Beyond aid

Tom Paulson over at Humanosphere makes an interesting argument that philanthropy-charity-aid-humanity is on the threshold of something… new, something different. Read the article. It’s compelling, but it leaves us with an un-answered question: what’s coming?

Matthew Bishop and Michael Green attempt to tell us in their co-authored article in the Huffington Post. Read the article. While I positively loathe the term “philanthrocapitalism”, and absolutely do not agree that corporate dogooding will save the world or even necessarily change the world for the better (both are frequently claimed), I agree with many of the predictions by Bishop and Green. They hit the main points in my opinion and give us at least a partial glimpse of the future.

The word is out: “aid” accomplishes far less, and at far greater a cost than everyone thought. The arena is packed with slathering competitors of all stripes, each stridently proclaiming their own awesomeness by defining their own self-interest in terms of the supposed needs of the poor. Moreover, aid in public consciousness is essentially entertainment – a reality drama that anyone can be part of whether they send $20, spend two weeks building a church in Mexico, or start their own non-profit. The genuine good that aid does do is fleeting, contingent, fragile, often despite the distracted inefficiency of the organizations that implement it.

Fairly or unfairly (both, actually) aid workers and aid organizations no longer occupy the position of good grace we once did in public opinion. Our real expertise is being questioned (typically by those not competent to understand real answers when given), and we’re being called out in those areas where we’ve been faking it. For the moment the vast majority – by which I mean practically all – of the journalistic expose and ordinary citizen outrage about aid is misplaced. They’re missing the point for now, but they’ll connect the dots eventually.

Whether one sees it as a good or a bad thing, there is a general movement within the industry to professionalize the aid sector. Right now the discussion is basically bogging down over issues like whether it will be, say, Harvard or Tufts University who “owns” the right to accredit aid organizations and license aid workers to practice, or whether the aid industry will somehow continue to be self-accrediting and self-licensing but to a higher standard. But it’s all largely a discussion about how and within which parameters to professionalize the aid sector, and distinctly not a discussion about whether or not professionalizing is a good idea.

Putting it all together (and there are plenty more articles out there), it’s safe to assume, as Paulson suggests, that we are in time of great change. I don’t know exactly when the penny will drop, but the clock is winding down. I don’t mean to sound alarmist, but we are very quickly coming to the point where “business as usual” will simply no longer be an option for the aid industry.

So what does it mean?

I think it means at least three things:

1) We need fundamental innovations to the ways in which we think about and conceive aid.  So-called “innovations” in the aid sector have more or less mirrored innovations in various technical industries. The automotive industry, for example, has not experienced a fundamental innovation since it came into existence. Sure, we have much nicer cars now than when Henry Ford built the first Model A, but a car is still a car: it has three or four rubber wheels which roll on the ground, directly powered by some kind of on-board engine or motor. No one has innovated a powered personal transportation machine for mass production that significantly challenges this formula.

And aid is the same way.

We tweak and fiddle, but sixty years later we still haven’t really gotten that basically the menage a trois is not working. Aid effectiveness, any hope of sustainability, and even the slightest glimmer of possibility for true local ownership and empowerment all directly hinge on whether or not we successfully find a way through or past the menage a trois.

And if we don’t…

2) We have to face and deal with the distinct possibility that NGOs are or may soon be irrelevant. Paul Currion explains here. He writes,

“A child of their time, INGOs clearly filled a niche in the international system, particularly as a counter to a post-war foreign policy based on military-industrial interests. Yet INGOs were based on assumptions shared by that same establishment, and took on forms that were familiar with that establishment. The fundamental problem for INGOs – as for governments and corporations – is that the world is changing in ways which are increasingly difficult to manage for these old forms.

The worst case scenario for INGOs is that they find themselves filling in where government has failed, providing alternatives that are not alternatives at all but simply poor substitutes for the old system; or find themselves filling gaps where corporations have proved unable or unwilling to extend their reach, creating pseudo-markets which are largely unsustainable. Where these scenarios come to pass, INGOs will twist themselves into new shapes not in order to challenge the systems which lead to these governance and market failures, but to prop them up instead.”

