Alison 2017

Week 4

Disclaimer: this post has nothing to do with service. I know I’m supposed to be wrestling with hard questions and fashionable cynicism, but this week I have a more pressing task.

Yesterday Dr. Mentzel gave a lecture about reparations. One point he raised on the subject is that white people have never publicly apologized for their part in Apartheid. This got me thinking about America; about how white people haven’t apologized for things like the slave trade, internment camps, and mistreatment of natives. So, since I’m a white person, I’ve decided to dedicate my post to do just that – to say sorry. I know it won’t fix anything, but I think it needs to be done. If not for anyone else than at least for my own personal growth. So here goes…in honor of my friends on this trip who have taught me so much about the black struggle, I’d like to say I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for white people. I know it’s “not all white people” but I’m still sorry. I’m sorry that the color of my skin represents a history of colonialism, abuse, and hatred. I’m sorry for the ways my ancestors mistreated yours. Im sorry that each Christmas, I welcome in family members who voted for a man that makes you tremble. And I’m sorry I compare my disdain for him to the emotions of fear you experience yourselves. I know they are not the same.

But I’m not just sorry for my friends and family. I’m sorry for myself, too. I’m sorry for the times I’ve pretended to be blameless; suggesting that they must do better, those ignorant white folk. As if I do not share blame. As if political affiliation or token friends or common courtesies can excuse all the things I’ve done and left undone. I have micro-aggressed. I have prejudiced. I have stood idly by. I am responsible, too. So I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the questions you’ve had to answer that I should already know the answer to. I’m sorry for not realizing problems myself and relying on you to teach me. I’m sorry for being complacent.

Finally (though not really, I won’t ever be done), I’m sorry for the things to come. Though I will keep asking questions (please shut up me up when it becomes too much) and try to do better and ultimately work to dismantle the broken system in which we live, I know I will still do wrong. I will continue to abuse power and privilege. I will more than likely remain a member of my predominately white church and watch movies with “problematic” stars and even spend summer days at the country club. I’m sorry that while simultaneously trying to dismantle the system, I will probably, subconsciously cling to its benefits. So I’m sorry. I’m sorry for white people; I’m sorry for my ancestors; I’m sorry for my friends and family; I’m sorry for myself.

Week 3

“Their courage and resilience and dogged hope in humanity inspire millions as they refuse to give in to the fashionable cynicism that risks engulfing us.” – The Book of Joy; Douglas Abrams

Speaking of South Africa’s Archbishop Desmond Tutu and His Holiness the Dali lama, author Douglas Abrams perfectly articulates a phenomenon that, I believe, plagues the world of community service today: “Fashionable cynicism.” Take, for example, the various critiques of Toms shoes (http://www.whydev.org/some-bad-news-about-toms-shoes/). In short, scholars say that the brand uses resources inefficiently, promotes helplessness, and disrupts local economies. And yet at Missionvale care center, a certified distributor of Toms shoes, kids walk around happily flaunting their free shoes. In fact, as South African legislation changes threaten Missionvale’s ability to distribute shoes, the staff have made clear their dismay. Scholars caution against the negative impacts of Toms shoes, but Missionvale staff have made clear what a benefit it is to their community. This is not to say that they ignore the critiques of Toms shoes and broader community service work all together; in fact, they have repeatedly acknowledged these and other challenges to our cohort. This is particularly true of the nutrition unit, which passes out weekly food parcels to community members and has been criticized for being a temporary, ameliorative fix rather than a systematic effort. Nevertheless, the organization has resisted fashionable cynicism by continuing to serve the immediate needs of the community whilst improving their practice and striving towards a more sustainable model of giving. Even in the nutrition unit, they have tweaked their model to give out uncooked food so that families would feel empowered to be able to cook for themselves and children would see their parents as the soul providers of nourishment rather than Missionvale.

One of my goals for this trip is to wrestle with the critiques of community service in the same way that Missionvale and Toms have (note: Toms has significantly changed their model of giving since the aforementioned critiques). How do I avoid perpetuating learned helplessness? How do I make the most efficient use of resources? How do I foster an equal and mutually respectful partnership with the people I serve? This week, these questions have been particularly challenging to work through. For one, the weight of what we’re doing at Bethelsdorp has started weighing more heavily on me. As I’ve gotten to know more kids and build stronger attachments, the end is looming before me. What will it be like to say goodbye? What impact will we have made on the school? Will we have made one at all? Whereas at first I felt cynical about teaching without a certification or formal training, now I wonder how the students will recover when we leave. It’s a presumptuous thought – I fully recognize that – but I do fear the repercussions of “the young, cool, fun American teachers” going back home. In hindsight, all the practices we adopted that seemed so commonplace at the time – active participation, hands on activities…games – may not have been the best approach. Will the kids be asking their teachers after we leave to play Simon says at the end of every class? How’s that for effectively serving the faculty of Bethelsdorp? Even little things could be harmful: all the paper we callously use, all the food resources we consume, all the attention we get from administration that dedicated faculty don’t receive themselves.

