This is a blog I was actually assigned to write for my journalism class, but I thought it'd be worth posting on here too.
I’ll never forget the day I was plunged into the realities of White Clay, Nebraska; a town with a population of 14, double said residents in homeless people and a higher per captia alcohol sales rate than that of Las Vegas.
My experience came while I was on a class trip with my depth report class from the University of Nebraska. We were at Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota, shooting a documentary about Native American women. After a day of filming empowered leaders on the reservation, I found myself wanting to hear more from everyday citizens. I asked my professors if we could venture to find people on the street and talk to them. They agreed, and we left the next day to go look for stories.
After filming for about an hour at a local restaurant, we decided to go to White Clay, which was just a few miles down the road. Before leaving, I had heard mutterings of controversy over the town’s possession of 4 liquor stores just across the border from Pine Ridge, where alcohol is banned. In fact, activists held a rally in Lincoln just two weeks before we left, blaming White Clay for the rampant alcohol abuse occurring within the reservation.
As we approached the town, my eyes were met with the same ironic sight that must catch everyone who goes there off guard: the state marker that reads “Welcome to Nebraska, The Good Life…” against a backdrop of a single trashed street lined with a few run down buildings and dozens of sad looking people standing around. Some were grouped together outside of the liquor stores while others sat in the dirt, simply staring down the road into the lifeless prairie that continues on past the football field-sized town.
We parked the car next to what looked like a soup kitchen and got out, leaving the film equipment inside. The man who ran the place, Bruce, talked with us for a while about the problems in White Clay and how his program, the ABOUT Group, was working to help. They served breakfast for the people on the street 3 times a week and held support groups for alcoholism. There was also a thrift store connected to the kitchen, which provided affordable shoes, clothes, and an employment opportunity for a few people.
Still, Bruce’s description of life in the area was daunting. He said that at night, after people spent the entire day drinking, things got pretty ugly. He even said that it’s usually the women who prove to be the most dangerous and start the most fights, recalling an incident a few years back where one woman stabbed another in the face outside. He didn’t have an explanation for it other than an assumption that the women are under the most stress of anyone.
Before we had to go, he asked us if we’d come back on Thursday morning when they served breakfast for the people who’d slept on the streets all night. We said we’d love to, made plans for that morning and headed out the door.
I walked outside to see my other professor who had been with the rest of the group all day parked on the street, waiting for us. He had driven there when he heard we were in White Clay, needing to pick something up from the van we’d taken. He didn’t seem entirely pleased that we’d gone there without telling him, so I figured I’d better get in the car.
As I starting walking though, I heard a voice behind me say “Hey! Come here!” It was then that I experienced a moment I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I turned around and saw a Lakota woman sitting behind me in the dirt with her back against the thrift store wall. She was roughly 40 years old, had long black hair down to her waist and wore a tattered red coat. Surrounding her on the ground were piles of trash and broken beer bottles. She looked miserable. Then she asked me in a weak voice, “Will you come sit and pray with me?”
I didn’t know how to respond. I wanted to go talk with her, but the pressure I felt to get over to the vans took over and I ended up saying something like “Sorry, but I have to go now.”
It was the look that took over her face immediately thereafter that killed me. There was definite disappointment, but what made it even worse was also this complete lack of surprise she had, like that’s the only response she ever gets.
I spent the entire car ride back staring out the window and thinking about all the times I’ve bitched about nobody treating homeless people like human beings, nobody stopping to give them the time of day and nobody acting like their respect need be extended to anybody living on the streets. I’ve always hated people with that attitude, but in that moment I didn’t feel as though I’d risen to meet my own morals. There I was, supposedly there to work on a project aimed at helping people like that woman, yet, I walked right past her when she was trying to reach out for somebody. And for what? To avoid annoying my professor. No offense to him, but I felt terrible for it.
When we went back on Thursday morning, I saw her again as she walked into the soup kitchen to get breakfast. She sat across the room, still looking so sad and lonely but this time managing to strike up a conversation with another girl from our group. They spoke for a long time. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could see tears streaming down her face and my classmate looking like she could cry as well, just from listening. As I looked at them, I felt thankful for my classmate taking the time to reach out and listen, but overwhelmingly disappointed in myself for not doing the same thing two days earlier.
Later on, I was told that she was an educated woman who grew up on Pine Ridge, left to attend college in Hawaii and eventually came back to the reservation when she learned that her grandson had gone missing. Then, after a series of other devastating family crises, she fell into a downward spiral of alcoholism and drugs. That’s how she ended up in White Clay. My classmate finished her story by saying “She said she just needed someone to talk to.”
