A gaggle of privileged college students, including myself, sat in a dusty classroom in Sector 2 of Villa El Salvador, Perú, an urban slum on the outskirts of the metropolis of Lima. It was 9:15 am. Most of us had a cup of black coffee or coca tea perched on our desks and were dressed in sweatpants and sweatshirts, having just woken up half an hour before to shower quickly and eat a breakfast consisting of bread, butter, and eggs. While listening to the hustle and bustle outside – an assortment of car horns, screaming school children, and M1 bus drivers – I observed the sky. Today, it was nothing but a solid sheet of grey, but it was always grey, and the air was saturated with the odor of fish and burning trash. The ocean was not far from here, but we could not see it, even from the rooftop, because the smog was too thick from the fires in the streets and the nearby factories.
We had been in Villa for a couple of weeks now, but to most, it had felt much longer than that. Our expectations were shattered the moment we stepped on the bus after leaving the Lima airport. We sat in silence as we cruised down the highway, watching the immaculate beach chateaus become graffiti-covered shacks propped up in the sand with an assortment of cardboard and tin.
When I exited the bus after the hour-long drive, I walked hesitantly through the gates of our retreat center. Then, I heard the dogs for the first time. They barked and howled and scuffled into the night, throughout the early morning, and were only drowned out when the inhabitants of Villa arose to begin their daily tasks. Throughout the day, the mutts ran alongside the hundreds of battered cars, nipped at the ankles of children on their way to school, and sat outside the many dingy storefronts, hoping for someone to drop a scrap of chicken or bread.
When I tried to fall asleep last night, I heard the dogs, and strained once again to determine how I would describe my experience thus far. Most of us did not know how we felt about our journey, not yet. We missed home in the United States where we were guaranteed comfort and safety, rather than a place where two of our student leaders were robbed at gunpoint on the first Sunday after our arrival. But we were adventurous, passionate, curious, and inspired by the idea that we could create a better environment in this solemn place through our academics and our volunteer work. We needed to remind ourselves of this constantly so that we did not spend our entire six weeks resenting the expensive decision.
When asked why we chose to study abroad in Villa El Salvador, Perú, the initial response from many of the students was something along the lines of, “I want to help people.” Coming from a Jesuit university, it was no surprise that this was the common sentiment. We were trained to think of others, to think of the greater good of humanity, and to think of changing the world. We were raised to have big dreams for the future, and why wouldn’t we? The society we grew up in allowed and encouraged us to do so, because with enough “hard work” and “determination”, we could achieve anything.
Dr. Kyle Woolley, my sociology professor, decided to demolish these preconceptions in our class today. He opened the door to the classroom with his Nalgene thermos in hand, plugged his laptop into the single wall outlet, and promptly started his lecture.
“If you think that you, as an individual, can change the world, you are mistaken. And this program is not going to be successful or serve any kind of purpose to you if you continue to think this way.”
I was dumbfounded. Being the argumentative and self-righteous student that I am, I raised my hand immediately.
“Excuse me, Kyle, but what do you mean? Aren’t we all supposed to have a mission for change? If not, what are we all doing here? How do we achieve progress?”
Kyle shook his head, set down his water bottle, and explained.
“You are one person – a privileged student from the United States. You exist in the class for the wealthy, while the Peruvian citizens here, do not. We are all members of a class system because humans cling to some sort of hierarchal structure. It’s in our nature, and we cannot survive without it. We, as single entities, cannot break this class system. Let’s talk about Marx.”
In The Communist Manifesto, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels famously began their dialogue by stating, “The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles” (Marx and Engels 21). In the early- to mid-1800s, Marx and Engels noted the ever-increasing division between what they deemed the Bourgeoisie and the Proletariat. The Bourgeoisie consisted of lords, patricians, masters, and/or any man with wealth. The Proletariat consisted of plebeians, serfs, laborers, and/or any man who had to work hard for little wages. Most simply, this division represented the conflict between rich and poor.
Because money determines power and power determines social change, the Bourgeoisie historically has been the class to rule. They became the oppressors, and the Proletariat became the oppressed. This left no room for the Proletariat to succeed, unless they chose to revolt. Marx and Engels analyzed the society rooted in oppression and concluded that in the history of this kind of opposition, a “fight” always arose, “a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary reconstitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes” (Marx and Engels 21). Marx and Engels argued that revolution was inevitable if the Proletariat wanted to rise. So, where was the revolution in Perú?
