Undercurrents. Steve Davis

Undercurrents - Steve Davis


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a doctor?”

      He pointed toward the camp. “Because we must help each other,” he said, then looked me directly in the eyes. “You and your friends probably also need doctors, so I can help you too.”

      This kid moved me, and changed me. Though I'd been at the camp just a short time, I hadn't missed the determination of everyone there trying to create some sense of normalcy in their upended lives. Their optimism floored me. Not a single refugee I met—including the teenager who'd lost his parents—appeared to consider themselves victims. They seemed to be focused only on taking care of one another and finding a dignified path forward.

      “I was a driver for the U.S. team at the embassy,” the refugee began, speaking through the translator. At the time, it was helpful for refugees to prove that they'd worked with U.S. forces during the war.

      “Where did you drive?” asked the lawyer, checking off boxes on his clipboard.

      “I drove officials around Vientiane,” the man responded, referring to the capitol of Laos.

      “What kind of car?”

      “A Ford truck.”

      “What make?”

      “F‐150.”

      “Do you know how to drive a stick shift?” the lawyer continued with an officiousness that struck me as strange, considering the question.

      “Of course.”

      “How many gears did the Ford have—four or five?”

      This was a trick question, as that model of pickup had just three gears, and I could see that the refugee was confused. His answer might determine the fate of his entire family, and he knew it. Would they be allowed onto the list for resettlement in the United States? Forced to remain in the camp? Or returned to Laos where they could be in constant danger?

      “Four,” the man guessed. Immediately, he knew it was wrong. And the interview was over.

      Now I wondered about the aid workers. I'd been impressed by their relentless dedication and generosity, even when their task involved making difficult decisions about individual futures. Yet I couldn't ignore the nagging sense that easing people's day‐to‐day suffering, while a necessary Band‐Aid, did not really address their underlying problems. Nor did it provide a sustainable solution. It wouldn't change the political conditions that forced families to flee their countries, nor the economic duress they suffered, nor the government systems that tossed them around like faceless cargo. As we left the camp, I kept asking myself, was there anything a person like me could do to change this?

      Back in the States, I would work extensively on refugee‐related programs and interview hundreds of applicants for resettlement, learning on the job to recognize the many forces at work in these stiff conversations. Sure, sometimes people lie or shade the truth, but often their memories are tangled by anxiety. Our bureaucratic questionnaires rarely got at the rich complexity of their lives or made room to note the heart‐rending sacrifices they'd made and the difficulty of their journeys. Yet even back in that Thai camp, I grasped the basic unfairness. And I sensed a few other things too: our world is filled with outrageous injustices, I was going to commit time and talent to addressing a few of them, and every step of the way would be fraught with difficult decisions.

      There is no simple definition for practical activism. It's an approach to the work of making our world fairer, focused on long‐term systemic change. Unlike building homes for the needy or handing out food or medicine on the front lines of a humanitarian crisis, practical activism is often invisible, indirect, and unsexy—aimed at shifting public policies, negotiating partnerships, and innovating to improve government systems. Much of the work is geared toward building networks that develop and introduce new approaches or services, and, more recently, new technologies. But all of these endeavors stem from the same motivation: addressing inequities that cause too much pain and hardship for too many people.

      Though I approach this work as a disciplined, often technical and nuanced, undertaking, every bit of it—from meetings with government officials, to conference calls with funders, to conversations with health providers in the field—is still rooted in sheer outrage. It's about our collective outrage and, really, anger at the enormous inequity and unfairness in this world. It's about how we try to channel that outrage into quieter efforts to find solutions by connecting the dots between governments and people, organizations and communities. And it's about scaling those solutions to get real stuff done, for real people.

      Consequently, a central tenet of practical activism is building bridges, usually behind the scenes. It sometimes requires forging alliances between unlikely bedfellows—setting aside preconceptions and refusing to be dissuaded by political differences—in order to reach a common goal. My practical activism has launched me into advocating for foreign aid with staunch “America First” politicians. It has put me in front of Wall Street investors to explain why access to education, healthcare, and a higher standard of living in rural Africa are in their interest. It has led to quiet work on HIV prevention in countries where gay relationships are illegal. For the truly practical activist, opportunities to build bridges surface again and again.


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