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Tom Sawyer

18 Nov

Almost through the Tales From the Hood rock ‘n’ roll marathon…

Here’s the fifth tune in the playlist:


A modern day warrior

mean, mean stride

Today’s Tom Sawyer

mean, mean pride

I once asked rhetorically whether or not aid blogging matters. Now I’m telling you straight up:

It matters. It matters a lot.

The conversation about what international development and aid are, what makes them effective, how they should be done, and what they’re capable of accomplishing is dominated by simplistic, happy, and  occasionally even plain dishonest messaging about how this NGO or that is eradicating hunger or making poverty history.

It’s not that I or anyone else wants to be known as “negative” or “cynical.” But right now independent blogs like the ones in my extended blog roll are the only place where you can consistently count on an unfiltered alternative to the meticulously crafted stories that you get from branded NGO websites, blogs, and published reports. Or, similarly, to those usually too-long, over-edited, jargon-intensive and generally LAMEified summaries coming out of those famous life-saving high-level workshops and forums where intelligentsia and aristocracy gather to discuss “the bottom of the pyramid.” No, it’s not that we want to be negative or angry or cynical as a matter of principle. It’s not that everything said within the hallowed halls of the HRI-affiliates is wrong or inaccurate or suspect, or that everything said on aid blogs is spot on. But vibrant, diverse discussion adds value by definition and is a good thing as a matter of principle.

The whole blogging thing may seem too messy, too emotive, too unfocused for you. The aid blogosphere may feel like and maybe even be so much opinion, conjecture, hearsay, assuming facts not in evidence. It may annoy you, all the cynicism and negativity. It may make you plain angry.  You may hope and pray for the day when this reality will change, but until the aid industry gets past its own dogma and NGOs get past their fears of internal diversity of thought, these blogs do matter.

Oh, and before you condescendingly wonder how I can ever find the time, or go on about how you’re too busy working to waste time blogging, let me just say: everyone finds the time for what they think is important. Some of you follow sports or collect stamps. Some of us blog.

Though his mind is not for rent

don’t put him down as arrogant

His reserve, a quiet defense

Riding out the day’s events…

I get it. The real world is about give and take, about compromise, about finding middle ground. Fair enough.

In my day-to-day work I am committed to finding those workable compromises – without compromising the bottom lines of what makes good aid good aid; to engaging in the give-and-take in a collegial way. At any given time there are multiple, contingent and competing realities. I do get this. I am not naïve. I get that humanitarian work, at least as we know it now, requires the architecture of an organization behind it, and that both the work and the organization(s) require resources in order to continue existing, and that those resources have to come from somewhere.

But let’s just be very clear:  This all as may be, the way things currently are in the aid industry is not the way that they should be. The natural tendency of the industry is not toward good aid.  The political economy of this industry just wants to favor someone other than the poor. And left alone, that’s what it will do. All of which means, in my opinion, that no matter where any of us sits in the humanitarian industry, whether we’re on the front line handing out food parcels to disaster survivors, or buried deep in the bowels of HQ, managing spreadsheets and sending life-saving emails, it is our job – every single one of us – to be steering our spheres of influence in the direction of “the way things should be.”

Yes, I understand that at the level of individual inter-departmental or inter-agency transactions we have to cut deals and compromise. But in all areas and at all levels of our industry right now the status quo is simply not good enough.

I don’t care who you are, if you work for or are in some other way affiliate yourself with an NGO of any size, if you claim for yourself the title of humanitarian, then it is your job to move the needle towards the way things should be.

What you say about his company

Is what you say about society

Catch the mist, catch the myth

Catch the mystery, catch the drift

Maybe you think that all of us aid bloggers are just a bunch of stuck-up elitists hiding behind our computers, out of touch with how the real world works? (Well, you’re wrong about me hiding behind my computer. I get out in it on a regular basis.) But I am an elitist, absolutely. I see no reason to compromise on the principles of good aid. Maybe my views create an inconvenience for you. Maybe you don’t like what I have to say or how I say it.

Maybe you think my tone is too harsh or (heaven forbid) snarky. Okay, fair enough – I sometimes shout into the void here. I don’t mind admitting that after a day or a week or a month of playing all nice, whether in in-house strategery or coordination meetings in the field, I need a space where I can crank the volume up to 11.

But this doesn’t make me wrong.

No his mind is not for rent

To any god or government

Always hopeful, yet discontent

He knows changes aren’t permanent

But change is…

We all have our own intellectual lives that extend beyond the logos on our namecards. Mission statements are words. Organizations, like their taglines, come and go. But the humanitarian imperative remains.

Discontent with the way things are in the industry is not the same as disloyalty to an organization, and different still from unwillingness to perform. Most real aid workers that I know would rather spend a few rounds of cynical, self-deprecating pub-based reflection than go to a company pep-rally. Seriously, the sports metaphors and high-fiving leave us cold. But that doesn’t mean we’re not on board with the program.

Discontent? Sure, we have some of that. But if we weren’t at least a little bit hopeful, we wouldn’t be here.

One of those moments

1 Nov

It’s been one of those moments.

It’s been one of those moments of epiphany when the heavenly bodies align, everything is ensconced in a warm glow, and you feel… good.

Or maybe it’s been what addicts sometimes refer to as that fleeting “moment of clarity” (aid work is a drug, remember?) when things snap briefly into focus and you analyze with incisive lucidity where you are. One of those moments when your mind quickly cuts through the pfaffing and the window dressing and the packaging, and you see things as they really are, for better or for worse, laid bare.

