Another characteristic separating caring societies from uncaring ones is that caring societies endorse an expansive vision of human rights -- a vision that may not be attainable even in the most compassionate and inclusive cultures, but which serves as a guideline for right action. While not all-encompassing, the UN Declaration of Human Rights (1948) is a fine place to start. There are numerous articles in the Declaration that apply to minimum standards of well-being, mutual obligation, and sites of care, including: "The family is the natural and fundamental group unit of society and is entitled to protection by society and the State" (Article 16.3); "Everyone has the right to a standard of living adequate for the health and well-being of himself and of his family, including food, clothing, housing and medical care and necessary social services, and the right to security in the event of unemployment, sickness, disability, widowhood, old age or other lack of livelihood in circumstances beyond his control" (Article 25.1); and, "Everyone has duties to the community in which alone the free and full development of his personality is possible" (Article 29.1). More recent articulations of human rights defending the rights of children and calling for the elimination of all forms of racial, ethnic, religious, and gender discrimination also apply.
Finally, caring societies acknowledge that care is provided in a relational context, even when it's delivered through the market or in institutional settings. In practice, caring for others involves physical contact and communication, and sometimes requires continuous or intensive effort depending on how well the individual who needs care can function on his or her own. While intimate or affectionate bonds aren't a prerequisite for the initiation of caregiving, affectionate bonds often motivate caring action, or may develop from it.
Regardless of the depth of emotional connection, caregiving requires specific knowledge of the recipient's needs, which is learned through training, observation, and experience. The minimal requirement on the caregiver's part is a psychological ability to orient one's actions toward the well-being of another, a disposition child-development experts describe as "sensitivity and responsiveness." You may dislike someone personally, but still care enough about his basic humanity to pull him out of a ditch. Or you may love someone beyond measure, and still decide that her immediate needs are less urgent than your own. The human element in caregiving leads to unavoidable complications that can conflict with other obligations and opportunities. Under ideal circumstances, caregiving is practiced in a social environment that doesn't penalize caregivers for their periodic need for flexibility, or reserve the highest rewards for those who are able to mimic autonomy by delegating their caregiving responsibilities to someone else. To put it bluntly, care is not something you can buy from a vending machine or download from the internet whenever you happen to need it. It's something people provide directly to other people, creatures, and things as a method for maintaining life and creating social conditions that support human flourishing. And the act of providing care -- as well as the experience of receiving it -- can have deeply personal meaning.
While the potential to build a society guided by a political ethic of care seems far-fetched in a culture where winner-takes-all competition trumps the belief that we're all in this together, the ideas I've presented here aren't alien to the modern worldview. We're exposed to these meanings and moral practices in the course of relational life -- which, unfortunately, is a source of knowledge long suppressed by dominant narratives of human motivation and how the world works -- and through compassionate teachings of faith. Over time, we can use this intelligence to rework the common definition of what exists, what is good, and what is possible, and to expand the current boundaries of collective responsibility for the general welfare.
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Readers who've made it this far may be wondering whether this cerebral exercise has a practical application. I'm confident that it does, particularly in terms of thinking about gender equity and the policy objectives of progressive activism. In the past five years, we've been treated to dozens of books exploring why American democracy hasn't lived up to its potential, as well as a growing body of literature explaining the social costs of the work-life disconnect and what to do about it. Recently, several important works have highlighted the role of racism in America's reductive approach to social spending, and old, misguided debates about race and inequality have resurfaced. Perhaps the question we need to ask now is not "why?," but "what's next?" What vision, resources and strategies will be required to move our political and economic future in a new direction? And where, exactly, do we want to go?
America will not be transformed into a caring society overnight -- as Jody Heymann observes in Unfinished Work: Building Equality and Democracy in an Era of Working Families, the process is likely to be more evolutionary than revolutionary. But one thing should be self-evident: The reason societies tolerate systemic inequality and selective shortages of care is that the dominant political culture supports the assumption that certain people are innately superior to others -- despite a nation's stated values. And that, dear reader, is unbearable.
Mmo : December 2007 |
