I spent my freshman summer in Mound Bayou, Miss. working for a local outreach organization called St. Gabriel’s Mercy Center. Mound Bayou is one of the oldest historically black communities in the United States. Extraordinarily rich in history, at one point it was an economically vibrant town. Today, however, it is unfortunately one of our country’s poorest communities. In 2011, the year in which I volunteered, 84 percent of Mound Bayou’s residents were receiving government support. For many of them, this support was their sole source of income.
This summer undertaking was the result of the Robertson Scholars Leadership Program, which requires its rising sophomores to spend their first summer in community service. In Mound Bayou, two other Duke Robertson Scholars and I were tasked with running a youth program for 40 children from grades two through seven. Each of us taught three classes a day, doing our best to engage the students in our chosen topics. I taught U.S. government, American history and what I would loosely term “everyday life skills.” Before receiving permission to enter the classroom, for example, each student had to give me a good, firm handshake.
I now look back upon this summer as one of the more valuable opportunities I have ever had the fortune to experience during college. That being said, had you asked me about it at the time, my freshman self likely would have given you a different answer. It wasn’t that I didn’t value community service. I didn’t dislike engaging with the children—on the contrary, that was by far the most rewarding aspect of the job. Nor did I look down upon the work I was doing—no one in the world is too good to serve.
But if you’ll recall, this would have been Summer 2011, and a little thing called the debt-ceiling crisis was happening. At the time, I thought this crisis was going to be a once-in-a-lifetime historical moment to witness in D.C. (How sadly wrong was I?). All of 20 years old, I consequently had myself convinced that I needed to be in the Capitol, working for any senator or congressman that would have me. Every morning, I’d read the New York Times coverage in its entirety. Every evening, I would devour Politico. It didn’t help that the 2012 Republican presidential primary was kicking in to full gear. I made my first ever donation to a campaign ($23 to Jon Huntsman for President) and called the Huntsman headquarters during lunch breaks, trying to find a way to join the campaign.
Today, nonetheless, I thank God that I did not spend that summer in D.C., no matter how exciting of an experience it might have been. I would never presume to say I helped Mound Bayou a great deal in the short time I was there. The nuns who labor day in and day out at St. Gabriel’s Mercy Center can claim that distinction. But while, at the time, I had no clue, my work at St. Gabriel’s was impacting me in ways I only now, years later, am coming to realize. I look back upon that summer I spent with more nostalgia as a senior than any other experience over the last three years.
As just one example—for potentially the first time in my life, I witnessed a breakdown in generational progress, up close and ruthlessly personal, with children, families and an entire community trapped in the throes of institutional poverty. This challenged my conception of the American Dream. For me, the Dream isn’t about money so much as opportunity. It’s about having the chance, if you put in the work, to come as close as you can to what might be termed self-actualization—to realizing your full potential and fulfilling your life’s passions. A teacher who loves teaching has no less achieved her American Dream than a CEO making millions a year.
In Mound Bayou, opportunity was slowly dying, and at its root was a decaying educational system. Utterly cemented was my understanding that education, opportunity and the American Dream are intertwined entities. The children of Mound Bayou, no matter how hard they worked at it, were faced with nearly insurmountable obstacles. Witnessing the educational breakdown, with seventh grade children still struggling to read, helped me realize the extent to which education is the closest thing we have to a silver bullet. It is the best tool we have to level disparities in opportunity.
St. Gabriel’s was not a pre-professional engagement. It long ago fell off my resume, and, when it was listed, I rarely, if ever, was asked about it. But it was a more valuable experience than almost all of the pre-professional endeavors I’ve undertaken. It sparked an interest in educational policy, challenged my views on fiscal policy and, through the work of the Mercy Center, has provided me with an ever-enduring example of people living selflessly in the service of others. Above all, however, I think the greatest lesson I learned was this: You can’t always know how the experiences you are having will speak to you later on. And many times, frankly, you might be wrong about the experiences you think you should be having.
Daniel Strunk is a Trinity senior. His column runs every other Monday. Send Daniel a message on Twitter @DanielFStrunk.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.