In 2012, I had the incredible opportunity to travel to New York City for the United Nations' Commission on the Status of Women. This annual event stems from a summit held in Beijing in the late 90s. At that summit, world leaders identified several platforms that highlighted the challenges faced by women and children around the world. In 2012, the focus was rural women, and I was asked to attend as a representative of Women of the ELCA (Evangelical Lutheran Church of America). I was completely unsure what to expect. Throughout my time at the UN, I listened more than I spoke. I heard stories from women who know poverty in a way that I certainly don't. I heard from women who have studied and implemented programs, but I also heard from women who have LIVED it in the most remote parts of this globe. To say it was humbling is to say that winter in North Dakota is chilly.
One of the women with whom I was able to visit as a part of a small group was Leymah Gbowee who later was awarded a Nobel Peace Prize as recognition for her efforts on behalf of women and children in Liberia. Leymah, a Lutheran mother of 6, helped bring peace to her country in the midst of its civil war. She is a champion of education, children, and the church.
During our discussion, she talked about the educational opportunities for kids in Liberia, specifically girls. She said that girls in Liberia are very distinctly divided into two economic groups which, in turn, affect their access to school, health care, and even sexual safety. One of the things Leymah and her friends have tried to do is provide access to school for the most impoverished girls of Liberia. She spoke about how excited girls would be to be given a pencil and paper--tools to which they had no access. While her stories were inspiring, I couldn't help but wonder where that excitement and optimism had gone among children in our own country.
After several minutes, I finally decided I needed to ask the question: why do children in America seem so apathetic? They are handed opportunities from every direction, but those opportunities are ignored by the kids who need them worst. I will never forget Leymah's response (or her piercing look as she spoke): the children are not apathetic. They have lost hope. No child chooses to turn away from an opportunity for a better life. Those children have been taught that their hopes are irrelevant, so it is easier--safer--to give up and appear apathetic.
Those words echo in my head when I look at a student who doesn't seem to care. Poverty takes away that most basic element of hope as Jensen pointed out in the "Hope Building" section of the chapter. So what do we do about it? I think our words need to be consistent, strong, and clear from preschool through graduation: you can do this. One of the notes I wrote to myself while I read this portion of the book: don't become a teacher if you can't stand repeating yourself. Repetition is the only thing that combat the helplessness that Jensen mentions. And I think much of the repetition has to be personal. He lists several strategies that "build hope" on page 116; however, many are group or classroom based. When we just do these "blanket" responses, it is too easy for the marginalized kid to think, "That doesn't apply to me." What is wrong with identifying the kids who need us most? Isn't that our job? These kids can't afford our political correctness. Because if we are timid, they just become a kid that we see as apathetic and cycle continues.
And the message needs to be clear from a very early age. I can plainly see that most hopefulness is lost by the time kids are in high school. We have to figure out a way to influence kids sooner--to make the message clear when kids are younger.
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