This was the world I thought would become my own. I was eighteen, fresh from my first year at NYU, and spending my summer as a volunteer with African refugees in Cairo. If you’ve read this blog for any bit of time, you might know how deeply those eight weeks in Egypt impacted my own identity and ideas for the future. It shaped me, inspired me, and confirmed my long-held passion for refugee communities in the Middle East. Over the past three years, I’ve consistently talked about and worked toward a career in Cairo and surrounding areas. I have constantly planned and prepared for a permanent return to those places that first ignited my passion.

But what do you do when the world changes quicker than you can? That old apartment of mine smoldered ashen nearly a year ago during a riot fire, seemingly self-immolating as the police and protestors brutally clashed on its block. The pretty little café spilled across the New York Times Photo of the Year spread- it’s glass windows shattered as hot violence scalded the street out front. The nondescript bar made its name in Vanity Fair last spring as it became the hotbed for Tahrir’s social media campaign, making billions of eyes look at the miniscule, secret place. I have little idea what happened to the bakery. The agencies where I sought employment have mainly closed, the presence of international aid workers has evaporated, and refugees risk their lives if they’re found in the wrong place.

This has all circled around my mind in all week, as I finalize MSW applications and fellowship essays, and I wonder what will come of this. I’ve read countless books, written dozens of papers, and worked on many projects relating to African refugees in the Middle East, mainly Cairo. I’ve wondered what in the world I should do when the one place I was so certain of has become perhaps one of the earth’s most unstable cities.

Yet a social work epiphany occurred- although this Egypt situation might seem entirely unrelated to what we speak about in class, that old adage of meeting the client where they are at has never felt more true. My professors and peers don’t stop seeing clients when a behavioral issue flares or circumstances harden. Social workers don’t drop caseloads when unforeseen obstacles occur. Why in the world, then, would I get scared off by Cairo’s security situation? The environment in which we work has changed- yet the desired end results of achieving refugee rights can remain the same. I might not be able to plunge directly into permanent employment in Cairo- but the same passion and determination can drive a contingency plan.

All of these blips are part of the daily email that dashes into my inbox each morning at field placement- briefing staff on all that occurred around the world since we left the previous evening. Sometimes, I scan it without really seeing it more than a news bulletin. But other days, like today, I read through it and I hear a million things- it’s deep cries at a protest, it’s mourning families in Pakistan, it’s villages broken by bombs in Colombia, it’s kids that don’t have parents anymore in places like Somalia and Sri Lanka, it’s futures falling apart because of AIDS, and it’s screams for safety in flood-drenched, far-away lands like the Philippines and Bangladesh. The statistics lose their numerical value and become very intense notions that this is someone’s reality I am reading about. Suddenly, they’re not just one more example of how wretched the world can be, but they’re immediate reasons that we just can’t wait. It’s a line that echoes through my mind nearly each time I read the report- and a line that consistently fuels my passion for change.

Tomorrow night, I am thrilled to join a group of fellow social work students equally passionate about the urgent needs for social justice. I’ll be speaking on a panel of students at the “Why We Can’t Wait” event, sponsored by the USGA that seeks to encourage active discussion on the major, immediate issues our community faces. I’ll be representing immigration issues- a topic at the heart of all I hope to do- and other students will chat about critical subjects like food justice, race, and diversity. It’s an incredibly vital event, and I’m excited to play a small part in it.

Through the social work lens from which I’ve seen just a little bit of the world, I have witnessed that the only sounds that can drown out the dire, bitter discord of the world are the voices of a few finding common ground. It sounds terribly cliché, but clichés hold a bit more beauty than the other brutalities we hear each day, right?

What do I like to do besides those? Like, outside of this social work realm?

Truth is, I had no idea. I could tell him the context of how genocide started in Darfur and I could talk for hours about what I think could improve social services in Iraq. But what I liked to do outside of all this? It left me spinning.