3) We have to change prevailing assumptions about the directionality of aid. It is quite simply no longer the case (if it even ever was) that there is a modern, technologically advanced, “developed” world who bequeathed it’s benevolent assistance to the dark masses of the not-modern, low-tech, not-developed world. It is a reality that aid assistance can literally come from anywhere, to anywhere. Perhaps we in the United States will have the hardest time swallowing this pill, but I really do see the day coming when foreign aid workers, perhaps from countries that I’ve been deployed to in the past, will come to my country to help.

It is one thing to say academically that we all have something to learn from others. It’s another to let oneself be taught by those others.

As I think about it right now, maybe this more than anything other single thing – the notion that we’re all in this together and can all receive help from each other – has the potential to make aid better.

Aid as entertainment

In Empire of Illusion: the end of literacy and the triumph of spectacle, Chris Hedges makes a convincing, cogent case that American culture has been bankrupted and reduced to six-grade level meaningless fluff, obsessed with celebrity culture, coddled by the simplistic imagery and messaging of the entertainment industry, and having neither the taste nor the stomach for the nuanced complexity of the real world.

I’m glossing over. Hedges excoriates.

I don’t see myself particularly as a critic of American culture. I consume. I watch prime-time television. But Hedges touches nerves with me. What he says rings true. And it especially rings true after my own years of trying unsuccessfully to put into words what disturbs me about the way the aid industry talks about what it does. It rings true as I try to describe the deep chasm the separates aid marketing from aid action.

On page 26 of Empire of Illusion, He writes:

“The veterans saw their wartime experience transformed into an illusion. It became part of the mythic narrative of heroism and patriotic glory sold to the public by the Pentagon’s public relations machine and Hollywood. The reality of war could not compete against the power of the illusion. The truth did not feed the fantasy of war as a ticket to glory, honor, and manhood. The truth did not promote collective self-exaltation. The illusion of war peddled in The Sands of Iwo Jima, like hundreds of other Hollywood war films, worked because it was what the public want to believe about themselves.”

He might as well be talking about aid. He is talking about aid. Myself as a veteran of the aid enterprise, I react viscerally to what Hedges says here. I know it’s true.

There is the real world of international humanitarian aid and development. Then there is the world that the public consumes. And here let us be very clear: “consumes” is precisely the right word.

Because aid is entertainment.

Regardless of what we might or might not do in “the field”, in the context of the modern culture that constitutes our donor public aid is entertainment. It is scripted, produced and sold to a consuming public who consumes it precisely because it is entertaining. They consume entertainment aid because the produced, marketed product delivers an illusion which corresponds to what they want to believe about themselves. Like a visit to Disney World, the interaction between a household charity and an individual donor is increasingly scripted and “produced” to maximize the donor’s “experience.” This is not only what I like to call “the cult of the donor.” Whether they’re receiving a letter of thanks (signed by the CEO), “buying a well” from the gift catalogue, or going on a guided tour of a project they’ve supported in a foreign country, ordinary citizens who support relief and development charities are increasingly purchasing a product, specifically and experience.

The perception of international aid and development in popular culture, too, is carefully scripted as entertainment, as prime-time reality drama that anyone can be part of. Like American Idol or The Fear Factor, “helping the poor” and “making a difference” are just new arenas where anyone can have a shot at 15 minutes of fame. You can collect T-shirts or shoes to send to Africa, you can start a #socent cause that goes viral, you can invent a new widget that will make poverty history, you can start a 501(c)3 with it’s own website and mission statement. In the entertainment world of aid, you, too can be remarkable. You can change the world! Or so the script goes.

Aid is entertainment.

When President Barak Obama wanted a humanitarian perspective on such matters as, say, how to prevent mass atrocities or reduce the amount of sexual violence against women, he didn’t go to the community of professional humanitarian organizations and practitioners. There are surely plenty of real aid workers with significant expertise and experience, not to mention organizations who implement US-grant funded programs to address these exact issues within easy walking distance of the White House. No – in order to get the inside scoop on what’s really going with violence against women in other countries, the leader of the Free World held a private audience with a couple of actors.

