Since returning home, I have been thinking a lot about why I spent a week in Atascadero, California. It’s something that’s been troubling me a lot. Which is interesting because if anyone else were to ask me why I went, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second before responding.
“I went for the service. It’s an amazing feeling knowing that the work I did will help improve the lives of someone else. It was a chance to give back.” Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
As much as I wish that were true, it’s not. Aside from a few legendary figures in history, human beings simply aren’t capable of this kind of altruism. When it comes to service, we all have our ulterior motives. Many people serve out of a feeling of guilt that comes along with being born into privilege. Others might serve for the pride they receive from helping another. Worse yet, some serve because it offers them a sense of superiority by working for those lesser than them.
I can’t say I am immune to these thoughts. This is the ugly truth I’ve been grappling with. Every time I sit down to write a reflection, I am filled with an immense hatred. How can I live with myself knowing that I am perpetuating turning service – something so pure, something so genuinely antidotal for the sufferings and inequalities of the word – into a self-serving practice.
If all I wished was to improve the lives of the rural, immigrant community in Atascadero, I know I could have done a better job. To begin with, in no way was it necessary for me to fly across a continent to serve. The $500 I spent on a plane ticket could instead have been a donation, and as such done much more good. Across the entire team that’s $6000 that could be in the pockets of a family in need.
Yet I chose to travel. Even then I must admit that the service I was so insistent upon was not the best. By swooping into the home of an impoverished Hispanic family, serving for a week, then promptly leaving, I helped perpetuate a racial and socioeconomic power structure. In no way was this intentional, but simply by being there I became ‘the white man helping those less fortunate.’ Just being able to take a week off and travel to California I was flaunting my privilege. I waltzed into the home of who’s language I couldn’t speak bringing gifts of solar energy. If that’s not privilege, I don’t know what is.
This is the part of service that never seems to be talked about. It’s the part of service that isn’t so perfect. Growing up, service was always presented to me as an ever-righteous ambition, an infallible system that brought only good to all parties involved. I’ve now come to the conclusion that this mentality can only hinder your service by promoting further pretentious attitudes. And whenever we do talk about privilege, I usually shrug it off as the ‘other people’ who don’t know how to properly serve. So when I was put face to face with my own privilege on this trip, it became an emotional challenge.
Which comes to my reason for hating service. It’s hard. It hurts. It requires you to shine a light on the parts of yourself that you’d rather turn a blind eye to. It exposes us to our ignorance and daily assumptions. Service is a venture into one’s own heart, and cutting away the callous we unintentionally build is not a painless process.
I have no way of knowing what that family thought of me. I fully expect that I did look like the ‘pretentious savior’ at some point in the week. I only hope that seeing me working on my hands and knees, with hands bloodied from run-ins with shingles, getting burnt by the hot California sun, and all with a bright smile on my face – I hope that sight allowed some common humanness to shine through. I’d argue that the more important part is expressing your humanity for them to see.
Which comes to my reason for loving service. Service has the capability to open connections between two people from lives distinct. Service is rooted in humility. It strips away prejudice, class, and the past to allow one heart to help another in distress.
Service is not a perfect system. Undoubtedly there was a better way to help the families of Atascadero with the resources I provided. But being imperfect doesn’t make something less worthwhile. At the end of the day we helped save over $80,000 on two family’s electrical bills. That matters.
I will continue to help others and do good in this world, but the truth is I’m not wholly altruistic. It’s something I can work on, but I must also recognize my limitations. If we all held ourselves to such a lofty standard I’m not sure anyone would be serving. The important part is not to lie to yourself. Continue to serve, but recognize all the faults along the way. Challenge your previously held perspectives, discovers parts of yourself you didn’t know existed and probably didn’t want to know, and expose privilege in order to break it down.
If service doesn’t suck, you’re not doing it right.