Justice for all

Please take a moment to read a guest post I have written for The Take Action Leaders Blog, which aims to provide insight from leaders into social issues and solutions, with a focus on youth leadership in social change. I appreciate the opportunity to contribute my thoughts about social change to their blog! You can read my guest post - Walking together towards social justice - here. Here’s an excerpt:

“If you have come to help me you are wasting your time. But if you recognize that your liberation and mine are bound up together, we can walk together.” -Lila Watson

Are you involved in any public service or volunteer work? Have you worked with non-profit organizations is the past? Have you participated in rallies, demonstrations, or other activist movements? At the very least, do you donate to non-profits occasionally? I suspect the answer is yes — especially since you’re reading this blog.

If you have any interest in social change, take note of the above quote. There’s a difference between seeing the beneficiaries of any philanthropy, volunteer work, or non-profit services as “charity cases” and seeing them as simply - human beings. There’s a difference between wanting to help someone through feelings of pity or compassion, and wanting to do the right thing because of a feeling of empathy, because you truly understand their struggle.

Do you see the poor, the abused, the marginalized as people you have to help? Do you ever think the poor are weak, helpless? If you do, you’re seeing yourself as a savior, and seeing the poor as people who need to be saved.

Such a viewpoint is not simply inaccurate, but actively harmful. By thinking of yourself as a savior, you’re building a barrier that separates yourself from the poor. The “savior complex” means that you start to think of the poor as the “other.”

Please click here to read the rest of the guest post over at the Take Action Leaders blog, to read about my personal experiences, and to learn how you can shift your mindset to one of togetherness, empowerment, and working together towards social change. Thank you!

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.

A recent New York Times article describes the world of comfort - and perhaps even luxury - that war criminals are provided with at The Hague, Netherlands.

I don’t have a gym, a personal trainer, or a spiritual room in my tiny bedroom. On my (soon to be) non-profit salary, I certainly won’t be able to afford a visit to the Netherlands anytime in the near future. However, former warlords and human rights violators are getting all these amenities and more. Here’s a picture from the article of one of the “detention” cells in the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY). It looks to be about the same size as the room I currently live in, and it’s much better furnished.

The dorm and apartment-style living quarters provided to war criminals - such as Thomas Lubanga and Charles Taylor - who are being tried at the ICTY, the Special Court for Sierra Leone (SCSL) and the International Criminal Court (ICC) are downright luxurious, particularly compared to the poor living conditions suffered by the general population in the countries they come from (Sierra Leone and the DRC, for instance).

Perhaps worse, these individuals, who often own numerous properties and large sums of money hidden away in offshore accounts, are receiving free legal aid from the ICC which costs a minimum of €35,000 per month. And the most unsettling part of the story is that family members from Sierra Leone and the DRC receive travel subsidies to visit their detained relatives in the Hague. While I wholeheartedly believe that even warlords and human rights abusers should have the right to a fair trial and continue to enjoy their basic human rights, I too feel that these perks go too far.

Look at the living conditions in Sierra Leone, literally one of the poorest countries on the planet. Look at the quality of justice in many African countries, where individuals who are imprisoned for crimes like robbery, homosexuality, or even witchcraft are essentially sentenced to death simply because the conditions in prisons are so wretched. Where prisoners live in overcrowded rooms and own only one pair of clothing. Where sanitation is poor and diseases like HIV/AIDS and tuberculosis are prevalent. Where they receive perhaps one meal a day, a corn mush which completely lacks in any nutritional value. Where individuals can be held on remand - without even going to trial and being convicted - in similarly horrible conditions for years with no hope of ever seeing a lawyer.

I’m not saying that warlords don’t deserve fair trials, but that they shouldn’t be living in the lap of luxury when millions of people in the very countries they have terrorized are living in far more devastating poverty and suffering from horrible prison conditions.

It’s a shame that perpetrators of genocide, war crimes, and crimes against humanity can play foosball, watch television, browse the internet whenever they prefer, and even enjoy conjugal visits with their wives — but that an individual who steals a piece of bread in the DRC might just die alone in prison of tuberculosis.

Where is the justice in this?

This quarter, as I approached the end of my time here at Northwestern, I found out about LIFT, a national movement to combat poverty and expand opportunity for all people here in the U.S. I immediately applied to become a volunteer, but I only wish I had found out about the organization earlier. LIFT provides incredible opportunities for college students to make a positive impact, and provides great services to low-income individuals.

