It’s October 2014, I am in my 3rd year of architecture school, and I have found myself in Flint, Michigan on a studio trip to understand Rust Belt America from the perspective of those living in these left-behind cities. My professor, Wes Janz, instilled in us the absolute necessity of listening to the voices of those with first hand experiences, rather than allowing the outside world to determine our perspectives. Having seen the recent news about the Flint Water Crisis just months before, it was difficult to push away the narrative everyone else claimed as truth. But in spite of it, we gathered our open minds and prepared to listen rather than tell.
We listened, as an anarchist spoke of his fervent distaste with the Flint government system, perturbed by their insensitivity to those living around him. We listened, as a police officer turned pastor spoke with compassion and loyalty for a community not many see value in. We listened, as a member of the pastor’s congregation spoke of simple acts which lead to incremental change. It was the latter of these three which touched my heart and resonated most strongly. His story was this, told from his perspective:
“I mow the grass at the church, once a week or so. Then, after I am finished mowing the grass at the church, I go across the street and mow the grass at the strip mall. I try to do this once a week as well, but sometimes I only have time to mow at the church, so I come back later for the strip mall. Then, when I have time, I mow the grass at all the abandoned lots on my street. There’s quite a few, so it takes some time.”
Looking at him in awe and disbelief, I asked naively, “Why? Mowing the grass is such hard work.”
Humbly, he looked back and said, “I have a lawnmower. So I volunteer to mow the grass. It is something that I have which allows me to make my neighborhood feel beautiful. And if I can make my neighborhood feel beautiful, then hopefully people will be able to see it as beautiful too.”
I do not know how this conversation began or how we reached this topic, but what I do know is that his story, although modest and unassuming, radically transformed my perspective on my ability to affect change and the intentions with which I do it. While his hard work and hours put in were exhaustive and impressive, it was the simplicity of one act and the heart amidst the external assumptions which shook me most. You see, had I paid attention to the media prior to coming to Flint, I would have found nothing but stories of poverty, danger, and abandonment. While I do not deny that these physical conditions may exist, these should not be the only defining factors for the city of Flint. It is still home to thousands of people, especially to this man. And I would have never known.
As Wes has said, since reflecting on this trip and the conversations he has had with the residences of Flint since then: “Sometimes it’s the smallest moments, the most decent of gestures which no one takes or wants credit, that point out the deep and profound decency that resides in all people. I say clearly: in all people.”
I have carried this story with me through each new opportunity, each new experience, and each new memory, with the constant reminder that to change the world, you only need to begin with one person and one story. While some say there is power in numbers, I say there is power in one.
Today, this truth became even more relevant, as a story-telling exercise with Humanity in Action turned into a session of honesty, truth and life rich with living. As each of the fellows drew the timeline of their lives, experiences were shared and moments revealed which were uniquely and wonderfully crafted. There was beauty to be found in the highs and lows, because when all is said and done, those stories created the beautiful people sitting around me who each use that story to change the world.
After expressing the richness of our lives through timelines which outline our stories, we began reflecting on what we would say to our younger selves. As a response, Daisy Astorga Gonzalez, one of the other fellows, said these simple statements:
“Stay humble.
Keep working hard.
Stand up, even if no one stands with you.
There is always good in this world, find it.
Smile.”
While the gentlemen in Flint did not use these specific words, I could see the truths of his story reflected in these modest, but powerful statements. And yet again I was reminded, had these stories never been shared and their truths never told, I would have never known. This is the power of storytelling. This is the power of one.
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Born and raised an Indianapolis-Hoosier at heart, Bethanie Martin is a recent graduate from Ball State University with a Bachelors of Art in Architecture, and is soon to complete her studies at Lawrence Technological University with a dual Masters in Architecture and Masters in Urban Design. It was during her time at Ball State that she became interested in understanding the impact of architecture on issues of social and racial justice and how designers play a role in providing services to those architecture and urban environments often leave behind. She has thus pursued such opportunities in neighborhood engagement, community activism, and place-based design while living, working and studying in Detroit, Michigan over the last two years. In her spare time, she enjoys supporting local artists, traveling and experiencing cities from the perspective of local residents, and volunteering for several non-profit initiatives.
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