Justice for all

Dear readers: Thank you all so much for the outpouring of support and incredibly kind, intelligent, and valuable thoughts you provided in response to my previous post. I think, however, I may have given off the wrong impression to all of you. I’m not going to stop blogging - not now, and most likely, not for a long time. Throughout my life, I’ve considered writing to be at the very core of my existence. Writing and using words to reach people is what I love doing. It makes up an intrinsic part of who I am. Perhaps some day I’ll stop blogging. Who knows? But I can tell you with certainty that I’ll never stop writing. For me to stop writing would be like ripping out a core piece of my identity, the very fabric that I’m composed of.

I won’t stop writing. What I hope is to continue using my love for writing to make a tangible difference. Through the law and legal writing - to defend an innocent client on death row or to fight the case of indigenous people whose rights have been violated by environmental contamination. Through the news media - to give voice to those who are voiceless, who have no one to speak for them. Through research papers and articles - to bring important issues to the forefront, and to contribute empirical evidence related to human rights issues that can someday be used to guide and influence policy. Through grant proposals - to obtain valuable funding for organizations and non-profits I believe are doing good work. Through books - that will inspire more people to take action and understand some of the underlying moral quandaries behind human rights issues.

Perhaps, one day, I will realize that there are bigger and better things than this blog. That there are bigger and better ways I can use my voice to defend the poor and marginalized. All the things I have mentioned above rely crucially on writing. Writing is an important part of practically any job now, and particularly plays a huge role in the human rights and legal world.

But until I become trained, educated, and experienced enough to contribute in those areas - I’ll be using this blog as a medium to spread the word in whatever little way I can.

So don’t fear, lovely readers. My blog, my writing, and my voice is here to stay for the time being. I love writing, and I love contributing my voice in some way to the greater good. While it’s true that I am disillusioned in many key ways, I don’t think I’ve given up hope as of yet. If nothing else, I believe that social media has helped me build valuable connections with other passionate young people who care about the same issues and similar causes. This valuable community I’ve found would never have been possible otherwise. Even if I don’t change people’s minds, I know that I have become a stronger advocate myself by tapping into this community. I myself have become more dedicated, better informed, and more ready to take action. If nothing else, I’m contributing in this way to the world…right?

I hope so. And I hope you’ll all stay with me in this journey!

I haven’t posted in quite a long time, so this isn’t going to be your “typical” Justice for All blog post. Instead, I’m going to ramble on about my thoughts. Please bear with me, people!

First of all, I want to say I’m sorry! I don’t think this blog is all that popular, but I’m still sorry to anyone who follows these posts. I’ve just been incredibly busy with schoolwork, my senior thesis (my first draft is due very soon…too soon! I’m completely freaking out.), my school activities, and job hunting/flying across the country for interviews. It’s all getting to be a bit much, and I simply have put this blog aside for the time being. I think my sanity is a bit more important, as is figuring out what I’m going to be doing after graduation. The application and interviewing process is incredibly tiring, and I haven’t even really gotten started yet! This is absolutely insane, and I’m simply trying my hardest and praying to get my dream opportunities.

I’m also getting a bit “disillusioned” with this entire blogging and social media business. There are days when I just want to make this anonymous and get rid of my Twitter, Tumblr, and any other social media platform I post on. Why? I’m tired of the game of “personal branding.” I’m tired of people, including myself, focusing on pumping out online content without putting in the same effort into achieving change or results offline. I’m tired because I don’t want to have a resume full of fluff, and no real accomplishments. I’m very ambitious - I have great dreams to better the world, and to change the status quo. Part of this certainly is increasing awareness of human rights online, but this, I have realized, is a very minute part of my “mission,” if you will. Far more important for me is actually doing good work to ensure that I’m making a difference in some concrete manner. I’m tired of trying to change people’s minds online. To be honest, there is no way in which some random stranger reading my blog will suddenly start caring about human rights or development issues. No way. People gravitate towards content they already care about. The people who read this blog already care. Those who don’t care simply aren’t going to start caring by reading this blog. I’m pretty much preaching to the choir. What am I accomplishing by doing that? Maybe, instead, I should dedicate my time and efforts to some way in which I can achieve concrete change. If I volunteered for every hour I used to spend on my blog, I’m pretty sure that would be way more beneficial to the world. I’m not saying I’m going to stop blogging, but I am cautioning against putting so much effort into something that does not yield many concrete benefits to the world.

