A Journal of Social Responsibility: Witness

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WITNESS

A JOURNAL OF SOCIAL RESPONSIBILITY Witness: A Journal of Social Responsibility is a forum committed to broadening and deepening the conversation about global responsibility, social justice, and citizenship. By encouraging story telling, artistic expression, reflection and critical dialogue, and by serving as a nexus of resources for meaningful social action, we intend to serve the Boston College community and beyond. We hope to open eyes and hearts and to foster a spirit of solidarity as citizens of the world walking with our brothers and sisters in need. Here, all are one.

We seek to challenge. To inspire. To testify. To witness.


Art

Andrew Sexton St ude nt jo urnals come in all stripes -- a s s ho w c a s e s o f i n t e l l ect ua l endea vor, artistic expression , h umo r, a nd c utti ng-e dge r e b e l l i on. Wit ne s s is dif ferent. Its aim is to c r e a te a di a l o gue f o r t h o s e in t he Bo s t on College comm un ity who w a nt to g r o w be y o nd t h e p ale o f priv ile ge, who want to wrestle with pr o bl e m s no t e a s i l y r e m e die d, a nd who ask wh a t it m ig ht m ean f or us to l i v e s o c i a l l y a n d spirit uall y res pon sible lives as Americans to da y. This year’s Witness staf f has jou rn e ye d to pl a c e s w i thi n t h e m s e lves and be yon d the campu s walls to a s k ha r d que s ti o ns . T h e y ha ve g ra pple d with wha t it means to g ro und i nte l l e c tua l r i go r i n so cial pre s ence and ef ficacy. Com bining w e e k l y r e s e a r c h a nd r e f l e ct ion wit h f ield work, th e y learned to loo k a r o und the e dge s o f a ca demic dis cip line to eng a g e oth er wa ys o f k no w i ng the w o r l d: t o s y nt he s ize int e ll ectual and sp iritual g rowth . The r e s ul ti ng d i s c o urs e, which t ackles p ressing top ics not o fte n di s c us s e d i n t h e c l a s s room: do mestic violen ce, sub stance a bus e , the dr e a m s o f T h i r d Wo rld orpha ns, of fers a u niqu e voice in a uni v e r s i ty s e tti ng – s e l f - ref le ct ive a nd “ oth er-d irected ,” intelle c tua l l y s o und a nd e t h i c all y aliv e . In man y wa ys, th e work of fere d thi s y e a r a dm i r a bl y r e f l e ct s t he College’s m otto, “ Men an d Wom e n f o r O the r s . ” In t his s e cond issu e of Witn ess: A Jou r na l o f S o c i a l R es p o n sibilit y, we presen t wha t can best b e char a c te r i ze d a s i ns t a n c es o f “wit ne s sin g” – writin gs, artwork, pho to g r a phs tha t a r e a ct s of cons cience an d con sciousness. You w i l l fi nd s to r i e s a bo ut t h e h umanizing wo rk being don e in Penn sylva ni a pr i s o ns , a uni que f r i e n d s hip f o rme d i n a Boston h om eless shelte r, a nd c a m pus m o v e me nt s – inclu d in g on e here a t Boston C o l l e ge – to o bs tr uc t a cce s s t o t he preciou s metals in ou r cell p hone s , the s a l e o f w hi c h i s f u e l ing horrif ic violence in Africa. Take a l o o k . P a s s i t a r o und. A s o b s e r vers , writ ers, artists, and stud ents, w e w a nt to o pe n e y e s a n d h eart s . We hope to galvan iz e chan ge. W i th the s m a l l a c ts o f w i t n e s s pres e nt ed h ere, we h ope to f oster fe l l o w s hi p w i th o ur b r o t h ers and s is t e rs in need .

Kathleen Hirsch Pulse Program Faculty Advisor

Layout

Jaime Crowley Amanda Duggan Spencer Kim Lore Zeledon

Social Media Thomas Belton

Publicity Cara Condon Paulina Garcia Jennifer Woo Colleen Vecchione

Communications Director David Willner

Launch

MacLean Cadman

Teaching Assistants Suzannah Lutz Sarah Wood

Faculty Advisor Kathleen Hirsch

Staff Contributors Copyright 2011 by Witness Journal Courtesy of Eagle Print

Jenny Choi Brett Gieras Mara Renold


TABLE OF CONTENTS

FEATURES

8. THE DARK SECRET IN YOUR POCKET - DAVID WILLNER 14. FIGHTING TO BE HEARD - SUZANNAH LUTZ

20. VISIONS FROM IMPRISONMENT - AMANDA DUGGAN 32. ON THEIR OWN - JAIME CROWLEY

REFLECTIONS

38. MIRROR MADE IN CHINA - SAMUEL CHO 39. UNAVAILABLE - THOMAS BELTON 41. ANTHEM FOR MY MOTHER - JENNIFER WOO 44. PRAYER FOR THE RAIN - SAMUEL CHO

ENCOUNTERS

6. SHELTER IN EACH OTHER - ANALORENA ZELEDON 26. SAFE AMONG SURVIVORS - THOMAS BELTON 29. NI & WO - SPENCER KIM

35. WHEN I GROW UP - NICOLE SHIRLEY

POETRY

4. THE SKY GAVE ME ITS HEART - RABI’A AL-BRASRI 19. SHUFFLING TO IFRANE - KATHERINE CURLEY

INTERVIEW

11. “TIL WE’VE SEEN THIS JOURNEY THROUGH” - PAULINA GARCIA


THE SKY GAVE ME ITS HEART by Rabi’a al-Brasri

THE SKY GAVE ME ITS HEART BECAUSE IT KNEW MINE WAS NOT LARGE ENOUGH TO CARE FOR THE EARTH THE WAY IT DID. WHY IS IT WE THINK OF GOD SO MUCH? WHY IS THERE SO MUCH TALK ABOUT LOVE? WHEN AN ANIMAL IS WOUNDED NO ONE HAS TO TELL IT, “YOU NEED TO HEAL”; SO NATURALLY IT WILL NURSE ITSELF THE BEST IT CAN. MY EYE KEPT TELLING ME, “SOMETHING IS MISSING FROM ALL I SEE.” SO IT WENT IN SEARCH OF THE CURE. THE CURE FOR ME WAS HIS BEAUTY; THE REMEDY WAS FOR ME WAS TO LOVE.


5

“Burning Leaves” - Ngoc Doan

“Home” - Ngoc Doan


SHELTER IN EACH OTHER by Analorena Zeledon (A&S 2011)

Strug gling to find m y niche, raise m y GPA, and finish m y core, I figured tha t PULSE was the perfect opportunity to kill two birds—philosophy and theolog y— with one stone. Let’s face it I was not alone. And so, equipped with m y low expecta tions and narrow-minded a ttitude, I f ound m yself walking into Rosie’s Place f or the first time. Stepping through the doors a t Rosie’s Place was quite an unner ving experience. Destitute women from various backg rounds, ethnicities, and mindsets surrou nded me. Overwhelmed, I started m y shift, suspecting tha t I had a tedious night of kitchen duty ahead of me. By the end, I was exhausted and weighing down m y peers’ ears with m y complaints of feeling dirty and being too tired to study. Until now, m y onl y interaction with the homeless had been to put coin s in their cups and to dona te to charities here and there. But never did I reall y enga ge them in conversa tions or look them in the e yes as I placed meals into their hands. I was a bove it all and the y were just part of the scener y. Oh yes, I f orgot to mention- I referred to these people as them, as others who weren’t a part of m y world. And now, I was expected to pre pare their dinner, ser ve them soup, cha t with them, and clean up after them. Months passed bef ore I even a ttempted to interact with the women. Nightl y, I’d find m yself wa tching from the sidelines, too intimida ted to venture out into the game. I was al wa ys in the stora ge room getting supplies or busying m yself with preparing dinner. And then something in me changed. I don’t know wha t it was, nor do I remember when exactl y I decided to challenge m yself, but one particular evening I walked out of m y comf ort zone, sa t down with one of the women, and enga ged her in a conversa tion. Her name was Maria. She sa t to the far right side of the dining hall, close to the emergency exit and nearl y a t the children’s area, completel y isola ted from the rest of the women. Focused intentl y on her cluster of na pkins, she b arel y noticed me as I a pproached her. With wisps of g re y hair falling into her e yes, she wrote. I stared in amazement a t her concentra tion, as she never let the pen lea ve the

rough pa per. Hesitantl y, I sa t down next to her. Onl y when I was level with her e yes did she look up and smile. “Ya lo terminé,” she said aloud indica ting she was done writing. I smiled, and bef ore she could transla te I asked, “Que esta bas escribiendo?” Her smile widened and her e yes beamed with ha ppiness. I, too, spoke Spanish. “Cómo te llamas? Que haces aquí en Rosie’s? How old are you? Are you studying? Wha t are you studying? Do you like school?” She fired the questions a t me, barel y g iving herself time to brea the. She seemed thrilled f or the compan y and even confided tha t she had been star ving f or conversa tion and “una amiga”. I reassured h er, and a t last she allotted me enough time to g ive her answers. I asked her to tell me a bout herself and a bout her life, careful of not prodding too far, cautious of not scaring her a wa y. She vanquished all m y fears b y being completel y honest and opening up whole-heartedl y. Strange as it was, I felt an immedia te connection with her. Tha t night, I learned a bout the woman who sa t a t the same corner ever y night, silentl y ea ting her meal, smiling a t the volunteers, and writing on scra ps of pa per. I learned tha t she was from Medellin, Colombia. She had tra veled to Puerto Rico in search of a better educa tion. After g radua ting with honors from the University of Puerto Rico, she came to the United Sta tes despera tel y seeking more literar y ma terial to indulge her mind. After years of studying and taking out loans, she f ound herself a t a crossroads—she couldn’t af f ord to sta y in school yet she wasn’t quite ready to go home. So she f ound a teaching position a t Bunker Hill Community College and began “squa tting” in the houses of friends and rela tives until the y slowl y kicked her out. By the time tha t Maria f ound herself on the streets, she was jobless and in her la te thirties. Yet, perseverant as she was, she didn’t want to go back to Colombia. She wanted to sta y here and learn more, (It was unbelieva ble tha t here I was, a student a t a prestig ious university taking courses f or g ranted speaking to a woman who couldn’t possibl y quench her thirst f or knowledge) and so she sta yed. Some people ma y think tha t her beha vior was strange; why would she sta y in a f oreign land without her famil y, simpl y to learn? Was she mentall y ill? To the best of m y knowledge she was healthy and sane. I believe she sta yed f or the same reasons tha t most illegal immig rants sta y—the chance f o r a better life.


7 Tha t night we parted with a hug, and as she held me close, she thanked me f or sharing m y time with her and f or listening. The da y I met Maria, she was 60 years old, living in a nearb y church tha t was threa tening to evict her, washing dishes during the da y, and sneaking discarded candles into her closet-sized room a t night so tha t she could expand her mind with wha tever books she could get her ha nds on. As the weeks went b y, Maria and I became closer. Our rela tionship was dif ferent from an y I had ever known—she was m y professor and I her student, yet she was also a child and I was the older sibling who taught her a bout the world. Often times, our conversa tions jumped all over the place and we f ound ourselves discussing the healing powers of jala peños, our dysfunctional and rowdy La tin American families, and our romantic rela tionships. “When I was fifteen and rebellious, I snuck out of m y house into the baker y around the block and met up with the baker’s son—a childhood friend. Tha t da y, I finall y got the coura ge to tell him tha t I liked him and he kissed me! It was the sweetest first kiss and the shortest. Unf ortuna tel y m y ver y traditional fa ther f ound us and I received the worst scolding ever.” I nodded, identifying with her teena ge experience. One da y she brought up m y Russian Litera ture class: “Wha t authors are you studying? Do you like them? Wha t do the y write a bout? Can I read your fa vorite book?” I f ound m yself teaching her of a f oreign culture and lending her m y books. Other times, I admired her poetr y and asked her wha t inspired her, soaking in the beauty of the words and the suf fering the y transmitted. Ever y night, she brought me a new poem and asked me wha t I felt when I read it as well as how I had interpreted it. If I caught wha t she meant to ca pture, she would show me another one; however, she was more delighted when I didn’t understand her work. She would then spend the rest of the night, asking me how I had come upon tha t interpreta tion and te lling me wha t she had meant b y certain words. I sometimes brought her m y own writings, which she thanked me f or, knowing tha t I was letting her see a ver y priva te side of me. With time, M aria became m y famil y a wa y from home—the g randmother figure who was al wa ys asking me to be careful and reminding me to ea t m y vegeta bles. I in turn brought her chocola te—the kind she loved—as well as books and poems tha t I knew she would enjoy. I looked f orward to seeing her twice ever y week and sometimes when I could, three or f our times. During these months, Maria and I kept in touch via cell phone, and when she couldn’t make it on m y normal shift da y, I would request a change in schedule or simpl y s kip a class and come the f ollowing da y. If ever I missed a week, which often ha ppened during holida ys, she would call me and upda te me on her life; if she missed one of our dinners, I’d call her and figure out when we could meet

a gain. Along the wa y, we both realized tha t we’d become each other’s “hogar” or home, as she put it. As the time passed, I f ound m yself dreading summer vaca tion because I knew tha t we would be separa ted f or three whole months. The mere fact tha t I was dreading going back home was a definite sign tha t I had changed. My a ttitude towards other things had also changed drasticall y. I f ound m yself disconne cted from m y peers and no longer wanting the same things the y desired. I was now more interested in the Peace Corps than campus parties and sports games. April arrived and as the last few weeks reared their ugl y heads, I became violentl y ill. I was hospitalized f or the remainder of the month, leading me to miss m y shifts a t Rosie’s and causing me to fall behind in m y classes. It was during this time tha t Maria called me dail y, asking me how I was feeling and wha t m y condition was. Each time, I spoke frankl y, telling her of m y exams and their results; al wa ys promising her tha t I’d return to hug her goodb ye. Unf ortuna tel y, fa te had other plans f or me. Upon m y hospital release, I f ound m yself f l ying to Nicara gua f or m y beloved g randfa ther’s funeral, lea ving ever ything open ended. Fearing the worst, I started m y junio r year. I was anxious to visit Rosie’s so I could find Maria and explain wha t had ha ppened. Yet, when I arrived, I learned tha t she had been evicted from the church over the summer and hadn’t been back since. Heartbroken, I left Rosie’s tha t da y and ha ve yet to return. Maria had made Rosie’s m y home, and without her, it just didn’t seem right an ymore. Two years ha ve gone b y and I am just realizing wha t an impact Maria had on m y life and how much I owe her f or becoming who I am toda y. I never had the opportunity to thank her f or loving me enough so tha t I could learn to love others. I was una ble to thank her f or teaching me a bout the beauty of the world and ever yone who is a part of it. Although I am not ver y relig ious, I feel like tha t year I wasn’t just conversing with a friend, I was spending time with God. I changed so much during the time I spent with Maria. I owe it all to her, yet never had the chance to thank her, so… Thank you f or motiva ting me to be a better person. Thank you f or introducing me to the world of ser ving others. Thank you f or trusting me with your memories, secrets, and stories. Thank you f or g iving m y life purpose and f or g iving me the strength to seek a dif ferent pa th in life—one tha t embraced social ser vice with success. And although you ma y never read this, I want to sa y,

Thank you Maria.


THE DARK SECRET IN YOUR POCKET

by David Willner (A&S 2012)


9 It is not often we consider the orig ins of things we use ever yda y. Do you know where your cell phone was made? Where the parts came from? Who was involved in the process of getting your phone to you? Your phone is a ble to vibra te because it contains the element tungsten. Tantalum is the mineral tha t stores the electricity in most consumer electronics; without it your device would not turn on. Tin is also present in man y electronics, used as a solder on various circuit boards. Gold is used to coa t electrical wiring. These minerals, known as the three Ts, and gold, are f ound in man y places around the world. But t here is one significant place where the y share a similar orig in: the Democra tic Republic of Congo (DRC). In the DRC, illegal mining of these minerals funds several armed g roups who are committing some of the worst a trocities in the world toda y. These minerals, known as “conf lict minerals,” are being smug gled out of the countr y, and used in our phones, la ptops, and video game systems. The DRC now hosts the deadliest conf lict since WWII in terms of civilian casualties, and is the site of the worst sexual violence in the world. This has begun to ca tch the a ttention of consumers in the United Sta tes. Like the movement to end the sale and trade of “blood diamonds” (diamonds tha t orig ina te in conf lict areas and are also used to fund a trocities), a new campaign has emerged, particularl y on college campuses, to pressure electronics companies to identify where their minerals come from. The current conf lict began in the afterma th of the Rwandan genocide, when the Hutu militias responsible f or the slaughter f led to eastern DRC. From there, th e militias continued to carr y out a ttacks in Rwanda, causing the Rwandan arm y to invade the DRC. After the overthrow of the DRC president, Mobutu Sese Seko, the countr y was divided up into several reg ions controlled b y various rebel and armed g roups. T hough several peace a g reements ha ve been signed, violence continues on an enormous scale. Civilians, particularl y women, ha ve suf fered the most from the conf lict in the DRC. Ra pe and sexual violence ha ve become commonplace, with armed g roups using them as a means of demoralizing their enem y and polluting their bloodlines. Ra pe is so rampant in the DRC tha t advocacy g roups ha ve deemed it the “worst place in the world to be a woman.” 1 In addition to the extreme bodil y harm and mental anguish ra pe brings to w omen, it also tears families a part. Husbands often lea ve their wives due to social stigmas and their ina bility to cope with the afterma th of the ra pe. The various armed g roups in the DRC ha ve a multitude of reasons f or getting involved in the c onf lict. Some want power, some want to protect their own land and people, and others simpl y wish to ha ve a voice among the thousands of others in the DRC. However, economic incentives are increasingl y becoming a reason f o r involvement, in the f orm of conf lict minerals. Whenever an armed g roup takes control of an area tha t contains these valua ble minerals, the g roup controls the trade. The mone y earned from mining, smug gling, and trading conf lict minerals is lucra tive enough to fund

each g roup’s war ef f ort. It is estima ted tha t these profits exceed $180 million per year. A report b y the g roup Global Witness was largel y responsible f or bring ing the issue to light in earl y 2009. The report, called “Faced With a Gun, Wha t Can You Do?”, details the involvement of global companies who, knowingl y or not, are fueling the conf lict in the DRC. Global Witness traces the journe y of the minerals in their report. From illegal mines in the DRC, minerals are smug gled into neighboring countries such as Uganda. From there, the y are sold and sent to smelting companies in Asia tha t process the minerals. The minerals are then shipped to electronics companies all around the world tha t make the phone in your pocket. Global Witness and other advocacy g roups, such as The Enough Project, are taking a lead role in ef f orts to inf orm consumers a bout the link between electronics companies and the horrors of the conf lict in the DRC. The Enough Project and STAND: A Student Anti-Genocide Coalition, are currentl y running campaigns directed a t these companies. In the past year, the y ha ve organized protests outside Apple stores and ha ve sent letters to electronics companies asking them to identify where their minerals come from. The main problem, according to advocacy g roups, is the lack of transparency tha t most companies currentl y maintain a bout the wa ys the y obtain the minerals. Until

The DRC now hosts the deadliest conflict since WWII in terms of civilian casualities, and is the site of the worst sexual violence in the world.

now, there has been little impetus to investiga te how minerals get to markets in the countries neighboring the DRC. Companies like Apple ha ve claimed tha t it is nearl y impossible to trace where their miner als come from. In a widel y circula ted email exchange, a customer emailed Apple CEO Steve Jobs asking him if Apple has made an y ef f ort to source their minerals. Jobs’ repl y read: Yes. We require all of our suppliers to cer tify in writing tha t the y use conf lict free ma terials. But honestl y there is no wa y f or them to be sure. Until someone invents a wa y to chemicall y trace minerals from the source mine, it’s a ver y dif ficult problem. 2 There is precedent f or tracing miner als in the diamond industr y. During the 1990s and earl y 2000s, the interna tional community passed the Kimberle y Process Certifica tion Scheme requiring businesses and countries to certify the export and import of all diamonds.