Even before I came to NYU, my lifestyle shed a lot of activities that were not related to international affairs, global social work, and refugee rights. Sure, I go out with friends each weekend and love taking long walks- but neither of those seemed exactly acceptable for an interview. In my spare time, I enjoy- deeply enjoy, actually- reading books about the Roma in East Europe, listening to podcasts on forced migration, and writing articles on American asylum policies. I don’t own a television. I know it’s ridiculously nerdy- but it’s what I like to do when I’m not at placement or typing out pages of essays.

But in the past week, I’ve thought continually about my life outside this world of work and advocacy- and while I am content the way it is, I’ve realized that perhaps I might need to take some time away from what makes me tic every now and then. I used to be much better at it- whether it was reading a Vogue magazine or watching an episode of something ridiculously lighthearted. Now, though, I struggle to watch a television show without contemplating where else they could’ve spent all the money it costs to produce, and I look at the ads in fashion magazines but only see the faces of the refugee friends I’ve made around the world. I suppose this is a sign that I need to self-care; but when you’re so passionate about something, it becomes the biggest struggle to just stop for a second.

They tell us all the time in social work to self-care, but perhaps I’ve always interpreted it as how to separate yourself from the emotional heaviness one encounters at placement. Yet for me, I’m learning that self-care is sometimes just remembering that you can still accomplish your goals and get rest. A hobby outside of your major line of social justice work isn’t necessarily distracting- perhaps by taking part in something else, it will allow me to focus more on what I really want. I was the one who always feared self-care, mainly because I felt selfish spending too much time on me. But it doesn’t have to be self-centric, as I’m learning- it just has to be about seeing outside of my little world of work.

So over the past few days, I tried to free up some time to figure out what I like to do besides social work. I had an incredible dinner at a place I’ve always wanted to try thanks to Restaurant Week, and I spent a few hours wandering around new bookshops in the West Village. I scheduled a friend from out of town to come stay with me next weekend. Even the simplest activities helped- I downloaded a new music application to finally replace the iTunes library I lost. I trekked through lower Manhattan in search of a famed donut shop, and I stuck to my goal of eating at a different culture each week (this is the one practice I’ve had going for a while). And most of all, I still submitted my MSW applications.

Yet during my limited time in the social services sector, I am often left in wonder why so many agencies are completely opposite when it comes to their organizational transparency on failure. It’s a common theme in so many agencies that rely on grants and private donors to remain opaque on the outside- not publically sharing, admitting, or examining their mistakes. Whether it’s a planned program that totally collapsed or an afterschool program that ran poorly, no organization wants to admit they messed up- especially when grant funding could fall through or populations might lose trust of you.

In previous volunteer placements, I’ve felt that pressure to balance making mistakes better with making sure the agency’s image remains clear. Perhaps that was why I was so excited to read about FAILFaire (www.failfaire.org)- which is an online forum for organizations to share failures with each other. Most intriguing, FAILFaire holds events that bring together major non-profit leaders, who each speak about a huge practice mistake they’ve made or a doomed project they dealt with. The main focus of FAILFaire is mobile technology in international development- a new tool on the global relief front that every agency is using but few have perfected. Yet FAILFaire’s approach is applicable to a range of non-profits, and I so deeply appreciate it from a social worker’s stance.

FAILFaire struck me as a largescale sort of groupwork- allowing individuals to express how failure made them feel, and others to learn they’re not alone in this relief world. It humanizes some of the failures that cause social services to take so much flack, and helps focus non-profits on their shared mission of supporting and helping others.

I’ve been following FAILFaire’s work over the past few weeks, and I’m loving the idea being implemented in other capacities throughout all sorts of social services. Quite a lot of non-profit blogs are encouraging readers to share their own failures- so perhaps I’ll post one in the coming week.

It was an introductory letter that invited me to join the Martin Luther King, Jr. Scholars Program at NYU- and quite simply, I assumed they'd gotten confused and asked the wrong person. I was a blonde-haired, white-skinned girl from rural Tennessee. I knew most of my life privileges were unearned and I despised the inherent racism I saw in the South, but this program seemed to take my small passions and shape them on a whole new level. I worked with refugees from Africa and Asia- how could I contribute to race relations in the US? What did I know about Dr. King that could do his work any justice?

