Morton
port the hypothesis of a continuum from charity
to justice. Rather, the evidence seems to suggest
a series of three related but distinct paradigms of
service. Drawing on our experience at Providence College, I will explore the implications of
choosing between the continuum and the paradigm models of service.
The questions raised by Giles and Eyler are
deceptively simple. Implicit in the first question
is a logically powerful idea: that there exists in
fact a continuum of typological forms of service
that flow into one another. Implicit in the second
question is the suggestion that participating in
different forms of service will lead to different
learning outcomes. It may be, as Marshall
McLuhan argued in a different context, that the
medium is the message.
Most commonly, a service continuum is presented as running from charity to advocacy, from
the personal to the political, from individual acts
of caring that transcend time and space to collective action on mutual concerns that are grounded
in particular places and histories. Charity emerges
on this continuum as giving of the self, expecting
nothing in return, and with no expectation that
any lasting impact will be made. Generally, from
this perspective, it is better to suspend expectations. The risk inherent in charity is the risk of
caring for another human being.
Advocacy, at the other extreme, is change
oriented, and implies an agenda-speaking to
others with a powerful voice. Acts of service are
steps in a larger strategy to bring about change,
quite often assessed as the redistribution of resources or social capital. The risks of advocacy
are political. In this compelling description, one
moves from charity to advocacy motivated by a
growing care and passion for the people served,
and by an increasingly complex analysis of the
situation that created the need for service in the
first place. Advocacy need not replace charity,
but advocacy is seen as a more mature expression
of compassion. Charity, if it continues, serves as
a "home base," a sort of refueling stop for the
tedious work of advocacy. The concept of a
continuum, then, compels us to act as if "progress"
consists of moving students "farther along," that
is, out of charity and toward advocacy.
I know that the idea of a continuum has informed my own work. Attempting to move students along some continuum such as this, I have
asked the perpetual question, "Why?", and have
expected that a combination of curiosity and
compassion would lead some students to make
commitments to help change the circumstances
that introduced problems into the lives of people
they came to care about.
For my theoretical grounding, I have borrowed
liberally from Elisabeth Griffith's (1987) biographyofElizabethCady Stanton, andfromLawrence
Goodwyn's (1978) analysis ofthe Populist movement. Griffith describes Stanton, who is best
known for her advocacy ofwomen's suffrage, as
moving through a cycle of"anguish, anger, analysis and action" (p.103). Service, I have thought,
is a strategy for simultaneously meeting an immediate need and provoking anguish, anger and
analysis. This approach is buttressed by
Goodwyn's observation that the Populist movement was organized, in large part, by agricultural
lecturers whose "very duties...exposed [them] to
the grim realities of agricultural poverty with a
directness that drove home the manifest need to
do something." (p. 45). The overwhelming poverty they encountered prompted them to search
for solutions; and at a critical juncture, political
organizing seemed the best option. What has
seemed important to me in Stanton's biography
and the unfolding of the Populist movement is
that people were educated into advocacy,
promptedby their compassion, their anguish (from
the Norse for "public grief'), and their profound
need to change the problem they encountered.
The educational cycle moved from personal concern, to education and problem identification, to
a cycle of action and reflection (Morton, 1989).
I have seen this process in action, for example,
with a group of students Ijoined on an Alternative
Spring Break trip to Brownsville, Texas in 1988.
Home repairs, visits to Casa Oscar Romero, a
Central American refugee center, and other limited, arguably charitable experiences led two of
the eight students into longer term political action
on U.S./Central American issues, led one to return to Brownsville as an elementary school
teacher, prompted a fourth to go to Nicaragua for
one year, and reinforced the commitment of a
fifth to work in an inner-city school in her hometown.
I do not wish to suggest that Eyler and Giles are
arguing that a continuum of service exists, or that
where you enter on that continuum shapes and
limits learning. Their point is to advocate for
inquiry into these questions. I am arguing, however, that assumptions about progress are a powerful element in how many practitioners view,
structure and assess their service-learning courses
and programs. I want to argue, as well, that the
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