Taking their lead from this successful model, advoca tes from g roups like The Enough Project and STAND led the push f or a measure to be passed in Cong ress in Jul y 2010. The Wall Street ref orm bill was primaril y designed to address the causes of the recent financial recession. Unknown to man y, the bill also included a passa ge f ocused on conf lict minerals and the problems with tracking them. The passa ge, introduced b y Sena tor Sam Brownback (R-Kansas) in the “Miscellaneous Provisions” section, requires companies to take steps to make sure the y are not using conf lict minerals from the Democra tic Republic of Congo. This la w a pplies to thousands of companies tha t sell la ptops, cell phones, and video game systems. 3 Toda y, advocacy g roups ha ve taken the issue a step further. The Enough Project is currentl y running a campa ign called Conf lict-Free Campus, which works to pressure companies to adopt a system of transparency based on three steps: trace, audit, certify. Tracing minerals means finding out exactl y where a compan y’s minerals come from. Auditing involves making sure tha t minerals do not come from conf lict mines and tha t no illegal taxes or bribes are involved in

resolutions tha t ask companies f or reports on their policies and ef f orts regarding their a voidance of conf lict minerals and conf lict mineral deriva tives.” 5 Stanf ord’s actions ha ve inspired other campuses to get involved. There are now over thirty schools involved with the Conf lict-Free Campus initia tive, including Yale University and Westminster College in Missouri. 6 Boston College recentl y began its own conf lict minerals campaign, led b y the campus g roup Americans f or Inf ormed Democracy (AID). Even if the electronics companies decide to stop buying conf lict minerals from armed g roups involved with illegal mining, the conf lict will not be o ver. As The Enough Project representa tives often sa y, there is no “silver bullet” tha t will end the conf lict in the DRC. An end to violence must involve a ref orm of DRC institutions and address the concerns of rebel g roups. However, there is no doubt tha t ending the trade of conf lict minerals will send a strong messa ge to g roups participa ting in the violence. Their pocketbooks will be hit hard and the y will ha ve to look f or other sources of funding. A ban on conf lict minerals would significantl y impede the war ef f ort. And on the other side of the world, consumers can

the trading of minerals. Finall y, minerals must be certified in a process similar to the Kimberle y Scheme used f or blood diamonds. This ensures tha t consumers know exactl y where their minerals are coming from. The Conf lict-Free Campus initia tive is built around the leadership and activism of college students. The y are encoura ged to pressure university of ficials and shareholders to take one of the f ollowing steps 4 :

feel better knowing the y are no longer supporting the world’s worst conf lict.

1) Ado pt a resolution expressing the university’s intent to purchase onl y conf lict free electronics. 2) Ado pt a resolution expressing the university’s intent to support an y shareholder resolutions to trace the suppl y chain of minerals used in their products. 3) Issue a general st a tement supporting the issue of tracing minerals. Stanf ord University was the first university to take one of these steps. In spring 2010, Stanf ord’s Board of Trustees passed a proxy voting guideline regarding their investment policy. The guideline sa ys tha t Stanf o rd will, “vote in fa vor of well-written and reasona ble sha reholder

If you would like to find out more a bout conf lict minerals and wha t electronics companies are doing to address the problem, please visit http:// www.enoughproject.org/conf lict-minerals. If you would like to get involved in BC’s own campaign, please email bcf orcongo@gmail.com.

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“TIL WE’VE SEEN THIS JOURNEY THROUGH”

11

by Paulina Garcia (A&S 2012) Inter view with Dr. Kwasi Sarkodie-Mensah

Dr. Kwasi Sarkodie-Mensah smiles as he welcomes me into his of fice in the O’Neill Librar y. Sarkodie-Mensah, a na tive of Ghana, is the Mana ger of Instructional Ser vices a t Boston College. But his inf luence on campus extends well be yond his academic specialty. The work he has done in the area of ser vice has touched man y students, both those who ha ve worked directl y with him and those who ha ve heard his stories. A na tural stor y-teller, SarkodieMensah a g reed to spend time with Witness, to talk a bout his na tive Ghana and to discuss the trips to Afric a, with Boston College students, tha t ha ve ena bled him to “g ive back” some of the blessings tha t he remembers ha ving received there as a boy.

got ver y close to the priests and got to do work with them. When I was a bout 12 or 13 years old, we went to the ca pital of m y sta te and I ran into this Brother – I didn’t even know who he was – this white person with a long robe and ever ything. I walked up to him and said ‘Dominus vobiscum’ [‘The Lord be with you’] because I thought ever y priest spoke La tin. He told me he wasn’t a priest, he was a Brother. But this person turned out to be the principal of the high school set up b y the Hol y Cross Brothers in Ghana. So I talked to him and then he came to m y school looking f or me. I was just a little tin y boy! And I was so confused because m y dad, who was the principal of the school I a ttended, called ever ybody to welcome this Brother, and I ended up going to the Hol y Cross High School, which was 200 miles a wa y from m y home, f or seven years.

What are your foundations in ser vice? My f ounda tions started a t home. Back in Ghana m y dad and m y mom were ver y active in the community. Growing up, I waited behind m y dad’s bedroom listening f or the BBC on the clock radio. At 6 o’clock I ran to ring the ch urch bell f or the whole town. My parents were ver y active, not onl y in church but in ever ything. My mom kept sa ying she was keeping f ood in the house f or ghosts tha t came in the middle of the night to ea t, but we didn’t know tha t she was actuall y keeping the f ood f or children who had nothing to ea t. She would sneak out, g ive the f ood to them, and we’d wake up in the morning thinking the ghost had come home to ea t the f ood. In the old da ys, most Ca tholic churches in Ghana didn’t ha ve priests. The priests came once a month or once ever y two mont hs. I was lucky because I al wa ys

These Brothers would come to the U.S., use their vaca tion time to collect things like t-shirts. The y collected ever ything, and when the y returned, the y ga ve them to people. In high school, we had a choice to either pla y in the band or work in the infirmar y. I chose to work in the infirmar y cleaning people’s scars a t the end of ever y da y f or seven years. A few of us chose to do tha t instead of pla ying the band—doing things tha t nobody wanted to do. People came in with cuts from snakebites and ever ything. I think tha t’s wha t must ha ve started m y ser vice. Tha t was a long time a go, like in 1968. How was it that you came to the United States? I finished college in Ghana through the prog ram of na tional ser vice—tha t is free educa tion paid b y the government. Then, I went to Nigeria f or two years to sa ve


mone y. At tha t time, in the Eighties, the onl y wa y to go an ywhere was to work in a place like Nigeria where the y had oil. I sa ved mone y and began a ppl ying to universities in the United Sta tes. I came to Clarion, Pennsylvania, in 1982. I did m y masters, and then after tha t I went to University of Illinois a t Urbana-Champaign to do m y Ph.D [in Librar y and Inf orma tion Science]. So I came to the U.S. to get m y postg radua te educa tion. I began working in the librar y of Northeastern University and from there I came to BC man y years a go. What sparked your interest in leading a ser vice trip to Ghana? My first trip was to Belize. I went to Belize twice, then to Jamaica, and then to the Dominican Republic. Then, on December 26, 2001, I remember this so well, I woke up a t 3 o’clock in the morning and I asked m yself why I was going to other people’s countries and not to Ghana? I got up and a t 3:15 I emailed almost ev er ybody I knew a t BC and asked them to support me to go to Ghana and hold a computer camp f or the children there. I received some disa ppointing responses. Tha t was kind of hard. I tried to not be disarmed b y some answers tha t I received and began talking to people who knew there were other options a t BC. Then I reac hed out to people in the department of Arts and Sciences and the y were interested in supporting m y trip. It was hard a t the beg inning to sta y strong, but I am glad I did. The first year I went with one la ptop, and one desktop, provided b y BC. My brother, m y dad, and m y mom met me and the fifteen students and we held a computer literacy camp f or the children out of m y brother’s backyard. Since then I ha ve taken fifteen students on each trip, excluding last year, when I took ten because of economic reasons. I didn’t want to do wha t we did in Belize or Jamaica; I wanted to do something ver y dif ferent . In the other trips, we taught children writing and ma th. I wanted the ch ildren in Ghana to be ver y 21st centur y -- f or them to be litera te in computers, because ever ybody in the world is using computers. I wanted them to acquire skills tha t were going to help them in the future. The children we taught were among the first children in Ghana to learn basic computer skills. It was ver y fun f or the children to do hands on-work with the computers BC ga ve us to take. I did not want to go and talk a bout Microsoft Word and then to not be a ble to get their hands on actual computers. So, the y typed something, printed it out, and actuall y sa w wha t the y produced. The kids and the older people were ver y excited a bout tha t.

Do you feel like teaching computer literacy skills in Ghana is ver y important? Is that something that the people there lack and need resources to develop? I don’t know why I got up and f ound computers coming to m y mind, because most places in Ghana don’t even ha ve computers. I’m not being nega tive, but the y don’t ha ve an ything. People go 20 miles from where the y are to get to an Internet café. Part of m y pla n was to get the children to know a bout computers, to use basic computer skills, and to get them excited a bout learning how to use computers. The interesting thing is tha t even though we did it f or the children, we f ound a lot of interest from all the older people in the town: police of ficers, priests, sisters, people who work in the la w courts. The y asked us to ha ve a prog ram f or them. So, in addition to teaching the children we ended up teaching the older people in the community. Tha t was good, because I think the y were all scared. The teachers didn’t want the students coming into their classroom knowing more than the y did. So teaching both, the yo unger and older people, has been working ver y well f or us. What is it that you want students to get out of being part of your ser vice trip? When we start orienta tion, I usuall y encoura ge people to reall y start opening up their minds . I al wa ys tell them to ha ve all of their antennae – like FM and AM and ever ything – wide open. Even though we go there to ser ve the children and the community I hope tha t ever ybody comes back with something tha t the y learned from the children. You look a t the children, the community, and the church on a Sunda y—this is a community tha t has nothing. Yet the people are ver y upbea t, ver y positive, and ver y ha pp y. Students learn a bout wha t makes people who ha ve nothing so g ra teful f or wha t the y do ha ve. I al wa ys hope and pra y tha t we bring something back tha t sta ys with us f or the rest of our lives. It is so easy to think, “Oh we went there to help these poor kids.” And it’s true. But I think the children g ive us so much more. Wha t the y g ive us I don’t think we can ever g ive back to them, and I al wa ys look a t the perspective of m y high school experience. I’ve been tr ying hard to g ive back wha t the Brothers ga ve me in those seven years. I ha ve not even been a ble to g ive even a teaspoonful because the y ga ve us so much. Ever y time I do one little thing I remember 2,000 other little things the y did f or me. When I go with BC students to Ghana, things are ver y hard f or me because I remember living tha t same wa y. Students do all the y ha ve to do. The y take the children to their houses. The y ea t with them, and the y do ever ything with them. Nobody is pretending; the y are just being themselves being part of the community. I think going to a place in Africa will g ive students a better perspective on how things in tha t part of the world work.


13 With all m y ser vice t rips, ever y single year, m y respect f or young people goes wa y up. I’ve never seen an y g roup of people so self less and so g iving. People are quiet a bout the no ble things the y do, and tha t makes me ver y ha pp y and proud of people. Do you have an y plan to reach out to other countries with this computer-based approach to education? We are going to do it. I’m going to be working with the paramount chief of Ejisu (a town in Ghana) on a new computer prog ram. I am not taking a trip this summer because I am going to use m y energ y to work on the new computer center. Ever y town in Ghana has a chief. The chief is the pe rson in charge of the people. He makes sure tha t children go to school and people are fed. Fortuna tel y, this tradition has never changed in Ghana. Ever y chief is still in charge of the needs of the people of their town. The paramount chief of Ejisu wants the children and the whole community to prog ress. I think we ha ve been f ortuna te. Also, wha t I’ve been tr ying to do is connect with man y of m y friends here in the US, the UK, and German y to see wha t the y can do to benefit the places where the y g rew up. It’s so easy to come here – to the United Sta tes. We don’t ha ve ever ything, but we ha ve the basic things. I am ha pp y and g ra tef ul f or wha t I ha ve. But I al wa ys feel tha t we ha ve to g ive something back. We ha ve to train people to take care of themselves. It’s a strug gle f or me because some people who I talk to a bout g iving back to their home countries are not listening to wha t I am sa ying. The y don’t think it’s an obliga tion on their part to help, and tha t is ver y frustra ting. When we go to Ghana, the Boston College bookstore g ives me t-shirts. A lot of people in Gha na think tha t we should be charg ing the children f or wh a t we g ive them, but I don’t believe tha t. I think a lot of people put mone y value to things. So if there is no mone y value to them in helping, the y might not want to do it. Tha t might be one of the reasons why people don’t want to help. When people mig ra te to a place where the y find comf ort, the y don’t feel an obliga tion to g ive back to where we come from . I’ve tried hard, but it’s not going an ywhere. What is your best advice for students in continuing ser vice and incorporating it into their lives? One of the things tha t we did in our last trip on a regu lar basis was to challenge people to write down five things the y will do after the trip, based on their experience in Ghana. I think tha t through ref lection people are challenged to think. It seems to work. Several people from m y trips ha ve gone on to do the Peace Corp s, and Teach For America. Or the y come back and become more active in their community. It is easier to sa y than to do,

because when we come back we are so busy. It is a tough thing to get people to continue doing ser vice after the y come back from a ser vice trip. People see poverty and suf fering in dif ferent countries and when the y come back the y are so ang r y with themselves a bout how much the y ha ve here. The y get kind of frozen and don’t reall y feel like doing an ything f or an ybody in this community. There is so much we can do in our own backyard. I know it is hard, but I think tha t is something we ha ve to keep working on. BC students are so good a bout ser vice. I’ve seen people cr y because the y’ve been rejected from ser vice trips. But I al wa ys ha ve to remind people tha t the y don’t ha ve to be on the plane to Ghana to do tha t. I al wa ys feel like I should also take care of the needs of the people in m y own community. On campus, I’ve been doing Cleansweep f or 17 years now. We pick up ever ything people lea ve behind in the dorms and g ive them to homeless shelters and renewal places. It reminds me of the need tha t we ha ve here too. I love the work in Ghana but I can never f orget a bout helping people in the Boston area. The need is ever ywhere, which is why I think tha t continuity is so important. As f or dona tions to Ghana, the good thing is tha t ever ything tha t we get, it could be a sta pler, a pen, or a pencil, I g ive to m y brother and the parish priest the y g ive it to the people who need them. Once you do ser vice it becomes part of your life. Ser vice never lea ves you. I feel so lucky to be here. I love m y work in the librar y, but I also love m y voca tion of being a ble to g ive the little tha t I ha ve back. I al wa ys sa y tha t since I ha ve all of this energ y I will keep some of tha t energ y f or doing ser vice as g ra tefulness to God. And so far God has been good. Dr. Kwasi Sarkodie-Mensah is continuously welcoming donations for Ghana. If you would like to make a donation, please contact Paulina Garcia at garciapd@bc.edu or Dr. Kwasi Sarkodie-Mensah at sarkodik@bc.edu. An y donations are also welcome to be dropped off at Dr. Sarkodie-Mensah’s office in O’Neill Librar y. “I will weep when you are When you laugh, I’ll laugh I will share your joy and Til we’ve seen this journe y

weeping. with you. sorrow through.”

