Solidarity and Me

I'm not sure how many people have photos of their political conscience making, but I do.  The above photo was taken in the Lower Ninth Ward on June 6, 2007 and every time I see it, it facilitates a series of memories in my mind that can be humbling, inspiring and overwhelming, all at once.  

In 2007, I was a freshman on Magnolia Project's first 3-week service trip.  During our second week, we worked with the People's Organizing Committee (POC).  For a full week we gutted a home in New Orleans East.  Water filled the home for days after the storm, requiring that it be gutted.  All of the home's carpet and dry wall, as well as the family's personal possessions had to be thrown out (photos below).  

(center)

(personal items left for pick up by FEMA)

(Kitchen-before gut)

(Kitchen-after gut)

The first couple days were saddening and difficult, but nothing more.  I did not feel a connection to the people who used to live there, whom I would likely never meet.  I did feel like we were doing a good thing, but nothing that had much barring on my life.  

Each evening, we returned to the Lower Ninth Ward to debrief with POC.  Across from our meeting place, there was a small, shotgun house, a rarity among the empty porches and vacant lots of the Ninth.  On Tuesday evening, it stood; by Wednesday morning, it was gone, replaced by the scarred land shown above.  Sometime in between, a pack of bulldozers and bobcats had leveled the structure.  

Immediately, I thought about the family that used to live there.  A family that would never return to the home where they had likely spent generations.  It is possible that the family decided to demolish the house in order to rebuild, but most likely they had given up on rebuilding and sold their house to the city, which had then decided to demolish the blighted property.  

Most devastating to me was the fact we had spent an entire week gutting one home for one family, and meanwhile another family's home was eradicated in a fraction of the time.

What was the difference between these two families?  Why could one be saved and one be vanquished?  And for that matter, what was the difference between these two families and my own?  If a major earthquake hit California, could my family be left stranded while foreign volunteers threw out my childhood possessions and family heirlooms?  

I cannot say that I have completely vetted the idea of Solidarity, but I know that this photo captures when I began to understand.  Solidarity is a connection we make between those we serve and ourselves, a connection on a very personal level.  It is not an act of reciprocity, but it does acknowledge that we are all tied together and that when we help each other we help ourselves.  

However, this is not to say that solidarity is easy.  It is exceedingly difficult for me to relate myself to people who I have been segregated from, especially the poor and largely black populations of New Orleans.  But over the last 2 1/2 years, I have begun to make the connections and see how we are more the same than different. 

I hope you will look at this picture and think about the experiences that led you to where you are, the individual days and events that made you think differently.  And feel free to share!