One World Volume 7: 2013-14 by Matthew Gollnick

ONEWORLD SOCIAL JUSTICE JOURNAL

GONZAGA UNIVERSITY Volume 7: 2013-2014

Letter from the Editor 2013-2014 OneWorld Team Editor-In-Chief Jessie Fleming Assistant Editors: Jackie Dillon Nicki Affonso-McMorrow Lindsey Hand Contributing Authors: Brittney Abad Nicki Affonso-McMorrow Mike Andersen Ryan Bart Allison Cutuli Devin Devine Jackie Dillon Kenzie Fuller Lindsey Hand Peg Meyer Annarose O’Brien-Wilson Mollie Picha Rachelle Strawther Special Thanks to: Dr. Ellen Maccarone Dr. Joseph Kinsella Dr. Michael Herzog Joanne Shiosaki Gonzaga Student Publications

Dear Readers, W

hat is social justice? This is a question that I have been asked many times, have asked others, and have even asked myself. Many people believe that social justice means going to Africa to save children or to venture abroad in an attempt to save the world. Having never been to an impoverished country or helped with a mission trip, I began to question if I was really a person who supported social justice. However, what I have come to realize is that social justice is much simpler. Several of the articles in this year’s edition of OneWorld do a great job explaining social justice. One author describes the value of giving your time to others and taking the time to listen to their stories. Another makes the point that we should be mindful of the words we use in our daily lives. These two familiar actions can make a world of difference and are the simplest things a person can do to take a stand against the social injustices in our world. OneWorld’s Instagram Competition, hosted for the first time this semester, helped me truly understand this idea of simple social justice. The competition, in which Gonzaga community members took pictures of themselves to support social justice, proved that the simple act of taking a picture could raise awareness about social justice issues. Ultimately, I have come to the realization that being a person dedicated to social justice is as simple as being conscious of how I live my daily life. By changing my perspective and taking the time to make small changes in how I interact with others has helped me reaffirm my passion for social justice. I hope reading this year’s edition of OneWorld helps you find your passion and that it moves you to take action in whatever way you choose. Sincerely, Jessie Fleming Editor-In-Chief

Interested in writing? We are looking for stories of social justice that will inspire our community. Cover: Taylor Blackbourn Back Cover: Analise Thornley

Email us at oneworld@zagmail.gonzaga.edu

Words

By Nicki Affonso-McMorrow

hen I think of social justice issues, I think of children starving in Africa. I think of men standing in line at The House of Charity in downtown Spokane. I think of the mothers and children that live at St. Margaret’s shelter. Even the gut-wrenching ASPCA commercial that appears on TV can qualify. What I don’t think of, but maybe should, are words. Words? Is social justice that simple? It can be. Oftentimes we make social justice out to be something more than it needs to be. We convince ourselves that we need to travel to Africa to make a difference instead of giving water to the homeless man standing on Sharp Ave. We’re too busy for real social justice—there is too much homework, or we don’t have a car to get downtown—so we don’t participate at all. But what about, if instead of making these grand plans, we were more conscious of the words that we used around each other? Words can either uplift others, or bring them down. Even saying “hi” to someone that you would have otherwise ignored can be a small act of social justice in your day. More than that, thinking about the words we use to describe people or qualities can contribute to a more just and equitable world. Maybe even this small adjustment in consciousness can be the way that we bring social justice into our lives. So, the next time you want to use “gay” instead of “stupid,” or say that something is “retarded” when you mean “dumb,” think twice. Because, whether you know it or not, your words are powerful and truly have the power to enact social change in the world around you.

ONEWORLD 2013-2014 We are already one, but we imagine we are not. OneWorld exists to rediscover that while we are many in our cultures, religions, and struggles, we are one in our common identity. We yearn to remove the barriers of ignorance and indifference because the most basic and unchanging truth that unites us is the infinite value of the human person. OneWorld emphasizes that unity by raising awareness of social injustice, inspiring action, and transforming our hearts, minds, and society.

Photo by Nicki Affonso-McMorrow

Dedication T

he editorial staff of OneWorld would like to dedicate the 2014 issue to the Opus Prize Foundation Awards.

This October, Gonzaga University will host the 2014 Opus Prize ceremony. The Opus Prize is a million dollar gift that is awarded to an “unsung hero” working with an organization doing faith-based, entrepreneurial, sustainable, and humanitarian work that improves lives. According to Dr. Michael Herzog, Chief of Staff to the President of Gonzaga University, the Opus Prize Foundation’s goal is “to provide a ‘cannon shot,’ to infuse enough money to really make a difference in [the chosen] organization’s ability to do work.” The Opus Prize Foundation awards three prizes: one $1,000,000 gift and two $100,000 gifts. The school that hosts the event partakes in the process of choosing the three finalists, while the foundation chooses who wins each prize. Past winners have included Sakena Yacoobi, founder of the Afghan Institute for Learning, a school focused primarily on education women, and Father Richard Frechette, founder of the St. Luke Foundation for Haiti. The process of choosing the finalists involves three steps. First, people are chosen by a group of “spotters.” A spotter is anyone working around the world who knows of a person doing the type of work that the foundation supports. Gonzaga’s spotters identified 26 candidates and forwarded their extensive nominations to the GU Opus Steering Committee. This committee then narrows the candidates from 26 to 15. The next step narrows the list even further to three finalists and one alternate, all of which are recommended to the Foundation. A select group of “jurors” participate in this process. Jurors are people who are familiar with the line of work the foundation supports. Some of this year’s jurors include vice presidents at Nike and Amazon, Bishop Blase Cupich, and a local pediatrician. This diverse group of jurors was chosen, as Dr. Herzog explains, “because of their broad life experience, their diversity, their interest in humanitarian work, their willingness to work with Gonzaga, and their ability to provide perspective that reflected a world of life experience and judgment.” Finally, other groups travel to the areas where the finalists are located and observe their work. Members of these groups include the executive director of the Opus Prize Foundation, two board members, a camera crew, and Gonzaga students, staff, and faculty members. The goal of these “vetting trips,” as Dr. Herzog explains, is to give advice to the foundation on who should be awarded the million-dollar prize. Choosing the winner of the Opus Prize is a process that is highly confidential, since the nominees do not know they are nominated, and even the three finalists will never know who nominated them. Dr. Herzog explained that the Opus Prize Executive Director, Don Neureuther, has given us permission to give some insight into the three nominees. One finalist is located in North America, and works with an organization that supports incarcerated women both while they are in jail and when they are released. The second finalist is located in Asia and works with the poor on education and health issues. The third finalist is located in Southeast Asia and works with an organization that advocates for human rights, education, and the environment. The actual identity of the three finalists will be made public in late August, and the winner of the million dollars will be announced on the night of the awards ceremony. The Opus Prize Foundation ceremony is set to take place on October 16, 2014. The nominees will be on campus during that time, and Gonzaga plans to have panels and presentations for both Gonzaga and Spokane community members to attend. For more information on this event, please visit www.gonzaga.edu/beinspired/opus-prize.

