A Perspective Gained and A Suspicion Broken

International service never seemed to make much sense for me.  Sure, there are people who need help all over the world, but no one-shot trip or aid package could ever make a substantial difference.  Right?  Right.  Well, maybe it could have an impact if…but, no.  Hmmm… could it? 

The last two years at school challenge my initial view of international service and the trips offered by many universities, churches, and outside organizations.  I came into Freshman year with a thoroughly laid out plan for the subsequent four years.  I would learn the ins and outs of urban politics, work on a political campaign or two, and give my spare time to smart organizations that are involved in the issues of my school’s local community.  I wanted to address universal issues like affordable housing, poverty, and education on a personal level, relevant to my geographic area.  But as I meticulously followed this four year plan, some questions and curiosities surfaced.

I noticed friends and professors returning from foreign places (countries to which I had rarely given a second thought), and I was amazed and a bit doubtful of the degree to which their lives were altered for the better.  Sure, I had experienced similar feelings working in the local community, but I was completely familiar with those issues, their complexities and demands.  But perhaps the world I service I’m familiar with was only a piece of what I could learn.  And as the years progressed, my formerly unwavering mindset about international service began to loosen.  When a dear friend of mine suggested that I apply to a Branch Out International Trip that primarily focused on housing and poverty issues, I discovered my former resistance nowhere to be found.  As the weeks got closer to Spring Break of 2011, I grew anxious to learn what this was all about.

I’ll give you the Clifsnotes on what I discovered.  In short, I learned that service (although always about the people you serve) is not only about those people.  I learned that I had much more to gain than the generic feeling of “goodness” or neutral satisfaction brought about by a hard day’s work helping others.  But how could I know this?  I had never really been out in the world (and by world I mean the middle of nowhere Central America).  I would soon come to find an informal and utterly raw experience that I had never considered.  The state of poverty was so much more real and so much scarier. 

In particular, I was most altered by the absence of entitlement.  Now, I grew up near Philadelphia and was often exposed to the streets of D.C. and New York.  Homeless and impoverished sit on corners, fling hats with coins towards those passing by, and outwardly press for help in their strife.   This was not the case in El Salvador.  A helping hand and that expectation of a shared humanity with someone a bit more fortunate had vanished.  How could these places be so different, though no one person was more entitled than the next?  One when I began observing the culture and the structure of villages and families did I start to understand. 

My Spring Break trip was filled with slow, bilingual conversations (in both English and Spanish), hard discussions with fellow trip leaders, and a careful surveillance.  I began to question my entitlements and what I considered priorities, quizzical but also confused as to why I have been so blessed over my lifetime.  

I wouldn’t dare lecture or scold based on my lessons.  It is simply something you must see to understand.