Turns out, now that I'm a graduating senior and MLK Scholar here at NYU, I've learned the rich, personal lessons that Dr. King's work doesn't stop at de-segregation. Dr. King's work, beliefs, values, and tireless dedication manifest in much of what I strive to do- whether as a social worker, a student, or simply part of humanity.

So instead of spouting off my own views this morning, I thought it'd be best to share the Dr. King resource that has most shaped my practice and perspective- entitled "Time To Break the Silence". It's the speech that made my own political views completely shift when I first read it, and it carries the quotes I constantly refer back to. And here it is for you: http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/article2564.htm

Twisting words around for essays and ordering transcripts, I've clicked on a webpage that outlines the costs of living and college tuition to be expected by a graduate social work student in New York.

My whole chest tightens as I look at this price tag of sorts- and the high number towers above anything else I’ve ever considered buying. I frantically say the cost out loud, and I realize I've never quite thought about just how expensive this endeavor would be.

I’ve been blessed and privileged to be a part of a scholars group at NYU during undergrad, and while it hasn’t taken care of my entire education, it’s certainly supplied an enormous amount. But the thought of a fifth year at full price astounded me- I’m never going to have a job that even pays that much- nonetheless enough to pay off that kind of cost.

Talking to a friend who’s in the financial sector, I vent unwarranted irritation at how he’s secured an extraordinarily high-paying job without ever needing to think about grad school. No messy essays, no application fees- just interviews and you're in with a dream job. Amidst my resume-typing and form-filling, I can't understand why I just can't do that, too.

But I want to help people, I mutter to my friend, emphasizing the selfish, baseless point that my profession is somehow more deserving of such luxuries. Yet before he can answer, I’m already realizing what a slippery slope my statement sent me on.

I know very little about where I'll be this time next year, and who will be paying for what. But it can all become suddenly so peaceful when I remember two truths: I didn’t go into this field to make money, and I didn’t pick this sort of profession because I define success as financial gain. This is not in any way to say social work is always a low-salaried field, and it’s not by any means proclaiming social workers as doing more fulfilling or less-selfless work. Grad school isn't about money or tuition- it's about a year of sharpening and intensifying what I've already learned as an undergrad, and it's an opportunity to launch a professional career. There's a cost, but it comes with my kind of pay-off.

This isn't to say I'll be a graduate MSW candidate next fall, but this is perhaps a real breakthrough about why I chose social work, and where I see myself going. I chose social work for reasons intricate and personal- I care deeply about social change, and I’ve witnessed needs I am certain can be met through better policies and services.

Through a bit of research and calming-down from my financial-sector friend, I'm learning there's countless opportunities for financial assistance in this social work field. And even if those don't come through, I'm certainly not shying away solely because of a sticker price.

Of course, there's a ton you can pack into twelve months, and a 2.5 minute song covers less than the tiniest fraction of what friction we all felt throughout the year. As someone who feels ridiculously passionate about what affects people around the globe, I always wanted to take part in the creation of the slideshow. So this year, after a little pleading, I finally got my place in the powerpoint.

It sounds quite petty, of course. But looking back on all that's pained, overjoyed, impoverished, and enlightened us over the year is so vitally important to understand both our privilege and our promises.

I envisioned this year's show complete with images of the Brazilian, Pakistani, and Thai floods. I thought we'd spend the most time on the creation of the new nation of South Sudan, and do a ton on the Horn of Africa famine. I imagined great attention to the Arab Spring and Occupy movement. I thought we'd honor the Tunisian fruitseller that ignited the world's swell of revolution and I just knew I'd add a remembrance for Troy Davis. I had a lot of things- way too many things- to fit into this tiny presentation. I certainly assumed my own priorities were far more important and trumped other's ideas of what should be included- mine were about people in pain, people in need, and people affected by oppression.