-From “The Ser vant Song”, Dr. Kwasi Sarkodie-Mensah’s e-mail signa ture


FIGHTING TO BE HEARD by Suzannah Lutz (A&S-2011)

(A Glim pse in to Tur ne r El e m e nta r y S c ho o l )


15 Violence Wha t ha ppens in m y life Is not reall y nice I wish it would stop I think it’s a dream But when I wake up I’m reall y out of luck It ha ppens so fast It ha ppens like a f lash But I’m not the onl y one Who can stop it Other people can to So make it stop NOW! From a third g rade student * * * Old posters plastering the wall read, “Why do people show kindness?” and “Why do we help others even when there are risks?” Isaac, a small black boy, pla ys motorcycles and cars with his pencils, driving them around and around the pencil box and squishing two blue pencil g rips between his fingers. The y live in the pencil box, he sa ys. Miss Montana hears the jumbling and calls him, “Isaac, get to work.” “I’m finished,” he calls back. “Oh, you’re finished, Isaac?” She rips the blank worksheet out from under his pencil box. “He y, why are you taking m y pencil box?” “You need to get some work done. We’re in school here.” Mouth ga ping and slamming his fists on the desk, Derek, another boy who sits on the far side from Isaac, is yelling a t the teaching assistant. “Stop looking a t me!” He pokes her on the shoulder. She rubs the spot with her hand and ya wns. On the other side of her, Jeremiah Wilson has his head down. She ta ps him gentl y. “Wake up,” she smiles. He doesn’t budge. The g irls are clamoring on the other side of the classroom. Isis whispers to Jovanna and sings Mariah Care y. Why you so obsessed with me? Boy, I wanna know— l yin’ tha t you’re sexin’ me. She f lips a coin and the ring resona tes. Jeremiah Wilson lifts up his head, e yes wide open. “Man, I ha te this class. I miss Ms. Santos’ class. Tha t was the BEST class. She misses me the most ‘cause I’m he r fa vorite.” “Na w man, Ms. Santos misses me the most,” Miles interrupts. “Psh, she ha ted you and Kenn y.” “You’re a liar,” Miles frowns and his e yes widen. The two g row larger and larger in the small classroom. Mr. Bell is dealing with Isaac, who after being relieved of his pencil box, threw his plastic cub b y on the g round. Pa pers are sca ttered all over the f loor and he sits on the m, howling, as Miss Montana cleans up. He tells the boy to go outside, but he wails and curls up into a ball. “You don’t know nothing!” Miles spits a t Jeremiah. Pointing a t himself with a questioning look,

Jeremiah laughs high pitched. Isis perks up and cackles, “You laugh like a g irl!” “Shut up, you big nosed dumm y!” “You got some hair y lips. Why don’t you sha ve em?!” she screams. Mr. Bell hears this over Isaac’s wails , and his voice is thunder. Miles gets the final word bef ore the lightning strikes. “You’re the fa g got laughing like a g i rl!” Jeremiah’s face tenses up and he pounds his fist into his other hand, “You don’t wanna sa y tha t man. You don’t.” “Jeremiah, go out in the hall wa y,” Mr. Bell shouts. Jeremiah ignores him. He swings pla yfull y a t Miles, testing his ner ve. When Miles dodges his fist, he smiles teasingl y. “JEREMIAH, now,” Mr. Bell bellows, and he pulls Jeremiah b y the shoulder outside the door. “You’re all talk,” Miles yells as the door slams shut. “Why you gotta add more to the pot, man? Shut your mouth!” Mr. Bell yells. “The beha vior is out of control right now, and you don’t need to be stirring the pot! I want silence right now, and nothing else.” Jeremiah tries to open the door, and Mr. Bell ca tches it quickl y, shutting the door. Miles yells, “Sta y out there!” The door bursts open a gainst Mr. Be ll. “Shut up or I’ll smack the taste out of your mouth!” * * * Mr. Bell spends his da ys tr ying to get through the da ys a t Turner Elementar y School. His classroom is home to twelve students of integ ra ted a bilities, meaning special educa tion students are included with the other students and the individual skills of the students are dif ferent. Mr. Bell has had Isaac in his classro om f or two years. Isaac is an African American boy with autism. “He’s made a lot of improvement in the past year or so. I mean, he wasn’t even talking last year. He’s reall y improved with his verbal skills. Now I can’t get him to be quiet,” he laughs. While Mr. Bell goes over a reading worksheet, he asks if ever yone has the answer. Isaac shouts, “WAIT!” and Derek, an African American boy with Asperger’s, sits of fside Mr. Bell. “Wha t’s the ca pital of Pittsburgh?” he shouts, lisping on the t(s). He ta ps the ta ble, drumming the books and pencils. “Now why does ever ybody got something to sa y when I ask a simple yes-or-no question? You gotta keep quiet so I can think and ever ybody else can think,” he sa ys sternl y. “Sometimes I just want to get a ta pe recorder and let people listen to all the noise tha t’s going on. You can’t learn like this.” * * * “I didn’t kiss Jason, Miss Montana!” Isis glares a t the teacher. “Mmm oka y then, tha t’s just wha t all the kids a t recess were telling me.” Miss Montana cleans her cof fee cup, brown soa p y wa ves swirling down the d rain. “Well, I didn’t.”


Jeremiah Wilson wig gles back and f orth, g rinning teasingl y, “Isis, pa-lease, we all know you like Jason.” “See! It’s you people and your stupid rumors!” “You liiike Jason!” “He’s UGLY! He’s UGLY!” Miss Montana points her finger a t the g irl, “Isis you need to stop bothering with wha t other people ha ve to sa y a bout you and calm yourself down in this classroom—” “BUT m y brother’s gonna find out, then m y fa ther’s gonna find out, and I’m gonna get in SO much trouble!” She frowns and pounds a fist onto the ta ble. “DANG, man.” She is quiet while Mr. Bell tells them to get out their writing f olders. The y are finishing five para g ra ph essa ys, writing a bout wha t the y would wish f or if a genie ga ve them three wishes. Isis sits a t her ta ble with a dr y erase board tha t the reading specialist uses. She dra ws two stick figures with the dying red m arker. One is holding something and looks ang r y. The other has a sad face. She writes, “I go to get in trouble b y Dad then...” * * * It hurts, but I never show this pain you’ll never know If only you could see just how lonely and how cold And frostbit I’ve become, my back’s against the wall When push come to shove, I just stand up and scream “Fuck ‘em all”

Lyrics from Lil’ Wa yne “Drop the World,” f ound in a f ourth g rade classroom

“You can’t be ra g ing in m y class, Isis. You need to go to Mr. Romero if you’re going to be lashing out a t ever yone.” Isis frowns a t him and ta ps the ta ble, sin g ing to herself. “Get to work,” Mr. Bell sa ys, handing her a pencil and a pink eraser top. He starts handing them out to the rest of the class. “I want purple! Ca yla, wha t do you ha ve? ” Ca yla holds up a purple eraser top. Ca yla pouts, raising her e yebrows. Ca yla shakes her head. “Jovaun, you wanna trade?” Isis jumps out of her sea t and hovers over Jovaun, a quiet boy who likes Iron Man and often pla ys with Mr. Bell’s puppets. He looks up a t her through thick glasses and shakes his head. She g ra bs the eraser ca p out of his hand. Mr. Bell turns around and opens th e door. “Get out, go find Mr. Romero and ask him if you can do something f or him.” Isis ignores him and goes back to her sea t with the eraser ca p. She leans back in her chair. A calendar of Barack Obama hangs on the wall next to a poster a bout respect. Respect is trea ting others the wa y you want to be trea ted, showing kindness and considera tion, liking yourself enough to be yourself, and accepting others f or

who the y are. * * * Jeremiah Wilson comes in a t nine most da ys. He is thirteen, and he is repea ting the f ourth g r ade f or the third time next year. Toda y he is wearing cof fee colored skinn y jeans low around his rear, pink Air Jo rdans, and a shirt tha t sa ys, “Top Ten Reasons I Wear Pink.” Reason number ten is tough guys wear pink. “Oh, you got m y shoes, Moses,” Jeremiah sa ys, pointing to the black and blue Air Jordans. “ It’s oka y. I’ll let you borrow them f or now. Miles got the Wal-Mart special.” “So wha t?!” he yells. “It don’t ma tter wha t kind of shoes I got on m y feet. All you care a bout is you wearing.” “It’s oka y, Miles, ma ybe Moses will l et you borrow his.” The y snicker and Miss Montana g ives them their computer assignment. The y are finishing the Power Points of historical figures: Thomas Jef ferso n, George Washington, Thomas Paine, Andrew Jackson, and Phillis Whea tle y. A f ourth g rade g irl from another class is in computer la b toda y printing a pa per and she stares a t Jeremiah as he walks across the classroom. “Wha t are you lookin’ a t? I know I’m sexy,” he smirks, dancing across the linoleum. “I think you should pull your pants up.” “I think you should shut up and put a cock in tha t mouth.” * * * The y go outside regardless of the wea ther, sta ying under the enormous stone a wning even when it is raining or snowing. Toda y Isis and Ca yla, two of the three g irls in Mr. Bell’s class, are chasing Moses, a round faced African American boy, and Omar, a stout Hispanic boy from New Orleans. Omar pulls a t his jeans as he trots, keeping them up just below his waist. Moses sprints far ahead. Isis and Jovanna run with their arms outstretched, their screams echoing across the pla y area. The pursuit ripples through a f ootball game directed b y the g ym teacher, Coach Dan. He throws the ball far of f to one of the younger kids, and Isis dodges him, tripping and falling f la t on the cold pa v ement. Moses and Omar point a t her laughing, and she brushes her knees of f as she stomps over to them. Words f l y. Faces stretch. Isis’ scream bounces several times of f the stone walls piercing ears and turning ever ything into slow motion. She sits cross leg ged on the g round and sobs into her palms. Ca yla ca tches up to Isis. The two are together, but Isis doesn’t acknowledge Ca yla. Coach Dan calls over Moses and Omar. A line f orms on the teacher’s f orehead. The y shrug their shoulders. “She ain’t cr ying like tha t cause of nothing, so you better tell me wha t ha ppened bef ore I call your mother.” After mumbling something to Coach Dan, Omar a pproaches Isis. He sa ys “I’m sorr y” like an accusa tion. Isis jerks back up and holds up her arms defensivel y. “I don’t want your sorr y—callin’ me a bitch


17 and a ho f or no reason.” She screams a t Omar. He backs a wa y quickl y, joining Moses on the other side of the pla yg round. Isis leans a gainst the wall. The basketball the second g raders are pla ying with hits her on the f oot, and she sna tches it. She walks outside the pla y area, bouncing the ball hard a gainst the g round. A little boy runs up to her, holding up his hands. “He y, g ive it here!” Isis frowns and turns around. “Come on, g ive it back.” The small boy comes closer to her and she jolts back. “NO.” “It’s not even yours!” “It’s mine now.” “Give it back!” She leans over like a ha wk, screeching, “It’s MINE!” The small boy crumples.

* * *

“I want a g old f ish b ec a us e i t i s g o l d a nd i t s w i m s a n d it n eed s t o be f ed an d it liv es in a ta nk s o m e ti m e s i t ha s o the r colors lik e bla c k an d wh it e an d I w i s h I ha d a go l d fi s h the ta nk w as 1 1 inc hes . ” Wr iti ng s a m pl e fro m Jo va un ’s w o rd p roces s or.

* * * “Did you hear a bout Frida y with Isis?” “No, I wasn’t here,” Miss Montana tells Mr. Bell. “Well, Isis’ fa ther came in because Isis had been roaming around the halls f or an hour or so. By th en, she had come back to the class, and he takes her just outside

the door wa y. He starts yelling a t her, right? And she mouths of f right back to him. Then—get this—he sla ps her—right across the face.” “No!” “Yeah, and the kids all see it. The y’re talking a bout it the rest of the da y. Oh Isis, got sla pped b y her daddy. I’m still expecting phone calls from p arents.” “The y won’t care.” “But I couldn’t handle it. I went down to Mr. Romero, and I’m like I gotta report this man, and he just laughs—he laughs! This is m y license on the line, too, so I sa y if you’re not gonna report it, I will. I mean, if he’s gonna sla p her across the face in a classroom full of kids, just ima g ine wha t he’s gonna do when the y get home! My stomach was turning all weekend.” “Child Protective Ser vices would pro ba bl y just come and check up on ‘em, but I still can’t believe tha t.” “And he wouldn’t report. Ima g ine if FOX got a hold of tha t.” “Well, sometimes I think it makes ‘em harder. But definitel y not in public. Tha t’s just out of place. You do tha t a t home.” “But you know, it doesn’t work—hitting. It doesn’t teach them how to act. It just g ives ‘em a limit to work with. And I can’t deal with tha t here. She’s ra g ing a t all the other kids, and a t home, Dad’ll just sla p her across the face, but he’s gonna ha ve to keep doing tha t the rest of her life because she doesn’t know wha t’s the right beha vior. The y just learn how to get hit, you know, so it’s not as bad as the last time. The y take it in all this hitting and it’s gonna come out somewhere. Usuall y, tha t’s here, and it messes with the other kids.” * * *


MR. BELLLET’S GET THE VINEGAR SO MISS MONTANA AND I CAN MAKE THE VOLCANO. —DEREK

The kids g ig gle and make faces while the music teacher hits the higher notes. Oh sing ing’ come on up, uh-huh huh, I got a life-line. Come on up to this train of mine. Come on up, uh-huh huh, I got a life line Come on up to this train of mine She said her name was Harriet Tubman, And she drove f or the Underg round Railroad.

A note Mr. Bell keeps in his shirt pocket. He sa ys, “It’s things like this tha t keep me going.” * * * Turner Elementar y hired a new music teacher in the last few months, and several of the f ourth g rade classrooms ha ve been invited to take the elective, including Mr. Bell’s class. Music is held in the auditorium, near the entrance of the school, opposite Mr. Bell’s classroom. “GET IN LINE, ISIS! Stop actin’ a f ool!” Her nose up in the air, she nods her head as she ambles slowl y into line. “I’m not gonna wait here all da y...” Mr. Bell sa ys. A stack of newspa pers sits outside the auditorium door, and the boys, Jeremiah Wilson, Omar, and Moses, shuf f le through them, opening the pa pers wide and pretending to read them with puzzled expressions. I’ll sing the first verse f or you. So listen to the words.” “Just get going, and tr y not to stop.” He takes a sea t next to Jeremiah Wilson. Isis is leaning back in her sea t and staring up a t the ceiling. “You, you there!” She sa ys, leaning out to Isis. “Wha t’s her name?” “Isis, sit up straight.” Mr. Bell sa ys. She sucks her teeth. “I thought we’d start with a song a bout—excuse me!” Derek is blowing raspberries, his arms crossed. Isaac smirks a t him devilishl y. “You can not be spitting into m y face; tha t’s rude!” the music teacher screeches. “Damn, calm down,” Jeremiah Wilson interrupts, “He does tha t to ever ybody.” “Jeremiah, I know you don’t want me to take a wa y junior coach toda y. Sta y out of other people’s business.” “Damn, you’re f orcin’ it I was just tr ying to tell her—“ “I think you should just keep moving.” Mr. Bell sa ys to her, shaking his head. She strums a few chords on her guitar. “Oka y, then. Well I thought we’d do a song a bout Harriet Tubman. I’ll sing the first verse f or you. So listen to the words.” One night I dreamed I was in sla ver y ‘Bout 1850 was the time Sorrow was the onl y sign Nothing around to ease m y mind. Out of the night a ppeared a lady Leading a distant Pilg rim band “First ma te” she yelled, pointing her hand. “Make room a board f or this young woman”

Isis starts dancing along in her sea t, sna pping her fingers jokingl y. “Alright, now ever yone sings along, too.” She strums the chords a gain, and goes back into the verse. The boys look around a t each other, smiling. The y sit back in their sea ts with their arms crossed. None of them open their mouths to sing, except Jeremiah Wilson, who is bellowing a t the top of his lungs the wrong notes and the wrong l yrics. He puts on a show f or his friends. On the other hand, Isis and Jovanna start sing ing the high notes, cla pping along to the rhythm. The music teacher smiles, and teaches them the rest of the words. By the end, Isis has all of the words memorized, and she is dancing in her sea t, cla pping along, and ta pping on the chair. Unfazed b y the boys, Isis closes her e yes and sings, her arms outstretched a bove her, reaching. *All n am es h a v e b een ch an g ed .


19

SHUFFLING TO IFRANE by Katherine Curley (LSOE 2011) She She She She She

didn’t ask my name didn’t speak my language didn’t say anything just offered me cinnamon sugar pecans was deliciously nutty

Her eyes sparkled more Than my favorite pair of earrings I wore On the plane to ensure their safety Wouldn’t it be great if my eyes were diamonds? That spread wealth past the scratched plastic windows itching to overflow Into the heaps of garbage— They call home Alas, the scratches are only from suitcase— Diamonds artificial only made to be in transition I walk out of the train The air is cleaner Yet, The man with a suitcase adds his can to the garbage on the ground


VISIONS FROM IMPRISONMENT

by Amanda Duggan (A&S 2012)


21 A small boy in an oversized baseball jerse y g rips the ch ain-link fence with one hand and holds a toy telephone in the other, straining to see through to the yard of the prison. Through the la yers of barbed wire, he barel y makes out the sha pe of a black man in an orange suit, f lanked b y two white men in unif orm. From the title of the piece, we can read the boy’s mind: “Where is Daddy?” Separa tion from their families is just one of the man y hardships endured b y prison inma tes. Once you are convicted of a crime, ever y scra p of dignity and humanity is taken a wa y from you. You cannot make an y decisions f or yourself: wha t you ea t, where you go, who you can talk to, and when you can sleep are all dicta ted b y ro utine. Ever ything from phone calls to time spent outside is super vised, timed, and confined. Life is restricted to the basics, and you can no longer enjoy an y of the things tha t make you human. As outsiders, we are oblivious to those conditions. We tend to see criminals as onl y criminals and nothing else. We ignore tha t, like us, the y ha ve parents, friends, siblings, a husband or wife, and children. The y, too, enjoy sports and music. Surrounded b y cement, iron, and

men to displa y their work and share their stories with a wider audience through exhibits, presenta tions, and the Art f or Justice website Based in Harle ysville, Art f or Justice has its orig ins in a local school benefit event. Inma tes from the local prison dona ted their artwork to be sold a t the benefit, with all proceeds going to the school. This is where Anne Marie Kirk first encountered the work of Charles La wson. She bought his painting of a young g irl in a refugee camp, and wrote to La wson to thank him f or the painting. She also told him tha t she believed “his work, and the work of other inma tes, could be used to promote Social Justice, to g ive back to their communities something of value tha t in some small measure ma y a tone f or the wrongs tha t were done.” Together, Kirk and La wson co-f ounded Art f or Justice to do just tha t. The opera tion, Kirk sa ys, is mainl y an individual ef f ort “to make a dif ference in a situa tion which I consider a g rea t ma tter of injustice in this countr y.” She befriended La wson and his famil y, and began visiting hi m a t Gra terf ord SCI. Since then La wson has become a close friend, and Kirk has contacted several other prisoners. To this da y, Kirk visits La wson as a priva te citizen, and

darkness, the y become dehumanized. Self-expression is a huge part of wha t distinguishes us from other animals. Langua ge, symbo lism, social organiza tion, and art are among the man y wa ys tha t we express our humanity. When these things are taken a wa y from us, we lose sight of wha t makes us human. There are a number of ef f orts toda y to return some humanity to prison inma tes across the countr y. These ef f orts can provide inma tes with a wa y to express their emotions, their vision of life, their hopes and dreams, and share them with others. One example is an organiza tion called Art f or Justice. The painting of the boy was done b y prisoner Daniel Gwynn and is displa yed b y Art f or Justice, a g rassroots non-profit tha t uses artwork crea ted b y inma tes to encoura ge public dialogue a bout the criminal justice system and comba t the dehumaniza tion the y experience. Through Art f or Justice, 16 prisoners in the Gra terf ord Prison and Greene SCI in southeastern Pennsylvania ha ve been using art as a crea tive outlet f or years, selling their works and using the profits to buy more supplies. Art f or Justice provides a venue f or the

corresponds with the others through letters, discussing their art, their hardships, and their lives. Since its crea tion, the organiza tion has g rown to include 16 inma tes, and a supportive Board of Directors tha t keep it running. Outside of the prison, Kirk brings the issue to people across the sta te. Since 1997, she has put together man y exhibits of the artwork, including as much input as she can from the artists themselves. Collectivel y, these exhibits ha ve been hosted in f orty-eight venues across the sta te, both as a part of larger exhibitions and as an exhibit on its own. “Assembling the works f or exhibit also g ives g rea ter meaning and power to the work, delivering a messa ge to all the people who see it,” sa ys Kirk on her website. The exhibits and presenta tions al wa ys include an inf orma tive prog ram a bout the criminal justice system as a wa y to raise a wareness and promote discussion of prison-rela ted issues. In addition, Art f or Justice holds workshops f or youth called Road Ma p f or Life. In this workshop, held five times so far, high-risk youth are encoura ged to “identify their strengths, understand the legal consequences of high risk beha viors, and learn to

