“We don’t have to engage in grand, heroic actions to participate in change. Small acts, when multiplied by millions of people, can transform the world.” – Howard Zinn
I have always been a last-minute packer. So as it approached 10 PM the night before my 2-year Peace Corps service in Uganda, I was admittedly naive about what clothes to bring. Different parts of the country had different climates and landscapes, and I was clueless about where I would be posted. Regardless, I was certain I would bring my University of Alaska t-shirt. It was a piece of home; a constant to ground myself as I prepared to wade through a sea of variables.
Fast forward a year, and the US felt more bizarre than Uganda, with the absurd Trump vs. Biden debate and Kendrick leaving Drake speechless as highlights. Through the window of social media, I looked at these events feeling a stark contrast between the two places. For brief moments, I would dissociate from my life in the village. Even still, Uganda was feeling more like home. I had learned to cook with a sigiri and firewood, bathe with a bucket and water from the community well, grow my food using a hoe and elbow grease, and become a productive member of a new society. However, something was still missing. There was a subconscious, innate disconnect that I could not ward off. It was a feeling of detachment. A feeling of not belonging regardless of how many relationships I made, how comfortable I felt, or how friendly and warm people were.
Then, as I was snaking through the swampy wetlands of Northern Uganda, I found that missing piece.
The epiphany:
I was on my way to my friend Odongo’s house. He was well-known in the community for being a skilled veterinarian. Whenever you had an issue with a cow or a goat, he was the guy. On this particular day, he told me, “The doctor is needing a doctor,” as in, he was suffering from a fever and a mild headache. Fearing it was malaria, I brought with me a test kit, painkillers, and antimalarial drugs if necessary.
The route to his home was full of simple pleasures. Mango trees just starting to flaunt their precious fruit. Rows of maize, lush and thick, emboldened by generous rains. Children and mothers removing beans from their husks and counting their harvest. Inviting grass-thatched houses that offered shelter from the midday sun.
I rounded corner after corner, using vague landmarks to orient myself. Out of nowhere, a young boy appeared from the bushes with a bundle of firewood on his head. I was shocked, but not by him. Rather, it was what he was wearing – a University of Alaska t-shirt.
It sounds absurd to say that something as small as a kid representing my small college in Alaska was a monumental moment, but it felt like a melding of two worlds. It was like a glass wall had been shattered, and I was experiencing bits of home not from online, but in reality. I tried to explain my amazement to the boy, but my knowledge of the local language failed me, and he looked at me with blank eyes.
I wondered where he got it. Most likely the nearby Wednesday market, but how did it get there? I imagined it came from an alumnus, who, after feeling the need to clear out his closet, donated it to Goodwill. After passing through avid thrifters, it made its way back to a secondhand shop, where it was bought by a middleman, packed in a bale with hundreds of pounds of other clothes, and sent to the busy portal city of Mombasa. Then it found its way to Kampala, buried under piles of clothes in a stall at Owino market. Eventually, it made the journey north, to my little village between the swamps, waiting for this boy and me to cross paths. It felt like divine intervention.
A drop in a bucket matters.
That was the day I felt at home; that was all it took to connect the dots. I was reminded that no matter where we are, human beings fundamentally want the same things: We all want fulfillment for ourselves and our loved ones. We all want health and longevity. We all want thriving communities full of opportunity, stability, and dynamism.
However, I learned a more poignant lesson that day. I realized how interconnected we all are. Not just by the internet or abstract global economics, but on a grassroots, tangible level. A seemingly small decision I make has the potential to directly impact someone on the other side of the world. The shirt was physical evidence of that.
Each of us has a motor that helps direct the world in a collective direction. How we spend our money is arguably the largest factor in that system. We all can be more intentional about who and what we give our money to, even if it’s not perfect. I’m not suggesting people should spend two hours researching whether the chocolate bar they want is fair trade or not because that’s exhausting. Instead, imagine if each of us made socially mindful purchases just 10% more often – what positive changes could we bring about?
When we see headlines of injustice miles away, we truly have the power as individuals, consumers, and global citizens to drive change. It requires a steadfast commitment to our morals. It requires putting our money where our values are. It requires organization, and it requires leaders.
The goal of Planned Impact is to document and celebrate those striving to push the world in the direction of sustainability and fairness through socially responsible consumption, grassroots development and relief, social entrepreneurship, and more.