Over the years, I’ve learned that in every major crisis — whether it’s a hurricane in Florida, a terror attack in Nairobi, a cyber breach in Washington, or a flood in Budalang’i — the very first people to respond are almost never the government agents or the elite task forces we see on television. The first hands to lift the injured, the first voices to reassure the frightened, and the first doors to open for shelter usually belong to local residents.
They are the neighbors who grab sandbags before the water rises, the church leaders who turn their halls into makeshift shelters, the shopkeepers who use their own trucks to deliver supplies, and the trained community volunteers who check on the elderly before the sirens even stop wailing. In security terms, they are called “force multipliers” — ordinary people and organizations whose actions multiply the reach and effectiveness of professional responders.
From what I have seen in Kenya, the United States, and other parts of the world, the strength of a community’s resilience often determines how well it survives the immediate crisis — and how quickly it recovers afterward.
One of my favorite examples of this comes from a place you might not expect: the Florida Panthers hockey team. After Hurricane Irma hit in 2017, the Panthers didn’t just send out a donation and go back to business. They turned their home arena, the BB&T Center, into a supply hub. Staff, volunteers, and community partners mobilized to distribute food, water, and medical supplies to the hardest-hit neighborhoods.
They knew their region, they knew where the needs were greatest, and they had something that many traditional agencies lacked in the first days — existing logistics, a communications network, and the trust of the local community. They didn’t need to wait for bureaucracy to clear; they just acted. And in doing so, they reminded me that in disasters, influence and capacity can be as valuable as formal authority.
Faith communities have always been among the most reliable first responders. In Kenya, I’ve seen churches open their doors during floods in Kisumu, mosques organize food drives during drought in Wajir, and temples provide medical camps in Nairobi’s informal settlements.
In 2023, when wildfires tore through Lahaina in Hawaii, local churches didn’t wait for formal instructions — they became shelters and supply centers overnight. Volunteers cooked culturally familiar meals, organized prayer circles to comfort survivors, and coordinated with donors to bring in water and clothing. Faith-based groups succeed in these moments because they already have deep community trust, volunteer networks, and a shared sense of responsibility. They don’t just help with the immediate need; they stay for the long recovery, offering counseling, rebuilding homes, and advocating for those left behind.
When businesses see themselves as part of the resilience ecosystem, their contribution goes far beyond donations. In the United States, FEMA calls this the Whole Community approach — a recognition that companies have a stake in keeping their communities strong.
After Hurricane Idalia in 2023, a regional grocery chain in Florida activated its emergency plan before federal aid fully mobilized. They used refrigerated trucks to deliver fresh food to isolated communities, keeping supply chains moving for those who could least afford a break in service.
In Kenya, I think of how supermarkets and bus companies have mobilized during post-election violence or drought emergencies, transporting goods and people to safety. When the private sector builds disaster readiness into its operations, it can act faster than any central government office.
Community resilience grows when ordinary people are trained in extraordinary skills. Programs like the Community Emergency Response Team (CERT) in the U.S. give volunteers practical tools — from disaster first aid to light search and rescue — so they can step in during the critical minutes before professionals arrive.
I often imagine what a Kenyan version of CERT could do, especially in flood-prone counties or along insecure borders. We already have the spirit — communities helping one another in emergencies — but with structured training, that help could be faster, safer, and more coordinated. But, not all resilience is built in classrooms or government programs. Sometimes it lives in the quiet bonds between neighbors. Sociologists call it social capital — the web of trust, relationships, and shared norms that allow people to work together in a crisis.
It’s knowing which neighbor owns a generator, who can interpret for the Somali-speaking family down the street, or where to gather if a disaster strikes. Communities with strong social capital recover faster because they already know how to cooperate, share resources, and solve problems together. But we must be honest: not every community starts from the same place. Some neighborhoods lack formal training programs, business support, or even stable community institutions. This is where targeted investment matters.
The lesson is simple: resilience is not delivered from above — it is built from the ground up. The Florida Panthers’ relief hub, Lahaina’s faith-led shelters, CERT’s trained volunteers, and countless grassroots efforts prove that government plans work best when they are woven together with community action.
