Childhood Hunger

Bill Shore’s Letters

Letter From City Year New Hampshire’s Graduation

June 2003

Dear Friend,

In June of 2003 I went to Exeter as the graduation speaker for City Year's New Hampshire Corps. It was a carbon copy of the nearly dozen City Year graduations I've attended: corps members charging down the center aisle, calisthenics, Moccasin awards to corporate supporters, a slide show set to inspirational music. They didn't diminish the power of young leaders marking a rite of passage in which they and their families had a good reason to celebrate and take pride.

The twenty-one corps members in khakis and red jackets (despite the heat) were eloquent, energetic and disciplined; diverse in style, united in purpose. Some of the guys had buzz cuts and others had long, unruly hair. Some of the girls giggled or cried, and some spoke with the poise of women twice their age. They all evangelized idealism with the passion of converts, giving testimony to the idea that one person can make a difference. There was fierceness to their convictions and I found poignancy in knowing they are destined to soften with age as surely as once well-toned abs.

I was a stranger to most of them. The first time I spoke at a City Year event, more than a decade ago, was as a mentor a few years ahead of the corps. Today I represent a different and distant generation. It is easy to succumb to the notion that those of us older and more experienced are the ones with something to teach, and that the young graduates before us are the ones with something to learn. But "older and more experienced" can also mean more experienced at compromise, accommodation, and moral relativism. Unsure of what I could contribute, I was more certain of what I might take away.

I wanted to make the point that changing the world doesn't always require money, fame, political power, or even fully funded national service. Sometimes the slightest personal gesture creates the greatest public ripple. I told the story about Pee Wee Reese's hand on Jackie Robinson's shoulder during those ugly first days of integrated baseball.

I knew at least some of them would be looking for guidance; something that says if you want to live a life of conscience, here is how to do it. I had no such formula to offer. Matters of conscience are uniquely personal. Each of us must find the way that is authentically our own.

From the lectern, I could stare into their eyes and see both innocence and skepticism, each struggling with the other to prevail, and, in the process, creating a potent mix. Most of the corps members are between nineteen and twenty-three, an age at which young people can fall into confusion and anger. Resentment of what is unfair or unjust is visceral, raw, and unchecked, unlike the older and paler shade that is intellectual, balanced and guarded. The hypocrisy that typically disguises and protects injustice is instantly detected, disdained and dismissed. My goal was not to talk about my life's lessons but to help them hold on to theirs.

What I tried to convey was this: Many times we are witness to the unfair or unjust, maybe even the outrageous. City Year founder Alan Khazei says everyone has a "justice nerve." Once it is struck you are not the same. But from the time we are children, we are warned that it's not enough to get angry; you need to do something about it, take constructive action. I wanted the corps to see that the converse is also true. It is not enough to just do something. You must also get and stay angry. Or incensed. Or impassioned. Organizing, fundraising, advocacy, and service are not enough. It is not motion, but emotion that drives the work of change. Without it, the wheels will spin and the horn may blare, but you'll lack the traction to move forward.

Acts of conscience can change the world, but they don't happen by accident. Nor can they always be planned. But they can be prepared for. The best you can do is keep your conscience finely tuned, as a pitcher does his arm, or a batter his swing. A conscience needs exercise just like our heart, lungs, biceps and quads. The best workout is to put it in those positions that served as the catalyst for your efforts in the first place, to expose it not just to service but to those who desperately need served and may never be. That powerful connection to self and soul, to the "still small voice within: is what's behind every act of conscience from Jan Karski's bravery in exposing the Holocaust to Dorthea Lange's photos of migrant poverty.

That is about as prescriptive as I can get. But the absence of a set and simple answer, of an arrow pointing the way, does not mean there are not some common questions to ask, questions that guide the way like lanterns bordering a rocky path. Questions such as: "What course would I choose if I were personally immune from the consequences?" or "Am I making the same choice I would advise my child to make?" or "Will this decision look as right twenty years from now as it does now?"

Such questions can be heavy lifting, and as with any workout they require many reps. But the result will be a stronger, fitter conscience, one that will require no strain to use, and will be ready to go when you need it.

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