Lawrence Scanlan
The "radical sabbatical." That's what friends call distinguished writer and journalist Lawrence Scanlan's year-long immersion in the world of volunteers, non-profits, anti-poverty activists and general do-gooders, which forms the basis of A Year of Living Generously.
On the surface, this is yet another "year of" non-fiction tome where the protagonist - the author - embarks on a propitious journey in search of insight, meaning or greater self-awareness. But if you can bring yourself to pick up just one more of these books, then Scanlan's is the one to read because - and here's the genius of it - it actually isn't about him.
Scanlan avoids the usual trappings of the genre by favouring journalistic sensibility and observation over emotional hand-wringing, and the result is an unusually intelligent, thoughtful, engaging and, at times, provocative reflection on some of the most pressing issues of our time: homelessness, crime, poverty, aboriginal rights, the environment, HIV/AIDS, international aid and development, cancer, gender equity and more.
And if that list sounds like homework, don't let it deter you. Scanlan's wry wit, keen eye for detail and self-effacing prose, peppered with statistical and historical information, provide ample breathing room for those who like their non-fiction to be entertaining as well as informative.
Scanlan volunteers with 12 different non-profit or charitable agencies and spends a month with each. His volunteerism takes him from Kingston's soup kitchens, to Toronto's homeless shelters, to prisons with the John Howard Society, to a centre for street workers living with HIV/AIDs in Costa Rica, to a women's radio station in Senegal, to a Waterkeepers project on the shores of Lake Ontario, to a Six Nations reserve, to a hospice for the terminally ill, to a home build in hurricane-racked New Orleans - well, you get the point.
Each experience presents an opportunity not only to understand the important work of these organizations and the personalities that drive them, but also to explore what it means to "give" - the rewards and the pitfalls - and the challenges that arise when social responsibility is supplanted by private philanthropy. One of the central questions of the book is whether charity, in and of itself, is a loaded proposition, "a kind of freighted restitution," as John Steinbeck called it. Does the concept of charity surrender to well-intended (and well-heeled) individuals what ought to be the responsibility of government to protect the poor, the abused and the marginalized among us? How does it change us, as a society?
Case in point: While volunteering with Habitat for Humanity in New Orleans, Scanlan writes about build crews working on a particular home being approached "many times by neighbours who have an irate response to a Habitat crew descending on their street. 'Where the hell,' they ask, 'is my house?' Good question."
He further acknowledges that "we all believed we were doing good, and we were. But were we also propping up the status quo?" For most of the book, Scanlan doesn't wade too deeply into these kinds of philosophical arguments, but when he does his observations are sharp and insightful.
The chapters devoted to each month of his volunteer experiences are poignant, moving and, at times, scathing, leaving you feeling torn between picking up a placard, writing a cheque or running in the next election. Which, I get the sense, is precisely how Scanlan wants his readers to feel, though he is never sanctimonious about it.
Most importantly, these chapters are a window into the lives of those who are often ignored, overlooked or discriminated against, which is Scanlan's point: "We need reliable witnesses, we need stories, we need knowledge - especially where there's distance. But there's always distance, isn't there?" By feeling these connections, and by understanding the constraints that volunteers and non-profit agencies are left to deal with, we are prepared for what is the final and hardest hitting chapter of the book, an Epilogue.
In the Epilogue, Scanlan reflects on the nature of charity, the inherent danger of offloading social services onto non-profit agencies, and the problematic trend of volunteer and donor consolidation that puts the majority of private funding into the hands of larger charitable groups that, among other things, tend to the priorities of the rich (i.e. hospitals, universities and art galleries) over other worthwhile causes.
Scanlan writes: "[One]per cent of charities and non-profit organizations with revenues of $10-million or more are grabbing 60 per cent of available donation dollars."
He also argues that very little of this funding is directed toward initiatives that do anything other than maintain the status quo. "How many foundations fund research into the kind of radical structural change and income redistribution that would actually end or diminish the need for foundations or philanthropy?," Scanlan posits: "Precious few."
If there is one criticism of the book, it is that the Epilogue is so well-argued, passionate and thought-provoking that it made me wish he'd devoted more space to it.
Over all, A Year of Living Generously is about more than charity and volunteering, and the sense of purpose and fulfilment that comes from helping others. It is about how we see ourselves in relation to others and the need for a systematic, enlightened and equitable approach to caring for the vulnerable, the dispossessed and the downtrodden.
"What does one do in the face of suffering and need?" Scanlan asks." All I know is this: what one should not do, is nothing." If this book can't change your mind about what it means to give, it will certainly change your perspective.
Samantha Nutt is a human-rights activist, writer and public commentator.