Yet surprisingly, as I'm still learning, I'm not the only one who made a list of most important things in the world. What's at the top of mine really doesn't matter to some others.

Frustration arose as I couldn't understand why others didn't feel the way I did about these massive events- of course, they wanted to pay homage to them, but they had a host of other memories to include that I felt somewhat petty. Others had opinions about events like Auburn beating Oregon in football and Kate marrying William. There was the Superbowl, and Borders book stores closing. There's the heavy question of what to do with the deaths of world figures like Kim Jong-Il, Moammer Qadaffi, and Osama bin Laden- I hate celebrating loss of life, but that's so hard to share when so many feel so strongly.

I spent a great deal of the slideshow creation clicking away with irritation- it wasn't my show, and it didn't express my beliefs. Who cares about a football game when there's still 21,000 children dying from preventable causes. How do we show the end of the war in Iraq without showing the beginning of one of Iraqi people's longest journeys to recovery? Yet when I finally attached the song to the photos, I sat in awe over what we'd come up with.

I might care less about a sports game and I might think we should've made an outstanding show of support with Cairo protests- but the amazingness of the world is its ability to pack so much diversity and humanity into a 365 days. The thousands and millions of events- whether it's a winning touchdown or We are the 99% signs- are astounding. There's horrific, wretched disasters like Joplin tornados and Japan's tsunami- and then there's the World Cup and royal weddings. There's major law repeals and there's disgusting hate like the devastating Arizona shooting involving Gabbie Giffords. There's Hurricane Irene and the funny little earthquake that made our feet shake in New York. There's more than I could ever write here- and much more than a few minute slideshow. But sometimes, just seeing that snapshot of what one year can bring is enough to be amazed at the world. There's a time and a place for me to be the advocate, and there's another time and place to let the great world spin as it should, allowing everyone to explain the events of the year and how they year shaped them.

Here in my family, we celebrated Christmas yesterday, and it was by far the first day of "self-care" I've certainly taken in a long time. I spent the day completely relaxed- totally enjoying the simplicity and togetherness of a Tennessee Christmas.

Since I arrived back down south for this winter break, I've been quite hectic accompanying my parents on their massive toy and gift distributions in the local refugee community here. Christmas, for me, of course, is not about commercialism and who gets what. Yet there's little more precious than watching a Bhutanese girl who just arrived in the U.S. a few months ago learning to rip open wrapping paper on a present- but there's nothing to treasure more than when she learns that yes, indeed, that doll is for her, and she can keep it.

I've always been undertaking quite a lot of reading since I'm back home for break. So often I fail to read books other than class texts during the semester, so it's nice to finally curl up and catch up on all the literature I've stockpiled in the past few months. My stack includes some about mental illness in artists of New York in the 1960s, and an ethnography of the Roma people in Eastern Europe. Each of my books mention social work in some capacity- and I've noticed just how interesting it is to see the different way the profession is defined and portrayed. Sometimes it's rather bothersome how skewed social work and issues social workers care about are depicted- the scope of what social workers do can be so limited.

I searched around a bit online for some resources on social work in media- and much to my surprise, I stumbled upon a wonderful resource called Social Workers Speak (http://www.socialworkersspeak.org). It's a website sponsored by NASW (National Association of Social Workers) that seeks to influence how the entertainment industry and writers portray social work and social work issues. It hopes to be a resource for both social workers and the producers, authors, and actors who might be representing social work in their own work. It's a really fascinating and attractive site- there's a "Cheers and Jeers" section where social workers can either praise or ask for retractions from media outlets about their portrayal of our profession. A research database has press-release like stories that news might be interested in, and social workers with Hollywood connections are profiled quite often. There's much more- and for someone quite interested in the connections between writing and humanitarianism, I've found this extremely intriguing.

I highly recommend checking out the site during any downtime during this winter break if you've not encountered it before, and I hope everyone has a restful next week of no classes and no field.