TABLE OF CONTENTS 6

The Poverty Paradox

America, The Beautiful

Sister Helen Prejean

La Verdad Nos Hace Libre

Song of My Soul

Hiding in the Shadows

Layers of Diversity: Developing Intercultural Relationships

Lights for the World/Luces para el mundo

Finding the Magic that Lies Within Each of Us

A Perfect Pitch

Home

To Dehumanize a Pitbull

Home in a Bag

Together

Resources

The poverty paradox By Peg Meyer

visit to the highlands of Guatemala is an opportunity to bask in ancient Mayan culture. Here, in the Land of the Eternal Spring, color abounds – whether it’s the traditional hand-woven blouse called the “huipil” or the many flowering plants dotting the countryside. Guatemala is a colorful, fascinating country. Just three hours northwest of the capital, Guatemala City, is the deepest lake in Central America. Lake Atitlan is over 1100 feet deep and serves as a focal point for many Mayan people. Surrounded by three dormant volcanoes, Aldous Huxley famously described this lake as, “really, too much of a good thing.” Though Spanish is the national language of Guatemala, many Mayan dialects are spoken in this region. It’s not uncommon to hear Tzutujil, Kiche, or Kaqchikel in the streets and markets. These descendants of the mighty Mayan culture cling to their customs. Many villages are still quite traditional, despite the influx of travelers from around the globe.

As colorful and beautiful as it is, Guatemala is also very poor. The World Bank estimates that 58 percent of the population have incomes below the extreme poverty line, the amount needed to buy a sufficient amount of food for the day. As a result, Guatemala has the fourth highest rate of malnutrition in the world. The Mayan people bear the brunt of this sad statistic; for them, life is often a daily struggle for survival. Mayan Families is a 501(c)(3) charity that seeks to combat this omnipresent poverty. The needs are great, and so are the services offered by this organization. From education to health care to micro-credit loans, Mayan Families is a beacon of hope for the indigenous community. One program is particularly impactful: Mayan Families operates seven preschools and nutrition centers for at-risk children. The schools offer a nutritious meal and snack, as well as a vitamin-enriched drink five days a week. Thanks to the support of U.S.-based charities Kids

Against Hunger and Feed My Starving Children, many of these meals are donated and are fortified with nutrients specifically designed for starving populations. Since good nutrition is necessary not just for physical growth but also for cognitive development, these meals are critical to the children’s well being. Often, they are able to bring meal packets home to their families so they too have nutritious food to eat. As important as the meals are to the success of the schools, equally important is the education the children receive. Most Mayans in this region speak only their native dialect. Many are illiterate. By law, primary school instruction must be bilingual; however, the majority of classes are conducted solely in Spanish. When Mayan children begin first grade, they are taught in a language they do not understand. They have never seen a book and do not know how to hold a pencil. Many drop out after the second grade, never having learned to read. This perpetuates the cycle of poverty, keeping the indigenous out of the mainstream economy. Instead, they live in the shadows. They join their parents as migrant farm workers--picking coffee beans and earning starvation wages. Mayan Families’ preschools offer the opportunity to interrupt this pattern. The children learn Spanish--first the alphabet, then numbers, colors and basic conversation. They learn to raise their hands when they have something to say and to use their “inside voices.” In a nurturing environment, they are preparing for academic success when they begin first grade. The children sing songs, play games and have fun. In the process, they are accomplishing something much more important: they are breaking the cycle of poverty and setting the stage for a better future.

To learn more or to volunteer with Mayan Families, please visit www.mayanfamilies.org.

References “Addressing Chronic Malnutrition in Guatemala.” GlobalPost. N.p., n.d. Web. 28 Feb. 2014. Emling, Shelley. “Guatemala Retirement: Better Than Costa Rica?” The Huffington Post. TheHuffingtonPost.com, 23 Oct. 2012. Web. 28 Feb. 2014. “Guatemala: An Assessment of Poverty.” Poverty Analysis -. N.p., n.d. Web. 28 Feb. 2014. “Lago De Atitlan.” Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 15 Feb. 2014. Web. 28 Feb. 2014. “World Food Programme Fighting Hunger Worldwide.” Guatemala. N.p., n.d. Web. 28 Feb. 2014.

Photos by Corlene Horan and Peg Meyer

America, the Beautiful By Brittney Abad

h say can you see this New World founded on life, land, and liberty? Savages roam the white manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s land, so take them bounded with damned hands. Watch as disease ravages their copper skin and war drives them mad, but a few hundred years later black skinned bodies will voyage to a land clad in white. Whips scar skin, while white men attack their women as a lesson. Their girls, both brown eyed and blue, will fight for bright lights and a room of their own until moneyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s growth will steal the sanity of the war stunned and the shunned poor. But that will not matter because America refuses to shatter.

Photos by Lindsey Hand and Britney Magleby

Sister helen prejean By Jackie Dillon “The death penalty is one of the great moral issues facing our country, yet most people rarely think about it and very few of us take the time to delve deeply enough into this issue to be able to make an informed decision about it.” - Sister Helen Prejean

n Friday, October 11th of this past year, Sister Helen Prejean, author of the New York Times Best Seller Dead Man Walking: An Eyewitness Account of the Death Penalty, came to Gonzaga University to share her personal experience in dealing with the death penalty. With the goal to educate the public, Sister Helen spoke to Gonzaga students and Spokane members on the harsh realities of what the death penalty looks like when placed under the microscope. Following the performance of Spokane community members’ rendition of her novel turned play, Sister Helen Prejean spoke of her call to ministry and her call to give voice to all the inmates on death row whom she has been able to correspond with. Sister Helen first encountered death row inmates in 1981 when she joined the St. Thomas Housing Project of New Orleans in order to dedicate her life to helping the poor. Through the project, Sister Helen was placed in touch with Patrick Sonnier, a convicted killer of two teenagers who was sentenced to death by the state of Louisiana for his crimes, and soon after she became pen pals with him. Upon Sonnier’s request, Sister Helen became Sonnier’s spiritual advisor, a person of the church who the inmate chooses to speak with in order to try and find peace with God. Through her work as Sonnier’s spiritual advisor, Sister Helen was able to see firsthand the execution process. After Sonnier’s death, Sister Helen wrote her experiences down and then made the decision to dedicate her life to traveling across the United States to educate the public on the death penalty. Backed fully by the Catholic Church, Sister Helen has appeared on multiple talk shows and news shows, and has been the subject of many news articles. Sister Helen’s experiences, which have been developed into a play, an opera, and a major motion picture starring Sean Penn and Susan Sarandon, have become a standing point for many Christian communities who feel the death penalty goes against what their religion stands for. Focusing primarily on the humanity aspect, Sister Helen’s account of one man’s journey changes the idea of Sonnier as a monster and gives him back his humanity by describing in detail his fears, concerns and worries, as well as his regrets and anger. Never condoning what Sonnier did, Sister Helen

is able to paint the picture of a man who, even though he committed horrendous acts, is still a man. Through her account, Sister Helen is not arguing that criminals, especially murders, should not be punished, but rather that we as a nation must learn that even though it is extremely difficult, we must forgive, for it is the only way. Regardless of which side of the death penalty argument you stand, Sister Helen Prejean brings a unique perspective to the table and her story is worth listening to.