It was then I realized that our project has to become more than just something to showcase at our local theatre in Lincoln and earn ourselves a pat on the back from the university. It needs to be done for women like her, with the intent of actually making a difference and providing a voice for people who need one. No more formal interviews with PR people who can only talk, if even that, about the issues women face there. We actually need to SEE the problems like we did in White Clay and get out of our comfort zones if we are going to make this film right. So now, I’m just trying to think about what the next steps will be. And while I don’t have all of the answers yet, I feel like we’re well on our way to finding them and creating something truly important.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Pent Up Advice
I'm also going to post this.
So I really miss the school newspaper. I now have acquired over half a year’s worth of bad advice that I normally would have published, but now it's all pent up inside of me like a caged tiger since I no longer have access to the opinion section.
Half a Year’s Worth of Pent up Advice
Item 1: If You’re Having a Bad Day
If somebody is getting you down, the first thing you do is go to the Dollar Tree. There, they sell 10 packs of pretend gold medals next to the rack of encouraging ribbons. You buy those gold medals. Then you go home, you put on 3 of them. (Not all 10--you don’t want to kid yourself.) Then you stand in front of the mirror for a little while and rehearse what you’re going to say when you go to the supermarket later, pacing the aisles, pretending like you need yogurt. “Oh these? Oh, well, not a big deal. Forgot I was even wearing them…I had to do this photo shoot with them on earlier and just, forgot to take them off again. Silly me.” Then you shrug humbly and walk away. And God dammit, if you don’t feel like a winner after that, you never, ever will.
Item 2: If you are learning Arabic
Pronunciation is key:
Ana min Ambrika= I am from America.
Ana men Ambrika= I am semen, America.
Item 3: If You’re Having a Bad Day II
Another thing that you can do if you are having a bad day, is find a big crown with fur on it. I don’t know why, but the fur is very important. I once had a Burger King crown and it did nothing for me. But then two days ago, I was walking past a thrift store and they had a big box of free stuff just sitting outside. So, I peered into said box, and what did I see? A big, sparkly crown all lined with fur. And you know, putting that baby on just made me feel like nothing could touch me—except, possibly lice cause why else would you just give away an awesome crown like that? But basically, my point is that wearing furry crowns while jumping on your sofa and blasting T.I. helps the annoyance of a breakup so much, because, you finally realize that that person probably did have an excellent reason for leaving you.
Item 4: If You Don’t Feel Smart
Sometimes in life, you will meet people who know a lot more about politics, the environment, science, grammar, everything and dog breeding than you do. In such situations, my brother and I have found that it helps to wait for somebody to say a name, any name, and then to stop them right then and there. You then repeat the name, like Carol Freeman, and say “Oh, Carol Freeman? As in the playwrite?” Then even if you’re wrong, everybody thinks you know of a play write.
Item 5: If You Want to Come Off as a Bitch
Bear in mind that there are several types of bitch and I only have sufficient training in one of them, as Paige and I were offered a few crash courses in “proper bitch” during our stay in D.C. This type is perfect for cocktail parties and any kind of political event. It begins with accessories; you want to be holding a glass of wine in one hand and maybe a pair of monocles in the other. Then you just want to look around, seem bored and just judge everybody, especially teenage girls from Nebraska who don’t look like they’re supposed to be at that party. Only smile when somebody else talks to you, and make that smile as fake as Survivorman. (Yeah, that’s what I said.) And when you respond to anything, ANYTHING at all, you tie it all together with this one, simple phrase “Mm, yes, riveting.” And BAM, you’ve mastered the proper bitch.
So I really miss the school newspaper. I now have acquired over half a year’s worth of bad advice that I normally would have published, but now it's all pent up inside of me like a caged tiger since I no longer have access to the opinion section.
Half a Year’s Worth of Pent up Advice
Item 1: If You’re Having a Bad Day
If somebody is getting you down, the first thing you do is go to the Dollar Tree. There, they sell 10 packs of pretend gold medals next to the rack of encouraging ribbons. You buy those gold medals. Then you go home, you put on 3 of them. (Not all 10--you don’t want to kid yourself.) Then you stand in front of the mirror for a little while and rehearse what you’re going to say when you go to the supermarket later, pacing the aisles, pretending like you need yogurt. “Oh these? Oh, well, not a big deal. Forgot I was even wearing them…I had to do this photo shoot with them on earlier and just, forgot to take them off again. Silly me.” Then you shrug humbly and walk away. And God dammit, if you don’t feel like a winner after that, you never, ever will.
Item 2: If you are learning Arabic
Pronunciation is key:
Ana min Ambrika= I am from America.
Ana men Ambrika= I am semen, America.
Item 3: If You’re Having a Bad Day II
Another thing that you can do if you are having a bad day, is find a big crown with fur on it. I don’t know why, but the fur is very important. I once had a Burger King crown and it did nothing for me. But then two days ago, I was walking past a thrift store and they had a big box of free stuff just sitting outside. So, I peered into said box, and what did I see? A big, sparkly crown all lined with fur. And you know, putting that baby on just made me feel like nothing could touch me—except, possibly lice cause why else would you just give away an awesome crown like that? But basically, my point is that wearing furry crowns while jumping on your sofa and blasting T.I. helps the annoyance of a breakup so much, because, you finally realize that that person probably did have an excellent reason for leaving you.
