A Rainy Day in the City

March 21, 2011

Today’s disembarkation set off a “funky” tone for the day: we were met with the stench of bodily fluids on the Subway car we boarded as the second leg of our train-train-bus commute to school. Not to worry, though, because neither this incident nor the rain dampened our spirits! As soon as Lianna welcomed us to the high school, our determination to serve was reignited! (The bagels helped a lot).

Lianna explained a lot of the classroom dynamics to us in our orientation, but nothing ingrained it more than actually being a witness to the teenagers that make up the student body of Bronx International. The classroom I’m assigned to for the week, the 11^th grade US History class, is studying the Industrial Revolution. To conclude their unit, they prepared presentations for today: NBC-style interviews playing the roles of Union leaders, senators, big business tycoons, and factory workers. Seeing the kids presenting reminded me of my own experiences in foreign language classes. I explained to my trip group in reflection how I become a totally different person when I’m presenting in a language I’m not fluent in; I become shy, scared to make mistakes, nervous, incompetent and anxious. For these kids, they have to muster the courage to endure this same self-consciousness every time they open their mouths in class. Heck, make it every time they open their mouths in public, too. I don’t know the kids too well yet, but my appreciation for the effort it takes to assimilate, in terms of language at least, has skyrocketed from today’s experiences alone.

I can’t wait for tomorrow; the kids are starting the essay portion of the end-of-unit assignment and I can’t wait to see what they have to say about the topic. It works out kind of perfectly how they’re talking about a period of history that reflects their current situation…

Today we also visited the Tenement Museum on the Lower East Side. It fit in PERFECTLY with what I learned from the kids’ presentations in class. As they played the role of workers oppressed by poor working conditions, low wages, and long hours, I got to witness the home life of these very immigrants. I wonder if maybe there’s more similarity between the immigrants of now and then than it seems? Sharing the same space that these families once inhabited brought about emotions I’m still processing…I feel so…over-privileged…

At the end of the tour, the guide asked us a pretty provocative question that connected the inhabitants of the tenement (c.1870-1935) to today’s immigration controversy. After explaining the situation of immigrants trying to make it during the Great Depression, she asked, “Would you want them to make it?” We responded with expected nods, but then she asked the same question, rhetorically, with regards to the immigrants of 2011.

Do I want them to make it? Well, of course I want them to make it, right? I mean, my ancestors were given the same opportunity so it’s only right to pass the baton onto the next generation of eager prospective citizens. But at what expense? At the expense of my own success? While we reflected on the students’ search for the right scholarships, I felt guilty that I could only remember my own selfish bitterness towards scholarships when I was a senior in high school. I felt that I deserved a scholarship for my grades, extra-curriculars, and eagerness to learn, but my financial need existed only in the gap between the schools I wanted to attend and the schools I could afford to attend. Maryland was in the budget, private schools were out. At the time, I resented that I couldn’t get extra money to go to the big-name hot-shot schools I thought I wanted to go to, but now I’d almost rather see all the money I’m not getting to go to school put towards these kids, because that’s America, right? Land of opportunity? I have plenty of opportunity to spare, and it turns out that I ended up in just the right place at just the right cost for my family and I.

There was a beautiful moment today when we were boarding the metro to come home from a long day of new experiences, history, and touring. In the subway, there was a man playing a traditional Chinese instrument for contributions of spare change. I watched as a younger gentleman, perhaps a student or young artisan, waited patiently for the act to conclude so he could debut his own cello performance. When the man with the Chinese instrument showed no sign of stopping, the younger man finally gave up on his attempt to take over the spotlight and, rather, put a dollar in the elder musician’s collection. To me, it was so humbling to watch. It gave me hope for this country, reinstating the idea that people can help people so we can all succeed together. The younger man may have given up on the platform, but he found success composing a soundtrack for us to enjoy in our Subway car on our commute home.