Photo Courtesy of Sister Helen Prejean All information used in this article was from Sister Helen Prejean’s website and personal experience. For more information, please visit www.sisterhelen.org.

oldiers of the Khmer Rouge under Pol. Potâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s regime would beat children and infants against the Killing Tree, after first killing their parents, in order to avoid revenge killings. Photo taken August 2012 by Kindra Jonson

La Verdad Nos Hace Libre By Mollie Picha

hile walking the few blocks from Pontificia Universidad Católica de Valparaíso to Hogar de Cristo, I was cautious of pick-pocketers and aware of men shouting piropos (cat calls). I waited outside the doors of the homeless shelter to get let in and chatted with Manual and Juan Carlos about their weekends. Juan Carlos had just gotten a job in construction, and Manual was able to talk to his wife and three children living in the North; both were eager to get inside and share a meal with their friends. After a few minutes, we were buzzed in and parted ways as I went to the office to drop off my stuff and grab supplies for the art project and they turned towards the cafeteria. While setting up for the collage project for the taller de arte, one man at another table began to yell indistinguishable words at another man across the room. I did not quite know what to do, but didn’t have to make any quick decisions, as he stopped just as suddenly as he had begun. Later in the evening when we had a few men working on collages, this same man repeatedly mumbled something about saben – “you all know.” I couldn’t understand what he was saying, so I invited him over to make collages with us. He didn’t seem very interested, but I could tell that there was something he had to say. His face was marked by heavy wrinkles around his mouth and forehead, but he couldn’t have been more than 50. He was missing most of his front teeth, and the ones he did have were crooked and very discolored. I asked him his name, but I got so much more. At the beginning of our conversation, I hardly understood a word he said. By the end though, I understood everything, warming to his voice and slurred Chilean Spanish. He spoke to me of the power of truth; the power

that truth has to make us free. La verdad nos hace libre, he told me. “The truth makes us free.” No estoy aquí por flojo: estoy aquí por enfermedad. “I am not here out of laziness; I am here because of sickness.” What type of enfermedad, I do not know, but I could tell the spirit of his conviction, and the sadness in his voice. We began to talk about God and that God has all knowledge and is pure truth. La persona verdadera siempre dice la verdad. “The true person always tells the truth.” Perdóname. “Forgive me.” I told him that God is the truth. Yo he caído. “I have fallen.” Perdóname. “Forgive me.” Digo a Dios: Perdóname. “I say to God: Forgive me.” Haz tu voluntad. “Do your will.” Perdóname. “Forgive me.” At this point in our conversation, he began to cry. I took his hand and we spoke of God and the power He has, His will, His truth, and His constant presence. “Aun si voy por valles tenebroses, no temo peligro alguno porque tú estás a mi lado; tu vara de pastor me reconforta” (Psalm 23:4). We returned to the topic of truth many times and finished our conversation with the agreed fact that the Truth frees us. I also finally learned the answer to my first question: his name was Jaime. All around us, men were making collages of their names and images of Chile and puppies. Others were eating their dinners, chatting with friends, or watching The Terminator on TV. Outside, there were piles of garbage because the municipal workers were on strike, though this wasn’t much different than when they were not. Stray dogs outnumbered people 6 to 1. Teenagers smoked marijuana in the alleys in the hills. Graffiti marked almost every building. In the midst of all this activity, inside and out, I was able to find a little truth with Jamie. Across languages, cultures, and continents, I was able to find a little truth.

“We are the neglected ex-soldiers, denied, forgotten and swindled. Nothing or nobody would shut us up. We swear to fight to the death” Photo by Kayla Heyer

Song of My soul By Lindsey Hand

“M

ungu Wanga midago nitu wanga za, mungu wanga midago nitu wanga za.” The rising sun triggers the soft but ever growing presence of voices singing worship songs in the home. Inside this home may not be the traditional American family, but there is a family and a community that it is undeniable to all who witness it. Tumaini Children’s Home is an orphanage in Nyerii, Kenya that 150 kids, a few supervisors, and a handful of volunteers call their home. It is a place where I was blessed enough to spend two weeks of my life, and it is a place that, despite the 6,000 miles separating me from Tumaini, I still consider my home.

the group in prayer before the meal because one central theme of the home is faith. I lie in bed listening to the beautiful sound, striving to take every sound to heart and etch every word of the song on my mind forever. I hear footsteps as the boys head outside to take care of their duties by cleaning the grounds, tending the garden, and feeding the cows and chickens. The youngest children in the home attach to their bigger brothers and sisters watching them do their duties and showing them how much they admire them through their constant attachment.

I pass out countless hugs As the sun fills the small as the kids file out the rusted “The beauty of brokenness is room compacted with 30 bunk metal gates on their way to school. beds, the girls know it is time to The exhausting eight-hour school that healing can be found when get up and do their duties. The days wear down the kids, but a we build each other back up hustle begins as they go to their complaint never escapes from shared closet and put on a ragged their mouths. What exhausts and ultimately when we turn old shirt and long skirt. The them—duties, caring for others, to God to restore us and make singing begins with a single voice schoolwork—also blesses them. us whole again.“ and shortly after harmonies The English is hard to practice and accompany. Some girls head to the math is difficult to the kitchen to start breakfast for understand, but the kids study their brothers and sisters while others start cleaning their together. The volunteers that cycle in and out of Tumaini room and the common rooms. The pinwheel of giving all play different roles. Some volunteers assist the kids and receiving is what Tumaini is built on. Each person in their studies, and other volunteers work to set up the has something special and different to offer, and together new computers for the tutoring system. I helped the girls the orphanage functions fully and independently with with some of their duties and spent hours simply being little outside help. with the kids as a friend and a sister. The hours passed full of tickles, games, and smiles. Making the children The younger kids, the boys, and the who have only known abandonment and emptiness volunteers wake up to the angelic voices ringing through realize that they are deeply loved and accepted for who the grounds as the kids come down to the meal hall. The they are was my most significant role at Tumaini. eldest girls do the cooking as the middle-school aged kids bring out the food. The boys in the orphanage lead The chilling air signifies the endless nights that

plague the kids with fear of the future and the pain of being alone and hopeless in a world where the odds are stacked against them. I am the finger that wipes the tear off of Grace’s face as she tells me how her mom passed away of AIDS and how she only has a few short years of life in her body that is already starting to show the effects of the disease. My heart breaks not for but with the kids. Each child has a story, like Grace, and the stories of their past lives unfold and leave me broken. But the beauty of brokenness is that healing can be found when we build each other back up and ultimately when we turn to God to restore us and make us whole again.

few possessions to their name. As the pain and bitterness of goodbyes soured the last night we were there, Zaharrah pulled me aside and gave me a letter with tears in her eyes. Inside the letter was one of the cheapest, but most beautiful golden necklaces I’ve ever seen. What she traded in or what she had to do to get the necklace I will never know, but I know it was bought with her pure love for me. Zaharrah and the kids at Tumaini gave me more than anything I could have given them because they showed me what is important in life and showed me what true, sacrificial love really looks like.