Item 4: If You Don’t Feel Smart
Sometimes in life, you will meet people who know a lot more about politics, the environment, science, grammar, everything and dog breeding than you do. In such situations, my brother and I have found that it helps to wait for somebody to say a name, any name, and then to stop them right then and there. You then repeat the name, like Carol Freeman, and say “Oh, Carol Freeman? As in the playwrite?” Then even if you’re wrong, everybody thinks you know of a play write.
Item 5: If You Want to Come Off as a Bitch
Bear in mind that there are several types of bitch and I only have sufficient training in one of them, as Paige and I were offered a few crash courses in “proper bitch” during our stay in D.C. This type is perfect for cocktail parties and any kind of political event. It begins with accessories; you want to be holding a glass of wine in one hand and maybe a pair of monocles in the other. Then you just want to look around, seem bored and just judge everybody, especially teenage girls from Nebraska who don’t look like they’re supposed to be at that party. Only smile when somebody else talks to you, and make that smile as fake as Survivorman. (Yeah, that’s what I said.) And when you respond to anything, ANYTHING at all, you tie it all together with this one, simple phrase “Mm, yes, riveting.” And BAM, you’ve mastered the proper bitch.
Look what I did, bitches!
Yeaaaaah, I started a blog. This isn't exactly the same as Xanga at all.
...
Anywho, I don't actually feel like typing anything original right now so I think I'll just throw in an essay I wrote last week for journalism.
Natalia Ledford
Response to Dave Barry Essay
Journalism 102
3/5/2008
I’ve never been able to fully relate to the road rage phenomenon. Maybe Lincoln drivers just aren’t that bad or I’m the one who causes most of the rage and as such, am oblivious to it…I don’t know. But even though driving itself does not cause me much stress, that’s not to say that I don’t experience 90% of my daily rage WHILE driving.
I have what we call Taylor Swift rage. It’s the rage that arises every 5 minutes when you’re listening to the radio and you suddenly hear that generic guitar lick accompanied by it’s little pop-country violin number and suddenly, “Romeo something something something we can be alone, I’ll be something something all we have to do is run, something about a prince and I’ll a princess, it’s a love story baby just say yes…”
OH MY GOD. I thought I hated Hitler. But no, he has one likable trait over that song, and it is the fact that he is dead.
See, and then it gets stuck in your head alllll day like a really painful popcorn kernel in your back molar that you despise, you DESPISE it and it hurts! And you try everything to get it out but it’s impossible! It’s that one line “It’s a love story, baby jut say yes…” that plays over and over and over….but, dammit Taylor, I SAY NO. No. You sing through your nose and butcher Shakespeare—that’s why you haven’t found love.
I’m literally at a point where the radio is forcing me make the same painstaking decision between Taylor Swift and a car commercial every time I turn on my engine. I’m basically ready to apply for a job at Guantanamo because I've finally discovered the most effective way to torcher somebody.
...
Anywho, I don't actually feel like typing anything original right now so I think I'll just throw in an essay I wrote last week for journalism.
Natalia Ledford
Response to Dave Barry Essay
Journalism 102
3/5/2008
I’ve never been able to fully relate to the road rage phenomenon. Maybe Lincoln drivers just aren’t that bad or I’m the one who causes most of the rage and as such, am oblivious to it…I don’t know. But even though driving itself does not cause me much stress, that’s not to say that I don’t experience 90% of my daily rage WHILE driving.
I have what we call Taylor Swift rage. It’s the rage that arises every 5 minutes when you’re listening to the radio and you suddenly hear that generic guitar lick accompanied by it’s little pop-country violin number and suddenly, “Romeo something something something we can be alone, I’ll be something something all we have to do is run, something about a prince and I’ll a princess, it’s a love story baby just say yes…”
OH MY GOD. I thought I hated Hitler. But no, he has one likable trait over that song, and it is the fact that he is dead.
See, and then it gets stuck in your head alllll day like a really painful popcorn kernel in your back molar that you despise, you DESPISE it and it hurts! And you try everything to get it out but it’s impossible! It’s that one line “It’s a love story, baby jut say yes…” that plays over and over and over….but, dammit Taylor, I SAY NO. No. You sing through your nose and butcher Shakespeare—that’s why you haven’t found love.
I’m literally at a point where the radio is forcing me make the same painstaking decision between Taylor Swift and a car commercial every time I turn on my engine. I’m basically ready to apply for a job at Guantanamo because I've finally discovered the most effective way to torcher somebody.
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