InkTank

Service Learning Goes Even Further

Before internships get rolling here at the Washington Journalism Center, we take two weeks to commit to service learning in the city.  It has been a great way to become involved in the community of DC. 

I have had the opportunity to split my time between two sites.  Most recently I have worked at the Capitol Hill Pregnancy Center. The Center is non profit organization that offers counseling, free birthing classes, and once-a-month appointments after the baby is born to supply mothers with diapers, clothes, and whatever else the Center can provide. 

The Center is a cozy building with lots of stairs and a unique location on the Hill.  The ladies working at CHPC spend long hours counseling, handling paperwork, or tending to the constant ring of the telephone. 

Adventures at U-Street

As a student participating in one of the Council of Christian College and Universities' (CCCU) BestSemester programs located in Washington, D.C., I was invited yesterday, Jan. 27, to meet many university presidents attending an annual Presidents Conference.

During the dinner, Dr. Charles Pollard, the president of John Brown University in Arkansas, asked my peers and me, "What is your favorite part of the city?"

Having lived in the city for only two weeks, it should have been difficult for me to come to an answer, but it wasn't.

Just north of China town, on the Red line of the metro, lies one of Washington, D.C.'s historical and cultural nuggets, the U-Street Corridor.

I discovered U-Street when, on my fourth day in Washington, D.C., several students and I ate the half-smoke at Ben's Chili Bowl as a part of a video scavenger hunt (seen below).

Reflections on Two Faces

For many years I have been one of the regulars at the March for Life, which is an annual rally that recalls the Roe v. Wade decision in 1973 to legalize abortion through all nine months of pregnancy. The March has always been very close to my heart, since I have always been active in pro-life education and support.

Ever since I was a freshman in high school, I would become excited whenever the time for the March rolled around. I'd wake up terribly early the morning of the March, pack on layers of clothing for the cold weather, and climb onto the bus with my youth group, church group, or whichever group I was traveling with that particular year.  Pumped up and full of anticipation, we would head off to Washington D.C. 

It was always an adventure. I'd exit the bus and stare up in awe at the tall buildings and historic monuments. I'd glance up at the windows in the tall buildings and see the professional people watching the crowds accumulate in the National Mall.

It was always part of the fun to look up at those professional people in their windows, to wave to them and see if they waved back. Their world seemed so different from mine. Here I was, standing in the cold for hours, holding a pro-life sign with pride, and feeling like a small soldier in this immense movement for pro-life rights. On the other hand, those people up in their windows were the professional folks busy with their jobs, able to watch the March during their lunch break perhaps, but nothing more. The contrast of the face of vibrant pro-life activism, and the face of professional Washington, was clear to me.

But this year, it was different.

This year, because of my semester in Washington, I was already in town for the day of the March. After my class let out, I threw on a coat and headed over to join the crowds.

Right away it felt different. I wasn't wearing layers of clothing and a heavy backpack, surviving on a couple hours of sleep. I was instead well-rested, dressed for class, and feeling oddly out of place. Even though I'd been living in Washington for a couple weeks now, finding myself in the hundreds of thousands of marchers threw me off. Even though this town was my home for the semester, I did not feel quite at home within the crowds. I did not  match the other marchers, with their cold-flushed faces and hoarse voices from singing and praying.

Alberta Jones

Alberta Jones has been a miracle since the day she was born. Being born premature with an "enlarged and leaky" heart in the 1920s was the first of many hurdles. Every birthday was a victory - two, seven, 16, 30. Doctors told her throughout her life she wouldn't live to see another year. 

Now, at 85 years old, Alberta Jones looks back at her life with a great sense of accomplishment. 

Alberta was raised by her stern grandparents who didn't allow her to get out much. Throughout elementary school, the other children made fun of her for never having left the D.C. area. Upon returning to school from Christmas break one year, Alberta got fed up. "I went to India, Italy and Peru over Christmas!" she exclaimed.

The kids didn't believe her. 

"I went to the library," Alberta said in an attempt to prove to her peers that she had experienced other parts of the world.  

She was an only child with few friends, but Alberta's life never lacked adventure. She had a strong desire to get out and see the world. Unfortunately, Alberta's grandparents rarely let her go beyond the library down the street. 

"My library card became my best friend when I was very young," said Alberta. "It's been my life-long passport."  