When communities act as force multipliers, we transform disaster from a moment of helplessness into a demonstration of collective strength. And in those moments, we are reminded that security — whether from storms, fires, or violence — begins right where we live.
They are the neighbors who grab sandbags before the water rises, the church leaders who turn their halls into makeshift shelters, the shopkeepers who use their own trucks to deliver supplies, and the trained community volunteers who check on the elderly before the sirens even stop wailing. In security terms, they are called “force multipliers” — ordinary people and organizations whose actions multiply the reach and effectiveness of professional responders.
From what I have seen in Kenya, the United States, and other parts of the world, the strength of a community’s resilience often determines how well it survives the immediate crisis — and how quickly it recovers afterward.
One of my favorite examples of this comes from a place you might not expect: the Florida Panthers hockey team. After Hurricane Irma hit in 2017, the Panthers didn’t just send out a donation and go back to business. They turned their home arena, the BB&T Center, into a supply hub. Staff, volunteers, and community partners mobilized to distribute food, water, and medical supplies to the hardest-hit neighborhoods.
They knew their region, they knew where the needs were greatest, and they had something that many traditional agencies lacked in the first days — existing logistics, a communications network, and the trust of the local community. They didn’t need to wait for bureaucracy to clear; they just acted. And in doing so, they reminded me that in disasters, influence and capacity can be as valuable as formal authority.
Faith communities have always been among the most reliable first responders. In Kenya, I’ve seen churches open their doors during floods in Kisumu, mosques organize food drives during drought in Wajir, and temples provide medical camps in Nairobi’s informal settlements.
In 2023, when wildfires tore through Lahaina in Hawaii, local churches didn’t wait for formal instructions — they became shelters and supply centers overnight. Volunteers cooked culturally familiar meals, organized prayer circles to comfort survivors, and coordinated with donors to bring in water and clothing. Faith-based groups succeed in these moments because they already have deep community trust, volunteer networks, and a shared sense of responsibility. They don’t just help with the immediate need; they stay for the long recovery, offering counseling, rebuilding homes, and advocating for those left behind.
When businesses see themselves as part of the resilience ecosystem, their contribution goes far beyond donations. In the United States, FEMA calls this the Whole Community approach — a recognition that companies have a stake in keeping their communities strong.
After Hurricane Idalia in 2023, a regional grocery chain in Florida activated its emergency plan before federal aid fully mobilized. They used refrigerated trucks to deliver fresh food to isolated communities, keeping supply chains moving for those who could least afford a break in service.
In Kenya, I think of how supermarkets and bus companies have mobilized during post-election violence or drought emergencies, transporting goods and people to safety. When the private sector builds disaster readiness into its operations, it can act faster than any central government office.
Community resilience grows when ordinary people are trained in extraordinary skills. Programs like the Community Emergency Response Team (CERT) in the U.S. give volunteers practical tools — from disaster first aid to light search and rescue — so they can step in during the critical minutes before professionals arrive.
I often imagine what a Kenyan version of CERT could do, especially in flood-prone counties or along insecure borders. We already have the spirit — communities helping one another in emergencies — but with structured training, that help could be faster, safer, and more coordinated. But, not all resilience is built in classrooms or government programs. Sometimes it lives in the quiet bonds between neighbors. Sociologists call it social capital — the web of trust, relationships, and shared norms that allow people to work together in a crisis.
It’s knowing which neighbor owns a generator, who can interpret for the Somali-speaking family down the street, or where to gather if a disaster strikes. Communities with strong social capital recover faster because they already know how to cooperate, share resources, and solve problems together. But we must be honest: not every community starts from the same place. Some neighborhoods lack formal training programs, business support, or even stable community institutions. This is where targeted investment matters.
The lesson is simple: resilience is not delivered from above — it is built from the ground up. The Florida Panthers’ relief hub, Lahaina’s faith-led shelters, CERT’s trained volunteers, and countless grassroots efforts prove that government plans work best when they are woven together with community action.
When communities act as force multipliers, we transform disaster from a moment of helplessness into a demonstration of collective strength. And in those moments, we are reminded that security — whether from storms, fires, or violence — begins right where we live.
