Category Archives: Writing

My Social Justice Story

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I was one of a handful of people asked to tell my “social justice story” at the Social Justice Fund Northwest’s annual dinner tonight. These are my prepared remarks.

As with many other people, my awareness of social unfairness began at home. My parents pointed out and lamented the injustices that plague the lives of the poor—both individuals and societies. Coming from Latin America, we were acutely aware of our differences with the First World—which is to say, aware of the widespread impact of American culture, consumerism, and foreign policy. I was to learn much later that my parents had actually been involved in progressive causes earlier, but growing up, I did not experience their angst and concern being translated to action. Instead, there was always this attitude that charity was just throwing money away: a feel-good measure that did nothing to advance the systemic change needed to solve the root problems. That stance certainly has some merit (“teach a man to fish” and all that), but it can all too easily become an excuse for inaction and helplessness.

As I grew up and my newspaper reading shifted from the comic pages to the front pages to the editorial pages, my sense of urgency around social issues grew. What also changed is that I finally had money of my own: first my grad school stipend, and then a real, honest-to-goodness salary. I now had much more motivation and many more resources than I had ever had before, but I was still confused as to the best means to effect change. I gingerly became an online member of one or two national progressive groups (they were pursuing systemic change!). I soon became inundated with solicitations from many more. Most seemed worthy, and I had money, so I sent fifty dollars here, fifty dollars there, fifty dollars everywhere, and got a walletful of membership cards. But was spreading my money around really effective? Was there a way to become more directly involved in creating change without either giving up my day job or throwing money at the problem as though it were somebody else’s job to fix?

And then 2000 happened. The suspense and non-resolution that followed that election felt to me like the beginning of a nightmare, one in which (I’m ashamed to admit) I disengaged in despair for eight painful years. I knew that disengaging was not helping anyone, but watching the social and political discourse was just too painful, when all I could do—all I knew how to do—was wring my hands at my own powerlessness to make the world right.

But soon enough, I wasn’t alone anymore. I eventually dated and married Knox. One of the many remarkable things about him is how centrally he values reaching out to others and building community. He’ll stop to help or chat with a neighbor just because; he’ll organize a community harvest to glean fruit that would otherwise be going to waste; he’ll spend much time helping folks throughout the country organize Soup Swaps where they can rediscover the fun of cooking and sharing and telling stories. In short, through Knox, I came to understand more viscerally how communities get built from the ground up based on individual interactions. At the same time, I noticed that this community-building was also happening on the national stage, as the left began to coalesce around the Obama campaign. Thanks to what was happening at both the national and very local levels, I came to realize that by fostering community, the isolated helplessness to which I had succumbed could instead become collective progress.

And so this year, at the urging of my friend Jessan, I got involved with the the Next Generation Giving Project run by the Social Justice Fund. I was fascinated by the discussions we had around wealth, class, and privilege—a complex of topics I want to keep exploring. We learned about fund-raising: I wasn’t very successful at that, yet I was still pleasantly surprised at how receptive people were to my pleas. And we evaluated a heck of a lot of applications in a few short weeks. Every night I would grumble at how long that process took, and yet, when I read each application, I would feel guilty about my complaining when it was them doing the hard, amazing, often thankless work down on the ground.

Now, unlike most of the really great SJF members with whom I worked this year, I don’t have a background in social work nor, as you see, in activism. I can’t say “intersectional analysis” without feeling self-conscious. That makes me feel like a bit of an impostor among all of you here tonight. But I know I’m not, because of course this is where my social justice journey has taken me: SJF is working for systemic change, by channeling resources to effective groups while building and sustaining a community working toward a shared vision.

I don’t know yet what form my social activism will take in the future, but I do know that I take to heart the old Jewish saying: “It is not your responsibility to finish the work [of perfecting the world], but you are not free to desist from it either.”

Thank you.

To the spoiler belongs the victory

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There is a fundamental asymmetry in any interaction that requires cooperation: the party that chooses not to play by the rules disrupts the process, preventing any win within the rules of that interaction but likely achieving a one-sided gain outside the scope of the rules.

