The Laidlaw value that has always resonated with me most is curiosity.
I’ve noticed that the most intelligent people I’ve met all share one quality: they ask a ton of questions. I think to be an interesting person, you must first be interested.
In policy courses, we learn about the “5 Why’s,” where you ask “why?” five times in a row to find the root cause of an issue. For example, why are the same individuals being reincarcerated? Because they committed another offense. Why? Because they were struggling to find stable employment and housing. And so on, until you find the original cause.
I often apply this strategy when answering my own curiosities. For instance, I’ve always wondered why the hydrangeas in my backyard change color. It’s because soil pH changes the flower’s pigment. Why? Because it controls how much aluminum the roots can absorb. And so on…
I really like the idea of becoming a lifelong “why?”-asker.
My curiosity was what initially led me to seek out my summer LiA project, where I taught inmates in two local jails.
My time working in jails was one of the most eye-opening and life-changing experiences I’ve ever had. The first day was overwhelming. I wasn’t expecting the concrete doors to shut so suddenly behind me, the intercom to buzz, the guards to escort us hastily inside, and the inmates to stare down at me from the second floor. I wasn’t expecting all the cells to open simultaneously, and a sea of orange jumpsuits to pool into the classroom.
For confidentiality reasons, I don’t want to give too many details about the inmates. But I will say one thing — they were all completely immersed in the content. Many of them were taking notes throughout the entire class. (Most college students aren’t even that attentive in lectures.)
Even though I’m the one teaching the inmates, I feel I have just as much to learn from them. They shared stories, life lessons, and experiences from jail. I learned how to be a good listener, ask questions, and stay curious.
Sometimes, people don’t want solutions. They just want to be heard.
Moving forward, I hope to begin with the intent to understand, rather than the intent to immediately serve a community that I might not be familiar with yet.
Before this summer, I assumed the justice system was largely infallible, designed to keep our communities safe. In my mind, there were “good” people and “bad” people. Justice, then, was nothing more than a neat line safeguarding “us” from “them.”
The concept of justice, however, is not so clear-cut. There are many moments in my life when I find myself standing heavy-hearted at the crossroads of justice. Should I still help a friend who has hurt me? Should I forgive this family member? Do inmates truly deserve a second chance?
The more time I spent in the jails, the more I began to struggle with my previous notion of justice. Because at the end of the day, we were all sitting in the same room, on the same pale yellow chairs.
I think struggling with ideas and beliefs is a beautiful, necessary part of growth. There are a couple main takeaways that I learned from my time as part of the Laidlaw program.
First, Laidlaw reshaped my understanding of what it means to be a “good leader.” As the Churchill quote goes, it takes courage to stand up and speak, but it also takes courage to sit down and listen. A good leader does not necessarily need to conform to the traditional western framing of a dominant, confidant, and outspoken figure. And at times, good leadership is almost untraceable.
Second, I really resonated with a former panelist from our Laidlaw course last year. She shared that it is a privilege to be able to “go into” communities and volunteer, but it is also a privilege to then “exit” them. The LiA summer can certainly feel surface-level if you “enter,” then “exit” within a span of six weeks. She reminded us that it is a privilege to be able to serve, then leave for college. I’ve began to think about more ways I can continue my involvement into the fall.
Lastly, my time as part of the Laidlaw program has pushed me to challenge my perception of global citizenship. I used to think that tackling world issues meant mobilizing on a global scale, but this calling feels like a tall order, and often an unattainable one. Global citizenship can start much closer to home: serving my community contributes to the world around me, even if just one small corner of it. In other words, how can problems be tacked bottom-up rather than top-down?
I like to think that change, like hydrangeas, requires us to look beneath the surface.