But this morning, I had the opportunity to spend some time with social workers who combine geology and meteorology with their strengths-approach and treatment methods. This group of professionals, which serve as officers at an international emergency operations center, act as the “911” service for most of the world’s major aid groups and non-profits. They track and predict emergencies, alert staff of potential crises, and guide agencies in times of disaster. They assist global humanitarians in times of severe emergencies, and they try as hard as humanly possible to give advance warning of predictable crises like storms, electoral violence, and political clashes.

I visited the center with my field agency, and I watched screens of weather reports and political schedules constantly flash with updates. I learned about how crises like Haiti were “first responded”, and listened to descriptions of famine prediction.

Listening to the practical, tangible collision of science and social work was incredible- unexpected, and evoking eager inspiration in me. Realizing how this sole center can act as stress counselors and storm trackers altogether let me realize yet another facet of this field.

At one point, I somewhat worried that my utter lack of scientific skills would prevent me from ever holding a job in this sort of social work- until fortunately, I understood that most of the staff gathered this knowledge through extensive training and general experience. The goal of the place is protection and ensuring wellbeing- and with typical social work mantras, they’re doing everything it takes to meet the client exactly where they’re at, whether it’s a tsunami- prone village in Sri Lanka or a headquarters in DC.

Feed Projects (www.feedprojects.com): It’s all artisan made, and funds go directly to nutrition programs in specific nations. I’ve bought their products before- which are high quality-and they’re extremely well-renowned in the aid world for their efficiency.

Beautiful Tibet (322 Bleecker Street): Forgive me if I bought out most of their Christmas cards, but I couldn’t get over the fair-trade, hand-painted holiday cards from Nepal. I paid $1 a card, and there’s tons of teas and scarves for cheap that are absolutely gorgeous. Plus, the Tibetan refugee shopkeepers are absolutely delightful to learn from.

Hot Bread Kitchen (Union Sq Greenmarket , various locations): This is a food retailer, but it’s still an amazing cause and awesome idea. HBK trains low-income women in the food business, and primarily allows immigrants to bake the breads and goods from their home countries, which is remarkable on so many levels. It’s really yummy, and really, really empowering.

UNICEF House (E. 44nd Street, 1st Ave): There’s more globally focused gifts in this shop that go over so well for my internationally-minded friends. A pack of ethically made cards buys polio vaccines for a child, and there’s adorable kids gifts that benefit UNICEF’s worldwide programs.

So alas, happy holidays to each of you! I’ll be posting later today about a very interesting experience I had with international social workers who utilize geology and meteorology as much as they do strengths-based approaches and coping methods. Hope finals are finishing well!

A close companion from another NYU school implored, looking at me with a look of both shock and condemnation. He studies corporate finance and has spent much of the past four years understanding the inner workings of economies, international business, and accounting books. In his ethics class, he was just challenged to write a recommendation paper about the complexities of sweatshops in China. In his own mind, he is reckoning with the horrific fact he’s just learned- nearly everything he’s wearing, or ever worn, is entirely unethically manufactured.

He seems desperate to let me know what he just learned, telling me that the tags of my clothes represent thousands of injustices to impoverished communities in places like Thailand and Malaysia.

It’s somewhat disappointing and shameful to let him know that of course I know about unfairly traded and unethically made items. I’ve known for nearly eight years, and I’ve continually felt the forlornness when I remember that my entire lifestyle is almost unethically established. Everything from my clothing to coffee to hair color probably comes from somewhere it shouldn’t.
He looks to me, as a social work student, for answers about what can be done in a daily life to cut down on sweatshop-produced items. A few years ago, I would’ve given him the same spiel of buy fair trade! Check all labels! Utilize corporate watchdogs to stay in the know about who’s producing what! Don’t ever buy diamonds! Go to fair trade shops!

But now, as someone who’s grappled with this for quite some time, I’m left with few words for him. I can’t afford to buy fair trade all the time- how can I tell someone else to? While I’ve cut a few certain retailers out of my purchases, I still buy from shops I’m sure aren’t the portrait of ethical. I denounce specific chocolate brands for a few months for their child labor practices but I end up forgetting, feeling small, and eating it anyways. I bought into the “Kimberley Process” of fair trade diamonds that I totally didn’t believe actually worked.

