Coming together in Fargo
Christian Century, July 30, 1997 by Stewart W. Herman
Of course, the circulation of labor as gift is hardly unknown to the residents of Fargo and Moorhead. In normal times, the voluntary associations of these two cities lean heavily on labor offered outside the market of economic exchange. The civic life of Fargo and Moorhead would be immeasurably poorer if all the enriching institutions of social life -- churches, bowling leagues, opera companies -- operated on the basis of market exchange and other forms of strict reciprocity. For example, it takes some 400 volunteers to sustain the many programs of just one large downtown ELCA congregation, and a similar number to sustain the local symphony, community theater, opera, arts fairs and other programs in the arts.
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Yet something special happened when the flood arrived; the currency of gift-giving replaced that of reciprocity in public discourse, and gift-giving itself blossomed into public life. It became normal for example, to forego shopping and consumption in favor of helping out. My students recognized this transformation more quickly than I. As the river surged past its 1897 record and some key dikes were softening to the point of collapse, I nervously commanded all 50 of them (by e-mail) to report for duty as volunteers on pain of being marked absent from class. While many complied, they did so unhappily -- for they viewed their labor as a gift to be offered freely in response to need, not an asset to be exchanged for a higher grade. The transformation was not total, of course. The radio station which turned to round-the-clock coverage of the flood was suddenly besieged by merchants seeking advertising. slots as increasing numbers of city residents tuned in. And some homeowners cavalierly refused to enter into the spirit of the gift, as they sat in their living rooms calmly watching the strangers who were busily sandbagging their houses, or just as calmly denying them access to bathrooms.
However primal and powerful the emotions that fueled it, this gift economy should not be considered simply an exercise in expressive gratification. It had a solid social function. The suddenly rising waters of the flood demanded a more intense response than could be obtained through simple market exchange. I heard one sandbagger shrewdly observe that beleaguered homeowners would have made much less headway had they solicited help in the normal way, by offering the low wages to which hard-working North Dakotans are accustomed.
At the same , the gift of protection from the flood was truly a gift in that it was consumed virtually in the giving. It could not be hoarded for re-use, or even preserved. Once the floodwaters receded, the boon became a burden. Homeowners faced the problem of how to remove the dikes, now stained with the odorous brown juices of a polluted river. With in day s after the crest had passed, the tide of emergency voluntarism ebbed, or more exactly wa redirected to Grand Forks, leaving the homeowners stuck for help. Those anxious to restore their lawns and gardens did not wait for volunteers; they turned to their networks of family, friends and colleagues -- and to the marketplace. Signs appeared in hardware stores, offering 25 cents per bag removed. At $10-12 an hour, a princely laborer's wage in North Dakota, virtually all the sandbags were removed within a month, and with them, the need for the gift economy.