Finally, I’ve also been thinking quite a bit about my own role in this vast world. Perhaps this existentialist crisis of sorts stems from my current status as a graduating senior, seeking to make sense of her next steps. As I plan to jump into the real world, I have to have a clear sense of what I want to accomplish, what I want to work towards — what my ultimate goal is. Is my ultimate goal a world where torture does not exist? A world without poverty? One where each individual is guaranteed access to legal representation? Or perhaps, one in which the global South has joined India and China on the developmental path (i.e. high growth rates, “pro-poor” growth)? One in which there is no more violent conflict? Of these multitudes of questions, which one is the real one I seek to answer and dedicate my life path towards?

Since I’m currently taking a class called “Aid, Governance and Development in Africa,” the question about growth rates jumps out at me. It seems like the ultimate question we as human beings have to grapple with is the question: why are some countries rich and some countries poor? What happened in between to allow some countries to achieve high growth rates, ultimately resulting in high development and low poverty rates — while others have been left behind to struggle with stagnant or even decreasing growth? How can we ensure that ultimately, all developing countries are able to consistently achieve levels of growth high enough such that they are slowly but surely able to reduce poverty and stay on the “train” to development?

But I’ve realized that this question is so immense and so vast, and so important, that while I can dedicate my life to it, I’m not going to. Why not? I can’t. I’m not a development economist, and I don’t intend to be solely a scholar. Simply put, economics and statistics isn’t my biggest strength. But whoever you are - if you’re reading this, and you’re out there - please listen. If you’re good at math, please take up this question. Dedicate your life to it. We need to solve this question of paramount importance in order for humanity to survive, and I want you, anonymous person out there reading this, to study this.

Since my strengths really do lie in writing and the legal arena, I think this is the cause I will take up. I know it’s a peripheral cause. I know that economic growth can help solve problems related to human rights and related to the development of legal systems. But, I will take up this secondary cause nonetheless. Why? I know the formula economic growth isn’t going to be cracked anytime soon. In the meantime, it makes sense to dedicate effort to ensuring that all men, women, and children have access to justice and are safe from the vagaries of a malfunctioning justice system. If I can go through my life knowing I have made some contribution to this area, perhaps it will be enough — even if I know I haven’t altered the underlying structures allowing poverty and human rights violations to occur (i.e. economic growth or lack thereof).

So, that was a brief snapshot of what’s going through my mind. There’s the big picture things - like which question should I dedicate myself to? And the detailed little things - like finding a job.

Again, I’m sorry this post isn’t incredibly thorough or eloquent or peppered with statistics about some human rights violation. But what it is, is directly from the heart. From my addled brain directly to this blank Wordpress page. I haven’t forgotten my dear blog, and I will return to it soon. Until then, cheers! Don’t forget about me either.

There is a lot of talk of personal branding these days: is it good or bad? How can you build a network of people who respect your personal brand? How can you join a group of people with the same interests to help you make professional connections?

But while we are busy trying to carve an online space for ourselves and create a community of supporters who rally around our “brand”, we forget that the online space we inhabit is also continuously is defining us - and indeed, changing us in ways simultaneously subtle and not-so-subtle.

For instance, when I first got into social media - Twitter, blogging and the like - I was interested, yes, in human rights issues. But the interest was not as full blown of a passion as it is now. Why the change? I attribute much of it to the network I tapped into, which in turn started shaping me.