“T h a nks to you who have seen my a rt and b e e n touched i n one way or a n ot he r and all owi ng m e to expre ss my d e e p e st feel i ngs wi th you.”


make choices tha t lead to constructive lifestyles” through the work of Charles La wson. La wson himself has had a large inf luence in bu ilding the youth prog ram, which highlights something special a bout Art f or Justice: the prisoners ha ve some control. The website provides inf orma tion a bout man y other small organiza tions tha t are working f or more humane trea tment of prisoners, but Art f or Justice is trul y unique in its a pproach. The heart of the organiza tion lies with the prisoners themselves. The y pla y a ke y role in designing the exhibits, writing f or presenta tions, and crea ting the educa tional prog rams. The y are empowered to use their own voice to enlighten the public. With Kirk’s help, the y can reach be yond the walls tha t contain them. In essence, the y are making the call f or justice. The scene in Daniel Gwynn’s painting “Where is Daddy?” showing a boy g rowing up essentiall y fa therless is not uncommon in reality (The Na tional Resource Center of Children and Families of the Incarcera ted estima te tha t 2 million children in the U.S. ha ve a t least once parent in jail). Another of Gwynn’s works fea tures a pair of handcuf fs with a man sitting on the f loor of a cell inside one cuf f and a woman, presuma bl y his wife or g irlfriend, holding a child in the other. These pieces tell the stor y of families across the countr y, torn a part b y metal bars. George Lopez, an artist a t Greene SCI, uses cartoons to tell his stor y. Lopez was arrested and convicted of a crime he contends he did not commit, and continues to fight f or his innocence and hopefull y his

release. In the meantime, he expresses his frustra tion, anger, and faith through his cartoon of Ernie, an imprisoned dog who maintains his claim of innocence and never g ives up hope tha t one da y he will be a ble to prove it. In one dra wing, Ernie, in ta ttered clothes and holding a sack, despera tel y asks, “God, where are You now?” A second shows Ernie with a fellow prisoner in their jail unif orms, smiling, with the ca ption, “Refusing to quit.” Despite the ball and chains around their ankles, the y, like Lopez, cling to the hope tha t one da y the y will prove their innocence so tha t the y can return to their families. Lopez’s art is the vehicle through which he copes with his pain. The sta tement tha t accompanies his art does not portra y outra ge or resentment regarding his situa tion. Instead, Lopez merel y sa ys, “Thanks to you who ha ve seen m y art and been touched in one wa y or another and allowing me to express m y deepest feelings with you.” Not onl y has art become an outlet f or him, but also it provided a connection to a supporter outside his cell walls. His cartoons were printed in Gra terfriends, the prison newspa per, which Kirk sa w in the lob b y. Knowing he had no contact with famil y or friends, she wrote to him. The friendship is completel y based on letters. Lopez sa ys of Kirk, “She shown me a hope tha t I ha ve never come across and ga ve such unconditional friendship, tha t… I consider her more like a sister than a friend.” Their correspondence, inspired b y Lopez’s art, has provided him with a fundamental human need: friendship. Kirk is a compassiona te realist.“I understood tha t there are individuals who must be locked up f or their own safety and the safety of others,” she sa ys. “I also understood tha t society must be vig ilant a bout who we “lock up” and why.” Regardless of a prisoner’s innocence or guilt, Art f or Justice strives to provide them with the humanity the y deser ve. “Legal rights must be steadfastl y adhered to, conditions of confinement must be humane, and there must be accounta bility f or the prog rams within the locked setting,” she asserts. Perha ps representa tion of their pain and strug gle is the most powerful resource prisoners ha ve. The y do not ha ve to rel y solel y on the compassion of others to speak f or them. Instead, with help from organiza tions like Art f or Justice, the y can express themselves. Thoug h bars close these men of f from society, we hear their voices through their artwork. Reintroducing art into the lives of prisoners g ives them a chance to be human a gain. And tha t is a feeling tha t ever y living person deser ves. The next Art f or Justice exhibit will be held in September of 2011 a t Widener University in Chester, PA . For more inf orma tion, visit the website a t www.artf orjustice.org.


BOSTON COLLEGE

SERVICE & IMMERSION

TRIP CALENDAR

Every year, Boston College sends nearly 1,000 students on service trips across the nation and around the globe. But where do they go and what are they doing?

Campus Ministry Arrupe International Program

The Arrupe prog ram sends a bout 120 volunteers to dif ferent countries in La tin America where the y learn a bout the realities, hopes and strug gles of those living in situa tions of economic, political or social marg inaliza tion. Destina tions include Ecuador; Agua Prieta, Mexico; El Salvador; Gua temala; Puebla, Mexico; Nogales, Mexico; Nicara gua, Belize.

Intersections Program Gulf Coast Service Trip

Each winter, the Intersections Prog ram sends out a bout 15 students, who ha ve participa ted in Halftime, to volunteer in areas of the Gulf Coast tha t are still strug gling to recover from the e f fects of Hurricane Ka trina. Contact: Brendan Sa ge a t brendan.sa ge.1@bc.edu

Contact: Kell y S ardon-Garrity a t arrupqst@bc.edu

Campus Ministry Urban Immersion: Boston, MA

Over winter break, a bout 25 underg radua tes spend seven da ys living in a Boston hostel, learning a bout and participa ting in the lives of those most af fected b y the complex social issues of systemic poverty and homelessness. Contact: Fr. Don MacMillan a t macmilld@bc.edu

Lynch School of Education Natchez Service Trip

The participants on this trip meet and interact with students, teachers, and administra tors of the Hol y Famil y Ca tholic School. Participants also assess the ma terial needs of the school; help improve the school’s physical condition; and make dona tions. Contact: Tracy Eisenhauer a t eisenha t@bc.edu

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School of Arts and Sciences

Volunteer and Service Learning Center

About 12 A&S students spend two weeks living a t Sa bina Primar y Boarding School f or Orphans in Uganda each winter. There, the y make visits to community organiza tions and learn a bout the Ugandan culture. Held eve r y other year.

In the fall, students and staf f from the Jemez and Zia Pueblos tra vel to BC f or a week. In Januar y, a g roup of BC students tra vel to Jemez Pueblo and ser ve the community.

Uganda Service Experience

Contact: Dr. Ricco Siasoco a t ricco.siasoco@bc.e du

Jemez Pueblo Service & Immersion Program

Contact: Dr. Thomas Ka plan-Maxfield a t Th omas.ka planmaxfield@bc.edu

School of Arts and Sciences

Campus Ministry

This fall course is designed to prepare students to bet ter understand the Israeli/Palestinian conf lict. The course includes a study/immersion trip in Januar y to Israel/ Palestine, in order to bear witness to the suf ferings and streng ths of occupied communities. Taken together, the seminar, study trip, and project should allow students to test their ca pacity f or using their educa tion to s er ve the world.

Ever y year, 36 student led trips – made up of over 600 students – are sent out to the Appalachian Reg ion f or spring break. While on their trips, students participa te in either a Ha bita t f or Humanity prog ram o r communityoriented ser vice project and enga ge in nightl y ref lections. Destina tions include West Virg inia, Virg inia, New York, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, North Carolina, Ohio, New Orleans, and Mississippi.

Israel/Palestine Program

Appalachia Volunteers

Contact: Dr. Eve Spangler a t eve.spangler@bc.ed u

Contact: Tamera Liddell a t a ppalachia@bc.edu

AHANA Leadership Council Volunteer Corps

Mississippi Service Trip

Carroll School of Management Honors Service Trip to New Orleans

Contact: alcvolunteercorps@gmail.com

Contact: Erica Garf a t erica.garf@bc.edu

Campus Ministry

Connell School of Nursing

Participants of this trip, a bout 10 students and 1 Jesuit, explore faith while working a t a home esta blished f or dis a bled children in the Domincan Republic.

The School of Nursing sends 10 volunteers to Nicara gua each spring where the y spend 12 da ys working a t a community clinic and touring healthcare rela ted sites.

The Volunteer Corps is a student-run organiza tion under The AHANA Leadership Council of Boston College. This organiza tion sponsors an annual ser vice trip during win ter break to the Mississippi Delta reg ion through Teach f or America.

Dominican Republic Service Trip

Contact: Fr. Frank Herrmann, S.J. a t herrmanf@b c.edu

Lynch School of Education

Dominican Republic Service & Immersion Trip

On this trip, 10-12 students tra vel to Santo Domingo to study the schools in the Dominican system and interact with the community. Contact: Tracy Eisenhauer a t eisenha t@bc.edu

Fifteen members of the CSOM Honors Prog rams tra vel to New Orleans, Louisiana. In conjunction with the St. Bernard Project, these students help the victims of Hurricane Ka trina. The students are also g iven the opportunity to explore the rich and diverse culture of New Orleans.

Nicaragua Service Trip

Contact: Ronna Krozy and Joyce Pulcini at ronna.krozy.71@ bc.edu

Lynch School of Education

Jamaica Mustard Seed Trip

Over spring break, 15 BC students enga ge in a “ministr y of presence” in Jamaica and simpl y of fer their time and a bilities to the community. Contact: Dr. Alec Peck a t peck@bc.edu


25

Connell School of Nursing

School of Arts and Sciences

The school of nursing sends volunteers on a medical mission trip to Haiti. The volunteers will set up a clinic to ser ve the community.

The A&S Sociolog y Department sends a bout 12 students to San Juan del Sur each spring. Participants work main l y a t local pre-schools, elementar y schools and health clinics.

Haiti Service Trip

Service Immersion Trip: Nicaragua

Contact: Donna Cullinan a t donna.cullinan@bc.edu Contact: Dr. Mike Malec a t michael.malec@bc.edu

Campus Ministries Summer Arrupe Program

Cuernavaca, Mexico

In this summer Arrupe prog ram, students learn a bout the realities, hopes and strug gles of those living in situa tions of economic, political or social marg inaliza tion. Contact: Fr. Don MacMillan a t macmilld@bc.edu

Lynch School of Education

El Salvador

Over the summer, students tra vel to El Salvador to learn a bout the economic and political realities of the area and, more specificall y, to explore the challenges facing Salvad oran youth. Contact: Tracy Eisenhauer a t eisenha t@bc.edu

School of Arts and Sciences

Ghana Service Immersion Trip

For a few weeks ever y other summer, BC students tra vel to Gha na where the y assist teachers a t a computer camp and learn a bout the Ghanaian culture and community.

InterVarsity Asian Christian Fellowship

Katrina Relief Urban Plunge

During spring break, volunteers will be sent to New Orleans to rebuild homes with well esta blished g roups like Ha bita t f or Humanity and St. Bernard’s Project. The trip also includes g roup discussions and guest speakers to explore the intersection of Christian faith and ser vice. Contact: bc.iv.acf@gmail.com

Intersections Program

Jamaica Summer Trip

The Intersections Prog ram sends a g roup of BC students to Jamaica each summer where the y teach basic read ing, g rammar, ma th, arts & crafts and sports to Jamaican children in Annotto Ba y. Contact: jamaicasummer@bc.edu

Volunteer and Service Learning Center

N i c a ra g u a Fa c u l t y / S t a f f Immersion Trip

Faculty and staf f on this trip explore global justice issues to f oster their understanding of how faith and justice are associa ted with the Jesuit mission in higher educa tion.

Contact Inf o: Dr. Kwasi Sarkodie-Mensah a t kwasi.sarkodie-mensah@bc.edu

Contact: Daniel Ponsetto a t ponsetto@bc.edu


SAFE AMONG SURVIVORS by Thomas Belton (A&S 2013)

It’s 6:00. It’s time to get serious; time to let it all out . Jokes are f or five minutes a go; small talk is to be sa ved f or two hours. This is important. The well-being of thirty-two misunderstood, underprivileged women is a t stake. Though the y range from teena gers to sixty year-old g randmothers, the y all share the same a ttitude right now. “My name is Dakota, and I’m an alcoholic.” Dakota is a leader. She is fighting to get her kids back. The peanut galler y murmurs, “Hi, Dakota.” “I’m Sam, I’m an addict.” Same response. Sam has been dia gnosed with bi-polar disorder. She strug gles mightil y in coping with her addiction. “Hi ever ybody, I’m Cynthia, and I’m a sur vivor.” “Hi, Cynthia.” Cynthia is a senior resident. She is scared, and al wa ys asks a male to walk an ywh ere with her. All the trash-talking, all the drama, and all the obstacles tha t the cruel outside world has thrown their wa y are now irrelevant. The y’re safe in this particular Women and Children Center conference room. The y’re sa fe in one of the roughest urban neighborhoods in the countr y. Uncertainty ma y rule the rest of their lives like a tyrant, but it has no power here. The Community Meeting a t this particular prog ram takes place ever y Th ursda y a t 6:00 p.m. One of eighteen prog ra ms run b y the organiza tion, this prog ram is a harmreduction trea tment center f or thirty-two women recovering from addiction. Basicall y, harm-reduction trea tment prog ra ms deal with women “where the y’re a t” in their recover y. There are no drug-tests a t the house, but drugs are ob viousl y f orbidden. Rela pse is onl y the beg inning of their worries, and the Community Meeting covers issues rang ing from hea ting bills to warrants and ever yt hing in between. John, the Prog ram Director a t The Shepherd House, runs the first portion of the meeting. Despite the

wrinkles on his face and the thinning of his hair, John is young and spritel y. With passion exceeded onl y b y his leadership, John brings up an important issue: funding. With voting right around the corner in the fall, John mentions Question 1: the repeal of taxes on alco hol. This tax is one of the most important sources of “non-dona tion” funding. John asks if an yone will be a vaila ble to hold up signs supporting “No to Question 1” a t the polls on voting da y. Expecta tions and stereotypes of addicts would lead people to believe tha t Joe is a bout to get laughed a t. Most people believe tha t addicts are lazy. Most people don’t think “self less” is part of an addict’s voca bular y. But tonight there is overwhelming support f or his request. If there’s one thing to take a wa y from these meetings it’s tha t expecta tions are best checked a t the door. Funding a t The Shepherd House is consistentl y below where it needs to be. Each woman admitted to one of the prog ram’s three houses either has an income or is on welfare. While in residence, the y owe a certain amount of mone y f or f ood and rent ever y month. The f ood is usuall y paid f or b y their f ood-stamps, but the y’re on their own f or rent. Welfare is problema tic f or the women and trekking to and from the of fice often costs more than the welfare itself; especiall y because there are a few women who fail to receive their checks. The house goes to a special f ood drive called TJ’s to get their g roceries and it shares one maintenance worker with the rest of the eighteen houses tha t are part of a larger organiza tion throughout all of Boston. Forget a bout an y luxuries; the y strug gle to af f ord furniture and washing machines. Moving f orward, John, small in sta tu re, mentions upcoming events. The 35th annual Gra titude Dinner will be held a t a local hall the Monda y bef ore Thanksg iving. Hands shoot up bef ore he can finish. “Can we bring our famil y?” one woman asks. “Wha t if we ha ve work?” another interrupts. John’s pa tience entices you to root f or him. His


27 concise answers make you want to emula te him. He responds, “Ladies, tha t is all f or you and your counselors to figure out on your own. Ever y lady is dif ferent. We ha ve individualized trea tment plans. Wha t’s best f or one of you ma y not be the best f or all of you.” This prog ram has thirty-two definitions of an addict a t an y g iven time. The majority of the world has one, nega tive. A unique aspect of this g roup trea tment is its a bility to combine g roup thera p y with care f or the individual. At this house, there are dif ferent levels of freedom, contingent upon each client’s prog ress and preferences. When first brought to the house (from detoxifica tion, prison, the streets, or their own home), the women live in either house 22 or 24. The y do not lea ve the house f or their first seven da ys. From there, the y work on acquiring wha t is called “structured time.” This could come in the f orm of schooling, volunteer work, a job, or an Intensive Outpatient Prog ram, a dail y six-hour da ytime prog ram with manda tor y a ttendance tha t helps recovering addicts maintain a busy schedule. Structured time allows f or more freedom, the po ssibility of an “overnight pass” and a la ter curfew. It is then the counselor’s choice to decide when their clients are ready to move to the g radua te house, house 26. This is when clients become senior residents. Their responsibility g rows because the y are a t the last sta ge of the prog ram. Seniors search f or future housing options, so

The suspension will be in ef fect until next Thursda y night. Ever yone assumes tha t b y tha t time, B is likel y to be back on the streets. By tha t time, f or all the y know, she might ha ve g iven up. The y’re all worried. Their safety is a bout to be yet a gain in jeopardy. At a bout 6:40, John turns it over to the PULSE students from Boston College. With little conviction in their voices and timid body langua ge, the adolescents present a fun game to lighten the spirits bef ore the madness tha t is twenty minutes a wa y ensues. Th e y present a contest, breaking the women up into f our teams. After equall y distributing twelve rolls of toilet pa per, the students tell each team to select a candida te. Each team is to dress their candida te in a wedding dress comprised of these three rolls of toilet pa per. Fifteen minutes to construct, then five minutes to judge. Then the fun’s over. Laughter conquers even the g rimmest clients, and the y ha ve a ball working in teams. Roselle wins because of her veil, which was intrica tel y made b y Ya ya, argua bl y the craftiest of the bunch. The prize f or them is candy. The prize f or the staf f is seeing the clients work through adversity and ha ve a laugh. The y know tha t f or now, the y’re safe. Ka yla, B’s counselor, pulls B aside. Ka yla was impressed b y B’s a bility to block out the bad news and enjoy the fun part of the meeting. She has g iven her individual

Uncertainty may rule the rest of their lives like a tyrant, but it has no power here. If there’s one thing to take away from these meetings it’s that expectations are best checked at the door. tha t when the y complete their f our to six month sta y the y prog re ss to another sober house or transition back into society on their own. The women are required to a ttend five outside AA or NA meetings ever y week, health permitting. There are between eight and ten senior residents who decide which meetings to a ttend, usuall y providing two options ever y night. This past week, there were between twelve and fifteen women sta ying a t the house ever y night, man y more than usual. It’s 6:20. Eyes are starting to wander; people are starting to lose pa tience. Obser vers are dreading 7:00. Their worlds are a bout to be f lipped upside-down. Meanwhile, John has moved on. After a few precautions a bout sa ving on the hea ting bill and turning of f all lights when no one is in the room, he drops a bombshell. Joh n tells the women tha t since the senior residents are not taking the other women to outside meetings, no one is allowed to a ttend outside meetings until the system is fixed. To some, like Ka thleen*, who limps due to a missing hip, this does not ma tter. To others, like “B”, who goes to seven outside meetings a week, this is devasta ting. “This is a community. It isn’t fair to those who cannot go to meetings b y themselves to not be presented with fa vora ble options.” John tells them.

