Berkley Center

Background: This discussion between Patrick McDonald and Katherine Marshall was conducted as part of preparatory work for a January 2009 consultation in Antigua, Guatemala on the roles of faith-inspired organizations in development in Latin America. Patrick McDonald founded Viva in 1994 to link and support the many Christian organizations, most of them small, that work with at-risk children. In this interview, conducted as part of the preparations for the Berkley Center/WFDD consultation, he reflects on what inspired him to create Viva and some of the challenges that he sees in building networks among organizations that are very different but share a passion for working with children. He also highlights some particularly successful efforts, for example a swift intervention for runaway children arriving in cities.

What motivated you to work with children and to create Viva? How did your faith inspire your journey, and how does it drive your work today? I am always enthralled by your story of how you began your work in Bolivia.

First, let me say how deeply I regret that I cannot be part of the end January consultation in Antigua. With today's financial crisis, I am having to work extremely hard to pay Viva's bills. Given the network nature of our organization we cannot afford to lose the people we have. But it eats at my heart that I cannot be with you in Guatemala.

Where should I start? Mine is truly an intergenerational journey.

My father came from a poor background. He lived in a troubled area of Belfast, in Ireland, on Cane Street, where much of the Troubles started. To avoid being drawn into them he moved to London. There he met my mother. She was Danish and was the first in her generation, her whole family, to pursue tertiary studies abroad. They fell in love and married, and faced with the choice of where to live—dangerous, uncertain Ireland or the blissful tranquility of Scandinavia—they made the obvious choice and moved to Denmark. They had three boys, and we grew up in a very Danish existence, in a large house at the top of the hill with a dog and a cat and a bird in a cage. My father was a very distinguished scientist, my mother a medical pioneer. So despite my Irish name I consider myself Danish.

But behind this seemingly idyllic picture the family was beginning to fall apart. And matters reached a crisis after a tragic accident, where a drunk driver ran into the car. My father's back was broken and so was my mother's heart, because my little brother was killed in the accident. I remember my mother returning from court and saying that she wished she could pull out the eyes of the drunk driver who was responsible. I was aware then of how that bitterness drove my family from fragile to toxic. My father left, and my older brother became involved with drugs. My mother was bipolar. And in effect, at the ripe old age of 7 years old, I was acting as head of the family.

I was at my wits' end, with nowhere to turn, but my father gave up a prominent career to support me. He took a lowly job as teacher trainer largely to be with me and moved to the campus where I was at school so he could be close to me. I remember playing football on my school grounds, with him watching me sitting on a stoop, and I went home with him afterwards. He was a noble man of great character.

But then, tragically, he died, when I was 12 years old. That was a critical period for me, as it is for many young boys, a time when they ask all sorts of question. To have him die at that point was as if someone had ripped away the anchor that held the boat, and I felt entirely adrift. I did not know where to go. I remember so clearly that when I heard the news, I just ran into a wood behind my house and ran as far and long as I could until I stumbled and fell, and lay with my face on the forest floor and began to weep. I lay there, weeping, for a long time, despairing.

But then I began to pray. I had been raised as a Catholic, but with really only a notional understanding of God, as a being very far away. But I turned to God then, as if he were my father, not a distant figure. I did not know that God was described in scripture as a father, the heavenly father, but, lying on that forest floor, it became a real and a personal experience of encountering that heavenly father; no longer a concept, but now a person or, if you like, a relationship. I left that forest still sad but with a sense of hope.

Where did you get your schooling and your initial jobs?

