Eve's Blog

What You Give is What You Get - National Volunteer Week: April 21-27

Fri, 26 Apr 2013 15:35:00 -0400

My first volunteer experience occurred when I was 13-years-old. It was Thanksgiving Day and my dad and I brought food and helping hands to serve homeless people in our community. From that moment I was hooked.

Throughout the course of my life I’ve spent countless hours lending mind, body, and spirit to an array of worthy causes. From AIDS walks to bake sales, political canvassing to working with at-risk kids and teens, individuals and organizations to international movements and overseas elephant orphanages (yes, that did happen and it was in Sri Lanka!). More often than not, my experiences as a volunteer have blossomed into so much more – a lifestyle, a career, a passion.

Fast forward to my early 20s. As what some might have considered a “troubled teen” myself, when I grew up a little I became very involved with mentoring young adults. In the course of this mentorship I ended up doing respite care for Candace, a pregnant 15-year-old foster child. I got a call from my contact at social services one night letting me know that Candace’s foster mother no longer wanted her at her home and that secondary placement would have to be arranged. To keep her from being sent to a residential home—-an option that we knew would make Candace a serious flight risk—-I became a temporary foster parent, practically overnight. For three months she lived with me, and together we embarked on a time that I don’t think either one of us will ever forget. This volunteer opportunity became so much more than what it first appeared to be, and the last time Candace and I spoke she had received her GED and was married with two children. A proud foster mom I still am.

Some ten years and a few callings later, enter Urban Zen: Donna Karan’s philanthropic center that works to inspire wellbeing, the preservation of culture, and childhood empowerment. Instantly I became drawn to this mission and center, and almost instantly I began volunteering for them. With New York City being the small world that it is, this foray also led me to reconnect with Rachel P. Goldstein, who at the time was the director of events for Urban Zen. Shortly thereafter, Rachel created Agent of Change, and once again what began as a passion gave way to a major shift in my life.

Through my years with Agent of Change, I have had the honor of working with an incredible roster of volunteers, all of whom have lent that same mind, body, and spirit that I first connected with on that Thanksgiving Day so many years ago. Some of these volunteers were with us in the early days, since the first AOC-produced event, and many of them are still part of our core team and very close to my heart. There have been others that have floated in and out, but somehow they never feel too distant, and those who graced us but once or twice but still managed to leave an indelible mark.

Having been on both the giving and receiving ends of the volunteer spectrum, I can’t help but extend my unwavering gratitude to every person who has given a piece of himself to our events and projects. If it were not for these amazing individuals, we would truly not be able to do what we do, let alone in the brilliant way we do it. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.

But I must say, giving my time, my energy, my mind, body, and spirit has been the greatest gift of all. The lessons I’ve learned, the relationships I’ve cultivated, the purpose I continue to find through volunteering are all feelings that propel me forward and, I think, will last a lifetime. So for this year’s National Volunteer Week, a time that focuses on the impact and power of volunteerism, I encourage you to get out there and find an organization that calls to you, lend a hand at a nearby shelter, or enjoy your exotic trip, but be sure to offer a moment’s service to a local organization that needs it. If you let it, the experience just might change your life.

If You Want Something Done, Do It Yourself

Fri, 16 Nov 2012 16:45:46 -0500

In my younger years, my dad was notorious for these words. He would head into the kitchen and someone would ask for a glass of water, only to be told, “You want the water, you get up and get it!” Of course in the moment my family and I would guffaw at what we perceived to be his battle against laziness, but in retrospect, I am grateful that a strong sense of GSD—-what we fondly refer to in the Agent of Change office as Get Shit Done—-was instilled in me.

When Sandy hit I was at my cousin’s wedding in Los Angeles. As the unimaginable reports from friends and family came in, I knew my scheduled flight home wasn’t going to happen. So while all my colleagues and loved ones were battling rivers in the streets and cold powerless nights, I was stuck under the sunshine for a week. Everyone kept telling me how lucky I was to not be in NYC, but I actually felt as if I was cheating a little – horrible things were happening in my city, and I wasn’t there to go through it with the rest of the urban team.

