Looking Beyond the Bubbles

Lacey’s regularly bright blue eyes are red and half-open as she sniffles and erupts into a painful-sounding hacking fit. She’s been miserably sick for almost two weeks, and her symptoms only worsen each day. Yet she drags her aching body out of bed each morning at six’ o’clock to walk next door to work at the daycare center. Luckily, Lacey thought ahead when choosing the location of her apartment; she knew she couldn’t afford to keep fixing her 15 year-old car.
Lacey already used all her sick days for the year, but that doesn’t prevent her from catching the countless colds circulating among the toddlers she cares for. Because her employer does not provide any benefits, her full-time paycheck of $200 a week simply cannot pay for health care or even occasional doctor’s visits when she has rent, electric, heat, food, and phone bills to pay first. So my heroic 22 year old friend trudges next door each day, sick or just poor, to love, teach, and play with rich people’s children while they’re off making more than four times as much money as Lacey.
As an informed citizen of the United States, I know that we are living in a time of chaos, fear of diversity, dwindling freedoms, and heightening social inequality. I understand that voters are concerned with outlawing gay marriage, birth control, and abortion, and divvying up government-protected preserves and forests to lumber companies. I know their semi-automatic assault rifles are important to them, too. But, perhaps naively, I keep hoping that people will look beyond their own greed and ethnocentric beliefs to help people like Lacey get by. I keep hoping people will realize that if we only allocated a fraction of our daily war expenses to national health care, no one would have to choose between medicine and food or shelter. Keeping our own citizens alive should take precedence over killing foreigners and having our own soldiers die. It seems so simple, but people still don’t get it. But I still hope, one day…
My sheltered world in my suburban upstate New York town wasn’t helping me do anything other than hope, though. Upon deciding to leave the only place I’d ever lived, I imagined my next little bubble I would reside in until graduating from Ithaca College. After classes, I’d lounge next to a gorgeous, cascading waterfall, letting creativity flow, writing with my legs dangling over the edge of the creek… Later in my dream, I’d float on the lake in my kayak, staring at the deep blue sky, absorbing the day’s revelations and lessons learned with each deep breath of fresh air. I would enjoy every moment of living in a beautiful area, being part of an open-minded community, and learning about the things I felt most passionate about in life. Then I’d graduate and my perfect bubble would pop.
At this point in my dream, I enter the cold, ignorant world, but with confidence and motivation to spread intelligent thoughts and ideas. My aspirations to touch people with my words, and to inspire compassion among the most selfish, violent, stubborn and heartless people, would be fulfilled.
It’s an intimidating thought: knowing that you have the opportunity to make a difference while earning a living through your chosen profession. Each day I learn more about people in extreme poverty, about how they’re stuck in an endless cycle with little upward mobility. I feel an ethical responsibility to fight for these people, because I have the potential resources unlike them. The people in poverty, who need the most government resources, the best education, and the most help overall, lack representation as they are consistently pushed below by those on the top. People in jail receive more annual money than someone on welfare; what does that say about our values? That criminals deserve better living conditions than poor people? That it’s more important to pay to lock up drug addicts than to pay to help those in the ghetto? It is obviously a fundamentally flawed society when poor people purposely commit crimes just so they can get caught and have free food and shelter in jail.
In a country in which the top 1% of the wealthiest people own 38.4% (as of 1998) of the nation’s entire wealth, and in which this sliver of the American population saw the most dramatic increase of all classes in income since the mid 1970’s, we will not see any serious attempts to reduce inequality from these people (class notes, Evan Cooper, Social Inequality). W.E.B. Du Bois said it best in his essay, The Problem of the Twentieth Century is the Color Line, when he wrote, “This nation is ruled by corporate wealth to a degree which is frightening. One thousand persons own the United States and their power outweighs the voice of the mass of American citizens.” These greedy, influential people even fund organizations called policy planning networks with the sole intention of developing policies that benefit upper class interests. So, I plan on infiltrating the system and bringing it down! (With intelligence and humor, of course.)
In reality, I just want to help less fortunate people articulate their experiences in a way that could truly affect the way the average, apathetically ignorant American views the world. Yes, my motto is the same as all young, liberal college students: I want to make a difference, change the world! I really must think of a more original life mission statement. But, with determination and just a little more luck, I could land a job writing creative non-fiction for a national magazine. With a position like that, important but ignored issues could really be heard—as long as I don’t go too overboard and get myself fired for being too critical of the government or whatever corporate powers fund my magazine! It will be a constant challenge to keep addressing an unwilling and opposing audience, but I must do so if I want to actually influence any social issues our nation faces.
Right now, I look at the world and I see war, despair, poverty, discrimination, and ignorance. I want to improve these inevitable, horrible issues. But the wide-eyed baby in me still cannot help but feel overwhelmed by the grandeur and beauty of the pure, natural world. Whether I am hiking, kayaking, photographing, snowboarding, or simply sitting outside, I am always aware of the ancient rock formations to my left, the fluorescent sunset straight ahead, or the calm trickling of the stream behind me.
So when dark, toxic smoke billows into the crisp autumn air, it angers me. When I hike up Cascadilla Gorge in hippie, nature-loving Ithaca, I am outraged at the people in the frat houses perched on the rim who use the gorge as a garbage dump. I fear for my grandchildren, and perhaps even my own children, that one day our planet will rebel against humans. People are unbelievably arrogant in thinking that the ozone layer isn’t that important, that pollution won’t affect us, and that we don’t need rainforests for anything other than wood. Humans have only been in existence for a fraction of a second of Earth’s life, and sudden, natural catastrophes have happened before. By denying or ignoring the fact that we are destroying valuable and irreplaceable natural resources at tremendous rates is almost like daring our planet to retaliate and put us in our place.
Sometimes I become frustrated; sometimes I feel simply helpless to make anything better. After all, I am just one person with one measly opinion, and it rarely seems to be the popular one. Occasionally I wonder if I would be better off just not caring, and being blissfully ignorant to the horrors of the world. I suppose it would be nice to never hear about Iraqi children with half their faces blown off, beached whales, oil spills and explosions, hate crimes, women and children raped by invading armies, and billionaires profiting off third world countries’ shriveling sweatshop workers.
But then I shake myself out of the zombie-like state of mind that half our country is trapped in, and realize that I live in the same world regardless of whether or not I choose to know about it. I remember why I left my friends and family, and all that I am comfortable with, to come to college. Maybe right now it is pointless to shout and protest at a predominantly liberal campus in a definite blue state—though it sure helps morale after a heart-crushing presidential loss! But what I am learning here, and the credentials and connections I will hopefully make here, will help me have the chance to eventually get off my butt and actually make an important contribution to my passionate causes. Maybe my career will be a financial flop. But as long as I press on with infinite effort and compassion, and never forget why I began this journey, I think I can improve the world if only by being one individual that truly cares.