Aid is entertainment.

Hedges continues: “Faith in ourselves, in a world of make-believe, is more important than reality. Reality, in fact, is dismissed and shunned as an impediment to success, a form of negativity.”

The real world of international aid and development is not a perfect world. There’s a lot that goes wrong in there, a lot that needs to change and get better. But at least it’s real.

And as unpleasant as it might be we have to make the public understand the reality.

What do the poor deserve?

What do the poor deserve? Ask yourself.

How you answer will depend at least a little on why you think they’re poor. Why do you think the poor are poor? Do you think they’re poor because they’re lazy? Is their poverty part of cosmic retribution for wrongs committed by their ancestors? Do they deserve to be poor?

Or maybe you think is poverty something imposed on them against their will, from outside? Are the poor simply the pawns of evil people who perpetuate global systems of oppression based on race, ethnicity, class, culture, language and geography? Are they innocent, yet nonetheless helpless victims?

* * *

It’s been written before that how we think about aid and rationalize it emotionally mater. What’s been written less often before is that how we think about aid is inextricably bound up in how we think about poverty and about “the poor.” More specifically, how we think about what good aid is and how to do it, where we’ll cut corners in the name of expedience, or whether or not we’ll hold the line on technical standards and insist that our staff meet minimum qualification requirements before we hire them, all come back to why we think the poor are poor.

If we think the poor are poor in some way due to their own negligence, then it is far easier to justify poorly planned and implemented aid as “good enough.” If we think, even in a small way, that the poor are poor because they deserve to be, then how we market aid, how carefully we manage the edges of appropriate CSR, how rigorously we evaluate not just the value for our balance sheets but also the raw need for our GIK, or sending a troupe of Western teenagers to spend two weeks “doing disaster response” all become less important. We may not articulate it to ourselves in these exact words, but the I’d like to suggest that our collective tolerance for bad aid – from the amateur orphan-huggers, all the way on up through NGOs and INGOs and BINGOS to the UN to the hallowed halls of USAID and ECHO to the gilded halls of Busan – is in direct inverse proportion to what we think the poor deserve from us.

I don’t  think that anyone of us is competent to pass judgment on what anyone else deserves in any kind of cosmic, universal sense. But I think that it’s important that we ask ourselves this:

What do the poor deserve?

Do they deserve our cast off clothing, our old shoes? Do they deserve our discarded bicycles and old soap? Do they deserve our church youth groups coming to practice on them for two weeks? Do they deserve us shutting them out of our planning processes or delivering aid based, not on their priorities and need, but on the priorities of donors, foreign governments or for-profit corporations? Do they deserve celebrities popping in for a few days of “humanitarian assistance”, perfectly coiffed, cameras rolling? Do they deserve foreign journalists plastering their faces on mass media in the name of “raising awareness”?

Whether as amateurs, as students hoping to enter the industry workforce, or as professionals who have been in the game for a while, we most commonly rationalize and justify our participation in the humanitarian endeavor in our personal terms. That is, we explain it in terms of what we feel compelled to do. Our motivations. It’s about us. We want to make a difference, see the world, atone for something, maybe accrue some good karma.

We need to change this. We need to be talking about relief and development work in terms of what the poor need and, if you will, what they deserve. Not deserve in the sense of something they somehow earned. But deserve in the sense that they’re human beings, just like us. Personally, I believe that the poor deserve the best we’re capable of, if for no other reason than simply by virtue of their humanity.

Aid blogger and AidSource co-founder Alanna Shaikh once wrote about the danger of allowing ourselves to believe that the poor have nothing. That danger is specifically that if we believe that “they” really have “nothing”, then anything we give is “better than nothing”, and therefore “good.”

I think there’s at least as much danger in believing that the poor deserve their poverty, or on the flip side, that they somehow deserve less than the best we can provide.

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