Youth : OPINION : Different Worlds, Same Emotions

“How was it?” I have been asked this repeatedly since I returned from Britain. My response has been feeble yet constant: “It was great!” Each time I responded, I hoped that words would come to mind that would capture the essence of the experience and leave my questioners with thought-provoking feelings. The only thing I can be sure about the trip is that it changed me. I cannot pinpoint during which interview, outing or meeting the change occurred.

I distinctly recall the first group of students we met with. We were partnered and asked to “converse,” find out about our similarities and differences. As I sat beside my partner for the day, I saw the obvious, a white male--British--who was probably middle class. When he talked about his home, I recall thinking he didn’t look like he had problems keeping his neighborhood clean. I didn’t think drive-by shootings kept him in his house at night or that robberies plagued his community.

We certainly were different. What could he possibly have in common with me. Our homes may have been separated by an ocean, but our lives were worlds apart. Our conversation was filled with the superficial--movies, music and how the stars live in Los Angeles--until we hit the topic of school. I told him my plans: college, graduate school, a career and, hopefully, success. He then told me his. He wanted to finish high school and then take care of his pregnant girlfriend. He tried to keep the conversation light as he told his story, yet his eyes told the real story.

I’ve seen those eyes before in young girls and boys whose plans were not for college but, instead, for raising a family at the age of 16 or 17. For a moment, he was no longer some middle-class white guy from England; he was just young and struggling to succeed, regardless of statistics that say he wouldn’t or a person who says he couldn’t. For the moment, he and I were very much the same.

*

Gooch Close, Daddington--they are Manchester’s counterparts to Nickerson Gardens in Watts. Maybe it was my own ignorance or naivete that made me not expect to see public-housing projects in England. We drove through with bus lights dimmed. Our guide, a man who worked in the community center we had visited earlier that day, explained that in the past, buses had been shot at and that precautions had to be taken. He spoke of the gangs and their fight for territory. He spoke of the young and innocent who had been killed in the area. He told of his fight to make a difference. His voice was tight with frustration; it was my own frustration. I had seen this poverty before and the seeming senselessness of the violence in my community. I empathized with him.

I returned home having experienced the unexpected. I sat and spoke with law-enforcement officers in my community. I heard the story of those that had been at the mercy of an unjust police force, and heard the story of the police officer who struggles to find peaceful solutions to the increasingly high crime in cities. I had spoken to youth who I thought were worlds apart from me and found that our differences are small and our emotions the same. Most important, I have shared an experience with 19 others from different corners of Los Angeles’ social fabric. We not only discovered the British but also one another. I, too, learned about life in Los Angeles from hearing their stories.

I treasure my memories of Britain, I treasure what I learned about others and what I have yet to learn about myself.