Justice for all

A recent article in the New York Times about India’s Right to Information law made me incredibly happy, because the power of this law demonstrates how law can be used to empower poor and marginalized parts of the population.

Law is often vilified. By Americans, but also around the world. The common cartoon of a lawyer is this: a greedy corporate lawyer who preys on everyday citizens in order to get rich. The law is also the subject of much hatred; people feel like they are drowning in paperwork and penalized unnecessarily. But India’s right to information act is a testament to the fact that the law is not always bad - and that in fact, it can be a powerful force for good and for social change.

Because of this law, the Indian government is required to respond to requests for information from individuals from all classes and parts of society. Now, villagers can file requests to find out why they didn’t receive a grant they were eligible for, or why a road hasn’t been built in their town despite promises from the government. And often, it seems that the government doesn’t just respond to the request for information, but actually takes action to solve the problem. By filing a request, a villager can now get her grant or find that the long-promised road is finally being constructed in his community.

The NYT article argues that although the law is beginning to empower the poor to hold their government accountable, it isn’t especially effective in fighting corruption. While filing a request for information about a service that the government hasn’t delivered upon has caused the state to improve service delivery, it hasn’t truly addressed the root of the problem. Officials who steal or divert money from the state’s coffers into their own bank account, public servants who simply aren’t doing their job, and other government leaders are not being held accountable for their actions. Corruption continues because there are few consequences. The state is improving the provision of services, but hasn’t been able to reduce instances of corruption as they occur in the first place.

Ultimately, this law is a very promising first step, and seems to be a measure that can be implemented in other democratic developing countries (I say democratic because I suspect a large part of the law’s success in India is due to the thriving nature of the country’s democracy and the politically active populace, along with the government’s desire to actually serve its people - sadly absent in most dictatorships).

Yet, such right to information laws should be implemented alongside a strong focus on some punitive measures for corrupt officials - whether it is a large fine, removal from office, or even a term of imprisonment. Without consequences and the enforcement of such, corruption will continue to persist — but the ultimate sad irony is this: in a society where the state bureaucracy is known to be so corrupt, even enforcing the rule of law and clamping down on corruption becomes nearly impossible because of the inefficiencies endemic in the justice system as well. In such a climate of corruption, the implementation of the right to information law in India seems to be a triumph worth celebrating.

Last night, I finished reading “Strength in What Remains” by Tracy Kidder. It’s the incredible, heartbreaking, and moving story of Deogratias, a young medical student in Burundi who became a refugee during the genocide. It tells the story of his harrowing and indescribably difficult escape from Burundi and his subsequent arrival in the U.S. In the U.S., he doesn’t know the language, he doesn’t have a place to live and becomes homeless, and joins the ranks of the poorest of the poor - despite the fact that he was an extremely intelligent scholarship student back home.

The book then chronicles the challenges he faces in adjusting to life in the U.S. and obtaining permanent residency. However, unlike many immigrants and refugees, Deo manages to get into Columbia University. He completes his undergraduate degree there and eventually becomes a medical student at Dartmouth. He also joins with Partners in Health and tirelessly pursues his passion of improving health for the poor in his home country, Burundi. He doesn’t give up, and now he is the leader of an organization that builds health clinics in Burundi called Village Health Works. I loved this story because it demonstrates the resilience of the human spirit in the face of incredible, seemingly insurmountable odds. Despite coming to the U.S. completely impoverished, he somehow manages to succeed and do incredible things. His desire to better the world drives him forward. At the same time, I can’t help but wonder how much of his journey is due to luck — the book mentions many instances in which he was, simply, lucky: a Hutu woman decided to help him escape across the Rwandan border, he met a nun in the U.S. who is extraordinarily compassionate and took it upon herself to help him, an older couple saw something in him and took him in, even helping him pay for his education. Whether it was luck or destiny or inner talent and willpower, he did it. And his story serves as an example for the rest of us: that nothing is impossible.

Perhaps my favorite quote in the entire book is this one:

A phrase he’d put together out of his dictionary kept coming to him. “A different planet.” New York had many planets. Better, he thought, to be in Burundi, if Burundi were at peace, than to live on the wrong, impoverished planet in New York. This place made you feel like you were simply not a human being. How could you be a human being like everyone else, if your circumstances were this different?

This quote stuck in my mind throughout the book because it makes me wonder: is this true? Is it true that being among the poorest of the poor in the U.S. is worse than being an “average” poor person in one of the poorest developing nations? Most people still come to the U.S. and think of this country as the “land of opportunity.” Yet, I wonder — is that golden land a myth? What is the reality for the poor in the U.S.? Although I have worked with a number of low-income individuals through my volunteer service with LIFT, I still feel like their circumstances are far better than what the poor face in countries like Burundi or India or China.

However, I think what Deo is alluding to in the quote above is not simply the material circumstances, but the psychological ones. After all, it seems clear that daily tasks such as carrying (unclean) water for miles to your home in scorching temperatures is a misery that few in the U.S. must experience. Yet, perhaps being poor in America means you are surrounded by incredible opulence. That you are an outlier - that you are cast out from society. In the very bottom of the heap. That you are granted no respect, that people treat you like a child, and that you are dehumanized. In that way, you feel so alone that you cease to feel human. It’s the inequality that perpetuates these feelings.

Ultimately, I don’t know. I’ve never been in such a situation in the U.S. (or abroad) so I don’t really have any authority to speak about this topic. But this is my personal understanding of the quote, and I think it’s important to ponder whether this quote rings true or not. If it is true, then it makes the case that much stronger for working on domestic poverty issues — which are often seen as less important than international issues.