Fast forward five years. I had left home when I was 15, as it had become a hell, and was then working for the University of Copenhagen tagging birds. In reality at that time I was a street boy. I built on my interest in birds, initially as a pretext to be involved outside the house and to leave at 4:00 a.m. I basically lived in the woods. My father had left me some money so I was able to rent a room downtown. As I moved in some strangers offered to help me carry boxes and bought me beer. They were from a local church, and they took care of me; they cooked, cleaned, painted, did practical things. Some of them were involved overseas, with street children, and I became intrigued to find out more about that work. I was beginning to discover that God not only existed but wanted me to help him do things he wanted done. Things like helping children get off the street. I didn't need much persuasion. I went to South America to join the project for street children and was soon caught up in the day-to-day work of a rescue mission. It was all-consuming, but I came to feel the presence of God—what some theologians describe as the "pleasure of God"—and concluded unceremoniously that what I was doing was part of his purpose and plan for me.

My father's legacy had got me the money I needed to stay alive and covered the cost of the plane ticket to get to South America. I bought a one-way plane ticket and found myself working in Bolivia, at a soup kitchen in Santa Cruz. There I made many friends, many of them children living on the streets, and had a deep sense of how weak and vulnerable they were. I realized that they needed far more than a charity program. They needed, for a start, someone to know their name, what kind of ice cream they liked, what they wanted to do, their purpose and destination. They, like any child, needed to belong to someone who cared deeply for them. Love, after all, makes people grow and become liberated: creative, fun beings rather than distorted, gnarled in fear, and consumed with vain hope. These children—like any children—needed to know that they were okay, that they were cool, and that there was space for them and their contribution. It's plain and simple but very hard to program against. Love cannot be purchased, even though it's the hottest commodity on the planet.

As I poured myself into the programs on the streets my questions about how we might do more for street children came to a head one day with a crisis. Two of my friends, William and Anna, were hurt very badly in the Parque Arenal. William had never had any shoes and had been so ashamed of his poverty at our soup kitchen. He was a shy, quiet boy, the kind that always would help clear up and be the last to wave us off. He was my friend. Well, William had seen some brand new bright white Nike trainers and had decided to try and steal them. Apparently, according to the story of the other street children, he had waited all day for the right moment to steal the shoes. He had succeeded in doing so and had run off to an alley and proudly put on his new find. He was so proud. However, some other street boys had seen the shoes and had wanted to steal them off him. William had objected...had fought and had lost. In the fight his cheek was nearly bitten off, and the poor lad had gone into shock. I found him curled up on a piece of cardboard outside a brothel with two dear American friends. We packed him into a taxi and sent him to a hospital. I returned that night, my American friends having gone with William, to Parque Arenal and packed up the soup kitchen. We piled it all on a jeep and somehow had managed not to leave any room for me. I didn't really mind but stayed behind and sat down on a low wall mesmerized by the events of the evening. And once again, I wept (not a frequent occurrence, for a stoic Dane), but now I was a tear-stained mess.

I knew we were the only project in town doing anything at all about the overwhelming need facing the city's street children. Their needs seemed legion and our resources minuscule. A "heart despair" gripped me and I turned to pray to the God who knows and loves and who calls himself the "father of the fatherless" and the "defender of orphans," and I inquired with new urgency and loudness, "What is the plan? How, Lord, do you hope to meet the needs of these children?"

Then unexpectedly a clear picture, like a film clip, burst into my mind...a vision, if you like. Its authority, overwhelming; its simplicity, compelling—obvious—engaging. It left me with a huge sense of joy, excitement, energy. “I knew that already” or “Why hadn't I seen that before?” was the echo it left behind.

The picture was the globe at night, majestically spinning in its expanse, but menacing, foreboding, and somehow "dark." Billowing grey clouds frantically hurried across my view and the dark black/blue mass of land held little promise of life.

This was not a place for childhood and fun and freedom.

Then suddenly a few pin pricks of light sprang forth. Small, frail, insignificant. Then more. Then more. THEN they started connecting together in hubs of light, wheels of light covering an area. The light or atmosphere with each step somehow changed and got incrementally stronger, brighter. Then the "hubs of light" connected together in grids of light and again the power of the light increased massively to a point where I could hardly look at the map. It was overwhelming.