After the initial awkwardness of not knowing Holding Zaharrah in my arms the last night as I how to interact with the reassured her over and over kids due to the enormous again that it would be okay, “A community is where you feel a love and I wondered how Zaharrah differences that separated us, I soon became an equal. acceptance that transcends continents, races, and could even believe my words I was not exalted because socio-economic classes. A community is a group when I didn’t even believe I was white and well off. I what I was saying. I knew I of people who smile together in triumph and cry would be coming home to a wasn’t shunned because I together through devastation.“ was not able to understand loving family and heading to what the kids have gone college in the next year. She through and continue to go would most likely be “on the through. I was welcomed—open armed and with a shy streets” selling herself to survive, and no words I could but warm smile—and that’s what a community is. I was say would make her believe it was going to be okay. utilized, loved, and accepted for who I was. I brought In that moment, I knew I wanted to fight for Zaharrah over Bibles and school supplies, but I also brought over and all my other sisters in Tumaini who share the same an open heart filled with love and compassion for my dreadful future of homelessness and prostitution. As our brothers and sisters in Tumaini. tears streamed together, I decided to commit my future to ensuring their futures might be different. Tumaini Returning to the United States, I tried telling wasn’t just a place I visited and left unchanged. Tumaini friends and family about how I was changed. My became my home and my life in that moment. Kenyan brothers and sisters stole my heart and flipped my world upside down forever. Friends and family A community is where your heart is tied. A praised me for what I did for the kids in the orphanage, community is something you enter into and commit your which left me deeply troubled. No one understood that I life to living for the group. A community is where you was the one who received. feel a love and acceptance that transcends continents, races, and socio-economic classes. A community is a One girl in particular, Zaharrah, impacted my group of people who smile together in triumph and cry life more than I could ever describe. Zaharrah was together through devastation. A community is almost exactly my age, and we shared a love for writing something that defines you and in many ways writes letters, worshipping, and getting to know one another on your future for you. As I slowly drift to sleep at night, a deeper level. We grew to be inseparable—the best of a soft but pristine sound sings my soul to sleep: “mungu friends. In Tumaini, the kids have no money, no job, and wanga midago nitu wanga za.” Photos by Lindsey Hand

Hiding in the Shadows By Mike Andersen

AGGOT! HOMO! GAY! QUEER! All words I have grown quite familiar with, Yet words nonetheless. Statistically speaking, as a teen, I heard these words an average of 26 times a day. Just words was all they were, Sticks and stones may break my bones, But words will never hurt me. Well, if words will never hurt me, how come I wanted to take my own life? How come if words don’t hurt so many gay teens have prematurely left this world? These gay slanders cut deep like knives. Hearing them since I was in first grade I internalized them. Macklemore states, These words are synonymous with the lesser, And lesser was not who I wanted to be. Being Black and Native American society has already made me the lesser. Why would I give society one more reason to discriminate against me? When I first told my mom in eighth grade, she told me she loved me But that I needed to keep it a secret. If I did not want to get hurt And if I wished to pursue a career in football, My sexuality had to stay hidden. Why should a parent have to tell their child this? Why should a person have to hide who they truly are? Why? Because society tells us that being gay is not acceptable, That being gay is a sin, That being gay makes you less of a person. Holding onto this secret killed me. I felt as though I was living a double life, And I was only 14. I felt sad and depressed that Due to the beliefs of my family, the church, and my career goals, I could not be truly who I was. My Aunt found out when I was 16. She told me I had a demon inside of me, And that I needed to get rid of my sickness. Growing up in church I had been taught this ideology all of my life. I felt ashamed of who I was, I wanted to get rid of the sin. And when I told my pastor He told me I wasn’t gay, He told me what I had was sin, And that if I prayed to God I could be cured. So he sent me to classes Classes taught by “formerly” gay people.

They told me if I prayed to God He would take away my sickness. By the second class I knew that this was not the right place for me. Going to church felt awkward, How could this man I loved all my life hate me? I was broken and hurt, and I rebelled from the church. If my Father no longer loved me because of my sin, Then who would? When almost everywhere I turned, Besides my mom, Told me that I had sin who would ever love me? So I ran to the arms of mysterious men, Giving my love to them for just a night, In hopes of feeling loved for the real me. Yet the more and more that I gave away, The lonelier I felt. Who would ever love this demon sick boy? When I was eighteen I decided to come out. I was no longer going to play college football, But instead take a leadership scholarship to Gonzaga. For once I felt as though my life was transforming. I could come out of the shadows, I could reveal my superman, And no longer have to be just Clark Kent. Coming out I found more love and acceptance than I ever thought possible. My conservative Papa told me he loved me no matter what, My loving Nana said the same. My dad told me, my mom told him when I was fourteen, When I asked why he never said anything he responded, “Because you had to tell me when you were ready.” My football team supported me,

And my friends stood by my side. Coming to Gonzaga I was afraid I would not be accepted, However little did I know, People would welcome me with open arms. Through the love and support of my friends and family, I know that I am loved, Even by my aunt and the big man upstairs. In the words of Dan Savage, “It gets better.” My Black and Native ancestors legally fought for freedom and equality And they achieved it. Now it’s my time to fight for the same thing. To create equal rights for gay people of any color. So that way people can marry who they love, Show love wherever they want, Give a child a home, Or better yet be treated like normal citizens. I want to help create an accepting world So that way when a child comes out to their parents, They won’t be told to hide who they are, Or even worse suffer the effects of their parents’ conditional love. They won’t be told by the church that they are unloved. Better yet they will feel accepted and live long and prosperous lives. I want to help create a world where all feel accepted, And NO ONE Feels as though they have to Hide in the shadows.

Photos by Nicki Affonso-McMorrow

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Social justice grows out of an awareness and an appreciation for the diversity of people in the world, and this awareness can often lead to greater honesty and transparency when we encounter difference.â&#x20AC;?

