Debra Pickett

David Gee of Chicago, sent a long, thoughtful e-mail, full of hard questions, including this passage:

"Is your message to the people of Chicago really that putting our human and financial resources into play to try to bring about change and make a positive difference in the lives of those we know to be in need equates to buying a potion from a snake-oil salesman? Is the reality that sometimes (maybe even more often than we'd like) a charity finds itself unable to execute its mission as promises, really worth suggesting that we bury our collective heads in the sand and stop trying? Even when the truth is that many times the failure to carry out its plan is the result of unforseen complications, the influence of outside, and sometimes destructive forces or yes, even someone's self-interested agenda? And more importantly, are you ignoring the reality that the majority of the organizations and individuals working to make a difference are "doing good well" and changing people's lives for the better every day?"

Larry Dunn, who describes himself simply as from the South Side, wrote about his own community development work in Woodlawn, saying:

"But your recent column (Friday's paper) shows this fight will always be difficult. It is so tied into the economic structure that distributes money. Imagine you are trying to build a concrete floor that would benefit the health of youth, but the money given can never go directly to the immediate use of the ones who have the need. Imagine all the paper I must write and process to get direct funds for new computers and things that would enhance our work at the center. Imagine the wrought iron gates my agency must build for security. Imagine all the money and politics wrapped up in the contracting of wrought iron gates."

And I heard from James Cohick, of the Shriners Hospital for Children, who wrote about his own experience working in Nairobi's Kibera slum (where much of the film version of The Constant Gardener was shot), sounding an optimistic note:

"Too many occasions occurred to cause discouragement -- misuse of donated resources, dysfunctional organization processing, lack of localized expertise and prioritization to name a few. In spite of those negatives, good work continues on and is growing to cover more of the African continent (and elsewhere in the world) through the good work of CURE International."

I also got several notes from people who run different charitable organizations, making pitches that I should become involved with their good work. (I didn't mind the spirit of those requests, but, in the end, they're somewhat beside the point, which is that all of this stuff is infinitely more complicated than almost any of us, in our do-gooder hearts, ever initially imagine it to be.)

In all honesty, I struggled for a long time about whether I should even write that column. On the one hand, I've been very public and vocal about the work that Chicagoans are doing, via Global Alliance for Africa, and I felt I should be completely open about the negatives and positives that go along with such projects. On the other, I was deeply worried that telling this story would just feed the idea that many people have that the situation in Africa is hopeless or beyond help.

A single newspaper column is far too short a space in which to sum up the feelings I have about efforts to deal with the AIDS pandemic in general or even with the Good Samaritan Children's Home in particular.

The first time I visited the place, I was convinced that Mama Mercy was a saint. Because, really, who else would take in dozens and dozens of unwanted children and make them her own? Who among us would take on that kind of burden?

As I got to know her better, I realized, of course, that she was no Mother Theresa. (Turns out, apparently, neither was Mother Theresa.)

But, even as I saw some of her flaws (many, like incredible stubbornness, are simply the flip side of her many virtues), my admiration for her took on a different cast. Like almost any charismatic leader or great personality, she could probably keep an army of psychotherapists busy for years.

At the same time, I've learned a lot about myself and my own impulses, not all of which is flattering. Although I've frequently expressed disdain for the celebrity show-up-in-Africa-give-the-kids-sneakers-then-leave model of volunteer work, I've definitely noticed in myself a need for some sort of gratification. I want to chart progress, take measurements, count out the returns on investments.

And, in the rush to do that, I can loose sight of my own ignorance.

With the stable project that I wrote about in Friday's column, I so wanted Mama Mercy to stay "on task" and get it done. But what is "on task" when your daily life includes a lack of resources that is simply unimaginable to most of us?

Frankly, almost anything she did with the money that was intended for the stables was probably a good. It's not, as one of my friends, offering consolation, pointed out, "like she has a heroin habit or a villa in France."

And, anyway, plenty of US charities -- and, ahem, city governments -- have spent money in ways that their donors did not exactly intend.

Still, it's grossly condescending to assume that it is completely unreasonable to expect accountability from organizations simply because they are run by poor people or Africans or any other marginalized group.

Which brings me back to what I wrote in Friday's column: Corny and fraught with idealism as it is, I am still convinced that we all, as privileged people, have a duty to do something that aims to make the world better. But, in doing that "something," we also have to be careful and humble and endlessly patient.