“I saw myself inside
his begging body. I realized at this moment that we human beings are
fundamentally forbidden to shield ourselves from events outside our comfort
zones. This unknown, unnamed boy, born into the lowest caste and purposefully
made to warrant sympathy, rests inside all of us… I accepted my identity as a
mystery larger than I could ever imagine but enriched through the experience of
love and acceptance” (Shah, par. 13).
During her time abroad
with her parents, Ria Shah found herself walking the streets of Mumbai, when
she witnessed this young boy her own age begging on the street. She understood
that personal identification is more than just oneself---it lies within the people
whom one shares a connection with, no matter how small. As I transition
from high school into my young adult life, I am beginning to understand this
now, too. From reading the words of Shah to famous writers like Walt
Whitman and Alan Watts activists like Martin Luther King Jr., my personal
narrative is becoming clearer. By learning to shrink the distance between
the people in my life and myself, I realize that the connection I share with
people is my greatest source for self-identification.
The high school career
I experienced was unlike most. In the context of Plato’s “Allegory of the
Cave,” the Educational Center for the Arts (ECA), where I majored in dance, was
my escape into the light from the deep cave of the public education system in my
town. At Daniel Hand High School, where I took my core classes each morning, my
teachers kept me chained and forced me to look at assignments through the
specific lens of the rubrics they provided. They lit a fire and cast the
shadows for my peers and I to absorb. I witnessed how teachers “filed [us] away
through the lack of creativity, transformation, and knowledge in this (at best)
misguided system” (Freire 244). Paulo
Freire, education philosopher, warned his readers in “The Banking Concept of
Education” that students are not containers to fill but are unique minds
to inspire. Each day when I left Daniel Hand to attend ECA, I felt
released into a more freeing atmosphere. Nevertheless, my dance teachers in my
freshman year told me that I was playing it too safely, but the freedom I had
been given with movement assignments took time for me to grow into. Reflecting
on my years at ECA, I see how it enabled my transition from cave dwelling to
discovering a world where I found comfort in creativity and dared to make my
own choices. By introducing me to my closest friends and providing a haven for
me to explore my art form and find a voice through movement, ECA shaped me
into the artist, student and person I am today. Like Plato’s escapee enlarging
his perception of all that he believed to be true and returning to his fellow
prisoners to share his experiences, dance has been my outlet to escape those cave
conformities. It offered me emotional support and helped me cope with the
passing of my grandparents. Most importantly, dance is not a judge, and
therefore this discipline has encouraged innovation and risk taking. If I
can offer even a handful of people the joy I experienced while learning at ECA,
then opening my own dance studio will have been worthwhile.
Although Plato helped
me to better understand my high school struggles, Walt Whitman brought to the
surface of my consciousness emotions I felt when first experiencing racism.
My host brother, Ryan Daniels, was born and raised in Harlem. When
he was thirteen years old, he applied to A Better Chance, a high school
program to attend Daniel Hand High School in Madison, Connecticut. In his
freshman year at Hand, he met my older brother, Nick, in his geometry class. Their
friendship quickly grew and my family decided to host Ryan for the remaining
three and a half years he would attend my town’s high school. More than just a
friend, Ryan became a part of my family. By living at my house, he opened my
eyes to how privileged of an upbringing I had. He made me appreciate the
things I took for granted, like how my family was lucky to know there would be
food on the table each night. Ryan also taught me how injustice is
everywhere, even in my picturesque suburban town. Witnessing his experiences, I
have seen how deep racism is within a community and how detrimental are its
effects.
Ryan became acclimated
to life in Madison and meshed into the friend group that Nick had been a part
of since middle school. When Nick and Ryan became extremely close, many of the
boys took notice and began making ultimatums with my brother, saying he could
only join if Ryan did not come along. This culminated in a Saturday night party
during their junior year when the group forced them to leave. They were
led out of the house through the garage and there, spray painted on the wall
for them to see, read “nigger.” I was twelve years old at the time and I had
never seen my older brother cry, but that night sent Nick into a whirlwind of
emotions, as he discovered racism present in the group of friends he thought he
knew so well. Ryan tried his best to seem unaffected by it, but we could
tell how hurt and betrayed he felt. My whole family felt the pain; I was
upset to see how sad it made my brother, and I was enraged at his alleged
friends for being so dismissive and discriminatory towards Ryan. The mass of
emotions I felt during this time became clearer when I read Section One of
“Song of Myself”: “For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you”
(Whitman, para. 1). This appreciation of our interdependence is also
representative of the post-conventional stages of Lawrence Kohlberg’s moral
development model. What was felt by my family was the understanding of
“abstract ideas of equality, dignity and respect” (Kohlberg). Ryan had
become a part of my family, so when his dignity was disrespected, so was my
family’s.