Layers of Diversity: Developing Intercultural Relationships By Jackie Dillon

The following is an interview on November 11, 2013 with Joseph Kinsella, the Assistant Academic Vice President for the Center for Global Engagement, with OneWorld’s Editors Jessie Fleming, Nicki Affonso-McMorrow, Lindsey Hand, and Jackie Dillon.

s I walked into Schoenberg with my fellow editors the morning of our interview with newly-hired Joseph Kinsella, I was filled with excitement and anticipation for the meeting to come. Knowing only the few facts that were in the article about Kinsella posted on Gonzaga’s website, I was ready to meet the new head of the Center for Global Engagement, and I was curious to find out exactly what he had to say. At the bottom of the staircase to the basement of Schoenberg (where Kinsella’s office is located), Kinsella met the four of us with a smile and an apology for the cold that he could feel coming his way. Leading us into his office, which was filled with photos and art from his travels around the world, Kinsella sat down with us and immediately began sharing his thoughts on his expectations for his department goals, his perceptions of culture and diversity, and his understanding of what global engagement might be. As the interview began, Kinsella went into great detail on what he believes to be important and pertinent information on how we, as a part of not only the Gonzaga community but also the world community, should interact with others from different cultural traditions and backgrounds. Although the Center for Global Engagement is a place where discussions of social justice take place, Kinsella does not want the Center to be “pigeonholed as purely about social justice.” What he hopes the Center will do is “contribute to a more equitable world” by “training people how to engage people in more equitable and mutually beneficial ways,” which will in turn lead to a “greater understanding and mutual respect among people with different values, beliefs, languages, and skin colors.” “[The Center for Global Engagement] is about diversity. It’s about understanding one’s relative position in the world, and the impact one’s position has on that world. If the Center for Global Engagement can expose students to diversity while training them how to work with people who are different, we will be accomplishing something that the Jesuits have taught for centuries.”

Through his work, Kinsella has come to believe that social justice ultimately comes from our awareness of the world around us, and how our own personal values, whatever those values may be, “are only a few of many different values and traditions” in the world. “If people are conscious of their values as particular to them and their social worlds, they can potentially contribute to a more transparent world, grounded in mutual respect for those different values and cultural practices.” By maintaining a “relativistic understanding of their own values and beliefs,” an individual entering into a

cross-cultural experience is able to go into meaningful conversation as they “work to understand the other person, their values and their own particular orientation to the world.” Kinsella stated that the experience of “working in the international realm has opened [his] eyes up to the infinite possibilities of identity constructions that can take place through transnational engagements,” and it is through these engagements that Kinsella believes cross-cultural communication can ultimately lead to more peaceful societies.

“Social justice grows out of an awareness and an appreciation for the diversity of people in the world, and this awareness can often lead to greater honesty and transparency when we encounter difference.”

As the interview continued, Kinsella shared with us how he got into the field of anthropology. He first began to take interest in this line of work when he was an undergraduate studying abroad in Florence, Italy. While in Italy, Kinsella became enamored with “this thing we call culture” and fascinated by the question of “what differentiates it from nationality or ethnicity?” Following up on his question, Kinsella eventually learned that culture was a concept that was developed by anthropologists, and it was this recognition that led Kinsella to pursue a doctorate in anthropology. In 1989 Kinsella received his bachelor’s degree from DePaul University, and ultimately continued his education at the University of New Mexico where he earned his master’s and doctorate degrees in anthropology. As he began his doctoral research, he focused his studies on examining the intersection of identity and globalization, or as he described it, “the processes by which local practices and relationships are becoming increasingly interconnected with practices and relationships that transcend local, national and international boundaries.” After finishing his doctoral research, Kinsella returned to DePaul University to work and teach. Over the course of his twenty years there, he served as professor of anthropology, Assistant Director and Director of Study Abroad, and Associate Vice President of International Programs, before coming to Gonzaga. As the interview drew to a close, Kinsella ended by detailing his experience working with people around the world of all economic means. This prior experience has allowed him to be able to step back and see that there are structural issues that we should address at our own institution, as well as in our own country, specifically in regards to how we view economic differences. “The most fulfilling and meaningful changes, as an educator, I can put into place are exposing people to the range of economic diversity around the world.” Kinsella is arguing that by labeling a country rich or poor, we, as a society, are “denying a layer of diversity,” which is truly what Kinsella’s message is about. The final question we asked Kinsella was, what is the best way to combat social injustice in everyday life? In response, Kinsella stated that it is through personal reflection of every day encounters, learning from those encounters, and being purposeful in all doings that will have the greatest impact on the world. Overall, Kinsella’s main point was that only through recognizing your personal values, and being able to place them aside when in conversation with others, can we learn the values of others, create true cross-culture communication, and make progress towards social justice goals. Thank you, Joseph Kinsella, for taking the time to speak with us. OneWorld Team Photos Courtesy of Joespeh Kinsella

Photos Courtesy of Joseph Kinsella

Lights for the world Luces para el mundo By Annarose O’Brien-Wilson

few months ago I was incredibly blessed to spend a semester getting to know a group of very special women in the small canton of La Javía, Tepecoyo, El Salvador. They are some of the most incredible individuals, and the work they do for their families and for their community is absolutely beautiful. To these women I owe all of my thanks—not only for inspiring this poem, but for inspiring me to change the world because it is worth it. So to these strong, brave, creative, nurturing, educating, and beautiful women: I love you. Thank you for being my mothers when mine could not, for being my friends who have allowed me to accompany you throughout my time in El Salvador, and for being such beautiful, bright lights for the world… Women are lights for the world. Las mujeres son luces para el mundo. Women are strong. Las mujeres son fuertes. They are community leaders offering guidance and support. Son líderes de sus comunidades que ofrecen la guía y el apoyo. Women are brave. Las mujeres son valientes. They see a need in their community and find the courage within themselves to make a difference in the reality around them. Ellas ven las necesidades de sus comunidades y encuentran el coraje entre sí mismas para hacer una diferencia en sus realidades. Women are creative. Las mujeres son creativas. They support their families by using what resources they have to make and sell very beautiful things. Ellas apoyan a sus familias usando los recursos que tienen para fabricar cosas muy bonitas y venderlas. Women are nurturing. Las mujeres son cariñosas. They care for their children with love and tenderness, even children who are not their own. Ellas cuidan a sus hijos con amor y ternura, incluso los hijos no necesariamente suyos. Women are educators. Las mujeres son educadoras. They lead by example through their determination and desire for their children to learn and offer new life lessons every day. Ellas les enseñan a sus hijos a través de su ejemplo, con su determinación y deseos para que ellos aprendan y les ofrecen nuevas lecciones de vida cada día. Women are beautiful. Las mujeres son bonitas. They welcome new experiences of the future with open hearts, open minds and open homes. Ellas reciben las nuevas experiencias del futuro con los corazones abiertos, mentes abiertas y casas abiertas. Women are the life force of their communities. Las mujeres son la fuerza de vida de sus comunidades. They gather to laugh, to cry, and to hold each other gently. They work together for a better future. Ellas se reúnen para reírse, para llorar y para apoyarse una a la otra. Ellas trabajan juntas para un futuro mejor. Women are lights for the world. Las mujeres son luces para el mundo.