For example, a child who does not want to play a board game and sweeps the pieces off the table spoils the game for everyone, but has himself achieved the objective of not playing (or perhaps of “not losing,” if that’s what prompted the outbreak).

A discussion with someone who refuses to debate rationally (listening and rebutting using logic) prevents either side from understanding the other better and perhaps being swayed, but achieves the spoiler’s aim of not having her beliefs challenged. Witness the various arguments with fundamentalists who refuse to entertain anything that challenges what they “know.”

Likewise, the goal of Congress is to debate, improve, and pass good laws for the benefit of society. The majority party, in particular, has an incentive to play by the rules to justify its dominance. The minority party, on the other hand, has an extraneous motivation to subvert the game: spoiling the interaction by being obstructionist and partisan prevents good legislation from passing while the other side is in power, supposedly boosting the minority’s chances for a comeback.

When the spoilers are few in number, their damage can be controlled: the child can be excluded from future games, the fundamentalist can be dismissed, the representative can be shunned and voted out. But what happens when a substantial fraction of the players are uncooperative? They just get their way, by hook (the other players giving in) or by crook (spoiling the game).

Is there a way out? By definition, not within the system itself. Perhaps the only way seems to be driving the proportion of spoilers back down—in other words, persuading people left and right that the fairest and most efficient way forward is together.

Scrubs

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I saw them on the T in Boston. I see them crossing the street in Seattle. And it makes me wonder: why do people wear medical scrubs out on the street?

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought the whole point of scrubs was to have a cleaner set of clothes when interacting with patients, to keep the hospital clean, to be easily tossed in the wash and replaced when things got a tad too messy in surgery.

Doesn’t wearing scrubs on the street negate all that? They pick up the dust from home, the pollution from the roadway, the sneeze from the guy on the bus. And they bring all these goodies in close contact to the vulnerable patients needing care.

I can only speculate why people do this. One hypothesis is that the doctors and poor med students are pressed for time, and it’s such a time savings to not have to decide what to wear, only to get to the hospital and have to change into scrubs. Why, just wear scrubs all day and be done with it!

Maybe hospitals don’t have enough lockers for all the personnel to change into medical uniforms. Or maybe it’s a money-saving measure to have them launder their own, since the hospitals already have to deal with other biohazards and patient gowns and what have you.

Or maybe it’s a status thing: “this is the uniform I wear all day, so I might as well wear it on the street, and oh-did-you-notice-that-I’m-in-medicine?” Not that there’s anything wrong with that; we all want recognition and appreciation, and we all seek to identify ourselves as members of one group or another, whether it’s working for a Good Internet Company or being a policeman or participating in a group ride.

But still, seeing scrubs on the street irks me as a subcultural fashion statement that undermines putting the patient first. (That said, it seems that the lab coat may be on its way out.)

If you read this and you wear scrubs, I’d love to hear your side of the story.

Endora!

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I remember watching Bewitched as a kid. I was really into things magical and mind-bending, and I liked seeing the Stephens’ mishaps be caused and solved by a little pinch of magic. Last night, I started watching the series from episode one on Hulu. This was a much awaited treat, as I never had seen the original black-and-white seasons. (It was also interesting thinking about what the transition to color TV must have been like, now that we’re transitioning from analog to digital broadcast.)

The premise of the show, as you may recall, is that Samantha, a witch, agrees to mortal newlywed Darrin’s request that she stop using her magical powers. She does, for the most part, though of course she slips here or there, or has to user her powers to fix the trouble caused by her supernatural relatives. Her goal is to lead “the normal life of a normal housewife,” doing all the chores manually that she could do magically. Indeed, fitting in and being “normal” is the central idea of the show, lest the neighbors, colleagues, or other mortals find out about Samantha’s magical lineage. And all for what? So that Darrin can maintain the dominant power position in the marriage.

Goodness gracious, the show is all about conformity! It’s not just submissive gender conformity in the Leave it to Beaver sense, though there’s plenty of that: women on the show are either witches, housewives, secretaries, or vixens. It’s conformity as a plot device: Sam actually aspires to be a perfect housewife and she strives to act like a mortal so as to not aggravate her husband!