Recently I spent several days in an excruciatingly poor place, beset with repeated natural disasters, doing one of those ‘life-saving monitoring visits.’ I won’t bore you with over-written anecdotes of bad roads or food that turns your insides into gurgling water, nor will I go on about the details of local culturally required (“exotic”) protocol that preceded each and every encounter of substance. There were some positively classic “stuff expat aid workers like” moments on the trip, but I will save those for the pub or the next tweetup.

I will simply say that the project I went to monitor is making a difference. A measurable, quantifiable difference.

For all of my jaded, verbosity about Brown Babies over at Hand Relief International, I can say with absolute confidence that the project I went to monitor is saving the lives of Brown Babies. I don’t mean to say that everything is awesome there, or that the next step will be cable television and BMWs for every family. But it is not an exaggeration to say in this instance that many infants and small children are alive in the targeted area today as a direct result of my local colleagues and their local partners pitching up and doing their jobs every day.

The numbers say that this project made a difference. And the people who’ve benefitted from this project also say that it made a difference.

It’s one of those moments that become far too few and far too far between as you work your way up the ranks in an international household charity. It’s one of those moments of intense gratification and even pride in the even small part that I can claim credit for contributing. It’s one of those moments when it comes clearly to you that international aid can and does work. This is what gets me out the door, bound for the office in the morning.

It’s one of those moments when you see that Alanna was dead on when she wrote (several times, actually) about how projects work, while grand theories and ivory tower pontification and abstracted debates.. er, not so much.

It’s one of those moments when you reconnect with the fact that the way to make a difference is to implement straightforward, by-the-book, unsexy relief and development. Local staff took the time needed to do this properly from the beginning; they followed good process; they listened to partners and beneficiaries; they didn’t bite off more than they could chew, programmatically speaking. They didn’t try waste the time of the poor with some goofy, irrelevant technology developed in a lab or garage by someone who’d never been to this place. No, this project made the difference that it did because it was planned and implemented the old-fashioned way. Again, I’m not saying it was perfect. But this project was first and foremost about the poor and their needs, right from day one.

It’s been one of those moments when I see with great precision what aid is, when I get how it works, and that it does work. Or at least can.

The industry and organizational dumbassery still exist. I’ll get back to ranting about #SWEDOW or bad marketing or volunteers soon enough. Don’t worry. But for now I’m basking in a moment of knowing, once again, what I’m doing here and why.

Some days…

12 Oct

The world of humanitarian aid will eat your soul if you let it.

Stick with this job, in this industry long enough, and you will see not just the good, the bad, and the ugly, but also the very bad, the really awful, and the grotesque. It is possible to spend your days consumed by the abundant and very real wrong here. It is possible to become deeply cynical about the realities of what could be done but isn’t; by the realities of what actually happens in the field versus what is said in fundraising and PR materials; by the discrepancies between what pictures seem to portray and what you see and hear as you walk through the refugee camp. Not to mention that fact that it is difficult, largely thankless, and very often dangerous work.

I’ve written about all of these repeatedly on this blog:

We’ve all compromised our principles.

The world of aid operations and the world of aid marketing are different worlds.

We don’t tell the truth about what we do.

We basically lack the incentives to get aid right.

We’re inherently donor-driven.

These are all present realities in the aid world. And for me, the essence of staying sane in the aid world comes down to how successfully one maintains the balance of perspective between what is and what is possible.

If we fail to gain or allow ourselves to lose our grip on the reality of what is – the incredibly, depressingly ugly brokenness, messed-up UN and INGO idiocy of the aid system – we will become complacent and ultimately ineffective as change agents inside a system that very clearly has to change. We’ll be in a space of heady naïveté where it’s all good because we all mean well and just that alone makes all the little brown babies gain weight and the villagers all smile and say ‘thank you’ and they don’t seem to mind that our overhead calculation is wack. Unpleasant as it sometimes is, we have to stay connected with the facts of a ramshackle and frequently dysfunctional aid system.

On the other hand, if we lose our vision for what is possible, based on an honest understanding of past success – and there are successes: despite its dysfunction and at times questionable motives, the aid system as we know it has accomplished a great deal of very real good – we also become ineffective. If we lose sight of what is possible, we can become deeply and irretrievably cynical. We’ll be in a space where not only is it all bad, but where there’s no point in even trying to make it better. The aid workers I know personally who spend too long in this space become depressed, maybe leave the industry. Some commit suicide. Some abuse substances. Some live with mental health issues. It’s not a good place to be.

* * *

I swear, some days all I do is argue with people dumber than me. Some days all I do is explain, yet again, the most basic of basic principles of good aid to people who, for reasons I am not able to fathom, seem patently incapable of getting it. Some days the weight of a dysfunctional system feels very heavy. Some days the dark spectre of “what is” threatens to consume what is “possible.”

The hardest part of this job is not seeing awful things in the field. It’s not repeatedly witnessing the suffering of others and being able to offer little as a remedy, dealing with corrupt district officials, getting sick, or spending too long away from one’s family too often (hard as those things truly can be). The hardest part of this job is simply dealing with the crushing weight of a system that fundamentally lacks real incentives for getting right what it claims as its core purpose. Similarly, the most dangerous part of this job is not armed militants or bad drivers or  blood parasites. No, the most dangerous part of this job is the humanitarian world itself: it will eat your soul if you let it.

Some days it is about just getting through the day. Some days it comes down to a conscious decision to invoke – almost as an act of faith – the “what is possible”, in order to cope with the “what is.” Some days it’s about identifying spheres of influence, focusing my efforts in those places where I know I can make a difference, and letting the others go. Some days I have to consciously reassess where I fit into the big picture and adjust accordingly my expectations of what I can feasibly contribute. Some days it’s about finding that Zen place. Some days it takes a conscious act of will to stay.

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