I began following more and more human rights activists, non-profit leaders, social entrepreneurs, and others in the social space. As I began following people incredibly passionate about bettering the world, it made me a better person. I tapped into these networks, engaged in conversations, and sat back and listened to some of the smartest people in the world debate issues in the human rights, social change, and development arena. And by becoming part of the conversation, I became more and more passionate about these issues myself.

Social media, the blogosphere, and Twitter helped me find my singular passion. Before Twitter, there were always many ideas and many interests swirling around in my head. But after I began actively engaging on Twitter, I learned more fundamentally, who I was. By choosing who to “follow” and dedicate my brain space to — and by choosing who to “unfollow” and ignore — I realized what I personally cared about most. What issues, careers, and industries resonated with me the most.

Social media made me a better person. By surrounding myself by people who genuinely cared, and not only that, cared in an intelligent manner (and yes, there is a distinction) — I began caring more. And more intelligently.

What’s true in real life is also true on the web. Surround yourself with good, smart people, and you will become more like them. Your friends can exert a positive influence on you and make you a better person, or you can fall into bad company and go downhill.

This may sound overdramatic to you, but I swear it’s not. Some people are born knowing what they want to do: be a doctor, a lawyer, an accountant even. They are lucky. I’ve never been that way. I have always had too many interests to narrow down to a single career that would define who I was for the rest of my life (a scary thought, right?). My passions didn’t always fit into the traditional career path. Social media helped me jump into the conversation and find what I really wanted. By finding many more outside my small real-life social circle doing exactly what I loved for a living, I felt my career interests to be validated. I found the courage to follow my heart, knowing that many others out there were also doing so, and sometimes breaking free of societal constraints in the process.

You don’t just create an online network that mirrors your own traits — your online network defines you, and even has the power to change you fundamentally.

Are you engaging with people who make you stronger, more brave, more caring, more intelligent, more informed?

Do you push yourself to join networks that challenge you to be better and to achieve your dreams?

Stop tweeting about what you had for breakfast, or your horrible job. Start conversations with those who intimidate you, with those who you breathlessly admire. Be bold. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll get there too.

How does your online community define and shape who you are?

I ran across this really excellent post the other day, by Lola Adesioye. I love this quote from her:

I have spent many column inches and airtime talking about the shoulda, woulda and the couldas of life. And don’t get me wrong – I enjoy it! But I also ask myself how much of a difference it makes. As someone committed to making a tangible difference in the world, I’m becoming much more interested in, and committed to, work that provides solutions to an issue and is forward thinking.

Ultimately, what impact can blogging, writing, and researching can have? It’s something I personally struggle with.

Today, we are constantly bombarded by information - whether it’s from the news, from blogs, from Twitter, or from other social networks. There hasn’t been any other time in history when people have had access to so much information so quickly and so easily. Of course, the American news media contains many flaws - far too much trivial coverage, and far too little on important issues across the globe. But, true understanding is just a Google away, regardless of the topic’s coverage in the mainstream media. What can I add through blogging, by adding my voice to this cacophony? Am I doomed to be lost in the web streams, or is my writing actually of value? Is it worth spending my time writing about things, rather than actually doing them?

When it comes to academic research, I certainly love reading a really good paper on transitional justice or aid or governance as much as the next person. While research certainly is necessary, I am again left to wonder what effect that has on the world. What I find more urgent than new research is the need to properly and fully implement all the findings and solutions that are already out there. We already know what needs to happen - and we need to start making these things happen. It seems that the more critical need is here, in the implementation stage.

The impact of writing depends on luck. Writing can reach people, but there is no guarantee it will. The impact of writing depends on the rise of those who will listen, learn, and implement your thoughts or solutions in the “real world.” One person might take something away from your writing, or a million people might take action because of it. Rarely, however, does the latter happen. But by being the implementer, you can begin affecting change immediately.