permission to a ttend outside meetings. She did this because during intake, the first thing clients do after being admitted, B stressed the importance of outside meetings to her recover y. B must ha ve said tha t ha ving a constructive place to go ever y night kept her out of trouble. She must ha ve said she needed tha t structure in order to maintain f ocus on sobriety. John wishes the women a safe rest of the night. He and the rest of the staf f go back across the street to their of fices in the houses. One of the counselors is on the overnight shift; all other staf f is a bout to lea ve. The PULSE students sta y. After a brief cigarette break, it’s time. The second portion of the community meeting is run b y senior residents. Sometimes there are commitments; other addicts who ha ve g radua ted similar prog rams who come in to tell their stories. Commitments ha ve been less frequent as of la te, so the senior residents elect someone to tell their own stor y. One of the ladies is a bout to tell her life stor y, but first the mass bands together to voice a general concern. Bef ore commitment gets under wa y, the majority of the g roup voices concern over the events of the past weekend. This past weekend was an a bsolute joke. Ladies who weren’t supposed to lea ve the house left, ladies came back high, g irls were shoot-


ing up in the ba throom. It is tough when the majority of this house can’t esca pe their past and accomplish wha t the y set out to do because the minority ruin it f or them. It was extremel y dif ficult f or some women to sta y s ober this weekend. Being around drugs or people on drugs is an intense trig ger f or most recovering addicts. There are no manda tor y drug tests a t this prog ram. Harm-reduction g ives clients freedom tha t is said to be healthy f or clients. Because the staf f is not suspicious of them, close rela tionships with counselors are more properl y f ormed. The downfall is tha t man y g irls a buse this privilege, and rela pse is conta g ious. Ba throo m mirrors are sometimes bloodied as a result of someone using heroin, there is occasionall y la te-night snorting of crack in the house, a lot of marijuana is consumed, and people sometimes get high during the da y instead of honoring their structured time. The majority of the women enroll in the prog ram to make an honest ef f ort to get clean after a life laced with drugs. The minority of women who are manda ted here can infect the majority, and sometimes failure ensues. On occasion, after a weekend such as last weekend (Halloween), the staf f hears of the misb eha vior and prepares to clean house. The y evict up to twelve women a t a time. Ner ves are high when this time comes. The women are scared; unsure if their safety net is a bout to be dropped from under them. Cynthia calms ever yone down. She’s reser ved, quiet, almost a moth er figure. She al wa ys is outs ide smoking cigarettes with ever yone, and responds to their problems with wha t is almost certainl y a word-f or-word reference to a Narcotics Anon ymous book. She is a ged. By looking a t her, you know she’s terrified. “My name’s Cynthia, and I’m a sur vivor,” she starts. “Hi, Cynthia,” the others respond. “Alright, I’ll make this short. I was born in Croa tia to two parents. I don’t like telling stories a bout m y life there. I was molested b y m y dad from the a ge of f our until I was fifteen. I ga ve birth to a kid during tha t time. She lives in Florida, and I tr y to send her mone y as often as I can.” Cynthia is on all sorts of welfare. She is al wa ys la te on ren t. “I moved a wa y from Croa tia and came here. I met a charming guy, and we started da ting. He was the first positive male in m y life…f or a short time. We both started to turn to drugs, and tha t’s when it got violent. He f orced me to work f or him as a drug dealer, and I would sell and smug gle drugs ever y which wa y. At night, he would bea t me senseless. One n ight it was with a two-b y-f our. One of the g rea test da ys of m y life was when we both got arrested. I was finall y free from him when I was in jail. Then we both got out. My husband poured a tub of hot g rease all over me, and I ran a wa y. The next time I sa w him I bea t him with a wea pon, and went to jail f or it. He visited me in jail to tell me tha t our son had been brutall y murdered.” Tearing up, she continues, “He promised me tha t the when I got out of jail he’d kill me. I can’t walk an ywhere without some sort of bodyguard an ymore. It’s ridiculous. Rela pse is a worr y of mine, but fear of murder is al wa ys on m y mind.”

It’s been a long night. Cynthia finishes her stor y. She is a bout to g radua te, and will continue to thrive, contrar y to the la bel put on alcoholics and drug-addicts. Hugs are shared. Tears are shed. It’s your a vera ge Thursda y a t this recover y home. Worries a bout who made a mess in the kitchen are best sa ved f or la ter. For now, ever yone is safe. For now, the y positivel y demonstra te g roup recover y. For now, the y’re all sur vivors. *All n am es h a v e b een ch an g ed .


NI & WO by Spencer Kim (LSOE 2013)

29 on the outskirts of Qingdao, China. You pass a bunch of trees, turn left a t tha t corner, make a right a t the next corner, take the bridge over some murky wa ter, and you should be in the vicinity—somewha t. Home is where m y famil y is—m y mom, m y d ad, and m y little sister. Home is where m y famil y is—m y little brothers and sisters, all thirty-five of them. Let me introduce you to one of them, his name is Zhang Jei Ming. Zhang Jei Ming is his legal name, g iven to him b y his parents. Hunter is his American name, g iven to him b y volunteers. Zhang Jei Ming has a mother, but no longer a fa ther. Hunter is m y little brother, a brother I get to see two (three if I’m lucky) weeks out of the year. Zhang Jei Ming is a son, a son who sees his mother once a year, a t best. Four years a go, I met Hunter f or the first time. Summer of 2007 Driving through the open ga tes of Sarang House, we’re g reeted b y children wa ving with all their might. Some kids are accompanied b y adults, some are in wheelchairs, some are on crutches, and some are jumping up and down. Some are here because their parents couldn’t af f ord to take care of them; some are here because their parents a bandoned them; some were f ound on the streets; some were dropped of f here. But as we drive in, the y’re all smiling and wa ving franticall y. It’s as if the y’re tr ying to fit in a year’s worth of “hellos” into one moment. I’m part of a g roup of fifteen from a Los Angeles church, here to love and ser ve this orphana ge. I wonder if I will be a ble to connect with these kids. Will the y like me? Will I be a ble to communica te with them? The bus comes to a stop and kids f lock the door. As our g roup files out, you can tell who’s been here and who hasn’t. The kids remember ever yone who’s been here bef ore, joyousl y yelling out their names. For the next two weeks, we will invest in the lives of the thirty kids who call this place home. From the hour the rooster crows (usuall y around 7 A.M.) to when the kids shuf f le to their rooms to sleep, we will be with them, making the most of ever y precious minute we ha ve.

Take a journe y with me. This journe y is a bout 9,754 miles from home. Home is Torrance, Calif ornia. 9,754 miles a wa y is Qingdao, China. This is also home. Home is a single-stor y blue house on the busy street of Ha wthorne Boulevard. Home is Sarang House (House of Love), an orphana ge

It’s one thirty in the afternoon, “English time,” when we pair up with the kids to tutor them in English. I’m sitting there, tr ying to seem occupied but reall y loo king to see if an y of the kids need a tutor. Nine-year-old Hunter is sitting of f to the side with his ta ttered g reen Mead notebook. I a pproach. In the most terrible Chinese he’s proba bl y ever heard, I sa y, “Ni Hao, Ni de mi ngzi?”—“Hi, wha t’s your name?” I already know his name, but tha t’s all I remember in Chinese. “Wo de mingzi Spencer”—“My name is Spencer,” I remember how to sa y tha t in Chinese


too. And then, tha t’s it. I revert to English. I honestl y don’t remember how we communica ted, but we did. I tried to teach him an assortment of basic words using dra wings or pointing out objects. For “tree,” I drew a tree. For “a pple,” I drew an a pple. For “hair,” I pointed to his hair. You get the idea. Throughout the two weeks, I constantl y looked f orward to those two hours during the da y when I would sit down with Jei-Ming and his notebook. Stumbling over the pronuncia tion of the “u-a-r-y” in “Januar y,” the “e-p-t” in “September,” and being a ble to sa y “hung-hao!”—“good job” a t the end. This was the start of a ver y fulfilling rela tionship with nine-year-old Zhang Jei-Ming, who studied English ever y da y with me. Hunter was smart—so smart. He soaked in English words much faster than his peers. He loved bugs, as did all the kids, g irls and boys alike. The y loved ca tching cicadas, sna pping of f the tips of their wings so the y couldn’t f l y a wa y, and just holding them in their hands or clipping them onto their clothes. Sometimes, the y would get adventurous and throw those massive bugs onto us. I taught Hunter Sticks, a game you pla y with your fingers. I taught him how to ha ve a thumb war. I taught him how to pla y various versions of rock-pa per-scissors. Wha tever fun and easy activity I could teach without actuall y verbalizing the rules, I passed on to him. It’s time to sa y goodb ye. He hands me a bracelet he made during one of our craft sessions. Goodb ye. I hope to see you a gain. Summer of 2008 It is so good to see Hunter a gain. He is a little taller. His hair is shorter. He is ten now. He still loves to pla y Sticks. He still loves to pla y rock-pa per-scissors. He still loves a good thumb war. I learn tha t his mother, a devout Christian, had brought Zhang Jei-Ming to the orphana ge in the hopes tha t he would be raised in a Christian environment. Had he sta yed home, his g randfa ther, a witch doctor of sorts in the villa ge, would ha ve passed his position down to Hunter, his onl y heir. I learn tha t Hunter is one of the top students a t his school, excelling in almost all of his subjects. I am so proud. Had I tutored him during the school year? No. Had I helped him with homework? No. But, I am proud. I am glad tha t he is excelling a gainst such g rea t odds. I continue to tutor him in English. I’m tr ying to be more interactive and crea tive this time with f lashcards . On one side of the f lashcard is the English word and on the other side is a picture of it. The objective of this educa tional game is to look a t the ima ge and sa y wha t it is in English—brilliant, no? He’s smart as ever, picking up words like it’s nobody’s business. I love m y time here a t the orphana ge. The two weeks I

spend here, I feel so utterl y content and a t ease—ever y single da y, ever y single moment is so fulfilling and worthwhile. Yes, it is sweltering hot and I’m showering in m y swea t. Yes, the cicadas will not be quiet. Yes, the squa tters and the showers here are not the most convenient. But the kids, the kids make ever ything so worthwhile. Being a ble to invest in the life of Hunter is such an incredible blessing. It is an incredible feeling to come back one year la ter and ha ve all the kids remember your name, to come back one year la ter and know tha t the y are waiting f or you. I simpl y of fer m y time and compan y and the kids respond with such enthusiasm and love. Whether it be ca tching bugs with them, ea ting with them, pushing them on the swings, washing their dishes, or even just falling asleep on the f loor of the multi-purpose room with them, ever y single moment is so worthwhile. But, I wish I could go deeper. I wish I could talk to Hunter a bout more serious ma tters. I wish I could ask him a bout his strug gles. I wish I could understand when he rambles to me in Chinese. It’s time to sa y goodb ye. He hands me a card with f oam letter stickers stuck onto it. These stickers are from a craft we did during our sta y. The letters spell out “H-U-NE-R.” I’m guessing he lost the letter “T.” Undernea th his a ttempt a t writing his name, he has written, “I loyes you.” I’m guessing he tried to spell “I love you,” but made the line on his “v” a little too long and added an “s.” I take of f a robot ke ychain from m y backpack and g ive it to him. Two weeks ha ve never felt so short. Summer of 2009 I am home a gain. The sound of these kids tr ying to sa y m y name, “Spancer,” is such a welcoming sound. Hunter looks as skinn y as ever. His hair is longer. He is eleven now. I tell him to cut his hair and he g ives me the usual g rin and an “Oh nooooo.” He sticks out two fingers, initia ting a game of Sticks. He loves this game. I purposel y lose f or him and he triumphantl y throws his hands up in the air. “Oh! I win! Yes! Spencer, oh yes-s-s-s!” Joy so simpl y f ound. I learn tha t Hunter has not been doing as we ll as he can in his studies. I worr y. Hunter has to succeed in school. Already a t a disadvanta ge as an orphan, Hunter needs to excel. I wish I could explain to him the importance of educa tion, but alas, all I can sa y to him is “hello, wha t’s your name,” “pretty,” “good,” and other basic terms. So I pra y. I pra y tha t God will g ive him wisdom and guidance. I took Chinese 1 during m y senior year of high school, in the hopes of further developing m y non-existent Chinese


31 skills. It. Is. So. Dif ficult. I tried, I reall y did. Tackling a new langua ge along with the ef fect of “senioritis” was no good. I came out with a few new words, but holding a conversa tion was still just dreams. I wish I could talk to him. I wish I could of fer more than simple conversa tion. It frustra tes me. I love m y time here a t this orphana ge, but the gloss to this place seems to be fading, or ma ybe I’m just finall y facing reality. The orphana ge is not as comf orting as it used to be, even just a year a go. The kids are going through tha t a wkward phase—puberty. The y are being rebellious and quarrelsome. I can’t see it when I’m here, but I hear it from the Director. She sa ys even Hunter has been acting up. I can’t even ima g ine.

This lack of ef f ort seems to be a widespread problem among the kids in the orphana ge. Dear God, no, please no. Hunter needs to go to college. He needs to make it through. English time is more advanced this year. I’m teaching him a song, “Ha pp y Da y” b y Tim Hughes. Going li ne b y line, we go over the chorus of the song. Then, we recite the lines, word f or word. After a few runs through the chorus, I turn on the music and we sing along. Sing ing is definitel y not Hunter’s f orte, but it is a beautiful sound nonetheless. He still loves the game Sticks. It’s incredible how man y times in a row he can pla y it and not get bored. I learn tha t in China, f or a student to go from middle school to high school, the y need to take a te st. If the y fail tha t test, then the y are rejected from a ttending high school, unless the y ha ve mone y. Mone y is power.

But, this is reality. Wha t is life like f or these kids when we lea ve? Who pushes them to study? Who is g iving them the a ttention and love the y so despera tel y need and deser ve? The Director and the teachers are here, but how much can the y reall y provide? The Director is busy taking care of the orphana ge as a whole. The teachers are mostl y a ssigned to taking care of the handica pped kids. This lea ves the rest of the kids, kids like Hunter, alone. I tell Hunter to study English ever y night. I wish I could explain m yself. He takes me to his room, pulls open his dra wer, and pulls out the robot ke ychain I ga ve him last year. It is time to sa y goodb ye. He hands me a letter f olded up like origami. It is written in Korean. He must ha ve asked Grace, one of our transla tors, f or help since she knows Chinese and Korean. It sa ys, “Spencer. Although the time we had together here was short, you ha ve taught me a lot. I think I will miss you a lot when you lea ve, teacher. I reall y hope tha t you can come back next year. Hunter.” Summer of 2010 Wha t is going on? Hunter, along with m ost of the other kids, is so much big ger than last year. The y look so much older. Growth spurts. I can’t believe how much Hunter has g rown in a year. His hair is still long. He is twelve now. He looks so much older. It hits me tha t he is g rowing, and he will continue to g row. It worries me. He is g rowing too fast. I learn tha t his studies ha ve not been improving.

All the older kids who had been preparing f or this test last year failed. Some of them were no longer a t the orphana ge. I don’t know where the y went or wha t the y are doing. The idea of these rela tionships being here one summer and gone the next is scar y. If Hunter does not pass this exam, he will most likel y not be going to high school, which means, he will proba bl y not be going to college. Tha t cannot, a bsolutel y cannot ha ppen. Hunter needs to make it out of here with good f ounda tions. He needs to be equipped with the skills necessar y to seize the world and make it his. I ma y onl y see Hunter two weeks a year but, I worr y a bout him throughout the year. I hope f or the best. I worr y a bout Hunter, but there is also Gunth er, Honghong, Yang-yang, Sam, Tomm y, Mike, Teddy, Walter, Mimi, the list goes on… I go back ever y year to share life with these kids. To provide friendship and wha tever help I can d uring those two weeks. When I’m back in the Sta tes, I th ink a bout them. Are the y doing well in school? Are the y listening to the Director? Are the y sick? Are the y learning? Are the y hang ing out with good people? I hope so. I earnestl y hope so. I pra y f or them. I hope f or them. When the going gets hard f or me, I find m y strength in the little brothers and sisters I ha ve a broad. These kids who ha ve so little ha ve pushed me to expect so much more out of life. As much as I live f or m yself, I live f or them as well. The y push me to dream big, to live boldl y, and to love boldl y. And perha ps, somewhere down the line, I’ll be a ble to dream with them.


ON THEIR OWN:

SINGLE MOTHERS SPEAK by Jaime Crowley (A&S 2011)

We were all waiting in line to clock-out from a long da y of working retail a t the crowded mall on a Frida y night. Suddenl y, someone mentioned Carl y’s* ba b y. “You ha ve a ba b y?! How old are you?” We could all hear the judgment in her voice. Even I felt ang r y. Carl y calml y replied, “Old enough.” Carl y is eigh teen and has a five month old son. She is one of the 9.8 million single mothers in America toda y. The dail y strug gles of these women are largel y ignored. No one pa ys a ttention to the reasons why the y are single mothers, the decisions the y face, the sacrifices the y are f orced to make. The life of a single mother is even more dif ficult when she is younger than twenty-five (the a vera ge a ge f or a woman to g ive birth to her first child) and is still learning and g rowing. These women do not deser ve to be ignored. The y do not deser ve to be judged. The y do not deser ve to be demoralized and humilia ted. Here is a set of sna pshots from the lives of five women whose challenges and dif ficulties ma y prompt us to pause bef ore we judge them.

HAN NAH As we sit in her living room to discuss her first pregnancy, Hannah’s face reddens as she prepares to tell her stor y. She turns to face me as she sa ys, “I miscarried three or f our times. The first time, I was sixteen. I f ound out I was pregnant and I was too scared to tell m y dad and

m y stepmother. So I told m y stepsister, who has a huge mouth, because I knew she would tell them. She told them and when I got home, the y freaked out. The y locked me in the house and took out all of the phones so I couldn’t call m y mother or the fa ther of the ba b y. The y were gonna send me to some teen pregnancy home.” Trea ted like a prisoner b y her own famil y, Hannah needed an esca pe. “I asked to call m y aunt and the y let me, so I [went to live with her].” Unf ortuna tel y, this change was not much better. Ever y adult in her life was tr ying to make decisions f or her. She felt powerless. “I called [m y boyfriend] once and was cr ying and then [m y aunt] wouldn’t let me call him an ymore. I was afraid [m y aunt] wouldn’t even let me keep m y ba b y because I wanted to move in with m y boyfriend... I was undera ge so she could do wha tever she wanted to me. I had no control over an ything. She could sa y I wasn’t taking care of m y ba b y or send me back to DSS.” Not onl y was Hannah ashamed, but she also did not even ha ve control of the situa tion. Then unexpectedl y, Hannah had a mi scarria ge. “I expected m y life to go in a dif ferent direction.” The plan was f or Hannah to drop out of high school and raise her child with the help (or more accura tel y, under the control of) her aunt. Without the responsibility of motherhood, Hannah no longer needed to be dependent on her famil y. She was a ble to finish high


33 school and regain control of her life.