Photo by Annarose O’Brien-Wilson

Finding the Magic that Lies within each of us By Ryan Bart

s Edwin sauntered onto the stage with a blend of bashfulness and confidence, my eyes began to tear at the sight. Not long into his routine, he had over 300 people in awe of his magic and laughing at his jokes. I received a Fulbright English Teaching Assistantship Grant to live, learn, and teach in Colombia for a year. In addition to teaching English as a native language assistant at a university in Bogotá, my grant required that I engage in a social project of any kind. After being awarded the scholarship, I began planning a sustainable project in collaboration with Magicians Without Borders (MWB). The Magic Project I founded and continue to direct involved forming a magic club to teach the art of magic to disadvantaged youth deep in the heart of Bogotá’s slums. It also included performing regularly at numerous hospitals, foundations, and orphanages while collaborating with Colombian magicians. As a whole, the magic club endured a bumpy start. Our young magicians were often unengaged and disrespectful, which made me question the validity and efficacy of the club. Upon reflection, I decided that these children were exactly who I wanted to work with as they are at-risk due to abuse and neglect. I consistently reminded them why we were learning magic together, explaining that we were more than a club - we were a family. I was informed that one particular student in our magic club had likely suffered from severe abuse. When I first met him, he was non-communicative and tense,

almost as if trapped in his own skin. I could sense that the inner light of his soul lacked a mere spark. Through the course of the magic club, this particular student demonstrated significant growth and gradually began to smile with greater frequency. After eight months of learning magic, Edwin sauntered bashfully, yet confidently, onto the stage following an act from Colombia’s most famous magician, Gustavo Lorgia. Our aspiring magician delivered masterfully, the 300 person audience cheered, and my eyes teared with joy. Before I left Colombia in June 2013, Edwin told me that he wanted to be a doctor. We share the same professional aspirations. MWB has a scholarship fund for our magic students, and we are eager to support Edwin’s dream. His growth highlights our mission to entertain, educate, and empower some of the most forgotten children in the world. Watching Edwin flourish was healing for both him and myself. Magic has a unique way of infusing hope as it allows us to extend the realm of what we believe to be possible. Houdini once said, “In certain circumstances, magic not only amazes and amuses but it has the power to awaken hope that the impossible is possible.” Edwin’s story demonstrates the magic that lies within each of us. Sometimes we just need some guidance and a little nudge to find it.

Photos by Ryan Bart and Carlos Villalon

A Perfect Pitch By Rachelle Strawther

he tension is palpable as six girls bite their fingernails and nervously kick at the dirt, wondering if they have walked an hour in vain for a match that will never take place. This is the nature of the Kisumu Youth Football Association (KYFA) girls’ leagues –a team is usually one player short of the required seven needed for the match to begin. Too many of their teammates are kept at home, washing mounds of their siblings’ clothes because their mothers and aunties have reminded them that football is for boys. Killing time, a 13 year-old girl (maybe 14, maybe 15; probably too old for this age category, but without birth certificates, who really knows?) juggles a ball with such Messi-like ease that even boda-boda drivers halt their bicycles to observe. When she arrives home later that afternoon, her granny will ask her what she was really doing with her time that day and what boy she was meeting because, surely, girls don’t play football. At the last possible minute afforded by the competition manual, just as a heavy-set center referee has raised the whistle to his mouth, a player cuts through the open fence (luckily, thieves persist in stealing the cedar fence posts, providing easy access to the venue) and dashes towards the center, which prompts visible sighs of relief among her teammates . Even their opponents, who stand to gain three points from a walkover, are pleased; they would rather play a full game and lose than never touch the ball and win. For 40 minutes, the mostly-barefoot girls race up and down what is deemed one of Kisumu’s best football fields, which, ironically, has a pebble-to-grass ratio of 20:1, but is conveniently devoid of trees, termite hills, boulders and graves, and only partially floods during the rainy season. Even the toughest soles are not invincible to jagged stones, responsible for no less than three bloody feet per match and a significant amount of limping. A typical team uniform consists of a conglomeration of mismatched skirts, ill-fitting shorts and faded t-shirts of approximately the same shade; a few girls have been lucky enough to inherit second-hand boots (cleats to the American) from an older brother. With the field a medley of color, one wonders how the players can

distinguish their teammates from opponents. Meanwhile, a keen spectator can always point out the newest players on each team – the rookies whose sole strategy is to indiscriminately punt the ball as hard as possible in the opposite direction, much to the frustration of the Ronaldo-idolizing veteran players. Earnest coaches donning KYFA-issued polo shirts pace the barren sideline, sweat beading at their temples. There are no clipboards, no benches, no mothers waiting to distribute orange slices during half-time - just younger siblings with runny noses and a handful of adults curious enough to watch but reserving their enthusiasm for the boys’ league matches. An unexpected steal prompts the coach to wave his arms wildly and yell: Songa mbele! Sukuma! (Move forward! Push!) Suddenly, the field is a fury of clashing, high-pitched voices: Leta hapa! (Bring it here!) Songa nyuma! (Move back!) Haraka! (Fast!) In classic soccer fashion, the balance of power is once again tipped as a defender swiftly intercepts the ball, prompting a disgusted Ay, yawa! (the local equivalent of “Oh, c’mon!”) from the striker, a Class 8 student with plaited hair and impressive upper arm muscles (years of washing her brother’s trousers and carrying jugs of water). Studying the field, the defender dribbles briefly, then expertly launches the ball to her right forward, who neatly chest-traps the ball and, in an act of God, pure brilliance or both, chips it perfectly over the head of the unfortunate goalkeeper. It is a simple, unremarkable, and yet glorious moment as her teammates run towards her, shrieking, arms extended wide as if gliding, sailing, over the field. There is no victory dance, no choreographed display of triumph at the corner flag - only embraces and faces beaming with satisfaction. Their coach still clapping, the girls trot back to the midfield line, ready to try again. One could never guess from a football match that most African girls are intensely shy. I first observe their introversion during my year as an English teacher in rural Ethiopia, where girls who have voraciously studied the language duck their heads and Photo by Lindsey Hand

cover their mouths in embarrassment when asked to speak, in contrast to Ethiopian boys who stutter broken, unintelligible English phrases with unabashed pride. This same paradigm carries over to Kenya, where, over the course of nearly eight years, I note the same propensity towards bashfulness amongst young Kenyan females – a reluctance to call attention to themselves, particularly before their elders. This shyness is not inherent, but conditioned. In the brief span of her life, a Kenyan girl has learned to greet household visitors silently with a limp handshake and a hand respectfully placed over her forearm, to pour warm water over their hands for washing, serve them milky tea and margarine-covered bread, and return quietly to the kitchen. She has learned not to protest when her teacher lines up the class for caning after poor performance on an exam. When her oldest sibling, who pays her school fees, demands to know why her performance is dropping, she knows better than to bring up the fact that she has no textbooks. A transformation takes place on the football field, however; shyness is pulled aside like a curtain and assertiveness comes into full view. For those 40 minutes, the football pitch is the girls’ domain, granting an exhibition of power that is rarely encouraged outside that rough patch of dirt. In the nearly 150 girls’ football matches that I have watched, I have never witnessed a fight. The girls simply come to play without hesitation

