Committed to Doing Justice? Late last year, I received an email from Dr. Ross inviting me to speak on the topic of being committed to doing justice. Excited, nervous, and a bit scared, truth be told, I emailed my parents for advice. They still, even at my age, like to experience my life in New York – and at Loyola – vicariously, and were both intrigued, not having attended a Jesuit school where we bandy these phrases about on a daily basis. My mum asked whether the grad-at-grad remark was perhaps some sort of verbal basketball game, and my dad offered to write me an opening “gag” about there being no justice in America since the fall of the British Empire. I declined the invitation from my dad, accepted the invitation from Dr. Ross, and began to think about what it really means to be committed to doing justice. It’s a strong word, isn’t it, commitment? It means dedication, devotion, fidelity. We commit to people, to clubs, to jobs, to sports teams even, without really thinking about it, but as I lay awake with jetlag at 4am one cold January morning, worrying about a speech I had to give in four months’ time, I realized that although I CARED about doing justice, I wasn’t very committed at all. I’ve paid lip service to it – for the past three years I’ve been to the Global Citizen Festival in Central Park, attended by people who are REALLY committed to doing justice like Ban Ki-Moon, Malala and even Hugh Jackman; to get tickets you have to take action on global issues like education, sanitation and human rights by signing online petitions, emailing world leaders, and at one point even leaving a voice message for Congress. I’ve been a member of humanitarian movements like Avaaz for years, but more often than not would leave their emails to read at an unspecified later point that obviously never came. Certain events might spur me into action: I donated to the Disasters Emergency Committee after the earthquake in Nepal and to the UN after seeing the heartbreaking picture of Aylan Kurdi on the beach in Turkey but I wasn’t committed to anything long-term or meaningful. With that in mind, I decided to conduct an experiment of sorts: to see how much more committed to doing justice I could become in four months. I began with an action plan: where to focus my efforts and what I could do. I’m not Michelle Obama, or Leonardo DiCaprio; my 13 Twitter followers and I were hardly going to galvanize a new movement and change the world. I also realized (even at that point!) that it would be impossible to commit to more than a couple of key issues. I gave myself two goals: to see how I could take action globally in areas that I really cared about, like women’s rights and education, and to use my time and talents, such as they are, to make my immediate environment, New York City, a more “just” place to be. The experiment began with gusto: no one was more committed to doing justice than I was in the month of January, 2016. No one. I signed petitions! I sent emails! I started getting my electricity from a renewable energy source! I volunteered at soup kitchens, started tutoring underprivileged kids at a local high school, and on one particularly memorable Saturday morning was in Central Park at 9am to be the “Captain” of a tandem bike, riding 25 miles around the park with a lovely visually-impaired chap called Fergal, who loved cycling but obviously didn’t feel safe going it alone. On one day in January alone, I signed eleven petitions, sent numerous emails and someone from the UN liked one of my tweets so much that HE started following ME. (He was number 9. He later unfollowed me.) Finally, I was committed to doing justice.
You can probably guess where this is going. Mid-terms happened. Second semester began. The deluge of frenetic online do-gooding and avid volunteering slowed to more of a trickle. My “Super-Size Me” all-or-nothing approach had made me the Morgan Spurlock of philanthropy, although my indulgence was benevolence rather than Big Macs. But still, as spring sprang, I realized that although I wasn’t going to be winning the Nobel Peace Prize anytime soon, my noble experiment hadn’t been a failure. Instead of a total lifestyle change which, as anyone who has ever made, then promptly broken, a New Year’s Resolution, will know, is usually unsustainable long-term, I had still made small changes: like Miss Maudie’s “babysteps” in To Kill a Mockingbird. Four months on, I’m still signing petitions. I’m still seeking out opportunities to learn more or do more or be more when I can. I still tutor the same three sophomore girls every Monday night. They’re delightful - hard-working, dedicated, very eager to please and, most of all, appreciative of every opportunity they’re given. It’s such a lovely feeling to see them learn and grow in confidence which is, I suppose, why we give up our time in this way. It’s not only altruistic; it makes us feel good. It’s nice to be able to help other people – a luxury to even be able to – not because you have to or it’s a requirement, but because you want to. When you have time, you can give time. When you have money, you can give money. Perhaps you might be able to give both. To claim you are committed to doing justice is probably the boldest of the grad-at-grad statements. It’s intimidating. When looking at potential career options and the direction your lives might take, sometimes your choices seem very polarized: either you work in finance, have a heart of stone and scare any small children that have the misfortune to cross your path, or you live in a commune somewhere, weaving baskets and feeding the poor out of your own mouth, but there’s obviously a middle ground. James Comey, last month, reminded us how important it is to take the time to help others; not forever, nor as a vocation necessarily, but in your own time, in your own way, and on your own terms. The choir at my old school used to sing a song which I’ve since discovered is based on Micah 6:8, and to me, epitomizes what it means to be truly just. (I won’t sing it. That would not be just.) It begins: “This is what Yahweh asks of you, only this: That you act justly, that you love tenderly, that you walk humbly with your Lord.” A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. So this is my challenge to you. Take that baby step. Do one thing – however small – that makes our world a better place. Who knows where that journey might take you? But remember, wherever you go and whatever you do: act justly, love tenderly, and walk humbly.