Living & Arts

A few thoughts on community over spring break

In print | March 19, 2009

This spring break, I checked off two very cool bucket list items: a spring break adventure and making at least one new friend. Heading off with six other Swarth-more seniors to the sunny skies of San Francisco, I found myself making pancakes in a rather fab hostel, exploring the disturbing and yet captivating Alcatraz prison cells, biking from Fisherman’s Wharf over the beautiful Golden Gate Bridge (although, I must admit I forgot that hills would be involved!), attempting to blend in with the Golden Gate Park hippie culture (sadly, to no avail), waltzing my way through the Castro (by far the best party life), orienteering my way to the house of a dear friend, unexpectedly getting more than my money’s worth of a $10 haircut amid wonderful conversation with a Bolivian peluquera and her son, and, finally, eating my way through the delicious delights of Mexican food, clam chowder and 2 a.m. fresh donuts almost every night. Oh, and did I forget to mention that oh-so-awesome trolley driver who joined us in chorus every time we shouted “ohhh-nine!” on our way through the hills of the San Francisco streets?

Now, that was a ride. Trying to find a way out of a long, heated discussion with a pleasant Alaskan couple in love with Palin and very openly expressing different views from our crew about the public education system and why there are so many “kinks,” one of my girls and I, hanging off of the trolley car in pure excitement, began to shout “Oh nine!” and soon, the trolley driver, Carlos, began to play along with our chorus line, pointing out the shoe stores, to our “SHOOOOES!” response and pointing out the liquor store, to our “LIQUOOR!” response. Like little lemmings, we began to repeat everything he said, and soon he joined in our bliss by shouting, “Ohh nine!” on his microphone as he rang the trolley bell! Before we knew it, the entire trolley was shouting “Ohh nine!” and even the passers-by, young and old, stopped on the street to give us a little “Ohh nine!” love. While I cannot say that everyone in my crew took pride in this attention (remember one cutie who slinked under his hoodie in pure embarrassment), every time we passed Carlos over the next week, we’d point to him from the street, he’d point back … and almost in pure unison, we’d all shout “Ohhh nine!” only to receive another lemming-like chorus of “ohh nine!” from the new passengers on his boat.

Of course, by now, these spontaneous escapades are expected. What I did not foresee, however, was that I would make new connections among my own group of friends this past week. There were a few friends on our trip I’ve never really sat down with one-on-one, and on this break I finally had the chance to. I learned about one companion’s somewhat aloof imaginary friend and engaged in a deep conversation about identity with another. After having gone through nearly four years at Swarthmore, you think you more or less “get” everyone; yet, every time I take a moment to listen to someone new, I learn more — I learn more about them, I learn more about myself and I learn more about this complicated and colorful world of which we’re all a part.

And yet this trip, filled with beautiful days and beautiful people, was bittersweet for me. After the events of the past few weeks, I left for San Fran with this unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach, questioning my understanding of “community” and wondering if Swarthmore is the community I came here expecting and hoping it would be. I write this column very consciously trying to avoid a long, drawn-out tirade about the events of the past few weeks; however, I cannot completely ignore everything that has happened.

This past week in San Francisco, I learned more about “community.” I learned new things about the people within my own Swarthmore community and how, even with our shared Swarthmore experience, we are not as united a student body as many of us wish. I originally came to Swarthmore inspired by the students’ expression of social engagement; I came to Swarthmore to immerse myself in a student community that cares about others — that wants to listen, learn and ally itself in support of peers who have experienced prejudice, oppression, hardships and obstacles. Yet, I find that so many people have stopped listening and have stopped acting.

We are all committed to different, greater causes — fighting for things like free global education and to raise money for our non-profit organizations. (Did I mention, come to the auction this Friday in Alice Paul lobby at 8 p.m.?) However, when one of our own is hit by a car or goes missing, I see individual struggles: I see small search parties form or a handful gather with candles, but I still see everyone continue to go to class, continue to fall into the woodwork of the library racing toward deadlines (myself included). And here’s what I don’t see: I don’t see students dropping their books to meet on Parrish beach or go to a candle lighting ceremony and I don’t see students in lines outside of the Dean’s office demanding a community meeting. We are content with e-mails. While I trust and believe in our administration and the authorities, where is our sense of unity as students (all 1,450 of us)? When something goes wrong, why aren’t we, as a community, uniting, if for nothing else than to show that we care and that if our help and manpower is needed, we are here? I thought about it like this: if I went missing, if I went camping and something happened, would I be satisfied with the response of our student body last week? Or would it have been nice to at least see posters up? Would it have been nice to know there was a community urgently waiting for me with open arms? Where is our outward demonstration?

I was surprised and saddened to realize last week that my time at Swarthmore had not instilled in me a stronger sense of civic and social commitment to the people in my own community. How can we fight to save the world if we cannot even rally around one of our own? Some might say that compared to other schools, we did a lot. But, is that really a sufficient response in a school of only 1,450?

As we embark on new journeys after Swarthmore, we will all be connected by this shared, although varied, Swarthmore experience. I urge you, my dear Swatties, to reach outside of your comfort zones — talk to someone new and attend the events of new friends you make because that is the only way to learn and unify. Don’t forget to listen —listen in class, listen at meals, listen. Then, when it is time to act, you will know how. I myself am still working on it, but I challenge you to join me. Next time one of our own needs us, I want to hear a lemming chorus of concern. I want to hear Carlos, our trolley-driver, in the hills of San Francisco jingling his bell in unison with us. I want to see, as much as hear, the urgent concern for one of our very own Swatties. For, if we cannot do it here, where can we?

Kendal is a senior. You can reach her at krinko1@swarthmore.edu.