Sometimes, the
hardest part of an experience is coming home. There are, of course, the readjustment issues and the missing
of places and people, but what I am really talking about it learning how to
carry through and use what has been learned abroad once you are no longer
immersed in the place and topic.
Sometimes it takes a harsh reminder to regain perspective, to be
reminded what is important, and to not take our privilege for granted.
I
am back on a campus for the month of January for “J-term”, where I have one
class that meets every day for three hours. The topic of my course is “Reacting to the Past”. It’s a bit complicated to describe, but
essentially, we as a class are playing a “game” of sorts where we all take on
the roles of different characters in Greenwich Village in 1913. As our characters, we are debating
between The Labor Movement and The Suffrage Movement, engaging in dialogue and
reading and discussing pieces from the era. Today, we voted on which faction would win—would we hold the
Labor Party’s Pageant or attend the Suffragists’ parade? We had some very strong personalities,
and the debates were heated. For
me, as someone who abhors arguing, and usually has mild panic attacks in
conjunction with public speaking, coming to class was something that caused a
great deal of anxiety. I was so
wrapped up in making sure I could stand my own ground and not humiliate myself
that I completely overlooked an extremely important character in the game. This character may have been the most
important one of all.
One student played
the role of a 14-year-old Italian Immigrant. As the setting for our simulation was a restaurant, her
character worked as a waitress.
She shuffled about, replenishing snacks and cleaning up messes. In the midst of our “great debates”, we
inexcusably let her fall through the cracks. It was revealed on the day of voting that her character had
the power to award points (in the game, we are awarded points in conjunction
with our activities, and they later influence our voting power) to other
characters and factions based on how they interacted with and treated her. Few points were distributed. With just a few small exceptions, the
rest of us all but ignored her. We
failed to acknowledge her presence- even though it was her identity, as a working
female immigrant, that was discussed constantly in our debates. My character in particular, was
described as being strongly invested in fighting for the rights and empowerment
of women immigrant workers. But I
never stepped forward. We tossed
about the words “immigrants”, and “workers”, and “women” incessantly. We provided voices and opinions for
these people we claimed to champion.
We assumed we knew best, but never did we ask what they wanted. In the midst of the fight, we were
blinded by our privilege. This
realization brought rushing back a semester of discussions, and field visits,
and feelings. I couldn’t believe I
ignored this character. I felt as
if I had failed, not just the game, but the principles that I have claimed to
stand for.
I
realize that this was a simulation, a game, and not real life. But, it is a harsh reminder of what so
many of us do everyday. This could
just as easily have happened today.
Whether we’re discussing the rights of immigrants in 2013, or advocating
welfare laws, or even simply volunteering at a soup kitchen. We make the same assumptions, all the
time. I think back to August, as I
attended orientation before departing for India. Our group spoke with a remarkable woman, Julia, who happened
to have lived most of her life homeless.
She reiterated over and over again the importance of not talking for
others. She spoke of community
organizations wanting to give out turkeys to the homeless for Thanksgiving, and
how utterly ridiculous this was.
They didn’t turkeys— they wanted homes! Did they ever even ask the people they were “helping” what
they needed? Never. Just as it has happened time and time
again, we constantly assume that we know what people need. “We’re educated. We’ve learned about the oppressed,
we’ve volunteered, we’ve read about the inequalities in the world. So obviously, as privileged members of
white middleclass society, we know what’s best. We’re here to help!”
We continue to speak for the oppressed, without ever taking time to
listen to them. We reduce people
to labels and identities, and forget to interact with them as humans. We provide voices for people who are
capable of speaking for themselves.
One
of the strongest concepts I took away from my time in India was that we do not
need to raise people up, but that we need to stand in solidarity with and
support others as they work to empower themselves. We do not know what other people need. We can only reach out, listen, and work
to support each other as humans.
Today’s experience in class was a reminder of that. It’s far too easy to be caught up in
the rush of everyday life. To
become so centered on our own success, that we tune out others. The most important thing we can do to
improve the world is to listen. If
we’re not willing to reach out beyond what’s comfortable and admit that we are
wrong, we will never move forward.
These reminders
may sting, but they are increasingly important. The semester I spent abroad may be behind me, but I must
continue to carry forward its ideals and perspectives into my life at home. There
is still so much to learn.
Peace,
Zoë
You should also read one of the
poems Julia, the wonderful woman I mentioned above, wrote. It really hits home on how we lump people
together, reduce them to labels, and fail to ask them what they want.
My Name is Not “Those People”
By Julia Dinsmore
My name is
not "Those People".
I am a
loving woman, a mother in pain,
Giving
birth to the future, where my babies
Have the
same chance to thrive as anyone.
My name is
not "Inadequate".
I did not
make my husband leave us –
He chose
to, and chooses not to pay child support.
Truth is
though; there isn’t a job base
For all
fathers to support their families.
While
society turns its head, my children pay the price.
My name is not "Problem and Case to
Be Managed".
I am a
capable human being and citizen, not just a client.
The social
service system can never replace
the
compassion and concern of loving grandparents, aunts,
uncles, fathers, cousins, community
-
all
the bonded people who need to be
But are not
present to bring children forward to their potential.
My name is
not "Lazy, Dependent Welfare Mother".
If the
unwaged work of parenting,
homemaking
and community building was factored
into
the gross domestic product,
My work
would have untold value. And why is it that mothers whose
Husbands
support them to stay home and raise children
Are
glorified? And why they don’t get called lazy or dependent?
My name is
not "Ignorant, Dumb or Uneducated".
I got my
PhD from the university of life, school of hard everything,
I live with
an income of $621 with $169 in food stamps for three kids.
Rent is
$585...That leaves $36 a month to live on.
I
am such a genius at surviving,
I
could balance the state budget in an hour.
Never mind
that there's a lack of living-wage jobs.
Never mind
that it's impossible to be the sole emotional, social,
Spiritual,
and economic support to a family.
Never mind
that parents are losing their children
to
gangs, drugs, stealing, prostitution, the poverty industry,
social
workers, kidnapping, the streets, the predator.
Forget
about putting money into schools...
just
build more prisons!
My name is
not "Lay Down and Die Quietly".
My love is
powerful, and the urge to keep my children alive will never stop.
All
children need homes and people who love them.
All
children need safety
And the
chance to be the people they were born to be.
The wind
will stop before I allow my sons to become a statistic.
Before you
give in to the urge to blame me,
the
blames that lets us go blind and unknowing
into
the isolation that disconnects
your
humanity from mine,
Take another look. Don't go away.
For I am not the problem, but the
solution.
And...my
name is not "Those People".
