Why I Walked

by Erin M. Conway

Author’s Note: I wrote the bulk of this reflection after the Women’s March in 2017, following the election of Donald Trump, but never had a chance to share it. In the spirit of my recent series A White Woman Wrestles with Race as well as the increased activism of young people surrounding the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, I decided to revisit my thoughts and share them with you today.

This past weekend, the day after the inauguration of our new president, thousands of women, men, and children across the country gathered and marched in support of women and other marginalized groups. Over 350 marches took place. My mom and I joined the march in Cleveland.

People chose to march for a variety of reasons -- anger, love, frustration, a desire for change, and many more. Everyone had their own story. This is mine.

Before I began teaching at Saint Martin de Porres, Cleveland’s Cristo Rey High School, I worked both in the city of Baltimore and in the Coachella Valley of Southern California. In all three places I have been exposed to people and places that I’d previously known nothing about. In addition to time spent getting to know the stories of the young men and women in my classroom, I accompanied students on trips to El Salvador; Washington, DC; East Los Angeles; and Nogales, Mexico. Above all else, these experiences taught me the value of listening to other people’s stories. Father Greg Boyle, my personal hero and the founder of LA’s largest gang intervention program, Homeboy Industries, writes that “it is impossible to demonize someone you know.” A quick reflection on the way hearing other’s stories has changed my life reinforces my desire to share my own with you.

I have the immense privilege each day to teach Social Justice and Morality to juniors and seniors at Saint Martin. In class this week we’ve tried to wade through the flurry of our world since Donald Trump’s inauguration – executive orders, protests, press conferences, Google searches (what is an executive order anyway?), tweets, and so much more. We’ve found ourselves exhausted and overwhelmed. How do we make sense of a world where most news comes at us in 140 character bursts (now, sometimes 280) and we’re constantly being told stories are fake or journalists are unreliable? How can we find the truth in a world that constantly demonizes anyone who doesn’t agree with me?

In our conversations these past days, I’ve challenged myself and my students to look deeper, to put in the not so fun work of reading full articles, of watching the news, and perhaps the most challenging of all these, listening with open ears to what the other side is trying to say. Of course, the thing I’ve done the most during these past few weeks is listen.

I’ve listened because hearing people’s stories matters. I’ve listened because teaching has shown me that I know a lot less about the world than I think I do. I’ve listened because our world often doesn’t often listen to students that look like mine. I listened because high schoolers have no patience for hypocrisy. If I am asking them to listen to the stories of others, I better be doing the same thing. I listened, most simply, however, because I love them.

Perhaps the most remarkable challenge that has come out of listening to my students has been coming to grips with my own privilege. I speak of this often, but the young men and women who have accompanied me on my own journey have challenged me to see my life for what it is. They have shown me the ways in which our world has helped me, even when wasn’t conscious of it. The other delightful challenge of working with high schoolers is that they constantly challenge you to put your money where your mouth is. They watch every move you make, and I’ve never been more afraid of my own hypocrisy then when I step into a room 0f 15-25 teenagers. I’ve learned that if I tell them I care about their fears and their lives, I better go out and put these words into action.

So when I walked the streets of Cleveland on Saturday morning alongside my mom and 15,000 others, I did not walk because I was immediately concerned for my personal well-being or that of my family. I walked because I love my students and needed to put this love into action. I walked because my Facebook and Twitter feeds are flooded with messages of uncertainty and frustration from former students who don’t like the way the world talks to and about them. I walked because each day I have the immense privilege to share a classroom with 124 juniors and seniors who trust me with their stories and their fears. I walked because these students, many of whom are asked to carry much more than they should have to, much more than I could bear, still find it in their hearts to write things like this:

"I am constantly doubted because I am a African American female. It would not surprise many if I was expecting a child and didn't have plans to attend college. But little do many know I AM going to college. Because I have these clichés against me I crave to be different." 

“I am a black strong-minded beautiful young lady who wants to make an impact on the world. But I am scared to live in this dangerous would, where hate crimes against blacks are so popular. I could easily be Sandra Bland, who was pulled over and killed in police custody, or Myra Thompson, who was caught in a mass shooting while attending church.”

“I will use my success to show young black girls that you can achieve things, just as they see on television, and be a part of the way our world runs. This is important to me because I want to inspire young women and change the negative light that is shown on black women in the media.”

“This reminded me that if I continue to work hard, I too can show all of the people who made me feel less than that I am something.”

“I want to show kids in the community that your situation doesn’t define you or what you think you have to do because it’s your life. What’s really authentic and special is being about business, focusing on getting education, taking care of your family, helping others or sparking others to further their knowledge.”

I walked because my students share their stories every day. I want them to know that I am listening.

This reflection is dedicated to the Saint Martin de Porres Class of 2017 who helped my to find my own voice while I thought I was simply listening to theirs.