Grad at Grad Talk – Committed to Doing Justice Nicole Seredenko, ‘15
I’d like to ask everyone a question: How directly does a commitment to doing
justice affect your life? To me, it always seemed like a far‐fetched, distant concept – much too regal in nature. Growing up, I never acknowledged my responsibility to mold a more just society, even though I was always reminded of it. Both of my parents grew up in the Soviet Union and immigrated to the United States, so I was always aware that social injustice existed. My great‐grandfather, Pyetr Nicolae Gasten, even worked with Leo Tolstoy in the Caucus region of Russia to help the impoverished. They bought a plot of land and used their resources to educate orphaned children and, in times of famine, feed the hungry. My parents always shared their experiences with me, but by the time I was born, they had already established a very comfortable life for me and my brother within the United States. The stories of injustice were those made for European History textbooks; they weren’t stories I considered relevant to my life because social injustice did not directly affect me.
“Love God, love neighbor” – sounds pretty simple, right? I just needed to be
nice to people and let a classmate borrow my pencil now and then. I never truly fathomed the Greatest Commandment until I was introduced to the concept of solidarity during my first Camden trip as a freshman. Solidarity means empathizing with people whose circumstances may vastly differ from my own. Although I may be separated from someone geographically, economically, or racially, I still hold the responsibility in my decision making to work for a common good. I am my brothers’ and sisters’ keeper, regardless of gender, race, or socio‐economic status; I therefore am responsible to include their voice in the conversation of social injustice. I need to work in close collaboration with my community here on 83rd and Park as well as the global community, for we all share the same earth and, often times, common hopes and dreams.
I’ve always considered myself a more abstract and intellectual thinker than
someone who learns through experience and action, and the concept of solidarity
really struck a chord personally when I completed my research paper for AP English during my junior year. Mr. Gregory advised my class to pick a topic that excited us, so I suppose the question was a difficult one because just about anything can get me excited. If you haven’t noticed already from my passionate debates in the library or Commons, I am a feminist. For my research paper, I chose this elephant of a question: How must feminism adapt to the twenty first century? Initially, I considered this question strictly one for Western society. I was concerned about the lack of female CEOs in America, and I hardly understood that on the international level, many women did not even have access to elementary education. The Sheryl Sandberg’s and Beyonce’s of the world were making more of an impact on my analysis of feminism, but what about the women who did not even have a voice in this conversation on gender equality? To begin my research, I read Half the Sky by Pulitzer Prize winners Nicholas Kristoff and Sheryl WuDunn. Half the Sky, quite frankly, challenged every preexisting notion I had of gender inequality. The work details the grave disenfranchisement of women in second and third world countries, and how feminism must translate to enfranchise these women yet without com‐ promising the culture of those countries and without afflicting a form of neoimperialism through a distinctly Western philosophy. The question for me soon became, Could multiculturalism and feminism exist harmoniously? Could my ideals of gender equality translate into cultural and economic circumstances vastly different from my own?
Solidarity plays a crucial role in this global conversation. I realized that I was
part of this greater global community, and in whatever career path I take, I should work for the greater good of that community. There’s a symbiotic relationship between my work and the work of the community – each individual voice is crucial to the conversation. I fully realized the importance of this community this year at the Ignatian Family Teach‐In. I realized the vastness of Jesuit education, and how in that room alone, 1,500 people were working for this common goal of social justice – imagine how many people live around the world, also working for this goal. At the Teach‐In, I attended a presentation on the life and beliefs of Pope Francis. And if you haven’t heard about my “I Heart Papa Francesco” t‐shirt, I pretty much love him, but
before the Teach‐In, I did not have a solid understanding of the concrete beliefs of our Jesuit pope. Pope Francis urges each of us to use our individual gifts for three primary purposes – to serve, accompany, and protect. “Serving” and “protecting” are used to mean charity and justice respectively, but “accompany” proves as the crucial word. I must accompany the marginalized. I must identify and befriend the margin‐ alized, to include their voice in the conversation of the greater community. How can I serve if I don’t know whom I serve?
Now, within this community, of course, individuality is key. I once thought
that a “commitment to doing justice” meant giving away all my possessions and moving to Africa. Some of us are called to do this, but all of us are called to do justice in whatever path we are called to take. The call to solidarity and community means valuing each other’s different experiences, gifts, and talents. I can work for social justice in any path I choose. Most recently, when I reflect on my service work and social justice, I ask myself two questions: What is my role in working for social justice? How may I better fulfill that role?
My Christian Service placement is the Frederick Douglass Center, an
organization in West Harlem that serves as an after school program for children. There, I find myself in the role of the problem solver. My supervisor can usually find me within the eye of a tornado of second grade boys, resolving a silly argument, or, on a more individual level, I’m helping a second grader named Brendan do his math homework. His homework usually involves simple operations of addition and subtraction, and he always asks me, “Are you sure you’re doing this the right way?” or, better yet, “How is this even useful?” Although the question is seemingly flippant, his question is an important one. Brendan questions everyone and everything, a trait I myself admire and try to emulate. He takes the role of the inquisitive thinker, who, in turn, challenges me to think more deeply and examine my role more thoroughly.
I asked you a question in the beginning of my talk: How directly does a
commitment to doing justice affect your life? To answer this question myself, I’d like to refer to Oscar Romero. When Oscar Romero was assassinated, he was celebrating Mass in the small chapel of a hospital in El Salvador. When his assassin stood at the
entrance of the chapel, Romero had an undeniably clear view of his assassin. He could have hid behind the altar, he could’ve yelled for help, but he continued Mass until his assassin fired. That’s the attitude I’d like to take on in my life – when I’m faced with a challenge, I’d like to face it head‐on. I don’t want my commitment to doing justice to end when I close a book or leave the Frederick Douglass Center. Leo Tolstoy once said, “The sole meaning of life is to serve humanity.” Whenever the challenges of injustice come into clear view, rather than hide, I’d like to take it on. Thank you.