MAR I A Most stories do not end like Hannah’s, because the young women usuall y do end up with a ba b y—and tha t means plans must be made. Maria is a nineteen-year-old Dominican-American g irl, pregnant with a ba b y g irl. Her protruding stomach looks like it is a bout to pop. Yet, she still has her usual huge g rin on her face. When Maria’s famil y learned a bout her pregnancy, the y were “shocked and disa ppointed,” she admits, “Especiall y because I’m the onl y g irl.” Despite their disa ppointment, Maria’s famil y a g reed to help her in raising her daughter. With their help, Maria expects to finish high school this year and continue working part-time. As f or the ba b y’s fa ther, “He’s there and not there a t the same time. If tha t makes an y sense. He’s like m y unof ficial boyfriend. He’s fine and helps me out. He g ives me mone y to go shopping. He plans on being there because he had bad experiences with his fa ther and he wants to be there f or his ba b y.” When I ask whether she feels judged, Maria sa ys, “Nobody can sa y an ything to me. The y can’t because the y know I’m ma ture. The y all had ba bies when the y were sixteen so the y can’t sa y an ything to me because I’m nineteen.” In her subculture, where motherhood usuall y comes close on the heels of earl y adolescence and where famil y is a vaila ble to lend support, Maria’s stor y doesn’t so much represent a scandal as it does a wa y of life. It would be nice to believe tha t people did not judge Maria because the y a pprecia te the challenges she faces. But even her famil y is disa ppointed tha t she didn’t mana ge to break the cycle.

LU CY Few single mothers actuall y plan to raise a child on the ir own. Toda y, a t twenty-seven years of a ge, Lucy’s life with her daughter is finall y on track. The y ha ve a home, Lucy is the co-mana ger of a woman’s clothing store, and she has a loving fiancé. But it was not al wa ys this wa y. You would never guess looking a t her small Cambodian frame tha t she had suf fered so much in her life. Lucy had ever y reason to expect to ha ve a famil y with her daughter’s fa ther, but tha t is not wha t ha ppened. She sa ys, “I don’t want an ything from him [or] to be involved with him. I don’t want him to see her. I kind of feel bad tha t he doesn’t see her. But I don’t want her to be around him because when I was with him, he was ver y a busive. We left him when she was two months old. He choked me when I was pregnant until I was throwing up blood. And in the hospital, when she was onl y one da y old, he choked me. She was right next to me. He came in with beer and I told him he couldn’t ha ve beer in the hospital.” Lucy’s decision to lea ve her boyfriend was proba bl y one tha t sa ved both her life and the life of her daughter.

Toda y Lucy sa ys, “[My daughter] calls m y [fiancé] daddy because tha t’s the onl y man she’s known as a dad. He’s the one tha t’s driving us around and financiall y [he helps us] too.” For years, bef ore she met her fiancé, Lucy had to raise her daughter b y herself. Even with all those years of strug gling b y herself, Lucy sa ys a child “is worth it because the y’re your compan y”.

NI CKY After the plan of a traditional, nuclear famil y falls through, a single mother must figure out how to handle ever yda y famil y life on her own. With a seven-year-old daughter and a f our-year-old son, Nicky is perha ps the busiest single mother tha t I spoke to. Explaining a da y in the life, Nicky sa ys, “Wake up. My daughter is pretty independent, she gets herself dressed. Get him dressed. Put them on the bus. Go to work. Get home. Get her to do her homework. I ha ve to tell her like five times because he messes with her and she messes with him. He wa tches TV. I tr y to cook something. We ea t dinner. I g ive them a ba th and put them to bed around 8:30 or 9.” Just describing a normal da y lea ves Nicky out of brea th. Usuall y, her tall, African-American body exudes confidence and composure. But simpl y discu ssing motherhood lea ves Nicky feeling stressed. When asked who helps her financial l y, Nicky replies, “No one. Tha t’s why I ha ve two jobs. I’m a bout to go to the courts this week so [m y ex] doesn’t g ive me trouble.” She was in a rela tionship with the fa ther of her two kids f or ten years. However, she sa ys, “Me and m y boyfriend already had problems [bef ore the children arrived]. It’s been a rough ten years. Al wa ys fighting. I just had to move on.” Nicky’s ex does wa tch his children on weekends sometimes, but his involvement is not consistent. Without him, Nicky depends on her parents to ba b ys it while she works on the weekends. When it comes to da ting, it is important to Nicky to find someone who is good to her kids. She sa ys, “I’m not gonna be with someone who’s not gonna trea t m y kids like he trea ts me.” Nicky, talking a bout her current boyfriend sa ys, “Nice. He reall y cares a bout [m y kids]. He’ll help m y daughter with her homework and pla y with m y son. Occup y them while I’m cooking.” Even with the boyfriends, Nicky has been raising her children on her own. She sa ys, “[Motherhood’s] na tural, you get used to it”. But ha ving a second child did make things harder f or Nicky. “The second time I thought I was crazy. Wha t am I doing ha ving a second kid?” Taking it one da y a t a time, Nicky has been handling all the responsibilities and dif ficulties of being a single mother.


When asked wha t people think a bout her being a single mother, she sa ys, “The y are proud of me, doing it on m y own.”

CA RLY Carl y is still waiting f or the kind of support and a pprecia tion tha t Nicky has received.“People be judg ing,” she sa ys, as we sit on f olding chairs in the dirty break room of our retail job, “The y don’t sa y it, but you can tell the y think it. The y ju dge and criticize people. Wh en I was pregnant, I was feeling judged and embarrassed. Bef ore, I was so emotional. I would cr y.” The shame even extends to Carl y’s famil y. “I’m afraid to tell the other side of m y famil y in Florida,” she admits, “The y still don’t reall y know.” However, Carl y has ma tured from her experiences as a young, single mother. Carl y explains, “I got stronger. It’s m y life. I ha ve to deal with it and the consequences.” She realizes tha t no ma tter wha t people think, she is a mother and tha t is her own responsibility. The decision to keep the ba b y, however, was not completel y her own. Tears began f orming in Carl y’s e yes as she told me, “I was gonna get an a bortion, but m y mom doesn’t believe in tha t. She told me to keep it and she would help me.” Carl y’s mother did keep her promise, so Carl y could finish high school and continue to work part-time. On a normal weekda y, Carl y sa ys, “[My son] sleeps with me, so around six m y mom takes him downstairs and I get ready. Then I don’t see him all da y so I tr y to go home straight. On weekda ys when I work, I barel y see him. When I get home I’m mad tired, but when I see him I get excited.” Perha ps without school or work, Carl y would be a ble to be home with her son, but g iving up either of those is not an option f or Carl y. When I ask who supports her son financiall y, she answers, “Pretty much me because I ha te ha ving to ask f or things.” Carl y sa ys, “ [The fa ther] buys dia pers and clothes sometimes. I ha te it because I shouldn’t ha ve to ask.” As f or school, Carl y sa ys, “People told me to drop out or get m y GED, but a GED means nothing to me. I’m still young. And I need to be a role model f or m y son.” The criticisms tha t Carl y received reall y stuck with her. “The y told me, ‘How could tha t ha ppen?’” “Things ha ppen.How can the y judge me like tha t?” she asks. She thinks tha t students should be taught not to be so judgmental, especiall y concerning young parents. “We should ha ve something a t m y school where people with kids come talk to the students. Some schools ha ve it, but m y school doesn’t. I would want to do tha t because people judge.” Carl y realizes tha t she was not full y prep ared to be a mother. “It still hasn’t sunk in tha t I’m a mother. Eighteen

is still young. I’m still a child. At home I still act like a child, I get wha t I want.” Even if she sees herself as a child, Carl y is adult enough to realize tha t her situa tion could be worse. “I am lucky somewha t. My other friend, her ba b y’s daddy is not around. Her son is two and he’s never seen his fa ther.” Carl y ma y not ha ve a traditional famil y, but her son’s fa ther has not completel y a bandoned them, and f or tha t, she feels lucky. “I was in a rela tionship but then we f ound out [tha t the rela tionship] wasn’t going well. We still get along, but we want our own space. We g rew up too quick. He sees the ba b y ever y weekend. We all get along. We

tr y not to put the ba b y in the middle when we going a t it [arguing].” As we stand to lea ve, Carl y opened her tin y arms to hug me. She tears up a gain as she sa ys, “This has been like thera p y f or me.” I am shocked. Ever y weekend when I see Carl y a t work, she is so tired tha t her e yes are bloodshot. Yet she never talks a bout all tha t she deals with . I did not expect her to be so open with me. It seems tha t all Carl y, Hannah, Maria, Lucy, and Nicky wanted was f or someone to listen to their stories, to value them as people in their own right, without judg ing. *All n am es h a v e b een ch an g ed .


35

WHEN I GROW UP by Nicole Shirley (A&S 2012)

America, Listen to the voice of your children. Thomas is a f ourth g rader with a passion f or dra wing and cartoon monsters. Almost ever y time I walk into the Commonwealth Tenants Associa tion he has a new dra wing and excitedl y runs to pick it up to show me. The first time I sa w his artwork, I was amazed b y his precision a nd a ttention to detail. I of fered to help him with his homework whereupon he took out his textbook and got to work with no hesita tion. “So do you know wha t you want to be wh en you g row up?” I asked when he was done. He put his head down, thought a bout it f or a few seconds and replied, “A firefighter!” with g rea t excitement. “Because the y are bra ve and their job is to sa ve people. I want to sa ve people.” With more probing, he told me a bout a fire tha t killed a rela tive, and when I asked him wha t caused the fire, he responded, “The building was just too old.” He le t out a sigh and proceeded to dra w a new monster on a blank piece of pa per. * * * Lindse y is an obser vant f ourth g rader wh o spends a lot of her time writing in her journal, which is covered with Winnie the Pooh stickers, pink stars and red hearts. She is al wa ys invested in wha tever she is writing, so you are lucky if you can get a word or two out of her. She also never allows an yone to read her journal and keeps a lock on it to ensure tha t ever ything she writes in it is kept secret. Tuesda y afternoon she wrote hastil y in her journal as if something important had ha ppened tha t she had to get down bef ore she f orgot an y specific details. Finished, she slammed it shut, put her lock on it, and dropped it into her ba ckpack. I hurried over to talk to her bef ore the 3 p.m. “Girls’ Time” activities tha t she would not dare miss. She turned to me as soon as I pulled up a chair as if she had expected m y arrival. “He y, wha t do you write a bout in your journal?” I inquired. “Nothing…just stuf f,” she answered. “Wha t kind of stuf f?” I asked. “Just things tha t ha ppen throughout m y da y. Or an ything on m y mind tha t I want to get of f m y mind. My teacher said it’s a good wa y to improve your writing while getting your thoughts down on pa per.” “Interesting. I find tha t keeping a journal is also beneficial f or me. Especiall y when I need to relie ve some stress,” I responded. “Do you know tha t there are man y wa ys to incorpora te writing into a career?” I continued.


“Yes,” she replied. “I want to be an author. Ha ve you ever heard of Am y Tan? She wrote The Joy Luck Club. I read it in class this year.” Bef ore I could repl y, she continued, “Her mom doesn’t speak good English. Like m y mother. My mother onl y speaks Spanish. An ywa y, writing helped Am y Tan becom e better a t speaking and reading English. I want to improve m y English too.” I pondered a response but she had already started a gain. “I want to help m y mother speak better E nglish too. It’s hard to do an ything when you don’t speak good English.” “Like wha t?” I asked. “Uhm…like get a good job,” she said immedia tel y. * * * Damien is a shy fifth g rader who rarel y talks unless spoken to and spends most of his time reading. He is one of the few children who does his work bef ore being told to and reads f or over an hour instead of the required twenty minutes. He is a ver y determined student and receives exceptional g rades f or his hard work. St ill, he complains a bout how much he doesn’t like his school. During snack time, he sa t a t the ta ble beside me and minded his business as all of the other children spoke, so I went up to him to see wha t he felt his future held in store f or him. “Hi Damien!” “He y,” he responded back with ver y little enthusiasm. “Wha t were you reading over there?” I asked. “Charlotte’s Web,” he responded. “I used to love tha t book when I was younger,” I said. “You know reading is important a t an y sta ge of your life!” “Yeah I know! My teacher Mr. Smith used to tell me tha t.” “Well wha t d o you want to be when you g row up?” I asked. “I want to be a teacher like Mr. Smith. He was the best teacher ever!” “How so?” I replied. “He made ever yone enjoy learning. I loved going to school when I was in his class. But m y teachers now aren’t as good as him. One of them told the class, ‘I don’t ha ve to be here help ing you. I could just sit here and still get pa id.’” “So did Mr. Smith inspire you to want to become a teacher?” I asked. “Yes. I want to change students’ lives and teach them to value educa tion like he taught me,” he responded. He finished of f his snack and went back to reading. * * * The Commonwealth Tenants Associa tion’s Youth Prog ram works to elimina te issues of poverty, underemployment, a lack of positive role models, school failure, and earl y parenthood. The time tha t I ha ve spent with these children as a tutor as well as the individual conversa tions tha t I ha ve had with m y direct mentee has opened m y e yes to the realities tha t these children face

and more specificall y wha t the y perceive their futures to be like. Their keen understanding of the world around them is mind-bog gling. Never ha ve I met a g roup of such g rown-up children with the mental ca pacity to take on the world. Listening to these students sparked m y interest in wha t the y believed the future held in store f or them. Damien’s remarks ref lected his conf licted perspective due to his idealistic but also realistic understanding of his situa tion. These children are a product of the city’s public schools. * * * Bianca is an outspoken fifth g rader who can usuall y be f ound arguing with someone or correcting people when the y are wrong. She al wa ys sta nds up f or the children who get picked on and is friend s with almost all the kids a t the CTA. She can be a little intimida ting, even to someone twice her a ge. She demands respect but also g ives respect where it is due. I went to the CTA earl y one Monda y as she is usuall y one of the firs t students to get there after school. As expected, she was sitting b y herself, waiting f or her friends to walk in. “Hi Nicole!” she exclaimed soon as I walked in. I said hello back and immedia tel y asked her if she would mind if I inter viewed her. “Wha t f or?” she asked. I explained tha t I was writing a bout wha t the students a t the CTA aspire to be when the y g row up. “Sure,” she replied. “So wha t do you want to be when yo u g row up?” I asked. “I want to be a la wyer. I like to deba te. And m y mother said tha t if I go to la w school, I’ll make a lot of mone y. I want to be a ble to support m y famil y when I get older.” “Is there an ything else tha t makes you want to pursue a career in la w other than your liking to deba te?” I asked. “ “Well yes. My cousin Vicki told me tha t in order to conquer social injustice, you ha ve to change the systems in place…you ha ve to change the la w. She got a full scholarship to a boarding school and said tha t her educa tion there was a lot better than the one she received a t home. I don’t think it’s fair tha t some students get to go to g rea t schools because the y can af f ord it but others students can’t. If I became a la wyer, I could work towards chang ing tha t. I wanted to go to priva te school, but I couldn’t. And I think ever yone should h a ve equal opportunities in America. If people were g iven the same opportunities, there wouldn’t be as much poverty and uneduca ted people. It just isn’t fair.” “Well, I think you’d be a g rea t la wye r. And you’re right. There are a lot of things tha t need to change in our society,” I said. “I just hope tha t I can be a part of tha t change,” she responded. Ryan sees another side of this hard reality. He is a third g rade boy who often is seen dancing around the CTA and loves to make people laugh. He al wa ys has a knock-knock joke or some sill y riddle ready f or me. He’s a charming kid and al wa ys seems to be in an uplifted mood.


37 Monda y afternoon after he shared one of his riddles with me, I told him he should be a comed ian when he g rew up. He shook his head no and said, “I’m goin g to be a doctor!” “Why do you want to be a doctor?” I asked. “My mother is al wa ys sick. She has dia betes. But she hasn’t been a ble to see a doctor. I want her to be safe and live long. Dia betes runs in m y famil y, and I’m scared I might get it too. But I’m not worried a bout me. I’m more worried a bout her. I want her to sta y healthy. And I want to become a doctor so I can trea t her and help her sta y healthy. I also want to protect m y sister and brother from getting dia betes.” “Well, I think pursuing a career in medicine is a g rea t idea! You can help your famil y, the community, and the world a t large.” “I know. And I want to help take care of m y sick friends a t the CTA and a t school. I feel like someone’s al wa ys sick. It’s not good f or germs to spread like tha t.” “How often do you go to the doctor?” I asked him. “My mom al wa ys tells me I don’t go as often as I need t o and tha t it’s not good f or m y health.” “Well, in the meantime, there are some things you can do to sta y healthy like drink a lot of wa t er, ea t healthy f oods like fruit and vegeta bles, and get a good amount of rest.” “I know, but some things, no ma tter how healthy you are, you can’t prevent. And sometimes there’s no one to take care of you. Like m y mother. She’s been sick f or a long time, and she tries to take care of herself, but she still needs to see a doctor. I wish she could.” Like Ryan, Theresa’s long ing f or her mother inf luences the wa y she envisions her future. Theresa is an extremel y a ttentive third g rader who asks a lot of questions so I knew she wouldn’t mind talking to me a bout where she envisioned herself being in her adult life. Tuesda y afternoon she and I pla yed f our rounds of Connect Four bef ore I asked her, “So wha t do you want to be when you g row up?” “A chef!” she replied with excitement. “I love to help m y g randma cook!” she finished with a big smile on her face. “Well wha t kinds of things do you help your g randmother make?” I asked. “Arroz con pollo, bacalao…” she hesita ted f or a moment. “And some other stuf f I can’t remember right now.” “Do you ever help your mother cook?” I inquired. “No. I don’t live with m y mother. I onl y see her so metimes. The onl y time I help her cook is on Thanksg iving Da y,” she said. “Thanksg iving is m y fa vorite holida y!” I exclaimed. “Mine too!” she a g reed. “It’s the onl y time m y whole famil y gets together and I get to see m y momm y… tha t’s why I want to be a chef...so I can make big meals f or the whole famil y to come together.” “Tha t’s a g rea t idea,” I told her, and we started to pla y a fifth round of Connect Four.

