The Sustainabilitators

There is a lot of talk these days about sustainability in the NGO and charity world. It seems that the term “sustainable” is used more and more often to evaluate the credibility of charity projects such as business ventures, which to me, as someone who is regularly in the field, does not make much sense. Much is expected in this area in terms of charitable intentions, therefore I feel I should share my feelings about this while I am here on a project in West Africa.

There is no doubt that having something sustainable is worthy. It is the right goal to aim that once the humanitarian workers exit, the project will continue to run. If I build a water well for a community in Africa, I would like the well to continue running after I leave. But if I offer music, what criteria do I use to evaluate its effects on the audience? The question at hand, is how do you accurately measure sustainability? Obviously it is easier to measure it in some cases than others, but I have serious doubts that measuring a positive change from within a supported community is always accurate. That is particularly the case in a music project, where the sustainability can be infinite, yet unpredictable and immeasurable. My greatest fear is that measuring sustainability with absolute numbers is becoming a tool of measuring how worthy a project is.

Firstly, the people who are the greatest advocates of measuring sustainability in a music project are usually the people who never get their “hands dirty” in the field, or even worse people that don’t see music as a necessary tool in life. Assessing the value for money in a project is important, as important as the air we breathe, but the real work is not done with money. The real work (in any project, not just musical) is done by people who are in the field, who leave their comfortable lives behind and plunge into difficult or even dangerous situations in order to support other human beings, because someone needs a helping hand, and because there is no one else to give that helping hand. These people in the field don’t count how many hours they have worked after 5pm, and don’t look forward to Friday nights. They don’t collect expense receipts to be reimbursed. They don’t care if their work will make a nice addition to their CV, or if they should expect a promotion next month. They don’t think whether Afghanistan or Haiti might be dangerous countries, often they don’t even expect to be paid. Is this sustainable? No. Is this necessary? Yes, absolutely.

There is a notion believed by many to dictate lives, and this notion is that growth is the foundation of all human enterprise, and I am horrified when the same principle is applied in a music project, ie that when measuring the sustainability, it should indicate a growing tendency. Growth may well be in the interest of stakeholders in a corporation, but it is a horrible error to measure charitable intentions and objectives on the basis of growth. Growth has limits, it can be measured; profits can reach a peak and companies (or even people, sometimes) can be bought simply when the right number is written at the bottom of a page. Development, on the other hand, has no limits. I will never learn or know everything, I will never speak all the languages of the world, I will never see, experience, and feel everything there is, I will never be able to play all the music that has been written, and I will never manage to share something positive with everybody that needs it. I can spend the rest of my life developing, and I will only achieve a little drop in an ocean of possibilities. There is nothing sustainable about any of this, yet this development is at the very core of charitable work.

There is nothing measurable about music. A music piece lasts four minutes and twenty three seconds, it has 246 bars, and consists of 1,342 notes. But none of this is the music. A piano recital or any music event is a moment in time, a grain of sand, a drop in the ocean; it is simply an experience, an instant of happiness and communication. The only way we could aspire for music to be sustainable is if it were repeated, but, because its very nature lies in the uniqueness of an experience, it will be completely different the next time.

Why should we believe that measuring sustainability is better than uniqueness? Who dictates that numbers added up at the bottom of a page have greater power than an experience? Why should the result be assessed on the basis of numbers and not of emotional response or involvement? If a tsunami survivor tearfully says “Thank you for the music, thank you for not forgetting us”, isn’t this enough proof of sustainability, even if it can’t be measured? If a conflict survivor, a former child soldier, writes a letter, months later, to say how music touched his life and those in his community, isn’t this sustainability? How about if a group of African prisoners almost start a riot with enthusiasm at listening music?

I often feel I have to defend myself. I have recently devoted a lot of time and energy going to some really off-the-beaten-track places to play music. “What happens when you leave? How does this continue?” many people ask. This is a valid question, but the answer shouldn’t dictate the initial intentions. It doesn’t take much thinking to realise that it is more powerful to share something positive just once than never at all. If I can visit only a tiny, faraway village in Africa and play music there only once, and never again, for an audience that knows more about suffering and pain than any of the sustainabilitators will ever imagine, it is obviously better than if I never went. Is it sustainable? No. Is it worth it? Yes.

One more comment about sustainable charitable enterprises that go into places with the correct intentions of providing something measured and positive, and completely miss the opportunity: During one of my visits to one of these faraway communities in the Amazon I came across a school classroom, in the middle of nowhere, with power markers and a state-of-the-art whiteboard, as well as a flat-screen TV and a DVD player. I could only assume that some charity from across the country was providing this classroom with material for a sustainable education. Regardless of the fact that there was no electricity in that Amazon community, or that no one there knew how to use an ultra modern whiteboard, whoever decided that this was important ticked a checkbox while sitting miles away from this community, and was pleased that the sustainable goals were achieved.

Perhaps the core of the argument lies in the fact that a musical experience is intangible. Music touches lives of people, but it cannot be broken and it cannot be handed over. It bears the requirement of the willing participation of the person receiving it and perhaps this is the ultimate proof of sustainability in a musical project, even if its implications cannot be measured or predicted. If a person willingly sits down to listen to music, they have committed themselves to the sustainable effect, be it short or long term.

Enough said already about the impracticality of measuring sustainability in music, but with all this in mind, and to help the sustainabilitators tick their box, I would like to include a few ideas that aspire in sustainability in musical projects.

1.     Repeat visits to countries and communities that have shown enthusiasm about music

2.     Inspire more musicians from the West to travel to far off places and play for rare audiences

3.     Include local musicians in the projects around the world

4.   Educate wealthier people and decision makers in the host countries about their neighbours and inspire them to get involved

5.     Establish musical education centres, bands, orchestras and music groups where young students learn from local and foreign musicians

When it comes to helping others, when it comes to sharing something positive, aiming for sustainability is important but measuring it is actually completely irrelevant. If western doctors open free clinics in Africa and pay for them out of their own pockets, should we tell them not to do it because this is not sustainable? If lawyers decide to spend most of their time working for people who can’t afford a defence, should we tell them they shouldn’t do it? And if a pianist decided to find audiences amongst the rarest of audiences, should we tell him to stick to the concert halls because that is a sustainable form of performance practice? If we all went out to help others, the sustainabilitators would have nothing to argue against, and, more importantly, the world would be a better place.