or fear of judgment. It is the beauty of sport, the reason that organizations like KYFA use football to help young African women build their self-esteem and find their voice in a society that has traditionally preferred their silence. When the center referee signals the end of the match with three consecutive whistle blows, the exhausted players slowly exit the field with their feet still stinging from impact with the ball, their soles tender from the pebbled, sun-baked ground. Crossing over the sideline, they pass around jugs of untreated water and take turns lifting them over their mouths. There are no parents waiting to give the girls congratulatory high-fives or consolatory pats on the back; only household chores await them. As they slip on flip-flops that have been mended several times, the girls know that they will be up late that night, most of them studying next to a dim kerosene lantern in preparation for a 6am class. Still, there is always the memory of a game well played – the remembrance of that sweet ecstasy felt upon the ball sailing into the inside corner of the net. With dusty ankles and bruised shins, the girls cross through the non-existent fence to begin a long walk home, leaving behind the distant echo of their coach’s voice: Move forward. Push.

Photo by Rachelle Strawther

home By Allison Cutuli

s we were immersed in San Diego for the week-long trip, “Justice in January,” we delved into the topic of immigration and our deepest desires. Immigration is commonly perceived as a current political and economic topic in the United States but is much more complex than this – immigration is a humanitarian issue. As I took the freeway exit in San Diego toward “Home Ave.,” I began pondering the relationship between immigration and home. The Fence Through the years, humans have expanded to different continents with the desire of finding home and community. In a culture that emphasizes compartmentalization, individualization, and disconnection, it can be easy to forget how intricately connected we are to our brothers and sisters of the world. We too often use dehumanizing language to describe the “other” in contrast to our “self.” Rather, it is easier to numb ourselves of social injustices by material consumption and technological dependency which allow for physical and psychological disconnection. For instance, the idea that the threat of “aliens” can be cured through a 700-mile, 14 foot tall fence, along the U.S.–Mexico border. This physical boundary that separates “us” from the “other” is complete with barbed wire, motion sensor technology and 18,000 Border Patrol agents. As we stood along this fence at the beach, we noticed seagulls freely passing over the border. On the other side stood children, who clenched the fence and stared at us with wonder. Despite human connection, we continue to build taller, and wider, and stronger fences on the border and into our neighborhoods, all with the intent to shield us from the pain of the “other.” Not in My Backyard Immigration involves a quest for home, employment, and a sense of security to sustain families and communities. Later in the week, as we broke bread together in community with the day laborers, a man named Wayne confronted us about our association with them. ”Why can’t they stand somewhere else?” “Why can’t they find work somewhere else?” “They need to leave.” His concern as a “homeowner” trumped his concern as a human, as he lacked compassion for the day laborers that he believed were merely disturbances to his neighborhood. In this conversation, not only was prejudice apparent, but also nativism, with the belief that “What is mine is mine, and not yours,” including relationships, possessions, territory and the concept of home. Home with God Following the dialogue with Wayne, a small and energetic woman named Lupe visited our group at the same day laborer outreach site. Lupe reminded us of our true home. She shared, “We need to make room for eternity, we are just tourists on earth.” In our attempt to shut out others from limited resources, such as money, possessions and territory, we forget our roots, what matters and who we were created to be. The truth is that we all hurt. The truth is that we build physical and psychological boundaries so that we can be separated from pain. Despite our differences and fears as humans, we are connected by the desire to find our home.

Photos by Mackenzie Pavlik and Jessica Morley

PhotobybyTaylor TaylorBlackbourn Blackbourn Photo

To Dehumanize a Pitbull By Devin Devine

man walks his dog across the street, his pants sag and his hands are leather. The dog leads him forward. “Why are people so scared of pitbulls?” “They’re fight dogs, that’s why. It’s in their blood.” I try to argue against the myth, but when our country assigns guilt it remains and sustains hate and suddenly we’re a country with breed specific legislation. The local dog pound is a detention center for the guilty. Culpable. Streamlined into cages, we don’t have the right words to tell them what they’ve done wrong. Hit them on the nose, put them on the streets, and hope they won’t do it again. Their crime is found in their locking jaws, a genetic disposition, that is as much their choice as it wasfor me to be born in the United States. Yet there is legislation that spays, neuters, puts microchips, keeps special documentation signed with red ink, and a life long sentence for being a dog without an owner, without a family, without a safe place to call home. Those convicted with a felony are prohibited from owning pitbulls, because apparently criminals are associative. So if we are busy filling our prisons with the innocent. But in our country, being a criminal is transmittable. It’s a blood line. Temperament is dependent on socialization, but with collarbone chains around the neck I see finally how sensational it is to tell us the few stories of the dangerous, selling us fear, and human and animal as weapon, and telling us that to euthanize is a cheaper option than keeping them around a day longer than necessary.

Animal patrol will never mention a word of the family dog who kisses children into existence. The dog reaches the other side of the street first, with pointed ears, they both stop when they reach a chain link fence. The dog pulls forward again. A little girl who seeks nothing other than a friend fingers stretched and weaving through the metal, asks if she can Before given a chance, the man tugs at the chain. No More Deaths, a volunteer network, cites that in 2009 United States and Homeland Security passed legislation that mandates a quota of 34,000 of the beds of detention centers be filled across the country. Operation Streamline, in correlation with this, sends hundreds of thousands of immigrants through the detention system a year. In 2009 54% of all federal criminal prosecutions were for immigration-related offenses and â&#x20AC;&#x153;illegal re-entryâ&#x20AC;? had become the most commonly filed federal charge. Since Operation Streamline was first introduced in 2005, the border death rate has increased 127 percent from 52 deaths per 100,000 apprehensions to 118 per 100,000 apprehensions in 2010. Meanwhile, according to ASPCA, studies estimate that up to 70% of the dogs in urban city shelters are pitbulls, with a national rate of 33%. Euthanasia rates climb as a result. Only one in every six hundred pitbulls will find a home. 75% of shelters euthanize pitbulls upon intake. This amounts to nearly the euthanasia of 2,800 euthanasia pitbulls a day, or almost one million pitbulls a year.