* * * Finall y, there’s Kenneth, with his big, genuine heart, born of hard experiences. Kenneth is a big fifth g rader who comes to the CTA ever y single da y during the week. He told me once tha t he likes being there more than he does being a t home because there’s a lot more to do and he also gets to spend time with his friends. He is ver y ma ture f or his a ge and doesn’t g ive an yone a hard time. He also will talk a bout almost an ything to an yone and start up a conversa tion with you if you’r e sitting b y yourself. I hadn’t intended on inter viewing h im, but he walked up to me on Monda y and told me he wanted me to inter view him too. So I did. “So wha t do you want to be when yo u g row up?” I asked him. “I want to be a police of ficer,” he an swered back. “And why’s tha t?” I asked. “Because I want to protect innocent people from dying. I used to live in Roxbur y, but m y mom said we had to move because innocent people were al wa ys getting involved in street violence. A lot of people in m y famil y knew some guys who got shot because the y were a t the wrong place a t the wrong time. I think something needs to be done to change tha t. But the cops don’t reall y care a bout people in Roxbur y because the y assume you’re up to no good. If I became a cop, I would do m y best to protect ever yone and tr y to bring the community together. If I were to be a cop, I could be a good role model to all of the kids who don’t ha ve an yone to look up to. And I ha ve famil y and friends in Roxbur y so the y would all respect me and know tha t I was there to help them and not hurt them. My mother said someone needs to do something now to help the community bef ore it gets worse. I want to be tha t person to step up and do something.” “Police of ficers definitel y ha ve an honora ble job, but there is also a lot of risk involved,”I said. “Yeah, but I’m willing to risk m y life to sa ve someone else’s,” he replied. * * * The students who go to the CTA come from families tha t are immig rants, uneduca ted,unemployed, alcoholics or drug addicts. Despite these harsh realities, these small children remain optimistic a bout all the future holds in store f or them. The Commonwealth Housing Development helps them hang onto their dre ams. It makes me wonder how we can work as a society to ensure tha t their dreams are realized and actualized. Ma ybe tha t’s where we g row up.


By Samuel Cho (LSOE 2013)

MIRROR MADE IN CHINA

I began m y first placement in the PULSE prog ram a t the Asian American Civic Associa tion in Boston’s China town. Looking back a t one of the entries in m y PULSE ref lection journal I noticed tha t I stereotype the woman I am working with. I view her as weak; I am ashamed of her. Wh y? Because she is an immig rant. She is one of those nameless, faceless, wordless people whom the Sta tue of Liberty supposedl y welcomes with wide-ope n white arms. She cannot speak English- she does not know how to be cool in the Western sense; ever ything she does seems exa g gera ted or out of context, as if her body and brain are not in synch. I judge her. I judge her because she is Chinese and because she is Asian. I judge her because she seems so uncool, and it makes me want to look down upon her and view her as something less than she ought to be. I judge her because she represents wha t I ha ve strug gled a gainst m y entire life; the a berra tion of being a splotch of ungainl y yellow paint on an enormous white canvas. She reminds me of m y parents who can not order a t a Burger King drive thru or understand wha t telemarketers are sa ying. She reminds me of the lone Asian boy walking home from school being hit b y a slushie tha t f lies out of a passing car full of jeering, non-Asian boys. She reminds me of how weak I can be, and it frightens me. Ever y time I walk the damned streets of China town and see the shuf f ling and squintin g e yes and smell the fr ying oil and hear the short, quick “Yes” “Wha t?” “No thank you” “Ok”, it makes me acutel y a ware of how m y past, race, ethnicity, and blood ha ve made me who I am toda y. I see non-Asian people g ive incredibl y dirty looks to the Chinese as the y talk loudl y in their na tive tongue. The y narrow their e yes and curl their lips with disdain, and I can almost hear them yelling, “SPEAK ENGLISH!” I see the strug gles tha t immig rants ha ve to face when the y come to this f oreign promised land of milk and hone y. How will the y g et a job when the y cannot fill out a simple questionnaire in a langua ge so alien to them? How will the y know how to fill out welfare f orms f or themselves and get red uced lunches f or their children? How will the y know tha t the y ha ve intrinsic dignity and can lift their heads up HIGH when the y talk in public? The y w on’t. The y don’t. We automa ticall y accept a role of extreme meekness and deference because of the Confucian principles we carr y over from the motherland. This a ttitude is reinf orced and expounded b y being in a f oreign countr y where we do not speak the langua ge. In no wa y am I sa ying tha t the majority of Americans are prejudiced. But there are enough f or me to notice. Tha t is far too man y. I guess the injustices here are twof old- one clearer than the other. The first injustice is the viewing of immig rant Asian Americans as 2nd ra te because of their ina bility to speak English. I realize this arises from ignorance and a lack of exposure to dif ferent peoples, but there is no excuse f or cruelty and injustice. The other injustice, slightl y g ra ver, is m y buying into the first view. Let’s go back to the present. She sits there, not speaking, not looking, and occasionall y twitching. I want to g ra b a hold of her and sha ke her and tell her to stop IT. By IT I mean being timid and powerless. I want to tell her she doesn’t ha ve to be ashamed. But how can I tell her tha t when I am the one who is most ashamed? How can I tell her tha t when I am the one who is least confident in m yself? She has a reason f or this timidity; I do not. And in the midst of this self-ref lection I thought to m yself how much ha ppier I would’ve been f or the last 19 years if I just realized how good it was to be ME. If I realized tha t God crea ted all men equall y and wonderful l y; if I realized all people ha ve intrinsic worth tha t cannot ever be determined b y an y outside factor; if I realized tha t being Asian is something beautiful and powerful; then, with those realiza tions, I could ha ve initiall y viewed this woman in front of me as a human being. AACA is run b y man y Caucasian and Asian volunteers and workers who dedica te their lives to improving the lot of their fellow human beings, not f or some reward or pa y but ra ther just because the y are human and deser ve to ha ve dignified lives. And finall y I realize. By g iving others worth, I find mine.


39

UNAVAILABLE by Thomas Belton (A&S 2013)

Reading words a bout someone’s own experiences is much more powerful than reading those of a specta tor. Real emotion is hard to transla te into words when it is not your own. Big words aren’t ef fective if the y don’t ca pture the essence of the moment. With tha t in mind, I tried to get an inter view with a recovering drug-addict from m y PULSE placement. I wanted to show people the stress and adversity faced on the journe y to sobriety. I wanted to get in contact with them and get a first-hand account of a succ ess stor y, a feel-good, ha pp y-ending fair y-tale. I wanted to hear their own tales of heroism, coura ge, g race and resilience; all the qualities I sa w last year while volunteering a t a soberhouse in Dorchester. There were more than 200 women who came and went during the course of the year. I had a few particulars in mind. There were a bout seven tha t stood a bove the rest. Their friendliness was special, their futures were bright, and their stories were a ppealing. When I returned to continue m y work this year, m y super vis or, Joe, was still there. So were all of his counselors and the house maintenance workers. But when I asked f or Ka te, Tor y, and and Ka thleen, none were “a vaila ble f or contact”. Basicall y, none of them were still clean. Wha t was the purpose of m y ser vice last year?

“I knew that the house in which I worked was successful. So why was there no one to show for it? I was so confident in the sobriety of these women when they graduated the program last year. How had it gone wrong?” I knew tha t the house in which I worked was successful. So why was there nothing to show f or it? I was so confident in the sobriety of these women when the y g radua ted the prog ram last year. How had it gone wrong? Ka te had two stints a t The Shepherd House, one in October of 2009, and the second in April of 2010. Unlike the rest of the women who rea ppear a t the house, her return was not a result of a rela pse. Ka te had had an issue with housing post-completion and had asked to sta y f or a couple weeks. Ka te could not af f ord rent of the a partment she wanted, so she planned to sta y until she f ound another place. The staf f of the house adored her, and f or good reason. Ka te was just as much a mentor to the other women as the counselors were. Al wa ys calm, cool and collected, she was the first person to reach out and introduce herself to a new resident. No suspicion, no resentment, and no malice; just kindness. She had something tha t was missing with a lot of the other clients: the a bility to block out the bad. Her disa bility check from the welfare of fice must ha ve been cut of f a t least twice, but she was calm enough to find a wa y to fix the problem. Tha t Ka te tha t I speak of; the talented, angelic Ka te, was “una vaila ble to speak.” My super visor was disturbingl y va gue with his response. I knew it wasn’t good news because it pained him to tell me. I wanted to assume the be st, but if she was still on the right track, she would ha ve been the ob vious inter view. I knew tha t. So did m y super visor. A few weeks la ter, a staf f member told me la ter a bout her rela pse. The details aren’t unique; Ka te returned


to the house and was on severe medica tion because of back surger y she had received a few months earlier. She started a busing her medica tion, until staf f, despite how much it pained them, had to ask her to lea ve. Ka thleen was another ob vious choice. She reall y educa ted me a bout the man y underl ying issues tha t addicted women face. She had been on drugs since adolescence. Now an a g ing woman who looked decades older than her years, Ka thleen had gained a sense of wisdom. E ver y time a problem arose with one of her peers, Ka thlee n was sure to ha ve some input f rom a book on recover y. She was also a caring friend. She did the nicest thing an yo ne ever did f or me a t tha t house. Halloween weekend, after one of m y friend’s dads died suddenl y, I arrived a t the Shepherd House. Immedia tel y she knew I was distraught. After pr ying the sad news out of me, she limped upstairs with her cane and re turned a couple minutes la ter with a pra yer book. She ga ve it to me to mail to m y friend, explaining tha t it was such a help getting her through the dea th of her son. This is Ka thleen, through and through. Despite the fact tha t I was “helping” her, she left a lasting impression on me. Selfishl y, I was sad when she “g radua ted” from the prog ram, because I would no longer see her and wa tch her prog ress. Apparentl y her prog ress was impeded. If the nega tive response from m y super visor a bout Ka te wa s surprising, this was unsettling. I ha ve yet to hear from her. I hope f or the best, but cannot help but worr y. The onl y positive I took a wa y from m y super visor’s imprecise answer was tha t if her news was reall y bad, tra g icall y bad, he would ha ve felt obliga ted to tell me. If she was dead, he would ha ve inf ormed me. Tor y was also on the short-list. She was energetic and impressive during her recover y. The f our-to-six-month inpa tient prog ram is not the type of schedule to make people joyous, but she seemed relieved to check herself in. Ma ybe it was because of her promise to her husband. He enrolled a t a similar prog ram to get clean. The y both promised to recover together, and start a new life after completion. Seeing them in action a t an annual dinner of recovering addicts was ver y tou ching. She was a spark-plug. Tor y could get energ y out of the most letharg ic clients. She was una vaila ble f or contact as well. Unf ortuna tel y, in her case the details of this stor y are painfull y clear: Tor y’s dead. Her husband strangled her. It’s hard to ima g ine. I know m y e yes didn’t deceive me; their ha ppiness tha t night was real. Now it is no more. Initiall y I thought tha t m y entire work from last year was worthless. If I can’t contact one woman I met, then how can it not be? For starters, I think tha t I went in with expecta tions tha t were too high. According to Adi Jaf fe, a leading researcher in substance a buse a t UCLA, the success of overcoming addiction with proper trea tment is well under 25%. Man y of those success stories rela pse bef ore sta ying clean. It is rare f or someone to overcoming addiction without rela psing. The problem is I honestl y thought tha t I was going to volunteer f or a prog ram twice a week and solve ever ything. I was disa ppointed tha t I did not succeed with an y of these women, but I’d like to hope tha t I had made an impact tha t will help them with future endea vors. We’re all works in prog ress, promising to do better next time. The merits of ser vice is not gauged b y a success ra te. Its essence is not ca ptured b y a sta t. Most importantl y, ser vice is not a bout g iving up. It is g ra vel y disa ppointing tha t these women were una ble to maintain sobriety, especiall y when the y g radua ted the prog ram on such a high-note, but their subsequent set-backs should not ref lect poorl y on the sober house prog ram. The setbacks do not nega te wha t we accomplished together. I spent all of last year, building and improving rela tionships with more than 200 women strug g ling with addiction. We made prog ress together; the y helped me learn and I tried to listen to their problems. I can honestl y sa y tha t m y ser vice there has made a concrete dif ference in m y life, so I was disa ppointed to not see readil y a pparent results. If t here is one thing tha t I learned from m y ser vice last year, it’s tha t the women I met ha ve the resilience to keep tr ying, and the y ha ve the a bility to get clean…even if it might take more than one tr y. *All names ha ve been changed


41

ANTHEM FOR MY MOTHER by Jennifer Woo (CSOM 2011)

Strangel y enough, as I peel back the la yers of m y childhood, there is one scene in particular tha t per vades m y memor y. It is neither poignant nor symbolic. Just a snippet tha t I can remember quite vividl y. I am a bout eight years old, m y stomach pressed f la t a gainst the dirty linoleum f loor, most likel y busy reading a stor y a bout a fa ther and son who brilliantl y thwart a f oul, wealthy man or dra wing a picture of a tenstor y house. Out of the corner of m y e ye, I notic ed a huge bug cra wling its wa y across the f loor towards the shade of the old wooden ta ble. It was a cockroach and it had a curious lump a ttached to its rear end, an eg g sac! The sac took up a bout half the size of the mother cockroach. I wondered how she was a ble to carr y such a burden. As soon as she reached the comf orting darkness of the shade, she dropped the eg g sac and in a f lash –hundreds of tin y ba b y roaches emerged! Although I could barel y tear m y e yes from the ra pidl y g rowing and expanding mass, I looked to see where the mother had gone. She had dra g ged her body a few inches a wa y from her eg g sac and was motionless, her body crumpled and contorted. I thought, how unfair tha t the mother had to die so tha t her children could live. Even a t tha t young sta ge, I realized: Life is unfair.

A N o t -So Am er ican Dre am When I was younger, I asked m y mom how she and m y fa ther met and fell in love. She was busy as

usual and not to be bothered, but I was persistent with m y questions. After m y billionth question, she stopped and looked a t me with e yes tha t could hold all of the laughter in the world and still… there was al wa ys a tinge of sad long ing; it was as if she suf fered from the chronic disease known as reg ret, which ma y la y dormant in the soul f or quite some time, perha ps even years, but which, with the nosy prodding of a child, can be trig gered in to painful activity. To m y childlike naïveté, I wanted despera tel y to hear a romantic stor y of their sweeping courtship and passiona te union. Instead, wha t I heard was an unf ortuna te stor y a bout a young woman’s crushed dreams. My mom has al wa ys been an independent freespirit. As a little g irl, she was a ble to esca pe the bustling a tmosphere of redevelopment South Korea b y plung ing herself into western novels and movies. Throughout her youth, she fashioned a ra ther romantic ima ge of the west, particularl y America, as a limitless pla tf orm of opportunities where dreams were easil y sowed and rea ped. She f ound her home countr y to be too stif ling and parochial, not a t all the ideal environment f or a prog ressive-minded woman. It was settled: She would ha ve to find some wa y to eventuall y move to the Sta tes. Her dream would soon become realized when a t the a ge of 18, she married m y fa ther. He was handsome, outgoing and, worst of all, a smooth talker. Used-carsalesman smooth. He la vished her with g ifts and sweetnothings and a year la ter, m y mother ga ve birth to m y


oldest sister. One night, as she was cradling a slumbering ba b y in her arms, m y fa ther barged through the door, his clothes hea vy with the scent of whiske y and ciga rettes. He looked a t her and asked, in his milk-and-hone y-coa ted voice, where her purse was. He had lost a lot of mone y in a round of poker and thought he could win it back, but he needed more cash. When she f la tl y refused to g ive him an y, he cursed and shouted a t her. There was no milk and hone y in his voice this time. My sister, still in m y mother’s arms, heard all of the ruckus coming from m y fa t her and began to wail and thrash a bout wildl y. My mom, drained of an y energ y, finall y relented and ga ve him all of the mone y in her purse, which she had planned on using to buy the week’s g roceries. Whenever m y mom confronted him a bout his need t o gamble, he merel y brushed her aside, inf orming

“That’s it . You’ve got to live your life with the same annoying p ersistence as the weed.” her tha t it was an innocent recrea tion. Another year passed and m y fa ther’s gambling addiction became worse. She decided tha t enough was enough and told him th a t she was lea ving him and taking their daughter with her. Despera te, he lured her back into his tra p with a mar velous plan to move to America, the land of new beg innings. She succumbed to his glossy sweet voice and the y embarked on their journe y. Ha ving little mone y, the y settled in Pioneer City, a poor and rough suburban neighborhood near Baltimore. The a partments were so crammed together tha t it crea ted an uncomf orta ble, suf f oca ting sensa tion, which no doubt had made an impact on the dail y lives of its residents. As soon as the y were settled in their new home, m y mom decided tha t she needed to enroll in ESL classes. My dad quickl y squashed tha t idea. An ything tha t would diminish her de pendence on him and increase her mobility was f orbidden. It would take a full five years f or him to finall y allow her to even get a driver’s license, and tha t was onl y because she needed to get to her job as a short-order cook a t a carr yout to bring in extra mone y f or the famil y. My mom worked ceaselessl y during tha t time. Out of the 365 da ys there are in a year, m y fa ther spent 265 a t the casinos in Atlantic City. On the rare occasions he did come home, he’d dra w the curtains and fall asleep until h e was rejuvena ted enough to once a gain quell his insa tia ble a ppetite. All of this without a trace of remorse or murmur of a polog y. My mother worked so hard and endured so much suf fering to support us in his a bsence tha t I trul y believe she lost a little bit of her core self, the pa rt of her tha t once dreamed of living an ideal life in

America. After two years in their new home, she and m y fa ther had me. She wanted so badl y to move her famil y into a real house in a clean neighborhood in which drugs and violence weren’t so prevalent, but she had no choice but to sta y. We simpl y couldn’t af f ord it, especiall y not a t the ra te a t which m y fa ther was losing mone y pla ying his fa vorite games, Blackjack and Texas Hold ’Em. It seemed the longer he lived in Ame rica, the worse his gambling addiction became. The American casinos were just too much of a tempta tion, especiall y f or an immig rant like m y fa ther who never sa w an ything tha t came close to their g randeur when he lived and gambled in Korea. He fell and he fell hard, losing streams of cash, al wa ys with the mentality tha t he could win it all back and then some. Tha t was rarel y the case and in the end, his life became a tra gedy. We sta yed in Pioneer City f or anothe r decade or so, during which, m y mom became pregnant with her last child, Sarah. My mom’s worst memories of m y fa ther are when she was pregnant with m y little sister. A month bef ore she was due to g ive birth, m y mom became frantic with worr y because m y fa ther had emptied out their entire bank account and had been gone f or over a week. She decided to track him down in order to salva ge an y mone y tha t hadn’t already been lost to the casinos. She tucked m y older sister and me in the car and we made the f ourhour ride to Atlantic City. The onl y problem was tha t she had never been to New Jerse y bef ore and co uldn’t read the road signs. She made m y ten year old sister read them and somehow, we safel y made it to the gambling ca pital of the East Coast. She was a ble to find m y fa ther and discovered tha t he had, thankfull y, not s quandered all of our mone y. This was the life tha t m y mom led. She was the tightrope walker in a never-ending balancing act. My fa ther was the unstoppa ble gust of wind tha t nearl y pushed her of f the precarious wire man y times.