This was how God spoke to me for the first time about starting Viva.

From being a depressed, tear-stained mess I suddenly found myself standing up, animated walking around the plaza. I immediately and instinctively knew that what God was sharing was a vision for a mass mobilization of congregations, catalyzed into action, connected together in networks and equipped to a common standard. Community-based work that instead of being random, sporadic, and amateur became concerted, comprehensive, and credible. Effective networking could create connectivity, coordination, and collaboration between Christian actors and link the work of the church to that of other child advocates (the state; UNICEF, etc). Although many details were unknown I knew we needed an organization that could start and support networks: Viva.

The idea that I had come to understand was simple. It was hardly rocket science, but it was convincing and motivating. Rather than working with children directly, I could have more impact if I could find ways of working that allowed me to learn the tacit lessons of community experience, to use ways to equip and catalyze those who were working with children directly. I saw an agenda that aimed not just to help children directly, that did not depend on just government agencies, but that saw helping these children not just as a government responsibility but as the responsibility of all of us. And a plethora of small organizations were engaged, often working under the radar screen. I saw that they were like the part of an iceberg under the water; a large and largely unseen force.

What happened next?

When the jeep finally came back to collect me that dark night, I was motivated. I set out to discover and find this network. I used what was left of my inheritance and travelled throughout Latin America, visiting many countries. I talked to over a thousand people: pastors, missionaries, people working with all kinds of organizations, the World Bank, and many others, asking always "What would it take to do more?"

I came, to my dismay and growing discomfort, to some simple conclusions: 

1. The need amongst children was not only almost universal (and in places growing), it was a critical challenge in the wider nation-building or development discourse;
2. Community and faith based groups existed in abundance. There were thousands or tens of thousands of these little lights dotting the landscape.  
3. Yet, they were largely disconnected from each other and dysfunctional.
4. Moreover, there was wide consensus amongst those I spoke to that these CBO/FBOs could be galvanized through networks but that for such networks to start effectively there was a need for a "network catalyst," an institution able to help birth them and then grow and support them in to institutional maturity. Whilst there were some networks and umbrella groups existing here and there, they were often a fairly dysfunctional and discouraging affair with a sizable gap between the aspirations of the founders and the abilities of the implementers. 

A pattern began to emerge amongst people looking at the wider issue of child poverty. They would (a) see the overwhelming need of children; (b) identify the unharnessed potential of coordinating and equipping CBO/FBOs; and then (c) start a network. Sadly whilst their analysis was sound their ability to start networks—a fiendishly complicated business—was not so convincing. Hence (d) the networks floundered; (e) network members got discouraged from lack of impact and results; and (f) the networks disbanded until years later the cycle repeated itself.

As my studies came to an end I kept coming across lots of people across many sectors and agencies encouraging me to start this needed network catalyst: “Why don't you do it? God has spoken to you about it, so go get on with it.”

How did you go about it, and how long did it take?

This was bewildering for me. I was, after all, young, dumb, and Danish! But feeling compelled really to give it a go, with a sense of calling or perhaps just with the plain arrogance of youth, I determined to try and start something, which I did from (initially) a phone box/booth in central Oxford.

It was 1994. I went back to Oxford to be with my sweetheart (now wife), Emily, whom I had met in Bolivia and who was then studying in Oxford. I began to put together a network of people who shared my goals and vision. We started a prayer meeting built on John Wesley's concept of the Holy Club. We called it the "half-holy" club as we, unlike the Wesleys, started prayers at 7:00 a.m. (still pretty good for students!), whereas the Wesley brothers started at 4:00 a.m. We were students. We ate funny food or none at all, but people showed amazing commitment to the cause. Some, even some true blue Brits, were living below the poverty line; some were better well established. Everyone raised their own salaries from churches, friends, and families. Between us we began exploring how we could make a difference; how we could build the network catalyst we perceived a need for.