With her health issues, Alberta never felt the need to take school seriously. After all, she was never supposed to see the next year. However, that did not change her love of learning about different places or inhibit the development of a vivid imagination.

City of Townspeople

At the Washington Journalism Center (WJC), students come from all over the country to study and work for a semester.  As an Arizonan I thought I knew what Washington D.C. was all about with the aid of movies like “All the President’s Men” and “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington”.

 Little did I know that D.C. has a friendlier face than what is painted on the evening news or on the cover of the Washington Post.  
 
  The first thing that I learned about Washington D.C. is that people call it a town.  Towns have certain connotations of being close knit communities.  People greet each other on the street and will stop to have a chat.

 I didn’t understand why people called D.C. a town because I thought that it is run by a political machine.  I thought that it was a city of money grabbers rushing from building to building.  I thought trench coats and fedoras would drown out the vibrance of the city’s rich history.

Swallowed up in the March

Yesterday, a few of my friends and I had to go to the Capitol Building to take a picture for an article. Since the March for Life was taking place simultaneously, we knew there was a possibility of getting caught up in the crowd (of hundreds of thousands of people), which is exactly what happened.

Instead of freaking out, which is what most people would do if the found themselves in the middle of a mob of people chanting and holding up signs, I just calmly observed from the inside of the protest.

This protest was actually rather peaceful. I was surprised. I heard some people singing Amazing Grace, others shouting "We love babies, yes we do. We love babies, how 'bout you?," and a multitude of signs which read, "defend life" and "stop abortion now." Even though the messages were strong, it was not an atmosphere of hate.

In fact, I even had a comical moment. A high school boy used his best pro-life pick-up line on me. He said, "Babies are cute, so are you." It didn't work, but it did cause me to laugh.

 

 

Scavenger Hunt Spring 2011 Results

Team Three Wins! Thank you to all the teams for the excellent scavenger hunt videos. And thank you to all alums who continue to vote and make this such a fun event. 

Words from a D.C. Survivor

By Kaitlin Schluter, WJC Spring 2011

Get out.

If I could ingrain something in your mind as a survivor of the Washington Journalism Center, it would be that. Get out. Leave your apartment and Facebook profile. Pause that episode of “The Office.” Tell your mom you’ll call her later. Fight your love of routines and familiarity. Get out. Descend those stairs, rush out of the Dellenbeck Center, and start creating those D.C. experiences. As much as the first weeks of WJC feels like a honeymoon, you’ll be back in your boring zip code before you know it. Right now, at this moment, you are living in one of the most exciting cities for someone your age. Not to mention, your career. So get out whenever you can and pursue the city as if it were a crush.

The best experiences I remember all happened out in the city. My roommates and I were big on taking short adventures throughout the week. We would meet on U Street for an organic meal at Busboys and Poets, complemented with an equally cool book lecture. We would jump the Metro to Alexandria and Baltimore. We spent 24 hours straight in New York City. We took a whole day to eat only gourmet cupcakes. Our apartment was empty most days, albeit the occasional debriefs around the kitchen table about work, God and life. But this mantra of “Get out” tugged my arm constantly in other ways.

Sluggish Sunday

This morning a group of Washington Journalism Center and American Studies Program students attended Capital Hill Baptist Church.  The church was filled with people.  The seating was interesting, to say the least.  I’m not sure if they added on at some point or what, but my seat was in a balcony behind the pulpit.  I had a clear view of the back of the preacher’s head and an even clearer view of all the people who came to church late.
 The number of people who arrived over 20 minutes late shocked me.

Sure, I can remember times hurrying to get to church on time. If I were late, I would just sneak in and sit in the back.  No big deal.  Not at this church.  If someone was even five minutes late it was hard to find a seat.

Ushers were ready at every door up until the sermon started (about 40 minutes in) to help people find a seat and give them a bulletin.

Side-by-side Yet Worlds Apart

Before I came to Washington D.C. I knew I would be encountering the unexpected. I knew I would see the powerful and the powerless, the wealthy and the impoverished, the anonymous and the famous dwelling side-by-side, but living worlds apart.

I still wasn't prepared for what I have not only seen, but heard, felt, and engaged in during my first week as a participant in the Washington Journalism Center program.

Washington D.C. assaults the senses. It is a place of great opportunity, variety and tragedy. A couple of days ago a group of us (people in the WJC program and the American Studies Program) decided to go ice skating. I don't know what possessed us, but we chose to walk.