I want to make an impact in this world, but I strive to reconcile this with my own love for writing. I care about human rights and development issues, but first and foremost, I have always had the answer “Writing” at the tip of my tongue when anyone asks me simply: What is your passion? I have always had a propensity for words - whether it is through poetry or blogging or academic papers.

I want both: to be an implementer, but also a writer and thinker. Is there some way to incorporate both into life and career? How can we bridge this divide between: theory and practice, writing and doing, talking and solving. One or the other might be satisfying, but only a combination might be truly fulfilling.

It has taken me way too long to write this blog. When Akhila reached out to me asking if I’d be interested in contributing to the “Be the Change” series, I immediately thought “Yes! Of course!” But, you see, I don’t really know how to write about myself and my experiences - on my blog, I stick to discussing current affairs, politics, etc. You know the image of the writer, scribbling by candlelight late at night, crumpling and chucking sheets of paper onto the floor in frustration every so often? Yeah, that’s me (at least it would be if this was 1809 and not 2009).

“Be the Change”: This expression comes from Mahatma Gandhi’s famous saying “Be the change you wish to see in the world,” which is arguably one of the most overused, cliched “do-gooder” phrases. I’d like to be a bit more cynical about it actually, but, in fact, this saying rings absolutely true to me. One of my dear friends gave me a beautiful little medallion on a chain with Gandhi’s words as a graduation gift in 2005. I don’t wear it all the time, but it’s with me, and reminds me that “to whom much is given, much is expected.” As many of the contributors to this series have pointed out, being the “Mother Theresa type” is daunting, and I don’t believe it makes sense for anyone to aspire to be like her, or like Gandhi. They left shoes too big to fill, and for mere humans like most of us, we can only aim to do the best we can, in accordance with our beliefs, and in line with our skills and abilities. I wanted to share some of my personal experiences in trying to “be the change,” particularly as I think that a lot of Akhila’s readers are just a few years younger than I am, and could find something useful for themselves in my stories.

My grad school program was four semesters long, with the third semester being a full-time internship. The way the schedule worked out was pretty amazing, and we ended up with a break from classes from July to March, with a 14-week internship requirement - leaving plenty of time for gallivanting and exploring. Being a student of international affairs and conflict and security, I knew that I wanted my internship to be in the field, and that I *needed* this experience - needed it for my own learning, of course, but also for my CV and to ensure that I would be able to go on to the job of dreams upon graduation [spoiler: it didn’t work out that way]. However, to my dismay, the internships I ended up getting offered were all in Washington, D.C. or New York. I ended up interning for a well-known foundation in New York for the fall semester, and while the experience was both professionally useful and personally satisfying, I still felt the urge to be in the field, to get my hands dirty. I knew that many of my classmates were doing ridiculously great internships with the International Organization of Migration in Angola, UNDP in the Democratic Republic of Congo and the French Embassy in Myanmar, and I felt quasi-inadequate going back to Paris with my “boring” New York internship. So I decided to do something which I know development practitioners and aid workers cringe at: I volunteered through an organization that provides placements ranging from two weeks to six months in the developing world. And so I spent the first two months of 2007 working and living in a Liberian refugee camp in Ghana.

This wasn’t my first time living or working in Africa; I had spent a semester abroad in Cape Town in 2003, during which I had the opportunity to work with a group of women from Khayelitsha, a township on the outskirts of the city. However, none of my traveling - in Europe, Asia or Africa - had really prepared me for my experience at the Buduburam refugee camp. I was assigned as a health coordinator at the Carolyn Miller School, the only tuition-free school in the camp, which was home to about 40,000 refugees, mostly from Liberia. Already, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that refugees had no access to free education; and not only was it usually not free, but it was typically quite expensive, what with fees for the uniform fee, activities, registration and books. Private schools in Africa are for-profit institutions. What’s more, I was absolutely freaked out that I had to teach health to students between grades 4 and 7; my only experience in public health had been a couple of chapters in my high school biology book.

