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| Phillip Lentsch Class of 2018 |
If the world were a puzzle and each place was a piece, what would happen if we pressed the shuffle button and mixed them all up? What if Turkey was next to Texas, Sudan next to South Carolina… What would the world look like? To put it more bluntly, what would it mean for that place to exist, given that other places attain their identities relative to what’s around them?
I woke up one day next to another side of the world. I live on South 3rd Street, just a block away from campus. About two weeks ago, a family of Ugandan refugees moved into the house next to mine, filling the walls with the sounds of a language that I had never encountered. Whenever I sit on my front porch, I can usually count on seeing some of the kids outside, either kicking a soccer ball or throwing a Frisbee around. The extent of my interaction with this family goes no further than a friendly wave and smile; they don’t speak English, nor have I ever heard any of the languages spoken in Uganda, whether it be Luganda, Soga, Nkole, Toore, Swahili, etc. Only a few feet of concrete separates us, yet we are worlds apart.
The barrier that isolates me from this family goes far beyond language. They are from another side of the world, and have been forced to assimilate into an unfamiliar culture and framework the second they moved to the States. The way they dress, the fact that they’re always together, how they share all their food, how they lay out their clothes and dishes in their backyard to dry: these are just some of the ways in which their lifestyles fundamentally differ from mine. Their leasing agent came by one day and told me that they don’t even own a TV or modem. Our two houses are the literal embodiment of the First and Third World divide.
Up until this point, however, I have focused on nothing but the differences between me and this family. Our lack of communication has made me feel as though it is impossible for me to truly connect, but in all reality, there are forms of bonding that can eclipse our verbal blockade. Even something as simple as watching the sunset on our front porches together speaks volumes. Whenever I see the kids playing soccer, I jump in and pass the ball around. My roommates and I are even planning on making cookies for them, because baked goods are about the most ubiquitous cultural exchange known to man. We are united by unspoken habits that accomplish so much more than useless small talk. Even when two people speak the same language, there are barriers that always inhibit genuine connection: body language, tone of voice, eye contact, words that lack authenticity. With this family, I don’t have to worry about saying the right thing in order to let them know that I mean well. Sometimes, the best translator is a friendly gesture.
This past spring I took a class titled “The History of Modern Africa”. It was here that I learned of the teachings of Marcus Garvey and the Pan-African school of thought. At the core of this movement is the idea that all Africans are united through economic, social, and political progress, and that their fates are intertwined by the need for “collective self-reliance”. Bouncing from one class to another, I recollected on my experience from studying Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay “Self-Reliance” – one of the most influential texts that I’ve read in college. It was here that Emerson spoke of the dangers of conformity; that to live a life free of outside influence and judgment is the only true path to fulfillment. It’s easy for me to glamorize this line of thinking while reading transcendental text in a coffee shop. For an immigrant traversing to another side of the globe, Emerson’s words become somewhat harder to abide by. My Ugandan neighbors have been presented with perhaps the most difficult task that every immigrant is forced to confront: conform, or stay lost on the margins.
It is beyond my depth and understanding to try and relate to the immigrant’s experience; I have no right. My grandparents came from across the pond, leaving their home country of Greece in search for a better life for their children. I have seen and observed their perspective up-close, but in no way can I empathize with it. I can’t even begin to imagine the fear and confusion that comes from completely starting anew, in a country that you have no prior connection to. Despite the fact that America prides itself on being the world’s melting pot, there will always be norms in place that make it challenging for an immigrant to fully assimilate. More than anything, the largest barrier facing my Ugandan neighbors is the very limit of language. There is no expectation on me to learn what they speak. That burden was placed upon them, regardless of if they actually have the time or resources. This is true for every immigrant that comes here. It is an ethnocentrism that creates more obstacles than we can comprehend.
I once asked my Yaya – or Greek grandmother – what the hardest adjustments were when she moved to this country. She instantly brought up the language barrier and the lack of feeling “at home”. When an immigrant leaves their country and relocates thousands of miles away, it can take months, even years, for them to truly feel comfortable. We gain an understanding of “home” because of what is around us. Kentucky is my home because I live in Louisville, and have grown used to the Southern charm and unpredictable weather. But if someone shuffled the pieces, and I suddenly woke up in Uganda, being told to make that place my “home”, I don’t know how I’d respond. This is the reality of thousands of immigrants and refugees, one that I will never truly understand. Privilege is a funny thing. I am learning each day to appreciate how blessed I am to have grown up in the United States. But the world is too big for me to confine myself to one place. As I grow, I am realizing just how crucial it is to try and understand the outsider – in this case, immigrant – mindset. I plan on starting with my neighbors, in the hope that I can make them feel a little bit more at home.
Phillip Lentsch, of Louisville, Ky., is a junior McConnell Scholar majoring in political science and communication.