However, since that conversation, I’ve spent ample time trying to understand my role as a social worker within the ethical living environment. Talking with my favorite BSW student (my roommate and younger brother), we’ve been spending dinnertime wondering about how to cheaply yet justly live. Is it right for me to work with refugees from Southeast Asia while I’m wearing clothes stitched in factories that failed their communities? Does this become some sort of “agent status” of oppression, or is it just my own ignorance? When I’m planning on a career with a not-so-high salary, how do I reckon my basic costs of living with my human responsibility to live ethically? Should I make a radical jump into only consuming justly-manufactured retail, or do I just plan purchase-to-purchase?

There’s the idea of buying clothes at social justice thrift shops, so profits of clothes probably made in sweatshops don’t reach corporations, and instead plant funds in a community. There are the few shade-grown coffee shops by our apartment that are shockingly cheaper than other major chains.

So I can’t always answer my finance friends- in the same way they can’t answer the question of how to tackle this as a global business issue, not just a personal choice or preference. Oppression and slavery are stitched into the fabric of our lives, and it’s going to take more than we could imagine to unthread it. Yet as social work students, my brother and I are both exposed to the idea that no problem is intractable, and we know that each community – whether in Walmart corporate offices or western Vietnam- can attain the strengths and skills necessary to enact an ethical economic production system. Later on this week, I’ll post the ethical, easy gift suggestions I’ve found for the holidays, and I’d love to hear suggestions of other just purchase outlets.

You might remember Ishmael’s story from his best-selling book, A Long Way Gone. This account, published in 2007, chronicles Ishmael’s young life as a child soldier in his war-torn homeland of Sierra Leone. Sold at Starbucks and all sorts of nationwide booksellers, the narrative first brought public attention to the issue of children’s forced participation in conflict.

Since his rehabilitation- which was facilitated by UNICEF - Beah has become a leading figure of the international humanitarian relief scene, working for major organizations like Human Rights Watch and various United Nations agencies. He lends his first-hand experience and connections to some of the globe’s largest aid groups. He regularly travels to some of the world’s most deadly conflict zones like Chad, Darfur, and the Congo to raise awareness and spread attention about children’s participations in these brutalities.

For me, Beah has become quite an icon. He works in the same environments where I am planning a career, and he continues to preach his systematic, strengths-based approach to child soldier rehabilitation and enforcement of child soldier laws. I was jittery in nerves before I spoke to him- how could I sum up in a few sentences how much his life has influenced my own? As a social worker, I wanted to desperately learn his key ideas and core beliefs on his battle to end the use of children in war. I wanted to ask him where I should start, who I should call, and how in the world I could go deeper involved with one of the earth’s most invisible populations. I wanted to know what’s beyond the current relief trend of rescuing child soldiers, and I wanted to know what lies underneath the dirty systems that continue to recruit minors as fighters.

Yet when we began talking, all of my questions turned inward. Speaking with him reminded me of speaking with the countless other children affected by war I’ve met over the years- children who won’t ever get international attention, and teenagers maturing into a world that acts as if they don’t matter. I looked at Ishmael’s life and realized the profound, rare opportunities a handful of committed individuals had on his journey. He is an extremely brilliant, resilient, and driven individual- yet I feel as though the international community wouldn’t ever have benefited from his expertise without those few social and aid workers who dedicated so very much. What could I do, as a social worker, to capitalize on the small, seemingly-impossible rare chances to make a difference in someone’s life?
There’s 300,000 other child soldiers around the world who could reach such similar potentials if someone would just follow through. I stare, so often, at the huge picture of situations like this- and while the macro-level is extremely important, there’s something humbling and hopeful about looking at just one life.

