This past weekend I went and volunteered at Choices and found at the end of the day angry but also helpless.  Before arriving Sunny and Sarah had both warned me about the pictures, but it doesn’t sink in until you see them.  Turning the corner my stomach dropped with the sight of a stillborn baby, little limbs, and blood everywhere.  Part of me wanted to turn around right then and there, but a bigger part of me was enraged.  At that time there were only a few protestors and it was still early so many people weren’t on the streets.  But slowly as time ticked on more people arrived and more people were present on the streets.  As the protestors arrived saying good morning happily to everyone around them, even us, they spread themselves around the block and the posters doubled in number.

 One of the men protesting took his post right in front of me.  As we stood in silence- me watching for patients, him looking for people to spread the good word to- he started to ask me questions.  “What do you think about the pictures? Pretty gruesome, right? You know they don’t show these in schools.  I wonder what would happen if they did?”  Part of me really wanted to just yell at the guy, but I knew there was no arguing with them and it would just make me angrier.  But I found his questions lingering in my mind, especially as three African American boys showed up with their dad to protest.  Watching them for a little bit it became clear they were just there because their father had made them.  But then I began to think about our discussion the previous day about education.  What are we teaching our kids?  Who is teaching our kids?

This I think really resonated with me, especially after my last post where I was so inspired by our youth.  As a child we have very little power over ourselves.  We are taught to respect our elders and to listen to our parents.  As we get older, we slowly build our power and take it back.  Power is an interesting thing really.  It is possibly the most valued thing in society- power over ourselves and others.  But as quickly as we gain power we can lose it.

A car pulls up to the curb and inside is a young African American boy and girl, probably high school age.  Right outside the car door was that man standing with his huge picture of a stillborn baby.  The girl begins to shake and holds her head down; she is visibly distraught and begins to cry.  She doesn’t want to get out of the car but then Marcus (an older man who was also a volunteer escort) comes over to help and between the two of us we help the girl in- as she shakes she is crying out for help.  Her body is limp and weakens as more protestors surround us yelling at her to save her baby, to worry about her soul, and to think about what she is really doing.  Marcus and I just keep telling her to turn off her ears, we are almost there, and the door is right in front of you, keep going.  This young girl has very little power in her life just in being a young girl.  But that morning she made the decision to take some control of her life and take on some power.  This new sense of power is alien to her though and upon exiting that car surrounded by elders telling her she is wrong and a terrible person cut her to the core.  She started questioning herself and became unsure in her decision- “Help me, just please help me.”

I felt for this girl on so many levels.  In college I have worked to use my power, but always find myself questioning that sudden strength.  You would think that being in such a big city there would be so much to do that your mind would never find the time to wander or get lost in the past.  Somehow for the last couple of weeks that seems to be all my mind can do. Cars honking, sirens going off in the distance, and yet silence and helplessness fill my mind.  We spent a lot of time this week discussing identity and our role in the system.  I’ve realized a person’s identity has many layers that are shaped and molded over time very much in the same way a sculptor works with clay. As the clay gets older, cracks begin to form and older layers begin to show.  Our past experiences are essential in our present and future, but that doesn’t mean we have to let those past experiences control our future.

My anger towards the protestors stems from this place.  Here is a young girl, making one of the hardest decisions in her life– a decision both very personal and very powerful.  There was something so animal like in the way that they chose to exert their power over her and others.  Watching them at the corner searching for people that they could talk to and spread the “good word,” was like watching a lion stalk prey, and when that girl got out of the car they pounced as a lion would on a young sheep.  It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t rational, and it wasn’t right.

This week came to a conclusion most fittingly Monday night as I watched the Wizard of Oz in Bryant Park.  Sitting there I found the messages related to the emotions I had felt and the events that had happened this week.  Usually I  feel for Dorothy, but this time the Lion and his desire for courage most resonated with me.  On the outside I look as if I have it all together– and give me someone who needs protecting and I’ll do it to the -inth degree.  But, when it comes to having courage and confidence in myself, I find it hard to have that same courage I show for others.  But, I have a brain and I have a heart, and I am working on taking back my power and getting courage so that I can click my ruby slippers and go home.  I now see that New York City is my own Land of Oz- a magical place where I can learn and grow.  In a month I’ll be headed home, returning to reality, and I want to be able to believe truly that, “There’s no place like home.”