Charity, Justice, and Fatigue
I recently finished reading Celeste Fremon’s G-Dog and the Homeboys, which illustrates how Father Greg Boyle, a Jesuit priest in Los Angeles, addresses the unmet needs of youth involved with gangs. Alongside community members, Boyle developed positive alternatives to involvement in gangs, including a day care program and social enterprise business. These efforts culminated in Homeboy Industries, a nonprofit organisation that uses a holistic approach to gang rehabilitation. By training and employing former gang members and offering free services such as tattoo removal and educational programs, the program helps to empower former gang members to reimagine their futures. Today, Homeboy Industries serves about 15,000 individuals seeking a better life. Boyle has said that “gang violence is about a lethal absence of hope” and that “nobody has ever met a hopeful kid who joined a gang.”
I was familiar with this story prior to reading the Fremon’s book and was blessed enough to meet Father Boyle this past May. I expected the book would focus on the causes of gang violence as well as Boyle’s heartaches in burying some of the kids he came to love who didn’t survive gang life. I did not expect, however, that this book would be so monumental to my understanding of charitable works and social justice.
Fremon constantly describes Boyle as overwhelmed and exhausted; at one point, she explains that Boyle experienced chest pains in response to the constant violence around him. Isn’t it so common, though, to feel this way? Whether you’re working towards gender equality, dismantling institutions rooted in racism, or advocating for environmentally conscious policies, isn’t this social justice fatigue, this feeling of being exhausted and maybe even useless, so familiar?
I know I’ve felt it living and working in Kampala, Uganda over the past six months. Every time I head downtown on the public taxi and we stop in traffic, children run through the street, pause at my window, and ask for money. This one time, there were three; one held his hand out, and another held and pointed to a baby in her arms. Seeing that baby destroyed me inside. These kids were so desperate that they used a baby to make me feel so bad that I would give them money. It hurt me to shake my head, to say I didn’t have money when I did, and to drive away. I still think about where those kids are now, how much longer that baby would live, how a few thousand shillings could have made a huge difference in their lives, and how I wouldn’t have missed that money a few seconds later.
I began to question my role here as a Global Health Corps fellow and, in general, the contrast between social justice and charitable work. Can giving one family medicine really make a significant dent in health inequity? Will donating a few dollars stop poverty? Does building a house in the rural United States do anything to alleviate homelessness? Won’t there be another person who contracts HIV, another kid who needs money to get home, and another family without shelter in one of the world’s most developed countries?
I think many people are uncomfortable with the idea of charity — responding to people’s immediate needs with monetary donations or physical volunteer work. Sometimes, charity is viewed as intended to make oneself look better, which this Time article labels as “selfish altruism.” Others, such as Joann Van Engen, highlight how large sums of money spent to send students to South American or African countries could be better used by locals. To be honest, I often criticize charity myself. I prefer working on social justice—addressing the root causes of a community’s issues — such as advocating for policy change.
Boyle and his commitment to the kids of East Los Angeles remind me that charity and social justice, the “Two Feet of Love in Action,” must co-exist. Boyle provides quick alleviation of gang violence by taking youth off the streets, even if momentarily, through job training and employment. At the same time, he digs deeper by reminding them of their human dignity, that they are not their pasts, and that the future can be bright and without violence. By playing the role of a supportive father, Boyle often succeeds in keeping youth from returning to gangs and violence over the long term.
Coming to this understanding of the relationship between charity and social justice has been critical in helping me process the injustice I witness and the impact of my actions. If I give a kid money today, it may be just enough to get him to school on time, where he would have been kicked out had he been late again. Maybe if I do my job at analyzing data well enough, we can prevent enough maternal deaths that mothers in a village that I may never visit will begin a local health movement of their own. Who knows if by building a new home for one homeless family, the daughter of that family in Appalachia will become the next president of the United States? These actions that seem to do little in the large scheme of life truly can be part of creating lasting positive change.
If I give a kid money today, it may be just enough to get him to school on time, where he would have been kicked out had he been late again. Maybe if I do my job at analyzing data well enough, we can prevent enough maternal deaths that mothers in a village that I may never visit will begin a local health movement of their own. Who knows if by building a new home for one homeless family, the daughter of that family in Appalachia will become the next president of the United States? These actions that seem to do little in the large scheme of life truly can be part of creating lasting positive change.
Consider one more example of why I’ve come to believe that both charity and social justice work are important. An immigrant family in Camden, New Jersey is living on the brink of poverty. The parents muster just enough to give their three children an education after receiving food stamps and government assistance for utilities. All three kids complete high school and attend college. The youngest majors in biology at Saint Joseph’s University; the middle child studies nursing at Rowan University; the oldest, by now a college graduate, analyzes data to help prevent HIV and malaria, support reproductive and maternal health, increase child survival, and bring safe water in Uganda.
This is the story of my family. Charitable works allowed me to work for social justice today. The immediate help we received is why I’m now able to work as part of a community of advocates making a lasting impact. Like a rainbow, the road of charity and justice is too long to see the end. But we can be sure that there is an end to this road. I can see a future where equity and justice are the norm. To get there, we cannot let our fatigue stop us from serving others in the moment and for the long haul.
Luigi Nuñez is a 2017–2018 Global Health Corps fellow.
All GHC fellows, partners, and supporters are united in a common belief: health is a human right. There is a role for everyone in the movement for health equity. Join the movement — applications for our 2018–2019 class are open through January 17, 2018.
