Generosity grows alongside inflation in Argentina

Every Tuesday evening, as streetlights flicker on in downtown Buenos Aires, a man named Charlie tidies a section of sidewalk, preparing for his visitors.

Charlie lives on the street. The volunteers who regularly check in on him as part of their recorrida nocturna, or night route, are an emotional lifeline.

The team of six sit with Charlie in a semi-circle on the pavement, offering juice, yerba mate, and conversation. They chat about the weather, current events, the neighbors, and when the laughter lulls, they ask Charlie about more immediate concerns, like his health, upcoming medical appointments, and how the police have been treating him.

There are thousands of people like Charlie living on the streets across the capital, and 43% of the country’s population lives in poverty. It’s a reflection of the unrelenting economic crisis and sky-high inflation that’s enveloping this South American nation. Some 600 volunteers take part in these nightly visits organized by the nonprofit Fundación Sí, underscoring a growing movement of volunteers, fueled by young people, who are working to fill the void where government services and the labor market are falling short. 

These volunteers may not be well off – or even interested in staying in Argentina long-term – but they offer whatever they can to lift their neighbors up: a hand, an ear, a meal, or simply some of their time. Argentina isn’t known for high rates of volunteerism, but recent data shows that’s changing. A study published by Voices! Consultancy found that a record 36% of Argentines volunteered last year, including nearly 60% of people between 18 and 24 years old.

Generosity of time and affection is generally reserved for family and close friends in Argentina, says Constanza Cilley, executive director of Voices! Consultancy. But, “there are significant increases [in volunteering] in times of greatest crisis,” she says. It’s “a tool to alleviate a bit of the anguish around the enormous problems facing Argentina.” 

Many here are finding that generosity is not a one-way street, but a relationship that binds.

Stay or go?

This isn’t the first time Argentines have rallied through a crisis. In 2001, political and economic turmoil gripped the country as it defaulted on its external debt and saw poverty and unemployment skyrocket, prompting massive protests to fill the streets. Gerardo Romero, who volunteers cooking community meals each week, remembers the solidarity of those days fondly. It was the height of social involvement in Argentina – more dramatic than anything happening today, he says. Neighbors met on street corners to debate how to solve the emergencies around them. Bartering clubs took root, and collective libraries flourished.

“The country was falling apart, but what was happening in society was incredible,” says Mr. Romero, in his thirties. According to Voices! Consultancy, the last big spike in volunteering hit 32% directly following that economic collapse.

The economy rebounded eventually, but since 2018, soaring inflation and the pandemic have created a protracted sense of crisis. Last year, annual inflation reached 94.8%, sending food prices soaring, and making saving nearly impossible. Most young people no longer expect a higher standard of living than their parents in a country whose social mobility was once a point of national pride. That can cause internal conflict for those who want to do good here.

“I see it and hear it a lot; people who are very dedicated to social causes but who also have this desire to go abroad,” to seek out new opportunities, says Candelaria Badino, a university student who has been shaped by her volunteer work supporting families and young people through workshops in impoverished regions in the north.

Emilia Maguire, a therapist, has considered emigrating for years, tired of the poverty she can no longer ignore – and which she sees as a reflection of distorted political and economic priorities. She recently joined Fundación Sí’s night routes.

“Sometimes I get home tired and distressed,” says Ms. Maguire. “But when you connect with things like this that are gratifying, it’s easier to get by, because your focus shifts. ... It sustains you in this place, so you don’t have to look elsewhere.”

The Voices! study found a correlation between volunteering and general satisfaction. Some 23% of respondents who said they volunteered last year indicated Argentina as the best place for them to live, compared to only 14% of non-volunteers.

“Willingness to help”

On the other side of town from Charlie’s stoop, knives are coming out in a park.

Paring knives and chef’s knives slice through potatoes, onions, carrots, and dig into weathered cutting boards. Every week, volunteers set up a makeshift open-air kitchen in a corner of a cobblestone amphitheater. It’s home to the Parque Lezama Olla Popular, a collective with roots in the neighborhood assemblies that rose from the ashes of the financial collapse in 2001. Each week volunteers cook meals for those on the streets using community-donated ingredients.

The group got their start in 2018 with close to nothing, as the value of the Argentine peso began to plummet once again. They’ve since acquired a gas stove and donations from businesses and farmer’s collectives. They invite those who come to eat to help cook as part of the team.

In the hazy light of a setting sun, the smell of stew grows stronger, catching the attention of people sleeping or chatting on benches nearby.

“The crisis itself pushes people together, uniting in empathy,” says Carmela Pavesi, an organizer in her mid-20s.

“You don’t need a lot of money or a lot of things,” she says. “With the people you have nearby, wherever you are, you can do something with what you have.”

Another organizer, Victor Rodriguez, who once lived on the street himself, nods in agreement as he sips on his yerba mate and pulls a giant ladle through the simmering pot. He’s looking at a man sleeping nearby. A new arrival, he says.

“Today there are more people living on the streets, more people in need, more people begging for money or help,” says Eduardo Donza, a researcher with the Social Debt Observatory at the Universidad Católica de Argentina.

The country’s poverty is structural and historic, says Mr. Donza, in large part due to a precarious labor market. Only 35% of the population works in the formal private sector, another 15% in the public sector, leaving half the population doing informal work. Informal workers hang on through anything from collecting materials for recycling to delivery work or cleaning homes. And marginalization goes beyond income: Social exclusion is both geographic, on the peripheries of cities, and generational.

“If we don’t generate more wealth, if we can’t create more good jobs, we’re never going to come out of this,” he says. Volunteering can’t solve these wider issues on its own. “But it seems to me like solidarity has increased. That willingness to help matters.”

Most valuable resource

Economic exclusion has played a central role in the lives of many in Villa 31, perhaps Buenos Aires’ most iconic informal settlement. On a recent afternoon, Cristhian Aquino sends a dozen boys running around a soccer field in the low-income neighborhood, tucked under a busy freeway.

Mr. Aquino, who spent his entire life in Villa 31 and now works in government outreach, packs his free time with activities he says teach local kids “good conduct, teamwork, confidence,” – characteristics that will help bridge their lives to the outside world.

“I know there are lots of things wrong in the neighborhood,” he says. But, by volunteering to guide these youth in his spare time, “things can change.”

Back on Charlie’s stoop, an hour has whizzed by, and the visitors stand to go. A smile lingers on the face of one volunteer, Camilo Coy, as he heads toward the group’s next visit. 

“Our time,” he says, “is the most valuable resource we have.”