In the early 1980s, a communist group in the mountains of Perú began to gain power. Sendero Luminoso, or Shining Path, was led by a college professor by the name of Abimael Guzmán. A Marxist himself, Guzmán convinced his classes that the impoverished indigenous peoples of Perú were being mistreated and deserved better. Together, they rose up, and gained a multitude of followers, most of who were in the working class. Guzmán took advantage of the large, misinformed population of indigenous citizens in the mountains, only to turn against them. He began slaughtering anyone he did not consider a worthy and pure Peruvian, the very people he had originally been advocating for. He turned against them, a traitor, but became dictator of the nation of Perú (Informe Comisión Verdad Perú). The revolution Marx described had been stolen from the working class and made to benefit the rich.
Millions of individuals and families fled from the mountains to escape the genocide, but Lima was not suited to hold the large masses. Villa El Salvador was formed as a means of temporary living (Informe Comisión Verdad Perú). The crowded shacks I first witnessed from the coach bus were not supposed to be permanent residences, but they stayed, and expanded, for twenty years. Little progress was made. A few of the major roads were paved, but most of the streets were still only sand. Just five years ago, Villa El Salvador received a system of running water. Why were things moving so slowly? Why had the conditions been accepted for what they were? Where were the leaders? Where was the advocacy?
Kyle, again, addressed Marx.
“These classes, the Bourgeoisie and the Proletariat, are engrained in our societal structure. Not only is it historically impossible to live without them, we rely on them. From where you stand, as an affluent American citizen, you have no power to change the lives of the people here. A revolution must occur from the bottom, not from the top.”
My head was pounding. I raised my hand again.
“So…why are we here? If I can’t do anything…if I can’t change anyone’s life at all…if I can’t change the world, what’s the point?”
Many of the students in the class looked as puzzled as I did. We were under the impression that because we were educated, because we had opportunities others did not or could not afford to have, it was our civic duty to do something with our privilege. Kyle continued.
“Charity versus justice. Think about it. Right now, you all believe that you need to ‘help’ some poor group you’ve labeled as a ‘them’. With this in mind, you’re only worsening the divide Marx defined. You think of yourselves as superior. Right now, you’re voluntourists, watching, but not actually seeing the human worth in the people here. You want to ‘help’ them instead of ‘serve’ them. You need to get out of this mindset. Charity does not create change, justice creates change.”
I wondered what voluntourism was comprised of and began to do some research. I found that most voluntourist groups are comprised of members of the same social class. The travelers are wealthy citizens, easily able to spend money on an international excursion. They also share a desire to help or serve others to some degree. This commonality provides a falsified perception of poverty that “may be reinforced by their experiences if they are not encouraged to question the broader processes behind such issues” (Raymond and Hall 533). In addition, “some theorists explain that the reason why voluntourism may be purported as positive is because researchers focus primarily on the individual’s motivations, experience, and perspectives, while neglecting the opinions of the host communities” (Sin 984; Connan 1454). These perceptions and neglect only lead to further ignorance that sustains the separation between the “us” (the West) and the “them” (the Orient).
Most voluntourism programs focus on the voluntourist’s desire to “make a difference” and “may neglect local desires (such as what the community defines as its needs) and focus on creating what ‘outsiders’ claim as progress in the host community, while generating profit for the sending organization” (Guttentag 541). Sustainable development cannot be achieved because those involved are not aware of the needs of the community. Most of the participants have no previous knowledge of the people or their social situation. This knowledge is essential to creating actual progress. How can a person create solutions if he/she is unaware of the problems? Instead, “voluntourism can act as an artificial support, but it does not address larger structural issues that can create long-term positive change” (Guttentag 546). Most of the “volunteering” on these excursions, as previously mentioned, comes in the form of donations or labor. If a child is hungry, the voluntourist provides a meal. If a family’s house needs repair, the voluntourist builds a new one. Though this aid is still very important, the fix is similar to continually placing duct tape over a leak when water trickles out; it is easy, quick, temporary, and ultimately, the problem still remains. This is evident in the fact that, “it is widely accepted that foreign aid provided by wealthy nations during the past five decades has failed to reverse global patterns of poverty and inequality” (Ovaska).