Recently, through a particularly enlightening conversation with a friend, I realized that there are, essentially, two pathways or methods of thinking about social change and development approaches. There is the “capitalistic” mode of thinking, and the “social justice” mode of thinking. While this is, essentially, the split that so starkly separates the Democrats from the Republicans, the same two viewpoints shape the actions of humanitarians, altruists, philanthropists, entrepreneurs, and everyone else involved in the aid and social change business.

The first, the “capitalistic” mode, fixates on the idea that by harnessing capitalism and economic growth, we can made progress in the developing world. More importantly, this viewpoint emphasizes the belief that people are motivated by profit – and so, by trying to make “doing good” seem profitable, it becomes possible to “exploit” people’s inherent motivations (to better themselves and maximize profit or utility) for the greater good. Here is where the entire idea of social entrepreneurship comes in. Social enterprise and social business centers around the idea that you can make money and do good at the same time, and that in fact, you don’t have to give up making money or financial sustainability to contribute positively to the world. Corporate social responsibility comes with the same idea; that by being environmentally sustainable and by contributing to development projects, a company can improve its own image (and profits) by presenting itself as more socially responsible. Additionally, there is the ideology propounded by many aid critics such as Dambisa Moyo, the author of “Dead Aid” — the idea that we need capitalism to cause economic growth, and that we need to harness foreign direct investment and international trade to help low-income countries hop onto the train of development. Finally, and most importantly (I think), at the more micro- and individualized level of development and NGO approaches to poverty eradication, there are approaches focusing on income generation; these approaches include micro-finance, helping individuals start and grow their own small businesses, helping farmers increase their yields through low-cost and innovative agricultural technologies. Basically, the idea here is that by increasing their income, people will be able to pull themselves out of poverty. Icons like Muhammad Yunus and Paul Polak have emphasized that the best way for individuals to get out of poverty fast is by increasing their incomes. This is a more “capitalistic” method of thinking because it emphasizes the individual and what they can do to get ahead in life. And for the donors/the well-off classes in society, the emphasis is on proving to them that they don’t have to give up their lifestyle if they want to make a positive difference. There’s usually not as much talk of personal sacrifice, or what we have to give up for social change. For instance, by buying books from Better World Books, we can not only get the books we want, but also contribute to literacy projects! This perspective caters to the benefits that social business provides to both the donors/contributors & the beneficiaries.

The second mode is focused more on “social justice” and equality. The idea here is that we (here I’m talking about us — the well off, the privileged) should not simply have capitalistic, profit maximizing motives. Instead, this mode of thinking strives to change and shape the incentives that motivate people in the first place. Those who share this view believe that we have to actually CHANGE people’s minds to focus less on themselves and to focus more on the community and the world they live in. The idea is to emphasize equality, fairness, and to make people feel they have an obligation to give back. This viewpoint leads to an emphasis on higher taxes, increased social services and programs, more government spending, and international aid. By emphasizing that we, the privileged echelons of society, have an obligation to give back, contribute positively to the world, and help those who are worse off than us, this way of thinking emphasizes providing free services to the poor. Instead of trying to focus on increasing a person’s income as the primary way of getting them out of poverty, people and organizations with this perspective might try to provide free health services, free legal services, free infrastructure like wells, free access to education including building schools and providing scholarships to children, and much more. International donors fund many such projects because of the obligation to give back, but the ultimate goal is to have each country’s government providing such services to its own people. The emphasis here is on improving the quality of living through, primarily, the redistribution of wealth from the rich to the poor — whether this is domestically or internationally. This is very different from the previous “capitalistic” mode, in which each person is encouraged to maximize their own wealth and well-being.

Of course, in reality, many aid programs mix the two — they might provide microfinance and skills training along with health services or educational scholarships. But ultimately, there are definitely two divergent “modes of thinking” or perspectives at play when it comes to social change and international development.

What do you think? Is there one better way of going about social change & development, or are the two approaches best combined? Should we try to cater to people’s “innate” incentive to maximize their own profit & well-being, or should we try to change people’s minds to make them feel an obligation to sacrifice for the greater good?

An old man walks along a beach and sees a young boy throwing something into the water. As he approaches, he sees hundreds of starfish lining the beach, washed in from the tide. The young boy is rushing around, throwing the starfish back into the water one by one. The old man asks why he bothers, it’s pointless. There are too many starfish to help them all. As he flings a starfish deep into the water, the young boy replies, “It mattered to that one.”

The moment I heard this quote, I absolutely loved it. It’s a beautiful story that reminds us that change starts small, and with the individual. Sure, we can have grand visions of eradicating poverty or ending torture - but we must not lose sight of the individual while pursuing these grand visions. Sadly, I think this often happens in development/human rights work. When we become so caught up in our abstract theories and statements, we lose sight of what really matters: the individual. The farmer enduring daily poverty, the refugee displaced by conflict, the victim of torture in Guantanamo Bay. Let’s not lose sight of these people in our quest for “social change.” Let’s not forget to hear the voices of the poor and marginalized when we’re devising solutions to help them.

It makes me wish I could have a more direct impact on people’s lives. Makes me wish I could just directly help a “starfish.” All this work I do, whether it’s marketing/communications for non-profits or writing a senior thesis on transitional justice — is it making any impact? I have no idea. That’s why I really, really, want to be able to work in the field next year so I can see what is happening on the ground. If the opportunity to work abroad doesn’t work out, I’ll at least begin volunteering in something more tangible - whether it’s tutoring or working with immigrants/refugees. I just want to know I’m making an impact. Sometimes, all this non-profit work seems to be anything but.

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.