Paved with good intentions

The other day a colleague shared the news story of an aid project gone horribly wrong. An American charity in Liberia called "More than Me" (MTM), whose stated purpose is empowerment through education, had claimed to save girls as young as 10 years old from engaging in sex work by providing them with an education. In 2014 it was revealed that, far from saving these girls, the Liberian program coordinator was sexually abusing dozens of female students and, as it was later discovered, infecting many of them with HIV.

The article explains that the founder of MTM, American Katie Meyler, had visited Liberia as a mission volunteer, seen the extreme poverty and hardship, and decided to start her own aid organisation and build a school. Katie and her board didn't have the experience or qualifications to set up and manage a school in Liberia, let alone start up a new organisation with all the governance mechanisms that are required. She was, however, quite accomplished at raising money and enthusing American donors to feel just as passionate about the plight of Liberian girls as she did. She had raised millions of dollars and contributed immense amounts of her own time and resources by the time the abuse allegations came to light. Yet, some of the criticism in the article was that she and her board didn't act swiftly enough when they were first told. In fact, there was a sense that their response was more focused on reputational risk than what was happening to the girls. Such criticisms were initially viewed as personal attacks rather than genuine areas for improvement.

Screenshot from MTM website

While this story is horrific, it's certainly not unique. About five years ago, I heard of a similar situation that happened at an orphanage in Kenya supported by an American church. Again the church had good intentions, but hadn't picked up the warning signs of sexual abuse of the children by the Kenyan Director. Research indicates that children are best cared for by family or foster carers rather than in institutions, which is no doubt why Australia's orphanages were mostly dismantled decades ago. Also, many children in orphanages don't meet the western definition of orphan, and actually have family members who they could live with. It is understood now that the parade of well-intentioned short term volunteers through orphanages only further entrenches any feelings of abandonment that the children might have.

And yet, most Australians do not flinch when somebody they know, who has no teaching or social work qualifications, heads off to the global south to teach English to and briefly hug children in an orphanage and then share selfies on social media. Otherwise known as voluntourism, this trend is vigorously criticised for being ineffective, for perpetuating stereotypes of helplessness, and for failing to address the underlying structural problems causing poverty. It also puts children at risk of abuse.

Like Katie, many returned voluntourers tread the well worn path of setting up a MONGO (My Own NGO) in the hope of solving the problems they witnessed as volunteers. In a former role, I had to manage and guide a whole bunch of enthusiastic, manic, egotistical, well-meaning and pigheaded MONGO folk towards improved governance and risk management. They each had a similar story to Katie. They'd travelled somewhere (being Australians, it was usually Nepal, Timor Leste or India), been affected by the poverty, and made a commitment to help... through starting their own organisation. In many ways my job was a nightmare, because these people tended to be high up in the corporate world, or entitled recent university graduates, or eccentric but well regarded leaders in their communities. They were not used to taking direction from young women talking about child protection, project implementation schedules and monitoring plans. But, if they wanted tax deductibility for their donations, they had to comply. One comfort, looking back on that thankless job, is that by insisting on child protection mechanisms, we might have prevented abuse like what happened within MTM. 

All of these stories point to a phenomenon called the white savior complex. It's this belief that we, as white people, can somehow "save" or "rescue" others. There's an element of the behaviour that is self-serving, because we get to play the role of hero. This is a really confronting notion for those of us in the aid sector, because in what we believe to be a post-missionary, post-colonial world, we risk perpetuating the same harm done in those eras. I was listening to a podcast the other day where people from the global south shared about how the covert racism of the white saviour complex continues to affect them. Despite extensive experience and qualifications, people of colour were repeatedly overlooked for jobs in the aid sector. They would later hear that a recent white graduate who spent two weeks in Kenya had been offered the job instead. The story began with footage of a middle aged white man (a self-professed missionary) going on an abusive rant in a Ugandan hotel. It was just awful to watch. And yet, while never to the same extent, I know I have, in a time of stress and frustration, gotten angry in a hotel lobby, and I felt ashamed about it afterwards. But perhaps even more confronting than the overt racism is seeing myself reflected back in the more insidious face of the white saviour; I want to contribute, to make a difference, and to feel worthwhile. Like so many others, my identity is wrapped up in the work I do. Because of this, there's a real risk that, like Katie, I become closed to constructive feedback, and risk doing more harm than good. 

So, how to avoid falling into all these white saviour traps? One short video suggests cutting out the selfies at the very least. A self-confessed white saviour found more genuine meaning in taking on a background volunteering role where she is on an equal footing with black and hispanic colleagues. My colleagues and I are also continually learning and improving. We share these types of questions and challenges with one another regularly, and I think we have a healthy culture of self reflection and calling one another on our bullshit, which is good. Just the other day we heard about an organisation that runs education campaigns in Australia warning students and teachers about the risks of orphanages and the dangers of voluntourism. These are positive steps. And we're constantly working out how to improve the safeguarding of children in projects our partners implement, without being colonial about it. We're also exploring how to enable passionate Australians to have a more meaningful connection to the projects they support while ensuring these connections do not impose upon our partners or put them at risk. Like any work or vocation, we're going to stuff up sometimes, and I guess for me the key is to have an attitude of learning from mistakes, and of continually listening to partners in the global south about how to support their objectives rather than imposing our own ideas of who needs to be rescued and what the future should look like.