Research Counts

By Ibrahim Nureni

flooded village…
a girl in the washtub 
paddles with her hands

-- Ibrahim Nureni

When disaster strikes, official reports offer statistics about deaths, injuries, and the extent of the damage done. But poetry and other art forms can capture quieter truths about the emotional toll, cultural losses, moments of resilience, and uneven way people are impacted.

In this poetic tradition, haiku is a uniquely powerful tool to bear witness to the often-invisible dimensions of loss and healing that mainstream narratives too often ignore, especially within marginalized communities. Beyond its traditional three-line, 17-syllable structure ^[1], this Japanese poetic form offers what I call a haiku-eye: a research perspective and observational method that prioritizes small, specific moments to reveal larger systemic realities.

Drawing on nine years of practice as a poet, I propose the haiku-eye as a shift from the process of data extraction toward a more relational approach rooted in human connection. Indeed, the haiku-eye can allow for the documentation of survival with an expansive humanity that escapes most traditional data sets.

Disaster and the Haiku-Eye

Adopting a haiku-eye means shifting focus to the more granular, sensory details of disaster experiences and survival. It is both a perspective and a practical research method. One way to put it into practice is by treating a site visit as a ginko, or a traditional haiku walk. In a disrupted environment, a ginko fosters an ethical presence by having the researcher walk without instantly documenting observations or relying on a formal checklist. The researcher is encouraged to remain open to the present moment. This approach is about slowing down before any questions are asked. Instead of looking for specific things, the researcher tries to notice the small details in the space, like the scent of wet concrete or how a shadow falls across the floor. The aim is to pick up on subtle qualities that a typical survey or research guide might miss.

Researchers can also try haiku-style note-taking during fieldwork, to better document fleeting but significant moments of motion, atmosphere, and lived reality. This method asks the researcher or practitioner to start with their senses. Make short notes about what you see, hear, or smell, focusing on small details. Through this focus on the minute, the haiku-eye moves beyond traditional means of disaster reconnaissance to witness the soul of the survivor, as seen in this moment of profound, isolated grief documented by the Californian poet, Darrell Byrd:

smell of death—
a mother wades the school yard
alone

Byrd’s poem, centered on Hurricane Katrina, moves beyond casualty counts by honing in on the sickening smell of death and the stagnant image of floodwater; striking details that pull the reader directly into the survivor’s immediate reality. The mother is “alone,” a word carrying the weight of a community that may have been marginalized long before the storm hit. The haiku-eye forces us to stand in that schoolyard, recognizing that disaster is not a headline or a research question, but a profoundly personal experience affecting mother and child along with entire communities. This witnessing highlights the emotional truths that statistics, printed in black and white, often obscure. Sitting with these moments of deep, specific pain serves as a necessary exercise in methodological humility; it reminds the researcher that the ‘subject’ is not a data point to be solved, but a life to be honored. It can also spur practitioners to remember that “one-size-fits-all” recovery plans often do not fit into landscapes of trauma and suffering.

Disaster demands incredible ingenuity, often from those with the fewest resources. Anthony Itopa Obaro, an award-winning Nigerian poet, captures this in the haiku below:

July rain—
ferrymen paddle canoes
on the highway

In Obaro’s work, the haiku-eye calls attention to adaptation rather than just suffering. The highway, a symbol of state-funded infrastructure, has failed. In response, the ferrymen repurpose their skills. This image captures the resourcefulness of the marginalized. Observing and documenting such adaptations allows for a deeper understanding of local knowledge, resourcefulness, and survival strategies—the essential, everyday tactics of endurance that are too often overlooked by traditional disaster frameworks. By looking through this lens, we see how communities often excluded from official planning are already solving their own problems, turning a failed road into a lifeline before the first aid truck arrives. This highlights how people actively respond to crisis rather than passively enduring it.

Applying the Haiku-Eye

In a disaster context, haiku is far more than a literary exercise or a form of art; it is a vital, practical lens for the researchers, policymakers, and humanitarian workers who navigate the complexities of disaster. Embracing the haiku-eye asks researchers and practitioners to maintain a presence that honors the beauty and pain of the disaster context through sensory attention. Using this lens can encourage members of our field to resist the urge to reduce human experience to mere data points, ensuring that our work remains innovative, just, and humane.

1. People may remember the 5-7-5 syllable structure, which adds up to seventeen syllables and is taught in primary school. However, modern haiku, along with the “haiku-eye” method described here, has moved beyond these strict rules to focus on vivid imagery, juxtapositions, and sharp observation.↩