When I finally was able to rebook my flight, four days had gone by since Sandy ravaged the New York metro area. The plane ride home was quiet, with a strange sense of calm in the half-empty cabin. JFK airport was a ghost town, yet taxi lines were longer than I’d ever seen. Navigating through the streets of Brooklyn, we passed gas station after gas station closed off by bright yellow caution tape. The one place that was open had a police brigade surrounding it and a line of cars at least a half-mile long. The city’s energetic vibe had been depleted, and the whole situation seemed surreal.

Since there are two shelters in my neighborhood, the second I got home I cleaned out my closet and pantry and set out to donate everything I could carry. I was greeted at the shelter by a sign saying all donations had to be taken to another location a few blocks away, as this one was overloaded with supplies. I arrived at the alternate drop point and actually stood in line while the people in front of me unloaded their donations. Every minute I stood there another person or two showed up with bags in hand, all of us asking what else was needed, what else could we do.

The next day I received an email that the temple I’ve attended in our area was organizing some major relief efforts. My two-year-old daughter and I filled a wagon with more necessities and delivered them to yet another drop point, where there were even more masses of people delivering, organizing, loading, and unloading. Almost everyone we passed on the street was doing the same. As sad as my heart was for those who lost lives, homes, pets, possessions, and their way of life, I also felt a swelling of love, admiration, appreciation, and even pride for those who were giving whatever they could to help.

The following day my husband went to Coney Island to help hand out food and clothing to the victims in that area. He came home with heart-breaking stories of kids coming to ask for shoes, reports of elderly people who had died with no one coming to remove their bodies, and volunteer medics who were in Coney Island because the scene in the Rockaways was so bad they refused to go back. Not once did anyone see FEMA, Red Cross, or another sign of federal government-sanctioned help.

It’s been nearly three weeks since Sandy blew through, and although the needs aren’t as urgent as they once were, I am blown away by the ongoing influx of donations from the regular-ol’-people-organizations, like Congregation Beth Elohim. The Red Cross alone has raised over $131 million in Sandy relief, which leads me to think that NO ONE should be in need of simple essentials such as water, toothbrushes, underwear, and toilet paper. With that amount of money raised specifically for the people most affected by Sandy’s destruction, I simply cannot understand how these basic needs are not being met. So a rather crass mantra has been in my head as of late: where the fuck is the Red Cross??

Turns out, they’re chillin’ at the Soho Grand. Apparently the relief workers who have come to our fair city to help the thousands without homes, possessions, and resources, are staying at one of Manhattan’s luxury hotels in approximately $181,000 worth of hotels rooms. But don’t get too upset, because it’s all at a discounted rate they say. Oh yes, my friends. Can you read my tone when I write, REALLY?!?!?

Have the Red Cross been sifting through clothing donations, handing out water bottles, canvassing neighborhoods to ensure there aren’t people trapped in their buildings, preparing hot food, bringing blankets and coats to people so they don’t freeze to death, or bringing in generators and port-o-potties so people can simply see and pee?? Nope. They have not. You want to know why? Because it’s not their job: “During relief operations, the Red Cross is only tasked with supplying food and running shelters.” So all those Sandy fundraisers with support going towards the Red Cross is, well, kind of a joke in my mind. It’s a good thing that thousands of us GSD-style New Yorkers knew this already.

I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that if it were not for all of us regular folk, Sandy would’ve reached Katrina proportions in the lack of aid and media hype. New York is not a sit around and wait for someone else to get you a glass of water type of city, and we’re not going to let some hurricane with an unoriginal name get the best of us – even in our darkest hours. For the thousands of us who are volunteering, donating, organizing and more – screw the Red Cross – we’ve got this.

