Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Art Works (via Mowser)

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Tell the story.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

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Today I had the opportunity to speak to some junior high, high school, and elementary students at two schools about Nicaragua. Some had been studying Central America and I was asked to present in such a way that would attempt to help them understand poverty.

I don't know that I even understand poverty, and so I wondered, over this past week, how I would do this. Nicaragua is so much more than just poverty and I didn't want to strip away all the layers of richness by focusing on one thing. I kept asking myself how I could put a balanced and true face on poverty, even in the slightest sense, so that these students who were thousands of miles away, both geographically and experientally, could begin to see it.

That was the key, I decided: put a face on it.

I've seen my fair share of commercials and ads that show hundreds of children who are starving or in need, the flies buzzing around, the empty eyes, crusted nose -- images all meant to tug at my heart and make me feel some kind of compassion or guilt and send some money. The result of years of TV and mail and magazine ads by good-intentioned organizations trying to do exactly that has been one that makes me care less, not more.

Those kids have no names. And I can't help them all. So I help none. I am overwhelmed even though I wish I could help.

It is easy to lump a group -- Americans, Evangelicals, white people -- into an unflattering category and refer to the negative things groups tend to do. Groups do not think; they do not have individual feelings or actions, because they are not individual. They are comprised of individuals, but are a group. Groups follow, and in a culture that values leadership, groups appear mindless and weak. What's worse, speaking to a group about a group has an unfortunate double negative result.

I had to speak about individuals to individuals. I had to tell the stories behind the faces, give them names, and show that they are real.

So I showed photos and named the people in them.

"This is Tomas. He wanted us to sign our names on everything... his shoes, his soccer ball. This is Cynthia. She braided my hair one day. She loved to draw in my sketchbook and I have seven of her drawings. This is Kimberly. A man in our group helped get her teeth fixed and get things straightened out so that she could go to school. This is Francisco...this is Maria...these are real people, that I know. They are my friends."

The students who listened heard the story. The kids in Nicaragua were real. They had names and personalities and families. I had been in Nicaragua in person, and now I was in front of them in person. The people came out of the photograph, even if just for a few seconds while I told them about a favorite color or sport or a propensity for singing or a strong like of the color orange.

The way we connect is through the story. The story of the person is what's really real, not the story of a faceless, nameless group. I can't help the group, but I can help one person. That I can do. And that, I think, is the job we all have, whether in telling people about Nicaragua or beyond.

Find out the story, and then tell it; put the names and faces to the group and reveal the individuals.

It is surprising how many people want to help but do not know how. Like me, they want to connect to something real and specific; helping a group is not what I want to do because I may never know how the group is helped. It isn't facts or figures or percentages or generic ideas that pulls people in. It is the real story of a real person, like getting a hand-written note instead of an email, that connects us to each other.

The thing about a true story is that it is always true, everywhere, even if the characters are different.

I don't know what it's like to live in a house made of cardboard and plastic, but I do know what it's like to want to do more with my life, to want to learn more, maybe. And so, I told them as I am telling you, Elmer, the boy in the photo, wants to learn English and has a beautifully curious mind, like a sponge, hungrily eating up everything offered and always wanting more. I know his story at that level, at least, and so I start to think that I might like to help this fellow soul.

Be there, in person, in the moment, and tell the specific story. That is your duty.

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