At LIFT, I volunteer for a few hours every week. I work one-on-one with clients, who are generally (but not always) low-income individuals. Anyone can come in, and I have often had highly skilled and well educated individuals come in for assistance. I work with each client for 50 minutes (sometimes 2 hours, depending on the situation) and provide them with any assistance they may need. Usually, people want help with typing, emailing, other computer skills, resume and cover letter writing, and the job hunt. These are the most common reasons for appointments. However, many clients also come in with questions about finding affordable housing, legal dilemmas, and a number of other challenges they encounter.

My time at LIFT has been amazing. For the first time ever, despite my years and years of volunteering, I feel like I’ve made a concrete difference in someone’s life. This past Friday, one of my clients didn’t show up for our meeting, so I gave him a call to find out if something was wrong. Turns out that I couldn’t have heard better news. He found a temporary job that he had already begun this week, and had also had a great interview for another longer-term position that he was really excited about. On the phone, he was so genuinely happy that I couldn’t help but smile. He thanked me over and over again for helping him with the job applications. I was thrilled, and couldn’t help but feel amazed that in some small part, I had been able to help him find a job. My second client of the day was a young immigrant, and his sincerity and willingness to work hard struck me. I found myself getting attached and hoping, deeply, for his success. As I was leaving, another client told me that his day was so much better after his visit to LIFT; he too thanked me for volunteering, even though I hadn’t even been the one to help him. I left the office SO happy that I almost screamed out in excitement; fortunately, I was able to restrain myself.

For the first time ever, I feel useful. And I realize how much I love working with people one-on-one. I’m hooked, and I know now that I want to directly represent low-income individuals in some capacity in the future. Although I have tried all forms of volunteering - like working at soup kitchens and homeless shelters, tutoring at after-school centers, working at hospitals, packaging food through Campus Kitchens, and interning at at least 4 different human rights and development non-profit organizations - I have never felt like I’ve actually made any difference. Now, I have found that elusive feeling of usefulness - at last. I love the personal connection, and I love getting to know individual’s stories and feeling invested in their lives and their progress. Social change is incredibly difficult, but for once, I feel like it is possible. Until now, I was almost resigned to the notion that I’d try and try my whole life without feeling like I’ve achieved much. Now, I feel that if it is possible to make a difference in the life of one individual — then anything is possible. I feel encouraged. Empowered. Like the sky’s the limit.

My time at LIFT, though short, has also shown me how valuable public interest and legal aid lawyers can be. I have seen or heard of many clients embroiled in legal problems; juvenile justice issues with their kids, insurance problems, and landlord-tenant issues, among them. It strikes me that a lawyer can make all the difference and can reassure clients, provide them with hope, and stand behind them although the rest of the system may be against them, especially when they encounter complex legal issues they cannot hope to confront alone. My work has made me want to pursue public interest law and some sort of direct representation more than ever, whether it is in the fields of criminal law, immigration/refugee law, or civil legal aid. I cherish the personal connection with a client. These are people struggling to make a living and to succeed, just like you and I. The difference is that the system is completely against them, and that they must struggle far more than we must if they are to achieve the same things. What they need is someone to listen to them and advocate on their behalf; they need someone to simply believe in them, and assist them in reaching their greatest potential. Someone to turn the system on its head and level the playing field.

But in thinking of my own role in this entire process of ’social change’ or ‘combating poverty,’ I wonder if I just enjoy taking on the role of the ‘giver.’ Tales From the Hood wrote in his blog recently that Americans tend to love being the giver; this ideology makes providing aid or assistance all about the donor. It’s not about the poor, but ultimately about the people doing the giving: the rich. That’s clearly an example of misplaced priorities. Although I may be biased, I do try to be critical of myself. And looking at my own actions through this objective lens, I do conclude that I enjoy feeling like I’m helping another individual. Doesn’t everyone? Such sentiments, however, are not inherently bad in themselves. They are bad, however, if the donor / volunteer does not think about who’s on the receiving end and whether they are truly benefiting. In this case, I am constantly searching for ways in which I know I’m making a tangible, unabashedly positive impact. If I ever feel like my actions are not helping others, and if they are in any way harming others, I would stop those actions immediately and move on to a project or organization I perceive to be better. Of course, the main problem here is that my perception is not 100% accurate; there have been times when I have thought that a project I’ve been working with has been beneficial, when in reality there may have been reason to doubt its impact. So it’s a continuous work in progress - I am constantly striving to learn how to be more critical, more realistic, and better informed about the consequences of my actions and of the programs I support. However, I do feel that my work with LIFT and the organization’s model in general is a positive one. I do think that there are crucial ways in which LIFT can be improved to better serve the poor, but the model is inherently strong.