Photos by Nicki Affonso-McMorrow

Home in a Bag By Kenzie Fuller

had been anxiously waiting all week to return to the animated faces and toothless smiles of the kids at Transitional Living Center, Spokane. This is transitional housing for women and their children who are escaping homelessness or dangerous domestic situations and are trying to get back on their feet. It has been incredible spending time with these goofballs and rewarding to see the growth and impact that has been made on both them and me. I was eager to help them sound out words in books, chase them around the playground, and hear about their days at school. When I arrived at TLC, however, they needed help cleaning out an apartment for a new family to move in. As I entered the apartment, I was in shock at what I saw. There were fresh loads of laundry piled near the entrance and dirty dishes overflowed in the sink. Tiny shoes were scattered across the floor, and there was a distinct musty smell. The fridge and freezer were full of food, and papers were lying around. I felt as if I had just entered the scene of a crime. To the right, in the master bedroom, there were purses in piles that had clearly been dumped out for their contents. The mattress on the floor looked like someone had been tossing and turning all night. In the two kidsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; bedrooms, the sheets were draped from the beds as if the kids had been ripped out of them while they were asleep. Toys and board game pieces were dispersed throughout the room, letters from their imprisoned father lay on their desks, and there was a tiny medical walker in one of the rooms. I was told that the family of three had abandoned their apartment in the middle of the night and had not returned. I was instantly overcome with chills. The thought of this family returning to the streets made me sick to my stomach. Can you imagine being so scared that you had to flee your home - being in so much danger that you would prefer to be cold and homeless?

I put all of their personal items into big, black trash bags:

winter coat love letter fresh fruit Joshua and Jacob* phone charger medical examination document teddy bear calendar Halloween candy home I felt like I was single handedly bagging up their lives to be thrown into the next garbage truck. Everything that this mom had worked so hard for would no longer be in reach. My hands, that were meant for helping and creating, were hurting and destroying. After some reflection later, I saw something else out of my experience. Rather than hurting and destroying, it was as if I was picking up the pieces that this family wanted to shed. I was helping them move forward and showing them not to be afraid. My hands were not only humbly gathering their belongings but on their backs in support and holding their hands in guidance. I think about the mom and her two boys often. I hope that they are safe and warm. I hope the boys have been attending school and are not hungry. The extraordinary measures this mother took to protect her children reflect her courage and strength. I am confident that her hands will rebuild and restore their lives for the better. *name changed to protect the identity of said persons

Photo by Nicki Affonso-McMorrow

Together

By Annarose O’Brien-Wilson

met Patti just recently this summer in the breakfast line at the House of Charity during Reality Camp, a pre-orientation program run by the Center for Community Action and Service-Learning (CCASL) for a group of Gonzaga’s incoming freshmen. She appeared to be in her late fifties and asked me politely what “all these kids were doing here.” As I explained that the students were here to get to know clients and hear their stories, she smiled, and invited me back to sit with her and her friends at their table. Over our donuts and coffee Patti began to share her own story with me. I soon discovered that Patti had raised her family in the area where my family lives now and that her four children had all attended my youngest sister’s high school. I learned that she worked as the manager of a local fast food restaurant for over twenty years until she was laid off and had nowhere else to go and that she loved to go take the bread she received from the House of Charity and share it with the ducks at Riverfront Park. She had only been struggling with homelessness for two months and did not want her children to know until she had the chance to get back on her feet.

human being with feelings and opinions just like mine. Sitting with Patti and her friends, I felt comfortable and at home in a group of strangers who were quickly becoming friends. No one cared how much makeup I was wearing, whether or not my hair was clean, or whether my tops matched my bottoms, because none of that mattered to them. Patti and her friends welcomed my mess into their messes without any apologies or excuses. This is the way they live, who they are—and I could either choose to remain distant or to share myself with them in the same way they shared themselves with me. Patti’s story and those of many others have opened my eyes again and again to what it means to experience injustice and marginalization by society, and my growing understanding of the reasons for the differences between my life and theirs feeds the fire within me to continue working toward change. Although my immediate reaction to these stories is always a desire to “fix” all the problems to make the teller’s life better, I have come to realize that I have been blessed with abilities to give more than simply food or money; nor should I see simply giving material goods as a means to achieving social justice in the world around me. Attending Gonzaga University and working with CCASL has taught me that being a woman for others is not as great as being a woman for and with others. Before I can go about changing the world, I must deeply know the world I am trying to change—a knowledge that can only be achieved by simply giving my presence. And it is through this presence that we as a human community can remove the social, political, or economic barriers separating us and work for change together.

“Being a woman for others is not as great as being a woman for and with others.”

At the House of Charity and many of the other organizations with whom I have worked through CCASL’s programs, people have loved me and accepted me without any previous judgments or opinions. I have slowly learned the power of simply “being” without any expectation of “doing” anything. I did not “do” anything to help Patti by sitting at her table and engaging in conversation with her. Rather, by walking alongside in her journey, even for only a day, I was able to build a relationship that drew attention to her dignity as a

Photos by Annarose O’Brien-Wilson

Additional Resources Here is a list of resources that can help you take the next step in your journey towards making the world a more just place.

Gonzaga

Local

United Students Against Sweatshops A nationwide, student run organization that campaigns for workers’ rights on-campus, locally, nationally, and internationally.

Volunteers of America www.voaspokane.org Volunteers of America of Eastern Washington & Northern Idaho is dedicated to helping those in need rebuild their lives and reach their full potential.

International Justice Mission An organization based in Washington D.C. that works with governments throughout the world to end human trafficking and modern slavery in places where this issue is prevelant. She’sThe First She’s the First sponsors girls’ education in developing nations, giving them the chance to become the first in their families to graduate from secondary school. SMILE A CCASL program that work in low-income schools in Spokane mentoring children in K-6 through games, activities, and crafts GUSR A CCASL program that works with members of the Spokane community who have developmental disabilities International Student Union Advocates for intercultural competency, global engagement, inclusivity, and awareness of international affairs across our campus and community. STOP Trafficking Club Raises awareness and funds through educational events to put an end to modern day slavery otherwise known as human trafficking. Gonzaga Without Borders Dedicated to working for social justice on the local and international levels through improving the living conditions of those in need.

Catholic Charities www.catholiccharitiesspokane.org A Catholic non-profit addressing many social issues in Eastern Washington including homeless populations, immigrants, seniors, people with special needs, children, and single mothers. Crosswalk Teen Shelter Crosswalk is an emergency shelter, a school drop-out prevention program, and a group of lifesaving and life-changing programs dedicated to breaking the cycle of youth homelessness Second Harvest Food Bank www.2-harvest.org Second Harvest brings community resources together to feed people in need through empowerment, education and partnerships. Women and Children’s Free Restaurant and Community Kitchen www.wcfrspokane.org A vital safety net that fills nutritional gaps for women and children in need while fostering dignity and respect, both within our restaurant and in the community. American Childhood Cancer Organization www.acco.org/inlandnw ACC Inland Northwest’s mission is to help each family cope with life during childhood cancer treatments and rebuild their lives after cancer from the experienced perspective of those who have been there before.

Photo by Joseph Kinsella

d l r o e n W O

Competition Winners This year, OneWorld hosted its first Instagram Competition in which Gonzaga community members took pictures of themselves to show their support of social justice. OneWorld was thrilled to see so much support, and we hope you enjoy the photos included here. For more photos, follow us on Instagram @guoneworld .

ONEWORLD

Join us in being the change