I don’t have a solution this week, but I hope to keep mulling over these questions for my remaining time here. At first I was resistant; scared to even address them. It frustrated me that other people in the cohort were so pessimistic. I guess I always doubted that we could do meaningful service in just 4 weeks but I felt confident that our being here was purposeful and productive. I trusted that the “learning” piece of our “service learning experience” would carry through and that whatever we did or did not do here would at least have a valuable impact on how we serve in the future. And wouldn’t that be worth it? Well, I still believe it is; But I’m now ready to consider the doubts my peers have – to engage with cynicism and wrestle with hard questions. Hopefully, as I do, I will come out looking more like the Archbishop and Dali Lama and Missionvale staff than the fashionable cynics I’ve become so used to.

Week 2

You can determine a lot about a community’s condition by looking at its litter. Cleanliness is a privilege like any other and its no mistake that the tidiest neighborhoods are the ones with the highest price tag. Why? Because People within them have time to care. Comparing this to Joe Slovo township (which we toured this week), where families lack access to the basic necessities of life, it’s no surprise that crumpled aluminum bags and crushed plastic bottles clutter the street. To be clear, litter in Joe Slovo was not like you see around a high school cafeteria – where students carelessly leave the remains of their lunches in ziploc sandwhich bags on the table. It was all consuming. Everywhere and in everything. Weathered over time, scattered throughout the soil, and intertwined with chain fence links it became an inseparable part of the landscape. As someone who tends to pick up a stray piece of trash if I find it on the street, this weighed on me. I felt burdened to do something but consumed by fellings of futility; even if I had wanted to help, I knew not where to begin.

Working with Kurios this week, I have felt a similar way….

After a great wek in Johannasberg and the weekend to adjust in Port Elizabeth, I finally began working through Kurios at Bethelsdorp High School on Tuesday. To my surprise, I was told on arrival that the project involves teaching a class of over 25 eigth grade students, most of whom read and write below a fourth grade level, English literacy skills. Not assisting. Not tutoring. Full fledged teaching. Not suprisingly, this stirred up some mixed feelings. On one hand, I’ve had an incredible time. The kids are eager to learn and every day feels like a small step forward. The experience has even me confidence in my plan to pursue an English teaching through the Fulbright program after graduation. On the other hand, everything about what we are doing feels wrong. We are not teachers. We have never received training. Worse, every minute a learner spends with us, is a minute spent away from their real teachers and valuable instruction time. Of course we have brought these concerns up to the teacher overseeing the project but she insists that it is beneficial. When asked if we could instead do one on one tutoring with low-performing students she informed us that that would not work – they are all low-performing. When asked if we could have some material that they would like us to cover she said it did not matter; and reminded us that movies were always an option to fill time. I do not believe this comes from a place of complaceny or laziness. Rather her remarks, and the reality of the whole situation, make it evident that she feels hopeless. Standing in the face of a polluted education system, she knows not where to begin. And though I have no more wisdom than she, my goal for the next three weeks is to press on anyway. To give each student my all, knowing that four weeks can hardly make a difference. To pick up each stray piece of trash, knowing full well that a mountain of litter surrounds me.

Week 1

A week ago today I stepped off a plane onto African soil (or concrete rather) for the very first time. In thinking back on all that has happened since then, I feel overwhelmed with gratitude; for what I’ve seen, for what I’ve learned, for the moments I’ve shared with this incredible team. We’ve already visited the national apartheid museum, seen a gumboot dance performed by Soweto teenagers, and gone to our first rugby game. Beyond that, I’ve gotten to attend a local church, see wild giraffes, and engage in hard conversations about our campus culture with my peers. I could continue to catalogue these special moments I’ve already enjoyed for what seems like forever…. That said, here’s a summary of two major takeaways from my first week.:

1. Heros don’t change the world; humans do. It may be cheesy, but it’s true. At constitution hill, our group got into a conversation about Ghandi. Specifically, a few members from the group refused to be pictured in front of a statue of him because they did not support him (as I soon learned, he was outspokenly anti-black in the pursuit of gaining Indian rights). While it was upsetting to hear, I can’t say I was particularly surprised. It seems like every notable figure throughout history has some dark past or questionable moral compass. In fact, I find these failings somewhat encouraging – if they can catalyze change, then why can’t we all? If they’re subject to the same condition of human infallibility as the rest of us, then what does that say about the future for members in this group?

2. Think first, then do. This is really an inside joke for the group but it also relates to a lot of the lessons I’ve learned thus far. A few nights ago a friend asked if I was bothered by the lack of diversity in Peabody. I didn’t have an answer. The truth is, I had never noticed. Then last night at the rugby game, another friend noticed that all of the concession workers were of color. Yet again, I hadn’t previously noticed. I’ve found that there are many such details I fail to notice – to think about. Because of my privilege, I don’t need to. But through reflecting on everything I’ve learned here, I realize how important it is to stop and “think about it.” Not just in South Africa, not just with OACS groups, but always. And then, only then, can I really do.