The ideas of “helping” and “giving” are some of the greatest problems within voluntourism. Barbara Vodopivec, a researcher who studied voluntourism in Latin America, tells Dobrovolny, “Voluntourism has popularized the idea of how we have to change the so-called ‘other’ and not actually critically reflect on our own behaviors and lifestyles” (Dobrovolny 59). The concept of the privileged giving to the marginalized serves only to extend and foster class inequality. Advantaged individuals believe it is their duty to give to the less fortunate, but essentially “reinforce negative stereotypes about other cultures as simple, primitive or less developed” (Guttentag 546) because “voluntourism agencies have sold us on the idea that there are people ‘out there’ who need our help, overshadowing the question of how modifying our own lifestyles might equally bring about positive change” (Dobrovolny 59).
Though they may not originally recognize it themselves, the harsh reality conveys that the intentions of voluntourists are fairly selfish in nature. The individual tends to receive personal benefits and self-gratification through his/her experience, creating social egoism (Coghlan and Fennell 393). Instead of questioning the matrix of domination, voluntourists are typically proud and self-satisfied with the experience. One particular participant commented that the family she served, “seemed very grateful for the help we were giving them and tried to accommodate us as best they could” (Palacios 867). “Help” and “giving” do not create sustainability or solidarity, but rather support the idea that the “giver” is the superior being and the “receiver” is the inferior being. “Help” and “giving” encourage Marx’s idea of the “iron cage” of rationality in which we are all trapped. The girl felt good about herself for “making a difference,” but did not provide any discussion toward equality and class-consciousness.
Ultimately, to achieve true change toward global justice, a community must attain class-consciousness, or an understanding of their position in society and how to take action toward upward mobility. This is an undeniably difficult task, because “people cannot simply be told to change; they have to discover change through personal experiences” (Gordon).
I was absolutely overwhelmed. I was a voluntourist? I did not know what to do other than take notes on what Kyle told me, close my notebook, and move on with my day. We would be leaving for the Association soon enough, and then I would forget all of the trivial matters of schoolwork.
The Association did not look like much. It was a two-story brick building with a gated entrance. On the left side were two kitchens, one to feed adults of the community and the other to feed the children. On the right side were classrooms, three on the ground floor and one on the top accompanied by a dance studio. Behind the Association sat the Pronoei, a preschool with four classrooms and a limited amount of teachers that came and went frequently. We came to the Association every day, and each of us had a routine.
When I stepped off the M1 bus and made the trek up the sand to the Association, I thought about visiting Míriam first. Míriam was my best friend. She was five years old. Whenever I entered a room, she would reveal a toothy grin and squeal, “¡Mi amiga, Catalina!” while running to leap into my arms. Yesterday, she wrote her name on my arm as I snuck a piece of candy into her pencil box. We talked about her siblings and pretended to be doctors. Her teacher brought balloons, and we crammed one under my shirt. Míriam was my midwife, and I was going to have a baby (well, a balloon, that is). Oh, how we laughed. I laid on the floor and pushed the balloon out from under my shirt over and over, Míriam giggling louder and louder each time. Then, we would tickle each other until we were both crying and our stomachs hurt from cackling and I had to go back to our retreat center for the night.
But in those moments, I would not and could not say truthfully that Míriam was happy. She shared a small home with five siblings and both of her parents. She did not have her own room. She wore dirty clothes every day and her shoes did not fit properly. Sure, she smiled and laughed and did well on her math and reading worksheets, but her reality was much different than our precious moments in the Association. If she grew up to be like many of the other young girls in Villa, she would not go to college. She might not even go to high school. It was likely that she would have her first child by age eighteen. She would rely on the Association for basic necessities like food and clothing for the rest of her life. She would live in a home similar to the one she currently resided in, and she would never leave Villa El Salvador.
That night during our reflection at the retreat center, I began to cry. I held back my tears for as long as I could until the lump in the back of my throat throbbed. I wept over my horrible guilt. It wasn’t fair; life just wasn’t fair. If our roles had been reversed, if Míriam had been born to a well-endowed family in the United States, she could be happy! She could go to school and start a career and make a life for herself instead of wondering whether she was going to have food the next day. Why couldn’t I just give her money? Why couldn’t I just adopt her and bring her to the United States? I felt so much frustration and anxiety that I lost the ability to express my feelings verbally. I couldn’t stop crying. Never before had a felt so entirely helpless.
Kyle pulled me aside after our reflection.