Ultimately, if you are constantly critical of your actions and their consequences, it is possible to not only feel good about helping but to actually make a positive difference in this world. There’s nothing wrong with wanting that warm, fuzzy feeling inside when you help others — but make sure that you ARE actually helping others in the process. Social change is possible — as long as you don’t allow your desire to be the “giver” take precedence over the needs of your beneficiaries, who are the important ones in the picture.

Bayard Rustin: it’s a name that is not particularly well-known to most of us. His contribution to the United States civil rights movement usually receives only surface recognition: “Bayard Rustin was a civil rights activist best known for organizing the 1963 March on Washington where Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his “I have a dream” speech.” Yet, it is probably accurate to say that without Bayard Rustin, Martin Luther King Jr. may not have become a fierce proponent of nonviolent tactics, and without Rustin, the civil rights movement - though certainly still a powerful force - would not have changed the course of American history as it did.

The example of Rustin - one of the most influential, but least-known civil rights leaders - begs the question: for those of us in this generation looking to ‘be the change’ where does our own commitment really lie? It seems that though we may commit ourselves to working in NGOs, as social entrepreneurs or in social businesses we are often more concerned with our personal experiences and advancement than building a more just world; we struggle between our own ambitions and the selfless objectivity needed to bring about meaningful change. Not everyone could play the role of Martin Luther King Jr., Ralph Abernathy, Rosa Parks or John Lewis in the civil rights movement. Many more had to be just as committed to the movement knowing that they may never receive the same positions of leadership or “personal success” that those individuals did. Yet, their contributions were as important (and in some instances, even more important) as those leaders to building a better world.

Bayard Rustin spent a good part of his younger years as a pacifist activist, and traveled to India to learn from Gandhian disciples. In 1956, following Rosa Parks courageous refusal to surrender her seat on a bus in Montgomery, Alabama, a series of boycotts erupted. Rustin traveled to Montgomery to help infuse the core ideals of non-violence into these efforts. A story from the book “Lost Prophet,” illustrates how essential Rustin’s presence was:

There were guns lying all about King’s house, and Rustin often recounted a humorous incident with himself and Bill Worthy. As Worthy…prepared to sit on one of the chairs in King’s living room, Rustin called out to him, “Bill wait, wait. Couple of guns in that chair. You don’t want to shoot yourself!”

The idea of Martin Luther King having guns around his house may seem to be an oxymoron, but it also highlights just how important Rustin’s guidance were in those early periods of civil rights efforts in building a nonviolent movement. Today, Rustin’s name may not be familiar, but his impact - from non-violent protest as a key tactic, to the formation of the SCLC, to the March on Washington, to the linkages of the civil rights efforts to broader economic and social justice efforts - reverberates throughout the United States and many parts of the world.

Martin Luther King Jr. has many well-known speeches and sermons. One that is slightly less known is his “Drum-Major Instinct” speech. The “Instinct” that he refers to is the “desire in all of us to be first.” It seems that our generation needs to be able reach beyond this “Drum-Major Instinct” to dedicate ourselves to a broader cause. Just as Bayard Rustin was able to bring about tremendous change in a selfless manner, what our generation needs is continual discernment of the motivations that drive our actions while maintaining a commitment to bringing about great change.

The Author

Ankur is a rising senior at Northwestern University majoring in biomedical engineering. He is currently taking a year off from school to work full-time for GlobeMed, a network of students advancing the movement for health equity. Working with communities in rural Panama on various engineering projects, and having a summer internship at Global Health Delivery Online has heavily influenced Ankur’s thoughts about issues of poverty, structural violence, and development. Ankur is originally from the small town of Menomonie in Wisconsin, believes that Taco Bell is infinitely more satisfying than Chipotle, and enjoys a competitive game of Super Smash Brothers anytime. He also blogs at Students for Global Health Equity.