Just as Whitman revealed
these strong emotions connected with Ryan and social injustice, Alan Watts
helped me resolve issues in my religious life. Growing up in a Roman Catholic
family, spoon-fed stories of Jesus and God through attending mass and catechism
classes for years, I learned that He is the divine being from which all things
come, there to provide love and guidance for me, so I must fully accept and
believe in His presence and power. My grandmother had been the most prominent
source of religious faith in my family. Her faith was more than an aspect of
her life; it shone in her lifestyle. Even in casual conversation, if I were to
mention to her that I misplaced something, she would remind me to pray to Saint
Anthony for guidance. However, I never truly prayed to God on my own, only when
in the presence of my family at Mass, nor had I much confidence in the idea of
God as an actual entity. This past spring, however, when I lost both of my
grandparents within the span of five weeks, I began to pray on my own. This
act made much more sense to me after reading, “Inside Information,” the first
chapter of The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are. Watts states,
“Of course, you must remember that God isn't shaped like a person. People have
skins and there is always something outside our skins” (Watts 9). Now I'm finding greater meaning in the idea of God not as the judge of a competition for
His approval, but rather as the ground of my being most fully expressed in the
act of love. After years
of listening to sermons and hymns about the Lord, I feel most connected to
the divine via the loving relationship I shared with my grandparents. This
feeling mirrors Watts’s closing thought, “that the less I preach, the more
likely I am to be heard” (Watts 14). I am finding a deeper sense of faith now
and am beginning to see the true simplicity in religion. Personally, its value
is not found in long hours of prayer and reading of the scriptures but felt in
my daily relationships through loving, serving, remembering, and cherishing.
In the wake of this
year’s presidential election, loving relationships that cherish our differences
in mutual support seems more valuable than ever. This year was my first
opportunity to vote, and I was confident for a particular outcome. Unfortunately,
the candidate I supported did not win, and I struggle to accept the bigotry and
ignorance of our president-elect. As an eighteen-year-old college student, I
must be aware of how the current politics will shape my future, from the type
of workforce I will be entering after graduation to my ability to obtain health
care as a young adult. Not only do I disagree with much of what creates Mr.
Trump’s political platform, I have issues with his lack of awareness and
feelings for people that do not look or act like him. As I grow up, I feel a
larger purpose for civic duty, that if my government is not protecting and
supporting the rights of all people, it is my responsibility to stand up and do
my part. I am already witnessing the fear of my homosexual and Mexican friends,
as they are unsure of how their communities will be treated during a Trump
presidency. A close friend of mine from ECA, who prefers to be unnamed, came
out to his friends and family during his sophomore year. As he watched
the election results on November 8th, he reposted on his Facebook page:
“Hey Trump supporters: There’s
something I’d like you to understand about people of color, women, LGBTQ
people, Muslims, and every other marginalized group. We’re afraid. We’re
not just upset our candidate isn’t winning…. When over half the country votes
for a candidate who wants to strip you of your rights, who incites violence
against you, who believes your existence is a threat, it’s fucking scary. Don’t
pretend our fear isn’t on you. It is” (Anonymous).
Millions of Americans,
including myself, feel the way my friend does in response to the outcome of
this election. However, perhaps this is an opportunity for our country to
become more unified, to band together, to stand for the right of justice. As
Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote in 1963, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to
justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied
in a single garment of destiny” (King, para. 4). This statement
challenges those who disagree with my friend’s values of acceptance and
equality. It inspires me to not live idling by, as injustice occurs to our
fellow citizens, who all deserve to live in a country that takes pride in its
freedom of speech, religion, press, assembly, and petition.
By reading the works of
such noteworthy writers, I have been able to grasp a clearer sense of my
identity. Reflecting on the past, I have a begun to connect the dots of my
experiences to gain a further scope of my personal narrative: what I value and
cherish, and what I aspire to be in the future. Just as Ria Shah accepted her
identity as something larger than herself, I am realizing this for myself
through reading such noteworthy philosophers, poets, and activists.
Works Cited
Anonymous. Facebook post. 8 Nov. 2015. Web. 6 Dec.
2016.
Freire, Paulo. Pedagogy of the Oppressed. "The
Banking Concept of Education "(1970): 242-55. Print.
King, Martin Luther, Jr. "Letter from Birmingham Jail." N.p.:
n.p., 1963. 2011. Web. 4 Dec. 2016.
"Kohlberg's Stages of Moral Development - Boundless Open
Textbook." Boundless. N.p., n.d. Web. 04 Dec. 2016.
Plato’s "Allegory of the Cave" - Alex Gendler. TED-ed, 17 Mar. 2015.
Web. 4 Dec. 2016.
Shah, Ria. "Has the University Stolen the Fire in Our Bellies?
A Proposal to Activate & Celebrate Student Responsiveness." Taking
Giant Steps. N.p., 27 Oct. 2015. Web. 07 Dec. 2016.
Watts, Alan. The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You
Are. (1969): 11-28. Menantol. Web. 04 Dec. 2016.
Whitman, Walt. "Song of Myself (1892 Version)." Poetry
Foundation. Poetry Foundation, n.d. Web. 03 Dec. 2016.