“Caitlin, I understand that you feel guilty, but look at me. Guilt is a selfish feeling. It is useless and unnecessary to feel guilty, because feeling guilty means you are only thinking of yourself, once again, dividing the classes. You have no control over the fact that you were born into privilege and Míriam was not. It is not your fault, and it is nothing you can fix.”
I sniffled, “But why not? What am I doing here, Kyle? What’s the point?”
Kyle looked away from my face, rubbed his eyes, and turned back toward me.
“How do you feel about Míriam?”
I furrowed my eyebrows.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean, how do you feel about Míriam?”
I paused, looked down and said, “Well, she’s five, but she’s my best friend here. I think of her as the little sister I never had. I love her.”
Kyle smiled.
“Exactly, that’s what we’re doing. We’re building relationships with people. We’re learning for and with others, in solidarity. We’re not here to create change, we’re here to love and support and learn from one another. Because that’s what life is about, right? Life is not about failures and successes and having unattainable goals. It’s about doing the best with what you have. It’s about learning and understanding the world for what it is. Because when we all recognize the oppression, recognize the unfairness, and recognize the injustices, that’s when change occurs: in the recognition process itself. Class-consciousness, that’s what we’re aiming for.”
I paused, took a deep breath, shook my head, and smirked.
“So I’m not a voluntourist?”
Kyle laughed.
“No, you are not a voluntourist. The fact that you are asking the big questions proves why you are not a voluntourist. Voluntourists only think of themselves. You are thinking about the class system Marx describes, why it is in place, and how it must transform so that we can achieve equality. Those are not the thoughts of a voluntourist.”
I sighed.
“I guess you’re right. Thanks, Kyle. I just have one more question.”
“Shoot.”
“So if I can’t change the world the way I initially thought, how can I make strides toward achieving justice?”
Kyle shrugged and gestured toward me.
“Do exactly what you’re doing right now. Create a dialogue. Share your experiences and prompt people about their thoughts. Sparking a discussion about our society is the most important step right now. Injustice continues because of ignorance. If people take the time to learn, take the time to teach themselves and others, the next steps toward action are easy. It’s the awareness that is difficult to accomplish.”
I walked back to my bedroom, changed into my pajamas, climbed into my bed, pulled the alpaca blanket over my head, and closed my eyes. This, I thought, was how I could attain the progress I so desperately desired. I needed to share my story and apply it to the rest of my studies.
I listened to the dogs barking once more as I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Míriam and the brightly colored balloons that we would play with once more tomorrow. Though she was only five, she was the future. She could learn from me, and I could learn from her. Together, hand-in-hand, side-by-side, we could represent solidarity and advocate for justice. This is why I decided to travel to Perú, this is why I would stay, and this is why I would most likely return. For Míriam.
Works Cited
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Conran, Mary. “They Really Love Me! Intimacy in Volunteer Tourism.” Annals of Tourism Research (2011): 1454-1473.
Dobrovolny, M. “Confessions of a voluntourist.” New Internationalist (2012). 58-59.
Gordon, L. “Social Movements, Leadership, and Democracy: Toward More Utopian Mistakes.” Journal of Women’s History (2002): 117.
Guttentag, Daniel A. “The Possible Negative Impacts of Volunteer Tourism.” International Journal of Tourism Research (2009): 537-551.
“Informe Comisión Verdad Perú: EL PARTIDO COMUNISTA DEL PERÚ SENDERO LUMINOSO.” Informe Comisión Verdad Perú: EL PARTIDO COMUNISTA DEL PERÚ SENDERO LUMINOSO. N.p., n.d. Web. 17 Dec. 2015. <http://www.derechos.org/nizkor/peru/libros/cv/ii/ori.html>.
Marx, Karl, Friedrich Engels, and Paul M. Sweezy. The Communist Manifesto. New York: Monthly Review, 1964. Print.
Ovaska, T. “The failure of development aid.” Cato Journal (2003): 175-188.
Palacios, C. “Volunteer tourism, development and education in a postcolonial world: conceiving global connections beyond aid.” Journal of Sustainable Tourism (2010): 861-878.
Raymond, E., Hall, C. “The Development of Cross-Cultural (Mis)Understanding Through Volunteer Tourism.” Journal Of Sustainable Tourism (2008): 530-543.
Sin. Hamg Luh. “Who are we responsible to? Locals’ tales of volunteer tourism.” Geoforum (2010): 983-992.
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