I relied heavily on the expertise of the doctors and nurses of the camp clinic; well, the one doctor and few registered nurses who were serving the medical needs of 40,000 people. It became clear quite quickly that the level of knowledge about health and hygiene among the students – and, more broadly, in the camp – was even less than mine. Working with a Liberian nurse in training, we taught the students about the importance of washing your hands before eating, of boiling water before using it for cooking. “Water boils…when it bubbles! Water boils… when it bubbles!” was the clever little song I had the younger kids sing; they knew about the need to boil water, but didn’t know that boiling water was more than just “very hot” water. Working with other volunteers and the school staff, we had the boys in the school build trash cans for the school, and the girls drew posters about “Keepin’ it clean!” One of my most memorable experiences, however, was teaching sexual health to the older kids (between 12 and 18.) It took me a while to convince the school that the kids needed to learn about how to use a condom; about what sex was and how to be responsible in their sexual discoveries. (For an account of my short lived sexual education career, see this old post.)

But while I was having a truly life-changing experience, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that more needed to be done. The children at this tuition-free school were particularly vulnerable, and hunger and malnutrition were obvious problems. Low and irregular attendance, particularly among girls, as well as a lack of attention in class and the constant nagging for food and water, were the visible symptoms. I, along with one of the other volunteers I lived with, Celina, decided that we wanted to do more and stay engaged with the community even after our departure. We had been moved to take action, and particularly as we had gotten to know and feel close to this community, we felt strongly that we had a responsibility to them.

Truth be told, I realize this story is not uncommon, and that many volunteers who have had similar experiences also feel this attachment and the desire to continue helping, even once the posting is over. Celina went back to Los Angeles, I went back to Paris, and we began to fundraise and organize ourselves into a non-profit, The Niapele Project, with the goal of returning during the summer to set up a school feeding program, as well as establish a home for abandoned children. And that’s precisely what we did. To cut a (very) long story short, between March 2007 and August 2008, we set up a school feeding program for hundreds of children at the tuition-free school, first in Ghana, and now in Liberia; we organized a home for 20+ abandoned children; and helped strengthen a program for children with disabilities. We had three interns during that time, ensuring communications and managing projects; we created an online presence; organized fundraisers; wrote articles; commissioned papers from Yale and Sciences-Po (my alma mater) and connected with dozens of other organizations and individuals wanting to help or collaborate with us. We wrote proposals, drafted budgets, wrote thousands of emails, traveled to West Africa several times - all of this, of course, while I was finishing grad school and Celina was working full-time.

Today, we are working with two of our original three partner organizations, but now in Liberia. When a crisis between the government of Ghana and the Liberian community created an untenable situation for refugees in Ghana, many quickly repatriated to Liberia, with or without the help of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. For us, a little start-up non-profit, moving operations from Ghana to Liberia, on a shoestring budget, was a real challenge. Today, we are operating in Liberia: the school feeding program is going strong at the Carolyn Miller School in Monrovia, the center for children with disabilities is taking shape, and a new partnership with a grassroots Liberian media organization is promising to develop into an exciting new opportunity for us to affect positive change in Liberia.

I don’t have delusions of grandeur and I am conscious that probably thousands of others have followed similar paths; I realize that we’re not unique in that sense. I look at organizations like Forge and I feel pangs of jealousy. For all the successes we’ve had, our organization is constantly struggling for funding, the thought of which often keeps me up at night. For every person who volunteers his/her time for us, 20 more fail to deliver on their promises. We’ve had so many disappointments, and, frankly, I’ve felt the urge to throw in the towel more than once. Celina and I refer to The Niapele Project as “our baby,” because it really is like having a child together - I never stop thinking about it, and feel really guilty when I take a night off during the week to just sit around and watch TV instead of following up on an overdue task or email. It requires constant attention, devotion and care. Much like watching a child grow, we marvel at our organization’s successes, and cringe when things fall apart (and, let me tell you, they have, on multiple occasions.)