We decided to build a sort of laboratory to find out how to get community organizations to work together. We needed to take a name, and so we focused on the living network we wanted to create and called ourselves Viva (which means alive). We started very small, but within a couple of years we were working with about 20 networks. Today, after engaging with some 120 networks, about 90 or so are thriving. Some have died and in doing so taught us invaluable lessons about what is functional and what is not.

What does your work in building networks involve?

Our program has 3 distinct stages: 

1. mapping; 
2. network building; and 
3. institutional capacity building or "equipping." 

We start in any given community (mostly urban) by finding all CBOs. We then build a network amongst the Christian ones. They have such a lot in common and inherently trust each other enough to get past the niceties and the small talk and get down to doing something positive for children. We don't exclude non-Christians because we are bigots or don't think that what they do is not valuable. The reason is to create enough affinity in the network to get enough action (for children) to make the exercise meaningful and hence keep the network together, or alive if you like. That said, an express desire in Viva is to use these functional Christian networks as a tool for galvanizing other communities and creating firm and functional links with state authorities, major corporations, and international bodies concerned with child welfare and development.

We have become pretty good at this challenge of building networks. We find many ways to encourage groups, even very diverse, to work together. The capacity building meets a critical need and really galvanizes the network. The C/FBOs love their networks; they find hope that as a collective they can inform and benefit from a wider agenda. They can become a more influential voice in advocacy and can use their common strength at field level. There are networks in slums where no government agencies are present. They draw power also from their volunteerism, from the fact that the people want to do what they do, whether they are paid or not. There is enormous energy in this.

But this kind of work is fiendishly difficult. Donors do not want to pay for it, partly because it is so hard to measure direct impact and as laying the foundations takes time. It is not hard to understand why so many donors find it more gratifying to buy something, to build a school or dig a well—something that produces a result that is more tangible.

But the reality is that, when this ends, there are still a billion children living in poverty. The approach, from finance ministers on down, is piecemeal. It is rare to find a truly concerted agenda. So the irony is that we all find it hard to harness the endless goodwill that exists for children. There are still large chasms to cross. One of the critical challenges for those engaged with children is still how to coordinate all those who work to help them. It is hard to envisage that it can happen until we bridge the divides of secular versus confessional, the modernist views that, at least in the West, have allowed us to believe that we can isolate people's attitude from their actions, people's behavior from their beliefs. They are linked!

How does your work engage Catholic leadership, organizations, and communities? Do tensions impede the development of networks?

I have strong credentials with the Catholic Church, as I grew up as a Catholic. Today, I would describe myself as a Lutheran, Pentecostal, Catholic Baptist, with Anglican connections. But many of these denominations would still find that hard to accept. I prefer to describe myself as simply a Christian.

But tensions among Catholics and Protestants, especially in Latin America, are real, and they do impede our work. It seems that every time we add a Catholic organization or community we lose two Pentecostal ones. It is tribal warfare, and it is profoundly sad and childish. There is urgent need to get grownups around the table and to talk about what can be done together.

What we find is that if discussions are about what we disagree about they are short and acrimonious. If they are on the action that we agree together is needed, they are productive, and we find ways in which we can work together. There is an urgent need for dialogue, but it is a tough one to start. There is plenty of blame to go around, especially the unhelpful rhetoric on both sides. But children need to be fed, and helping children, we agree, is what God intends. We can all agree—readily—that no child should be exploited and abused.

I am a firm believer that if we can define a common agenda all will start to behave in better ways. When people work together they realize each other are not the monsters prejudice would have them believe.

What countries seem to have the most acute “tribal warfare?" Does the situation vary markedly from country to country?

