Charity, dignity, and culture.

Last week I found myself unexpectedly helping at an event organized by a local Orthodox charity, handing out food bags to low-income residents of Lupeni.  The leader and funder of this charity is a rich local Orthodox man who owns multiple businesses in the area and is known by everyone in the community -- his influence and his money have been a part of every good initiative that has happened in Lupeni, apparently, and for that the community is grateful.  He has also donated money to FNO, and often calls on the IMPACT kids to volunteer at his charity's events, such as this Easter food basket program.

Ever since that day, I've been mulling over charity and dignity and culture.  I found myself admittedly frustrated and upset by the way things went on that day, but in the time since the event I've realized just how much my own expectations are formed by my culture -- and that claiming "best practices" is really, really hard.  Let me explain what I mean.

We arrived at the old cinema in town at about 11:00am, gathered together with the 15 or so IMPACT kids who had come to help, and mulled around for 40 minutes waiting for the organizers of the event to arrive.  There were already at least a dozen people sitting around in the heat waiting for food bags, but we had no information for them yet, so we all waited together.  Eventually the organizer arrived, and we eagerly anticipated getting started -- but instead were made to wait for another hour while the charity's volunteers discussed and argued over how to set up the lines, where to put the bags, and so on.  In the meantime, more hungry people had gathered, hot in the midday sun, eager for information -- and when they crowded forward towards the closed glass doors behind which all of us volunteers were gathered, they were yelled at.  I was rather dismayed by the chaos and the disorder, the sheer inefficiency of the event, but especially by the yelling at the people we were there to serve.  Eventually three tables were set up in the two doorways, each corresponding to the three schools in town where kids were enrolled -- but no one bothered to explain to the people waiting outside which table was which, or what sort of ID they needed to have, or how long they would have to wait.  The police came to help hold the crowd back, and slowly the distribution of food bags began, with a few volunteers checking people in and a few more carrying the food bags to them while the rest of the volunteers just watched and waited.

Eventually I went out and spent time in the crowd trying to explain to people what was going on (though I didn't know the full story either, since it kept changing).  I sort-of gave up trying to help at all and just tried to be kind to people, talking to kids and doing my best to smile and entertain them while they waited and waited and waited.  But eventually I left, feeling useless.

When I left, I was irritated.  I worked in food pantries and soup kitchens all through high school and college, and I am used to the American Midwest style of charity -- orderly lines, well-organized protocols and rules, people who generally stay where they're supposed to and volunteers who stay busy with lots to do.  As I watched the crowd outside the doors and listened to the chaos inside the doors, I felt frustrated that there was no similar order here in Romania -- that such a big event was so disorganized, and that in the process people who needed help were being yelled at and treated without dignity, forced to push and wait and kept from knowing what they needed to know.

But in the days following, and in conversations with my Romanian colleagues here at FNO, I've learned a few things.  First of all, this is common at Romanian charitable events -- the chaos and disorder and disorganization was not a surprise to any of the Romanians there.  And maybe that's okay.  It doesn't jive with my American desire for efficiency, but efficiency is really a cultural preference, not an absolute good.  Plus, perhaps the efficient, tidy lines and rules and protocols which American charities often force upon the poor ultimately aren't any more dignifying or humanizing than the jostling crowd supervised by police officers here in Romania.  After all, in the States there were many times that I saw rules enforced with ironclad strictness rather than compassion and love, and people demurely adhering to rude volunteers who lorded power over them -- and there is nothing dignifying about that.  So again, it's a cultural difference. 

After the event I found myself remembering my first weeks at Supper House and the shock and fear I felt in seeing the hungry desperation of some of the people there.  It's overwhelming when there are a lot of hungry people clamoring for food and you are in charge of distributing it.  It takes a while to get used to, and I  think it's only by the Holy Spirit that we can be kind and compassionate yet wise.  I remember those emotions now -- and it gives me more empathy for the way things were run at the event last week.

Ultimately, hungry people got food.  A lot of food -- big bags of chicken and oil and bread and eggs and Easter sweets.  And that is a good thing.  I don't think the end result of people getting fed necessarily makes the method of distribution okay.  But I have come away from the whole event pondering, wondering which aspects of charity are simply cultural preferences, and which ones are truly "best" -- the most dignifying, the most humanizing, the most empowering for those who give and those who receive.