Ishmael and I ended up chatting mainly about his book and life at NYU- he was quite familiar with our campus. Yet when I returned home and read a bit more about his life, I found a sentence from his foster mother so similar to a comment my Practice professor recently left on one of my papers-
"When I first decided to do all I could to help Ishmael get out of the war -- out of the hopelessness of living a wasted life in Freetown -- I was both motivated and frightened. Yet I knew I was answering something within that was far larger than my own understanding of the events. I often felt a bit guilty that I was saving only one life, but friends insisted that I contemplate the thought from the Torah that reminds us "when you save a single life, you save the whole world."

I’ve come up with trillions of things I’m thankful for- but I thought I’d share just a few that struck me particularly as a social worker. I haven’t seen any of these friends and clients in three months- since I left for New York in August.

This year, I am thankful for the countless, anonymous social workers that saved the life of my dear Sudanese refugee friend Dahab*, who moved from Egypt to Tennessee earlier in the year. I am thankful I can eat a meal with him in Tennessee, when I wasn’t sure I’d ever see him again after our friendship in Cairo. I am thankful for social workers at the International Organization for Migration, United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, and Catholic Charities of America who each went over and above to ensure Dahab could come to my hometown of Nashville- despite a ban on resettlement from Egypt, a massive revolution that destroyed the social services sector in Cairo, and his status as an unaccompanied minor. Saving lives is not all about stopping a bullet or swerving a wrecking car- sometimes, it’s staying up late to file extra paperwork, or sticking with the most difficult cases.

I am thankful for the local mental health clinic- the one that always seemed like a bureaucratic, broken-down facility- for taking special interest in my dear Bhutanese client who has spent years suffering from PTSD without diagnosis or treatment. I am thankful for each tiny bit of improvement I can see from the last time I spoke with him for 3 months ago.

I am thankful for a social work intern here in Nashville who’s waking up at 4:30 AM each morning to drive single Sudanese mothers to their newfound employment 6 days a week. Nashville’s public transportation is quite spotty, and extremely expensive. Without this intern, countless families wouldn’t have any ability to earn income, or take their children to a safe daycare while they work.

I am thankful for Sheeha, a Burmese girl I tutored for one summer when she first arrived in the United States. I am thankful that she is now enrolling in college and interning as a caseworker at a local resettlement agency herself- and can’t wait to either be a social worker or a doctor, as she says.

These are just a few little moments that allowed me to totally reflect on how thankful I am to chose social work as a career- and so appreciative of the incredible social workers I am seeing all around me.

Earlier in the year, I’d stopped buying coffee from the massive-chain-shop across the street from field, simply because I can think of 5 million things more pertinent than to purchase than a $5 cup of caffeine and I get buyer’s remorse when I remember the unfairly-traded nature of my drink.

But after spending the evening excavating all my thoughts about why I want to pursue one year of study in Africa, my caffeine craving overthrew my wallet and conscience.
So that morning, as I shuffled through the mass crowds of downtown Manhattan, my race-to-the-coffee line was tripped up by something much larger- yet exceptionally related- to my wallet and conscience. Thousands of protestors thronged through the streets of the Financial District, wielding signs and shouts at Wall Street and the New York Stock Exchange. Called the Global Day of Action, the morning drama commenced a day-long set of scheduled protests, civil disobedience, and marches planned by Occupy Wall Street. The majority of the events took place around Manhattan’s Financial District. Police responded with barricades and other such tactics, leaving anything between Fulton and Wall Street in a total mayhem between Occupiers and the Occupied.

Due to the security measures and extreme delays caused by the skirmishes, my work commute had an extra 15 minutes tacked on, keeping me from the coffee line and a timely entrance into my office. Frustrated and irritated, it felt like the final marker in my journey from passionate agreement to complete loss of patience with the Occupy Wall Street movement. With streams of protestors and signs shoving down the streets, the same sentiment looped in my head: I could care less about this, let me get to work.

For the past week, I’ve woken up countless times in the night to the chopping, wind-beating helicopters flying overhead Zuccotti Park, droning for photos and surveillance at far too early hours. There was my brief altercation with a major national news reporter who tried to use a photo of me sitting in the Financial District in the paper as an “occupier”, when I was actually not participating in any sort of protest or Occupy-ish event. This is coupled with the fact that many of my friends live on or beside Wall Street, making it extremely difficult to access their apartments due to heavy police presence.