Mexico and Brazil are very divided. A major reason is that the Catholic Church has lost many members to Protestant denominations, largely evangelical churches. And the Catholic Church is entrenched and tends to view losing converts as a loss of power. This is odd as Jesus had a lot to say about power and about finding it in laying it down. Jesus gave religious bigots a very hard time, and as Jesus seems keen to give people "new birth"—analogous words for a new deep and meaningful experience of the spiritual life or "the divine" and to disciple people into becoming all he has intended them to be: free, fun, daring, vibrant, alive, generous people bonded together in love with others that can keep them accountable and encourage them in service. It hence seems reasonable that each person should serve where they find the possibility of spiritual fulfillment and belonging.

Another way to look at this is to go back and look at the word "church," which is a Greek word meaning "gathering of saints." It follows that these places are communal (gathering) and full of people who are saints, or at least try to be. If people find such places, then surely anyone who loves Jesus would rejoice regardless of what such "gathering" is called. Instead of envy at the "sheep going where the grass seems greener" any Christian should rejoice that their sheep get fed and nurtured and perhaps work harder to fertilize the grass under their own feet and make it nice and rich for other sheep nearby. But remember the church is both a hospital and a battleship: It is full of people who are, just like me, terribly imperfect. That said, when the church works—and it often does—it is a wonderful force for good.

There are distressing tensions among religious communities in both Indonesia and India, but in both places we find a more unified Christian community, perhaps because they stand together where other communities challenge their right to exist. Our networks in those places comprise both Catholics and Protestants.

And my experience is that some of the very best social work on earth is being done by the Catholics. The approaches of the Protestants can be superb, but they also can be naïve. Much more could be learned by looking at the work of the Catholics.

In your work with networks, what do you find works best? What is there a hunger for in terms of what you or others can provide (leaving aside funds for now)?

In order to get something meaningful done together, it is essential to have an embracing, constructive vision. Working together for children is an excellent place to start. The vision is grounded on a network as engaging good citizens as actors for children. That's easy to understand and can be compelling.

We also find our work to map, in a physical inventory sense, all the work and organizations in a specific area, and development of a directory to be very useful. We can make a big song and dance around the launch of the directory which energizes and motivates.

Then we try to identify three or four key needs, places where the community is itching. We form working groups and look to “quick win” products, like camps for children, or negotiating purchases of commodities like rice at a discount.

To deliver these quick wins and, more important, to translate them into a lasting community you need an excellent facilitator.

Where do your facilitators come from?

We select, train, support, and supervise them together with local steering committees comprising local community actors. It's a partnership between the local groups and Viva. A good facilitator is a high level social entrepreneur, and they are not easy to find and develop. But without such persons progress is difficult. They need to be highly motivated and have to be quite business-minded. They need to understand the subtleties of local politics, a great understanding of process, and facilitation and discipline and skills to keep programs on track. We do a lot of head-hunting for the right kind of person. Then we do continuing training, work with peer groups, and other support. You then can see an upward spiral.

How many such paragons do you have?

Precious few, too few. Viva has about 106 staff and about 3,000 volunteers. I would say that about 50 are such facilitators in that mix, but please give me 500!

Paying for them is a big part of the problem, as is paying for the search and network launch phase. Also their training and continual support is critical but often prohibitively expensive. If I had the means to pay more and pay them better, the challenges would be easier to address.

What do you see as the priority policy agenda and areas for action for children in Latin America? If I were your fairy godmother and waved a magic wand, what changes would you hope to see?

I am not the best informed person to respond since I have been far less actively and directly involved in Latin America over the past five to six years.

However, we find that the Lula government's Bolsa Familia is a remarkable program that shows the way towards great hope. People like Kathy Lindert at the World Bank have done wonderful work in this area, and what is emerging offers a real model, that can be taken to a much larger scale. It's very exciting and offers huge potential.