For a list of donations, volunteer opportunities and other resources, please click here. To share your own Sandy story, be a part of the Storyline - an in-the-works online collage of audio (and soon to be visual) stories. Call 888.803.9856 or send a text or picture message story to storyline@vojo.com.

Invisible Children

Fri, 16 Mar 2012 14:20:00 -0400

This is my first blog. Ever. For months I’ve been swearing to AOC’s founder, Rachel P. Goldstein, that, “this week I’m really doing it!” And despite my long-winded, procrastinator, mental volleyball—-what should I write about? what if no one likes it? what if, what if, what if?!…)—-here I am. Finally.

In fact, I had a pretty brilliant plan of how I was going to launch my blog career. But that scheme was thwarted by some recent happenings that gave me a sudden change of write. Today, I am starting my blog career because I am mad. Furious, actually. And I feel compelled to share why.

A week ago I was the 9,875,382th viewer of the YouTube video KONY 2012. The video chronicles the passionate story of Invisible Children co-founder Jason Russell’s fight to help stop Ugandan war criminal Joseph Kony, a man responsible for abducting tens of thousands of kids for the purpose of turning them into sex slaves and child soldiers.

While watching the 29-minute video, I endured waves of sadness, inspiration, and admiration. I shed some tears, felt some goose bumps, and came around to a sense of motivation, power to make a change. By minute 30, I was sharing it on my Facebook page and chatting online with a friend, making plans to plaster the city with Kony posters on April 20^th. By minute 32 I was giving a summary of minutes one through 29 to my husband, while minute 35 was spent on www.kony2012.com purchasing a Stop Kony bracelet.

And then today I saw a post to this article that someone had linked on Facebook. The tagline alone - The viral video campaign reinforces a dangerous, centuries-old idea that Africans are helpless and that idealistic Westerners must save them - had my blood boiling.

I’ll begin my rant with a simple definition. Helpless (adjective): lacking protection or support; marked by an inability to act or react; not being able to be controlled or restrained. Helpless is the young boy on film saying he would rather be dead than live the life he was living. Helpless are the hundreds of refugees living in fear every moment of their lives, void of protection or support. Helpless are the parents of these children, unable to prevent these injustices and unequipped to reverse them. Maybe I’m an idealist, a utopian mind with the conviction that we should live a world where children of all countries, cultures, and classes can experience safety, security, and freedom from oppression. Perhaps I am a romantic, a dreamer, and optimist. But any pragmatic person can agree with a Pollyanna like me that no human being should ever spend a moment—-not to mention a lifetime—-with the fear that their nose, lips, or ears will be cut from their body by a madman and his 3,000+ strong army. Bottom line: whether Kony was responsible for the death, abduction, rape, or mutilation of one human or 30,000 doesn’t matter to me, this man needs to be stopped.

Invisible Children has been working for nine years to end Africa’s longest-running armed conflict. They’ve been on the ground living it, filming it, passionately sharing it. They are true agents of change. For me, reading the overly critical KONY 2012-defamation articles being written mostly by academic individuals who STUDY things like sociology, psychology, and journalism, makes me almost as mad as Kony’s destruction does.

Joseph Kony has been escaping authorities and massacring people for TWENTY YEARS. And this tiny, little non-profit organization has come along with a brilliant film featuring a simplistic but straightforward plan of engaging activism, one that involves the likes of Oprah, George Clooney, and Warren Buffet, among others. United, they are soliciting positive social change in the world, and getting pummeled for it by writers who feel, “It is important to criticize the Kony2012 campaign and others like it for their misguided approach to ‘helping’ people in need.”

In my eyes, the most important message here is the one that all the detractors seem to be overlooking: people (at least the 100 million who viewed the video) want to do good. We want the world to be a better place, and when someone gives us an idea, or a plan, or a bracelet or poster, to help us engage in something that makes us feel good about making a difference in the world, that simply cannot be a bad thing.

Until he is stopped, I, for one, will be wearing my Kony bracelet with enthusiasm and awareness.