Sam enters into this agreement with Darrin of her own free will, and it is not my place to second-guess private marital arrangements. I do, however, wonder what was going on in the writers’ 1960s minds. As Wikipedia notes, “some storylines take a backdoor approach to such topics as racism”—and indeed, in early episodes one finds statements that witches are people too, that what counts is on the inside, and that people are uncomfortable with “mixed marriages.” How quaint it seems now that these messages of self-worth were presented in the context of a show based on self-denial!

A gay-lib reading is even more jaw-dropping. Sam is a closet case who desperately wants to hide who she is and be the “normal” that is expected of her, yet she can’t help tapping her fabulous powers to right things. In all of this, there is one voice of reason and self-respect warning Sam that she won’t be happy if she denies her nature and urging her to embrace her birthright. Who is this? It is Endora, the meddling mother-in-law who is often the cause of aggravation, the anatagonist who we are set up to hope is proven wrong!

How delightful to look back with older eyes on childhood fixtures and better understand their complexities! Who would have guessed that the villain in this show would turn out to be the character that most intrigues me now? Who would have guessed that my judgement about the compromises in this fictional marriage is checked by an appreciation of the give-give that makes relationships work?

Tightwad or principled?

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Over the holidays, Nicholas Kristof penned a column in The New York Times commenting on how liberals tend to not give as much to charity as conservatives, and urging us to do more. While giving to the needy is in itself good, I think it is ethically consistent for liberals to hesitate in practicing such philanthropy privately.

When we help the needy directly (by giving to a panhandler, say) we are rewarding those who happen to cross our path with a picture that appeals to our sense of need at a moment when we happen to be in a giving mood. That does not mean that the money will be used in the way intended, nor that it will be the best use of our money. What if the food money actually goes to booze? What if the poor family we do not see would use the money more effectively to get out of poverty?

There are similar questions when giving to charitable organizations. Is this charity the best recipient? As a donor, I want my money to go as far as it can; the recipient must have low operating costs and effective programs. Who is eligible for this charity’s aid? If I think that all humans are equally deserving of help and dignity, I would want my money to go help the neediest regardless of artificial boundaries such as membership in a church, town, or ethnic group.

Most importantly, as a liberal, I believe it is the responsibility of society as a whole to take care of the needy and help them get on their feet, and it is the role of government to manage this aid in a way that is impartial and effective. I support helping the needy via progressive taxes on everyone that are used to help our less fortunate brethren fairly. If additional taxes are necessary to fund those (effective!) programs in times of need, I am all for them. Conservatives and libertarians, I’ve found, tend to rail against this compulsory “donation,” but to me it is a fairer way of paying my dues to society. Just as we take care of our elderly parents and disabled friends, we take care of those who need a leg up in the world. And rather than relying on voluntary donations, which invite free riders and cannot attack the problem systemically at the root level, we organize our humanitarian duties into a government role. We, after all, are the government.

I’m not saying so much that private giving is bad (how could it be?), but rather that societal dependence on private philanthropy is wrong, since it runs a high risk of being inefficient (you know overlapping charities must be duplicating some work) and, at best, incomplete in its reach.

Some caveats: I do admit I’m glossing over some practical issues, such as how to make a state system efficient when there are various levels of government. I also hope it’s clear that this argument applies to helping the needy with basic services, which I view as a basic human right society should guarantee. I am not talking about other forms of philanthropy which fall lower in the government’s priorities and which can be significantly advanced by private donations (for example, museums and concert halls).

Finally, though, there is one strong, personal motivation to give back to the community directly. It is a motivation that, perhaps paradoxically, reflects some self-interest, but that does not diminish its value. It is this: giving to the needy directly is a good emotional exercise for the donor in reaching beyond her own comfortable, self-sufficient world and connecting to her fellow man. A tip here or there, a meal for a sick neighbor, shoveling an older person’s driveway: these are the ties that build empathy and community.