My understanding of the Bolsa Familia (with the caveat that I am not an expert on the topic) is that it has three main objectives. First, it seeks to alleviate immediate hunger and thus break through the trap of intergenerational poverty. By providing regular funds through a simple mechanism like a debit card, the most basic needs are met, and hunger can be brought to an end. The second objective is achieved by advancing human development through the conditions set for receiving continuing payments that are linked to education and health. Third, the idea is to complement the delivery of money and the conditions to promote human development with complementary services that raise standards of infrastructure, provide jobs, and support families. This latter agenda is sought to be delivered through a network of linked service providers.

My understanding is that objective one is working very well. The transmission of money has good effects and does sharply cut immediate hunger and poverty. The second and third objectives, however, are working less well and may be falling down, though I am sure that there are counter examples of success. But, in Brazil, for example, education quality is still dismal. There is lots of money in Brazil so much could be done, but there's a long way to go. And there is a real danger of locking people into these cash transfers. They become their income, a low income, hardly enough to pave the way to a better life. There is still little help with finding jobs, providing microcredit, which is exactly what the local networks should provide, etc.

Do you have examples from your direct experience of instances where all actors are working together for children?

There are indeed cases where networks can come together to work for common standards for children. One example is from Brazil, where the UNICEF director, Nils Kastberg, is trying to set up a mayors' competition. The idea is to rate every mayor in Brazil and create a sense of competition for excellence in developing child services. But this has not really taken off, partly because it has been hard to integrate UNICEF and the Brazilian provincial governments and partly because majors don't have a clear agenda for how to move up the ranking.

There are many middle-income countries in Latin America, with educated citizens, a strong culture of family, emerging democracies, a generation active on advocacy, and a rich network of churches. It should not be hard to bring such societies together around the children's agenda.

What's missing is collaboration and cooperation. Without it, there is a tendency to reinvent the wheel or to compete and detract from the whole.

Can you point to other examples of good collaborative work?

Cochahamba, Bolivia, has nearly sorted the problem of street kids.

One phenomenon we observe is that when there is a full-time, substantial population of street children in a city, it works as a magnet, a snowball, that encourages a growing population, and the children become an accepted part of the cityscape.

Cochabamba decided to stop this. Churches, the city council, and UNICEF agreed to act on a policy of no tolerance. Two studies, done independently (one by Fuller Theological Seminary, the other by Tearfund UK), both sing the praises of the program. There is agreement now to move to work in a new city every six months. The program is alive now in La Paz, Lima, Guatemala City, and Managua. It involves active and vigilant efforts to stop children quickly once they arrive on the streets of the city. They pick up newcomers. By monitoring where they are coming from, it is possible to go to the “sending” cities and confront them and find solutions to the problems driving the children into the street. Most of this work has been supported by a single U.K. foundation. It has the makings of an outstanding pilot.

How do the conferences that Viva runs support the development of networks and action?

We run roughly 10 conferences, some small and some large, like the Cutting Edge conference you attended [at Wheaton College in July 2008]. They are pivotal to our work. They cast a vision, bring "players" out of the woodwork, and create a common anticipation that we should be working together.

Our evaluations indicate that each conference generates and average of 11 deals or "handshakes." That means a tangible agreement to do something: to go visit each other, work together on a project, change something together. That's impressive.

One reason the conferences work so well is that they build on a strong affinity group that has much in common: all are Christian, all are child-focused, and so they do the same sort of stuff for the same reason. We find it very difficult to get people away from conversations and sharing over meals to formal sessions because there is so much for them to discuss. I often overhear awesome things happening.

And the meetings result in changed views. As an example, Compassion International was initially skeptical about child rights but now has changed their view and is actively engaged on a rights agenda. World Orphans began with a rather simplistic approach to orphans, centered on building orphanages, with the result that some had few children, and there were cases of mistreatment of children. They have shifted gear and are now a cutting-edge agency. If I went to an agency with suggestions, they would have laughed. Having them in peer groups in a safe, empathetic environment with motivated colleagues, sharing a love for God and commitment to search for his purposes (including the pursuit of professional excellence), generates a robust and honest dialogue. People do radically change, and as leaders change so do their institutions.