We were mixing cement in Cuernavaca when my fondest memory of the trip took place. Shovel rocks. Fill with cement powder. Add water. Mix. Repeat. Our group of fifteen was working alongside a builder from the community, Miguel, and his apprentice. Miguel was inhumanly good at construction and had no problem reminding us that we weren’t, but he trained us so the job didn’t have to be done twice. We were spontaneously joined by a missionary who was establishing a school in the area. He stayed to help for a bit. Helped to translate between ourselves and the locals we were working alongside. Two teenage guys from the village came by with a bottle of Coke to share with us that same afternoon. They were born in the area, and were planning a trip to go teach in South America. The man living in the house beside the one we were building came out to tell us we could use his driveway to store the rocks we had no more room for. This was a genuine community coming together and welcoming fifteen Canadians from fifteen different backgrounds with open arms. Within this small village that the Mexican government had forgotten about I had the privilege to witness and be part of something that anyone in international aid dreams of: a tiny pocket of a global community coming together for a common good.

This wasn’t me transplanting myself into a country that didn’t want me. This wasn’t our group of Canadians imposing ourselves on a community that didn’t need our help. This was a group of passionate, driven students responding to a call heard two countries over. This was not voluntourism.

My interpretation of the word is to vacation in a developing country under the guise of volunteering — taking pictures and souvenirs and dignity while giving nothing sustainable in return. While I’ve had two incredibly rewarding experiences that would not fall into this category, volunteer trips are still being described as destructive and harmful for the host country, regardless of intentions, actions or results.

A common thread of criticism I hear is that the projects aren’t sustainable — they’re simply band-aid solutions stuck on long-term problems. Teaching English abroad doesn’t solve the issue of foreign governments not prioritizing education and volunteering at a field clinic doesn’t curb the spread of international diseases. The lack of sustainable solutions can’t be argued, but the question becomes whether or not these temporary fixes are actually a bad thing. This dilemma is reflected in the classic (yet unsettling) analogy of babies being carried down a river. You can choose to save them, dedicating your life to this unending stream, or investigate upriver to find the source of the problem. The point is that both tasks need to be carried out: the babies can’t be allowed to drown, but we also can’t ignore the source of the problem, whatever that may be. We can send volunteers to build houses in Mexico, but the problem of homelessness will also need to be addressed at a higher level. It’s great for English and Spanish classes to be taught in the Dominican Republic, but why is illiteracy such an issue in the first place? If the root problems are ignored the cycle of injustice will repeat itself, but if we ignore the symptoms in an exclusive pursuit of long-term solutions many people will continue to suffer in the present. A balance needs to be found between the two, and if volunteer trips tend to focus on band-aid solutions, then so be it — sometimes that’s exactly what a community needs.

Beyond the claim that these trips don’t help enough, there’s the idea that they actually do more harm than good; that volunteering abroad is nothing more than an extension of imperialism fueled by the echoes of colonialism. Based on appearances alone this might seem true, but here’s a harsh reality about the scarcity of resources: some people have more than they need while others have not nearly enough. When a group of students travel overseas to serve as extra sets of hands, it’s a simple reallocation of resources — it’s people who don’t need to help themselves choosing to help others. Would it be more beneficial for a community to completely sustain and build itself? Absolutely, but how often is that feasible in areas that truly need help? There comes a point where we have to measure the benefits and costs that come from volunteering — if a community is asking for help, what comes in as a higher priority: high-level principles, or the establishment of basic human rights? That’s entirely up to the community to decide, but if they have chosen to welcome volunteers in, it’s only ethnocentrism at it’s finest to disagree with their decision.

It’s common to arrive home from a volunteer trip and instantly be labeled a white saviour; to hear that a person’s motivation must have been completely grounded in the guilt they feel for their colonialist ancestors. Sometimes the entire situation is as simple as one human traveling to help another with sincere intentions, giving more than they take away. I have trouble swallowing the idea that the best way I can use this privilege I was born into is to condemn those who choose to engage in “voluntourism,” and to condemn those who are fueled by a pure desire to help. I struggle to see how the net costs of building houses, teaching English, or volunteering at clinics abroad can outweigh the obvious benefits being provided.

So here’s to the volunteers.

Remember why it is you got to be where you are.

Remember that no matter where you travel, you’re in someone’s home.

Don’t inflate the significance of what you’re doing, but always remember, above all else, that what you’re doing is good.