B a d M emo r( i es) y Even now, it’s dif ficult f or me to remember a lot from m y childhood. I onl y ha ve va gue, fuzzy recollections and the y aren’t pleasant ones. I can easil y remember the perpetual fights m y mom and fa ther got into. I remember the screaming and the cursing, the endless sleepless nights. I remember m y sisters and I al wa ys being afraid of how the fight would end. Perha ps I ha ve an inherentl y bad sense of memor y or I don’t want to remember because it’s just too painful. For now, one wa y tha t I’ve been a ble to augment m y memor y is b y asking m y mom specific questions, a process tha t I know is painful f or her too.

B a rri ers Those tumultuous famil y times onl y ser ved to compound the barriers I felt were a t work in m y life, often lea ving me in a draining sta te of hyper-consciousness. Home was a constant source of anxiety. The onl y place I felt some sort of sta bility was a t school and even it failed me sometimes. As a shy, Asian g irl going to a predominantl y-black school, I was an easy target f or


43 racist a ttacks. I knew tha t I looked dif ferent, but I could speak English perfectl y, so why did the y still chant “Ching-chong-chang?” Unf ortuna tel y, m y proficiency with English came a t the cost of losing m y a bility to s peak Korean f luentl y. This disconnect with m y “ethnic tongue” f ostered a na tural disenga gement with m y culture. Man y times, I felt like an outsider, looking into two separa te worlds, both of which I didn’t reall y belong. The Korean community, especiall y the older genera tion of immig rants, didn’t embrace me b ecause I couldn’t understand them. Nor could the y understand me. The American community, it seemed, would al wa ys see the distinctive Asian fea tures of m y face first and trea t me accordingl y. My mom, of course, had it worse. At least I could speak the langua ge. Ever since m y fa ther had prohib ited her from taking ESL classes, she had never had the opportunity to learn English. At her job, she had been a ble to get b y f or the most part with a basic understanding of necessar y words and phrases like “hamb urger with cheese” or “western omelet pla tter.” There was, however, one incident in whic h she came home in tears. Apparentl y, a customer had become furious a t her ina bility to f luentl y speak English. He had ordere d a “half cheese-steak,” which meant 8 inches a t her de li. He had assumed tha t a “half ” meant 6-inches and became ang r y a t m y mom when she correctl y charged him f o r an 8-inch su b. With a nasty tone and mean e yes, he bera ted, “Can’t you understand an y English, gook?” As a little g irl, m y mom had heard enough stories a bout the Korean War to know wha t “gook” meant. It was one of the few times tha t I had ever seen her cr y. But la ter tha t night, she asked me to teach her how to explain, in English, tha t their deli onl y made 8 and 12-inch subs. She wanted to clarify the mix-up with the same customer tha t had g iven her a hard time. I slowl y recited a simple sta t ement and she spent the entire night memorizing and perfecting a sentence of 15 words to use the ne xt da y.

T h re e Br own Suit c ase s On her f ortieth birthda y, m y mother finall y declared to herself, “This is not m y life.” A year and a half bef ore this da y, it seemed like m y fa ther had left us f or good. We had no idea where he was and whether or not he was still alive. We just assumed tha t he was most likel y a t the casino, his fa vorite place in the world, an unf ortuna te victim of self-inf licted disease. Six months la ter, m y mom met and began da ting another man. He was an American la wyer named Tom, one of her customers a t the carr yout she had been working a t f or ten years, six da ys a week, 12 hours a da y. She had never planned on being with another man, but he made her ge nuinel y ha pp y and their rela tionship blossomed. Althou gh man y of her friends and famil y disa pproved, I had seen firsthand h ow tired and lonel y m y mom was and I couldn’t blame her a t all f or falling in love with a man tha t was not m y fa ther. On her birthda y, m y fa ther returned as if he had been gone f or merel y a da y as opposed to the 545 da ys he had trul y been a b sent. Deep down, we should ha ve

known better. He was like a pestering rash tha t would never lea ve us alone even if we diligentl y heeded all of the doctor’s orders: wash with warm wa ter and soa p; a ppl y a soothing ointment on the infected area; and most importantl y, resist the tempta tion to scra tch! No ma tter wha t, he’d al wa ys return to cause more anguish. Tha t da y was dif ferent. As soon as he marched through the door, m y mom assertivel y told hi m to lea ve and never come back. The y argued intensel y f or quite some time until she couldn’t take an y more and fiercel y exclaimed, “I’ve met another man.” The loo k on m y fa ther’s face was one of sheer shock; his selfish mind could never ha ve predicted this. He had finall y lost and with three musty brown suitcases in tow, he was gone and out of our lives f or good.

“Li ve Yo u r Li f e Li k e a Weed .” There exists a certain resilience tha t an immig rant must exhibit in order to sur vive. My mother has g raciousl y passed on to me tha t immig rant sense of determina tion, tha t desire to live another da y in hopes of seeing a better da y. Consequentl y, this memoir isn’t so much a bout me as it is a bout her because who she is has undenia bl y sha ped who I am. In writing it, I discovered tha t I couldn’t tell m y life stor y without first explaining who m y mother is and the demanding life tha t she led. I realized tha t our stories were too beautifull y intertwined to be separa ted. The obstacles she endured, as a single mother raising three children on her own and as a strug gling immig rant in an often cruel countr y, I endured with her. I wouldn’t ha ve it an y another wa y; as she learned and g rew from life’s experiences, so did I. Tom and m y mom continued to see e ach other until, a few years a go, he broke up with her. The rela tionship had become too much f or him and he simpl y wanted the easy wa y out. My mom was devasta ted but not once did she let her sadness overcome her. Instead, she turned to relig ion to “better” herself. She tells me tha t God is the sole reason why she has been and is still a ble to get through life, but I know tha t a lot of it has to do with her inner strength. It is this strength tha t took her famil y out of Pioneer City into a cleaner, safer neighborhood. It is this strength tha t prevented her from ela psing into depression and self-pity. It is this strength tha t pushed me to move 400 miles a wa y from home to a ttend Boston College, to put m yself out there a t all times even if it’s scar y and overwhelming. Recentl y, while we were gardening in our yard, I remarked a t how dif ficult it was to remove the weeds. The y were resolute in their position in the dirt, challeng ing me to another tiring game of tug-and-pull. Even if you mana ge to pull it out, another weed invaria bl y pops up a mere week la ter. My mom, in her sa ge-like voice, replied, “Tha t’s it. You’ve got to live your life with the same annoying persistence as the weed.”


A PRAYER FOR THE RAIN by Samuel Cho (LSOE 2013)

I

t’s raining a gain. It’s al wa ys raining. The g re y expanse of sky weeps f or scorched earth; howling tears from the sky spla tter on our faces. It’s like the hea vens knew we needed it; the rain I mean. It was the rain tha t poured down in unrelenting torrents accompanied b y the cacophonous wind and voluptuous thunder. Wet is no longer merel y a word, but a sta te of being. Dr y ceases to exist, f or wha t is dr y when ever ything is sodden in liquid? When it rained in Thailand it was a sordid af fair. People f lee as if da g gers are pelting towards them from a bove. Wha t was I doi ng here? I was in Thailand because of God. Tha t God was the r eason I did a lot of things. I’ve known God m y whole life, but it wasn’t recentl y until I REALLY started liking God. I remember when I first met God. Dear God, Hi God Mom sa ys I ha ve to talk to you and stuf f so OK but I don’t know wha t to sa y. Umm God please take care of m y famil y and m y friends and Brian. He’s m y dog! OK! Bye! Dear God, Sorr y God, I asked Mom and she said I can’t sa y b ye to you, but instead I ha ve to sa y Amen. And she said I should thank you f or f ood because you g ive it to us and I never knew tha t bef ore. Thank you f or bologna sandwiches! Amen. I never reall y took m y faith seriousl y a t first. It was something tha t m y mom and dad told me to do so tha t was tha t. But THEN I f ound out tha t God could g rant wishes. Like a genie. Or a slot machine. Dear God, You are a g rea t God. Please take care of m y famil y and friends and keep us healthy. Please help me to get an A on m y Social Studies test and please make Timothy stop g iving me Indian burns and bull ying me. And please please PLEASE let m y mom sa y yes so I can go to Six Fla gs please please PLEASE ok in Jesus’ name I pra y AMEN. Dear God, You are a g rea t God. Please take care of m y famil y and friends and keep us healthy. God please g ive me internet and ca ble TV and a Nintendo 64 because all the other kids ha ve one! Please! Thank you! Amen.


45 After a few years of ha ving a personal Santa Claus tha t didn’t al wa ys deliver, I was ready f or something more. I finall y accepted Jesus as m y personal sa vior, but wha t did tha t even mean? I was a t a retrea t and there was a lot of cr ying and the lights were dim and the music was loud and I think I just did it to fit in. But life just continued in the fashion it al wa ys had. Church on Sunda ys. Forget a bout it on the weekda ys. In college, people challenged me to th ink a bout wha t it reall y meant to live m y faith out. I began to realize tha t Christianity wasn’t a set of rules to f ollow but a LIFESTYLE. To trea t ever yone with respect and love others. And so I decided to go on a seven week ser vice trip to Bangkok, Thailand, and live and work in the slums. Dear God, I reall y don’t know wha t to expect. I know tha t you call us to not keep our faith to ourselves. Because we ha ve been so loved b y You, we must love others- through acts of ser vice

her children with. Next to the dumpster are the children, who b y virtue of ha ving g rown up in the slums, are quite used to air tainted with ra w sewa ge. The y jump and laugh and scream and curse a t us, smiling because the y want to pla y with us. None of them are wearing shoes. Some are not wearing pants. One falls into a crevice filled with “wa ter” tha t filters through the neighborhood, as residents dump ever ything from milk to soa p y wa ter to urine. This is their sewa ge system. This is their la trine. The child gets up and laughs. Then he stretches out his arms asking me to pick him up. There are al wa ys reaching hands. There are al wa ys long ing e yes tha t want a hug or a touch. I choke. The smell of garba ge is getting to me. I want to lea ve. But then the boy gentl y prods me, one finger in m y ribs, the other in m y conscience. His e yes sadl y stare me down. Don’t you know tha t I’m human too? Don’t you know, Sam? These kids pla y here ever y da y. The y brea the

“ I choke. The smell of garbage is getting to me. I want to leave. But then the boy gently prods me, one finger in my ribs, the other in my conscience.” and kindness and justice, and to ultima tel y share the Good News of Christ. So as I embark on this journe y I pra y tha t You will guide me and wa tch over me, and just let m y heart be open to people and new experiences. Amen. * * * * * I could tell you a bout wha t I’ve learned, but remembering is al wa ys dif ficult. Withdra wing a memor y from m y memor y bank is already hard enough. Dusting it of f and polishing it is another tempta tion, to shed the memor y in a new light f or some selfish, per verse end. Then you ha ve to cut and shear the inevita ble lint of bias tha t collects on the memor y; false ima ges of wha t we wish and don’t wish. It’s a process, no doubt. But I must. Feet sla p the uneven rocky g round. Sore. The feet are already black with refuse and filth. Calloused. This word is a euphemism to describe the tough lea ther y skin enveloping the children’s feet. We’re in the slums. We’re in the thick of it now. My friend and I are exploring the slum neighborhood la te a t night when we find a broad alle ywa y with dozens of children moving a bout. Then the smell hits you. It’s quite unlike an ything tha t I’ve ever snif fed. Perha ps once when I took out the trash back h ome in comf orta ble suburbia, but tha t was temporar y, nea t, sanitar y, safe. This odor is pungent, oil y, thick. Rotten eg gs, molding noodles, deca ying mea t, dia pers full of human waste, vomit, ba gs of used toilet pa per, and gna wed chicken bones. Like an og re’s version of a feast, the pile sits there in the open lot while thousands of ma g gots and cockroaches wrig gle joyfull y in an insane frenzy. There are no dogs or ca ts on top of tha t pile. Even the y know where dea th resides. Instead there is a hunchbacked woman, picking through the feces and ta ttered shopping ba gs in order to find some recycla bles tha t she can trade in f or a few pennies so tha t ma ybe she can buy some f ood to feed

this and live this ever y da y. You can sta y a little while longer. So I do. I let them climb me. I become the de facto hug g ing machine. I am tired. I am stinky. The y shout a t me in Thai, their colorful intona tions jumping a t me like sparks from a f lint. I don’t know wha t you’re sa ying but I understand your long ing. The y ha ve lice. But the y still need someone’s af fection. The y still want the thing tha t children need but cannot readil y receive in the slums f or various reasons, the same reasons three year old children are out pla ying next to the dumpsters a t eleven o’ clock a t night. It’s getting la te, so we beg in to trudge of f. But as we slowl y back a wa y the y run a t us, screaming their names and pointing to themselves. Wha t are the y d oing? I look to m y friend in confusion. The y become louder, and I finall y understand. The y are shouting their names a t us. Beg g ing us not to f orget. Beg g ing us to remember tha t the y are alive and the y are not just faces, but humans with dreams and fears and talents who are no more nor le ss worthy than an yone else in this world. I kick a t the g round, brea thing hea vil y. Tears stream down m y cheeks, but I ang ril y wipe them a wa y. Wha t kind of a God is this? Wha t kind of a God allows poverty to destroy an entire city? Wha t kind of a God lets children g row up without running wa ter, educa tion, or love? I began shaking with ra ge. I wanted Him to own up to his r esponsibilities and bring justice. Justice to end one of the largest sex industries around the world which the government allows and encoura ges because prostitution accounts f or thirty percent of the revenue Thailand receives from tourism. Justice to humble a na tion where most children drop out of school a t the a ge of ten because the y cannot af f ord to support a corrupt educa tional system a nd bribe their teachers. Justice f or students tha t waste eight hours of their life a da y on transporta tion because of the endless


traf fic. Justice to end the poverty which drives man to his lowest f orm, beg g ing f or change and working menial jobs, which destroy an y ca pacity to enjoy life. So I got down on m y knees and pra yed an ang r y pra yer. Dear God, Please listen to me. Please listen to us. Please listen to the sounds of your people cr ying out f or freedom. Freedom from wha t? From the chains. The chains of poverty, the chains of hunger, the chains of depression and the demons of alcohol and paint thinner. LORD, if you are trul y God, then DO SOMETHING and end the suf fering of this world. Amen. I la y in m y cot in the dark, looking a t the corruga ted tin roof, feeling tha t heart-wrenching hopelessness and I drifted of f slowl y to sleep. And then I woke up to the sound of rain smashing ever ywhere around me. It sounded like cymbals and trumpets. It sounded like g iants were crashing hammers

on the roof ever y second. The sound of rain was ma gnified a t lea st a million times b y the tin roof, which acted as a perfect instrumen t of sound intensifica tion. But I was strangel y comf orted b y it. The earth was dr y and in need of wa ter, and God delivered. The rain swept a w a y all the rub bish and filth, swept a wa y the fallen lea ves and the animal feces, swept a wa y the pain and the anger. Bliss. And then God spoke and I listened. Dear Sam, Don’t you know tha t I am a Perfect God? I did do something a bout all the suf fering and evil in the world. 2,000 years a go I sent m y Son to die on the cross so tha t a better world can be achieved. Jesus was born not an emperor, not a king, but as a carpenter’s son in Bethlehem, the backwa ters of the world. Doesn’t tha t tell you wha t kind of people I am looking after? Doesn’t tha t tell you who I ha ve cast m y lot with? The wa yward, the broken, the marg inalized. Don’t you know tha t I am Jeho vah Jirei? The G od-Who-Provides? If I g ive rain f or the plants and animals of the world, how much more will I look after you, m y g rea test crea tion? Don’t you know tha t I am Jehovah Nissi? The God-Is-M y-Banner? Tha t I g ive you the strength and the purpose and the vision to carr y out m y plans? Ever yone is fearfull y and wonderfull y made, do not doubt

wha t you can and cannot do. And don’t you know tha t I am Jehovah Shalom, God of Peace? I promise tha t the Kingdom of Hea ven is near, tha t hea ven on earth is one da y possible. Ima g ine a world where democracy f lourishes in ever y countr y,. where governments work together to eradica te poverty, where genocide becomes an antiqua ted word. A world where people are no longer a bsorbed in themselves, a world where broken rela tionships are healed. I promise this world to you, I g ive you a part in bring ing this world into life. Follow me and you will ha ve purpose and passion. Feed m y sheep and f ollow me. * * * * * There is a pplica tion here. There is a wa y to respond to God’s messa ge, God’s calling. And it’s ok if you don’t believe in God. All you ha ve to do is believe in human dignity- tha t we all ha ve intrinsic and perfect worth tha t CANNOT be determined b y outside factors. We must practice Solidarity. This means no ma tter wha t someone sa ys, no ma tter wha t someone does, no ma tter wha t the color of their skin or the f la vor of their sexuality or the clothes the y wear or how much mone y the y make, we must accept them and love them just like our Lord in Hea ven receives us with a self less and unconditional love. So look a t your brother, look a t your sister. Whether he is the friend tha t you’ve known f or years and years, the professor tha t g ives you less than fa vora ble g rades, the janitor tha t cleans the classrooms la te a t night, the homeless men and women beg g ing f or a scra p of bread, the drug addict poisoning his mind and dreams, the prostitute working in Thailand, the priest in the Va tican, the conartist, the despot, the martyr, the sinner, the saint- ever y human being is our blood, our famil y, to be loved and accepted-unconditionall y. This is the first step- to realize we are all part of the LARGER human famil y. For how can we care a bout our brothers and sisters if we don’t consider the m our brothers and sisters? And after you find out a bout this thing called SOLIDARITY, you can move on- find a cause tha t keeps your fellow brothers and sisters in the muck and FIGHT to free them. But perha ps this calling is not f or you. Perha ps you will wake up one morning, a morning tha t is far, far a wa y from toda y, and your hair will be balding and you will ha ve a va gue uneasiness a bout bills to pa y and pa pers to file. Perha ps you will brief l y recollect once upon a time a go you cried out a gainst injustice, but toda y you just cr y out during soa p operas. Perha ps it is inevita ble tha t the majority of us will succumb to the almighty dollar and suburban bourgeoisie dream. But we few who ha ve been called b y Christ march to a dif ferent drummer. We live b y a dif ferent creed. And you ma y find the triviality tha t once pla gued your existence will vanish like shadows a t da wn, f or a better da y, a brighter tomorrow.


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