints a picture in which the word “security” becomes layered and ambiguous.

That kind of language touches something in people. It doesn’t just reach the mind, it reaches the heart. Because the word “war” carries weight. It feels vast, intangible, almost as if something is unfolding, even though we are still living without actual conflict in our country. Precisely for that reason, it cuts deeper when such a word appears in a practical brochure.

And then there is the practical side: an emergency kit. Water. Food. Batteries. Medication. A radio. It sounds logical, almost obvious. But what the brochure presents as simple preparation suddenly feels like a burden for many. Who can truly afford this without a second thought?

For some, it’s manageable. For others, living on fifty euros a week, it quickly becomes a choice between food on the table and a flashlight in the drawer. Is that fair?

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

Still, I recognize something important. The intention to inform is not wrong. Transparency is better than silence. There should be openness about risks, and there are situations where practical preparation can make a real difference. But information without context without attention to the people behind it can become cold instruction instead of meaningful support.

Perhaps that is where an important lesson lies. Preparation is not only about what we store in a box. It is about the people around us: the neighbor who cannot stretch a limited income any further, the single parent already counting every euro, the elderly man living alone with a shrinking social circle. A society that prepares should first ensure that no one is left behind.

Because at its core, an emergency does not only call for a flashlight and a radio. It calls for connection, for solidarity, for a community in which we know, support, and protect one another. Fragmented, we are vulnerable. Together, we are stronger.

The booklet advises keeping it in a safe place your kitchen drawer, your utility cupboard, with important documents. Perhaps that, too, is symbolic: always having information within reach. But what if we also kept conversation within reach? What if we gathered not only supplies, but also dialogue, care, and compassion?

Who ensures that no one is forgotten? That may be the most important question this brochure raises for me.

Questions to reflect on:

• How do you view this?

• Do you think the government handled this topic well in its approach?

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

• How can we ensure that no one is left standing alone when things truly become difficult?