Since we started in 2007, I’ve gone from being a grad student, to being an underemployed graduate (among other random jobs I had following graduation: assistant office manager at a design firm; translator for social audits at French factories; hostess for corporate events) to working full time for a large NGO. In the latter capacity I have learned a lot about the aid industry. I am part of a team of about 20 and am a decade younger than everyone else (except for the office and program assistants). What has surprised me the most is that for people working in large NGOs, the work amounts to not much more than a job. Sure, we’re working for the greater good, yadda yadda. But one of the reasons I quit this comfortable, high profile job, is that I felt my idealism quashed under the weight of politics and bureaucracy (broadly speaking). I’ve realized that while my work for The Niapele Project is often frustrating and stressful, I derive the most satisfaction from our little victories in Liberia.

Just recently, our program manager sent us photos of our nutrition consultant carrying out the baseline evaluation to assess the malnutrition situation at the school. Those photos put a smile on my face and a spring in my step; our hard work is paying off – the kids are eating food produced in the community, we’re creating jobs and we’re monitoring progress. And while this program reaches only a few hundred children, unlike the work at my current organization which serves tens of thousands of people, I still feel a much greater sense of accomplishment.

Like I mentioned above, I’ve quit my comfortable, salaried position at the well-established NGO I’m currently working for. In early November, I’m going to Liberia - for the first time - in order to “tighten the bolts” on our programs and find ways to increase the impact and sustainability of our work. Sometimes I wonder if I’m absolutely out of my mind to be quitting - in this economy! - to go work (for free, and on my own dime) for the tiny organization we’ve created. Most people - including my current boss - are encouraging and support my decision. But frankly, I’m freaked out. I know I have the energy and drive to push the organization forward, but I’m really hoping we can catch our break soon. “Being the change,” quite literally, is inspiring and motivating, and I feel strongly about our mission. I’m not sure what keeps Celina, Megan and me from giving up; it’s so difficult to remain steadfast, to keep believing in what you’re doing, when for every step forward, you take three steps back.

All that said, I believe that there are so many ways for people to “be the change.” Clearly I, and other social entrepreneurs, am not taking the easiest road, but for those who are considering launching social ventures, I say go for it – just realize what you’re getting yourself into. Be ready to experience the very high highs and the very low lows that are part and parcel of this type of work. Be prepared to make some sacrifices, both personal and professional, for the sake of your vision. Aim high, dream big, but be realistic about your expectations.

Having a positive influence in the world is not an either/or proposition. You do not need to be like Mother Teresa, Gandhi or Nelson Mandela, or even be crazy and start your own non-profit. What I think is powerful about Akhila’s series is that it reveals the myriad ways in which we can all easily “be the change”: A commitment to reducing, reusing and recycling; volunteering a few hours a month for a local organization or school; voting; making a financial contribution to your favorite charity; spreading knowledge and compassion. I sometimes feel wholly inadequate when I look at some of my peers who have accomplished so much before they even reach 30, and I know that many of us feel this way. But we just have to remind ourselves that this is not a competition, and that we each follow our own path.

**About the title of this post:
“Tryin’ small” is the Liberian way of saying “working on it!”, or “I’m doing my best”, or “I’m getting by”. For example, someone says “hello, how are you?”, you respond “eh, doing ok, tryin’ small”. I really like that expression, and Liberians use “small” to imply slow but steady progress - which is what change and making a difference is all about.

The Changemaker

Penelope has a BA in international affairs and political science from Tufts University, and an MA in International Affairs from Sciences-Po Paris. She is currently working as program associate for the Clinton Giustra Sustainable Growth Initiative, a project of the Clinton Foundation, and is the co-founder and director of The Niapele Project. She blogs about international development, Africa, politics and human rights here. Born to a French mother and an American father, she enjoys red wine, cheese, yoga and documentary movies in equal amounts.