But as I stood in the middle of my morning upset, stuck somewhere between angry police and angrier protestors, I felt myself brutally reminded of a simple truth that’s so easy to lose. Inconvenience sows the seeds of indifference, and indifference allows injustices to continue. Here I was running my mouth about how mad these protestors have made me, and racing through all of the really, really inconvenient actions they’ve taken in recent weeks. The idea that I cannot buy my $4.60 soy latte is an inconvenience- the fact that the country’s poverty rate is the highest it’s been in 52 years is an injustice. It’s an inconvenience that I wake up each morning to the wind-beating helicopters patrolling downtown Manhattan- it’s oppression that 3.5 million Americans will experience homelessness this year.

This isn’t a blanket of support for Occupy- in fact; a decent amount of what I witnessed as a social worker in the Financial District on Thursday gave me a negative reaction to the morning’s planned protests. But looking past the barricade-breaking and streets filled with shoving, I am reminded of the difference between matters of convenience and the massive, good-natured heart of the movement for economic change. I don’t ever want another morning like Thursday with riot police and raucous crowds, but I also don’t ever want to put my personal wants over anyone else’s needs. Whether it’s refusing to downgrade a way-too-large salary or demanding a soy latte, what seems like inconvenience to one of us should not overwhelm the deeper conviction that something must change in this economic system.

So I didn’t get a coffee to start off my sleepy morning, but what I did receive was much more awakening than any latte drink.

The trip allowed me to first-handedly discover a whole other “field” of social work and my agency- high level advocacy. While I’ve always been a bit of politically-charged individual, this was my initial experience in extremely organized, well-established campaigning with those in the highest charge of issues. When I think of “advocacy”, I often think of the times I’ve shouted words of solidarity with Syria’s protesting masses into a megaphone on 42nd Street or marched en masse with the Save Darfur campaign. I never thought that advocacy could happen in the confines of small conference rooms and networking events- and I certainly never realized the immense effectiveness of this calmer, less emotional approach.

Our trip centered on advocacy and cultivation for one global issue affecting children- we held a high-level event for key stakeholders in this problem. Witnessing the impact and results of this trip was a remarkable experience- and certainly a thought-provoking one. No one had to yell, yield a sign, or sleep outside to make their voices heard- small whispers, a few key facts, and media resources allowed a major issue to meet seemingly each attendee where they were at.

Certainly, this kind of advocacy doesn’t over-ride the more traditional protest movements I’m used to- it just demonstrated that there’s more than one way to move your point across the various gatekeepers of change. It was an incredible blend of bleeding hearts dressed in business casual- a powerful lesson to me that one must occasionally adapt to the audience to which you wish to speak. It was quite the needed truth for the ever-roaring advocate in me: sometimes, a quiet and kind conversation with an influencer is more impactful than the largest crowd marching outside Congress.

I know that this high-level advocacy is not always accessible- but in the wake of the Occupy movements and growing protests, it was a reminder that there’s not one perfect path to change. It was also a beautiful realization that every lawmaker and corporate CEO has the ability to empathize with marginalized populations, and sometimes it’s just a matter of how one presents the narrative to them. The issues the world faces are obviously immense and interwoven- and sometimes, actionable items are needed to help an executive understand how on earth they’re supposed to stop the cycles of poverty, injustices, and greed we face. People are people- from Bangladesh to corporate board rooms- and sometimes you can get the majority of them to agree on an issue as long as you speak to them in their own language, whether that be Bengali or business efficiency jargon.

So while you’ll still find me rallying for human rights and writing op-eds about national issues, I hope this trip unveiled a new aspect to my comprehension of social change. The old adage of “meeting the client where they’re at” becomes ever-so true in advocacy as well- whether that means shouting outside the Syrian embassy, or suiting up for an evening discussion with top-notch execs.