An Open Letter to the Woman Who Said I Would Come Back From Lesotho, Africa“Too Changed”
An open letter to the woman who told me I would come back “too changed”:
I met you when I was going through sorority recruitment. I don’t really remember your name or you face but what stuck with me were your words. We started to make small talk and the conversation turned to travel. I mentioned that I wanted to go on the school’s service trip to Lesotho, Africa. I thought it might be an eye-opening experience in which I could make some sort of difference. To this you replied, “Yeah that might be cool, but sometimes I think people come back too changed.”
That sentiment has stuck with me. I struggled to find meaning in what you meant by “too changed.” What was wrong with change? Was change an entity to be feared?
Despite your warning, I went on the trip. Because of it, I have changed, but I truly believe I have changed for the better.
I have not always claimed the identity of activist. In my high school English class, we dedicated a day to a Socratic seminar in which we got to pick our topics. My best friend, now an openly gay man, had not yet come out. He urged me to work with him to create a case for the institution of gay marriage. I refused. I thought the matter would be too controversial and as a result, I would be labeled as too assertive, too aggressive, or too loud. Mostly, I was afraid.
I regret my refusal today. Something gnawed at me. It wasn’t just the feeling of betraying my best friend, though that stung. It was the encroaching feeling that I was not doing enough, that I was letting injustice creep into my periphery.
As I got older, I became more outspoken. I speak and I act because I came back “too changed.” The people I met in Lesotho were compassionate and caring and driven. I got to witness the immense joy of the Basotho as well as the problems their communities face. I and my fellow students observed uncomfortable worldly issues, such as poverty, hunger, and stunting, in the face, quite literally. To put a face and a name and a voice to a person 8,600 miles away without meeting them is an inconceivable feat. Even having the opportunity to get to know the Basotho, trying merely to grasp the details of their struggle is daunting. The trip helps to humanize these issues.
I do not believe that anyone is truly apathetic. Everyone has at least an idea of some injustice in the world that is central to their being, that feels of someone wringing out their core, a transgression that makes them want to get on their soap box and scream until the air hurts their lungs. Whether it be political, global, or personal, there are issues and people in this world that we care deeply about. And if we’re not apathetic and are in fact passionate, why are we not persuaded to act?
Our problem stems not from a lack of passion, but from the persist presence of passivity. Passivity prompts us to take the easiest and most widely accepted route. Passivity is comfortable so we gladly embrace it.
To take action is to be brave. We live in a culture that idealizes the notion of passivity. We glorify laziness in our jokes and in pop culture. We poke fun at those who “try too hard.” We label activists as “annoying” or “loud” or “irresponsible.” We deny those who are empathetic the privilege of being taken seriously. As a result, the act of taking action itself, becomes something to be feared. It differentiates from the norm. We fear our social wellbeing will be compromised.
And since we do not respect the voice of empathy, the culture of the passive breeds a culture of nonbelievers. Those who are “too changed” chase unattainable dreams. Globalized change, life’s biggest and most complex problems are obstacles to come to terms with, not to be contended with. Hope is not realistic. Our only option is to accept injustice and take care of ourselves.
I challenge that notion. If we want to create a culture where change is accepted as a viable option, we must make a case for hope. The human condition is improving. When we look to any mass social movement –the civil rights movement, the women’s movement, the LGBTQ movement –significant progress has been made since their inauguration. If we look at world hunger, poverty, and illiteracy rates, they are all steadily decreasing. There are people enacting change for a vast array of causes because they believe in hope and improvement.
I often ask myself, “Am I doing enough?” Action doesn’t always feel active. It doesn’t always feel large or powerful. Sometimes action is genuinely listening to the opposing view in order to create a comprehensive understanding. Sometimes it’s funneling grain into a bag to feed someone you will never meet. Sometimes it’s putting pen to paper or speaking out.
Change is not impossible. Change is not a pipedream. Change is real and alive and thriving. Change knocks on our door every morning calling us out into the world, calling for us to embrace it rather than passivity. Change only seems impossible because we say it is. We create a rhetoric that squashes ideas outside of the dominant paradigm. We don’t allow change a chance. It seems too daunting. Widespread change is the effort small changes along the way; a change in mindset, a change of heart, and the power of one action at a time. In those terms, change doesn’t have to be daunting. It is accessible and real and very much within our reach.
I would love for everyone to know Lesotho, to experience Lesotho. I wish that I could share how it feels to stand on a mountain and look at stars clearer and closer up than anything I have ever seen in the Midwest. I wish I could share how it feels to be embraced by the Basotho culture, to be called a friend moments after first meeting. I wish I could share what I feels like to stare in the face of injustice and when injustice finally has a name and a story. I want people to know that Lesotho is significant in our world. All I can ask is that people are willing to hear Lesotho’s voice.
Everyday people are the ones who are changing the world. You thought I would come back “too changed.” You were right. I am “too changed,” but I am changed in the most beautiful and fulfilling way. I hope that you find something that will change you as well, something that you’re proud of. “Too changed” is not a weakness. It’s the awakening of a greater purpose and the casting off of passivity. And because of this, I take a breath and write.
Sincerely,
Annie Fort
