What Does It Mean To Be Human

 Finals Paper for HON 1000: Cultures and Social Systems at Seattle Pacific University

Humanity in Observation: How Individuality is Granted

Human Essay: Coffeeland

 Product Production and Labor Exploitation

In daily life, modern contributors to society consistently reap the benefits of exploitation, whether it is known to them or not. The foundations of many companies and industries contain rich and complicated histories of exploitative bosses and enslaved or confined workers. Many enterprises today thrive under similar circumstances, from food production to sectors such as fast fashion. One of the most common items of daily use in modern society is coffee, a fast-growing essential in global society over the past decade. Augustine Sedgewick’s Coffeeland explores the growth of coffee as a worldwide value and the complicated history behind its success. The book follows the story of James Hill, an English businessman who was given the title of the “coffee king” of El Salvador after his widespread success establishing successful coffee plantations, and the historical events that followed and surrounded coffee’s intricate history. To be human in this book is to have control, whether that be for the benefit of yourself or others. 

James Hill, while not an admirable role model by any means, was undisputed as an immensely successful businessman. The majority of this success, however, came from his intense control and exploitation of over five thousand workers on his land. Sedgewick chronicles Hill’s life, elaborating on the struggles he underwent establishing his plantations, but also defines him by his control and cruelty. Hill often mistreated his workers, creating a strict reliance on their employers for both food and pay. These areas of control reduced workers to a bare level, nearly defining them as machines which require food and money to produce valuable output. Hill understood how unhealthy this reliance was for the workers, and how profitable it would be for him. Dehumanization in the narratives of both Hill and his workers is seen when control is exercised unfairly, resulting in the reduction of human workers to a product-producing system. This effect is, without a doubt, still examined in modern markets, though there are attempts to disguise abuse by promoting the success or well-being of a company. In the case of Hill’s plantations, his control was lost by history due to a consistent modern trend of the lack of documentation by victims of systematic abuse.

Those able to break free from the confines of this reliance-based dehumanization become human once more, no longer part of a machine. In this way, those within Coffeeland relate to modern workers and modern guidelines of respect and social standing in a workplace. Figures like Hill are identified in their humanity by their reputation and control, while workers are depicted as part of a greater whole, removing their individual control in the process. While this identification could certainly be simple, defining workers as human when they are able to command others as Hill did, this type of thinking will perpetuate the system hosting a growing majority of overlooked working-class civilians. In this book specifically, the characters we see as human have personal agendas, motives, and the control needed in order to both express those emotions and have them remembered. In the act of reading this book, readers are made aware that systems that seek to dehumanize workers will be examined and criticized, warring against Hill’s plans of mindless control.

In our modern world of ever-growing markets, we as consumers need to be aware of the origins of the products we purchase and support. Reading narratives like those presented in Coffeeland aids in our understanding of the world we contribute to, and I believe that it is the responsibility of anyone who contributes to a market to examine the causes which they are supporting. If money or support is given without thought, consumers run the risk of directly supporting a cause that endangers human lives or safety. It is inevitable to completely avoid markets that dehumanize, as almost every product we consume can be traced back to some event of exploitation. However, there are ways for consumers to grant themselves more awareness of the systems they support, whether that be through research or personal investigation. Coffeeland is by no means a unique story, as the events within it are eerily similar to labor exploitation in both past and present industries. 

One recently publicized example of exploitation is the fast fashion industry, specifically brands such as Shein, Aliexpress, or Wish. Shein in particular is a popular clothing brand known for both its large selection of styles and cheap prices, two details that prompted further investigation by consumers. It has been revealed in recent months that Shein not only is exploiting a large field of workers, but that the brand also consistently steals designs from small businesses and even other online clothing brands. A consumer with no knowledge of these details sees a convenient, inexpensive way to “fit in” with current fashion trends, but someone who knows of the company’s inner workings is given a choice whether or not to support them, which is the purchaser’s humanity coming into play.

While I personally have never had an interest in fast fashion, I have attempted to be more conscientious about where I spend my money, which is a choice I am privileged to have. For example, staying away from corporations like Chik-Fil-A and Hobby Lobby due to their exploitative pasts and practices has been a small exercise of understanding for me personally, and while I know it isn’t much, there is only so much we as individuals can do to prevent these markets from practices they have been engaging in for decades. Times like this may seem hopeless, as we read stories of exploitation infecting many of the products we use daily, but books like Coffeeland bring awareness to the past in order to attempt prevention in the future. It is the responsibility of those outside of these controlling systems to educate themselves and attempt to restore the humanity of those trapped within.

Human Essay: Pale Rider

 The Morality of Mortality

Over humanity’s collective history, some of the most disastrous large-scale events have been shrouded in the unknown. One of the most common fears present throughout time is the act of not knowing, a person’s inability to grasp the full extent of a situation due to a lack of evidence, information, and experience. This comes into play in human against human tragedy, but also in the case of a “human against nature” event such as a pandemic or natural disaster. The scenario of pandemics causing mass panic and upset isn’t foreign to us in current times due to the ever-present Coronavirus-19 pandemic, but the 1918 “Spanish” Flu is another example of a wide sweep of uninformed disease. In Pale Rider: The 1918 Spanish Flu and How It Changed the World, Laura Spinney paints a picture of one of the most deadly pandemics in recent centuries, following the sickness itself as it swept the globe. Within her book, Spinney elaborates on the history of a disease that is often overlooked, although its death toll was at least twice that of the war that overshadows it in history books. In the context of our question regarding the presence of humanity in this text, while Spinney doesn’t focus on a specific person or group, the presence of humanity permeates the text’s very core. To be human within Spinney’s context is to have mortality and the ability to process and interpret that which is beyond your lifespan and experience.

One of the many reasons for the near-erasure of the 1918 flu’s history was the presence of not one, but two world wars happening near the time of this pandemic. In this case, many surviving civilians influenced by the plague’s wide reach chose to focus on something explainable, as many of the facts behind this epidemic are still unknown. In the 1940s, more research was done on the effects of the flu itself, but to those having just survived it, twenty years is more than enough time to make the decision of suppressing their memories of this event that wrapped the globe. Within the text, those introduced or mentioned, even in large groups, are defined by their mortality and willingness to remember and process the story that Spinney is seeking to tell. Many grotesque and graphic depictions of the pandemic itself aid in the reader’s understanding of these people, such as Spinney’s mention that, “as long as you were conscious, therefore, you watched death enter at your fingertips and fill you up” (Spinney, 2017, p. 45). It is not difficult to understand why watching over fifty million people worldwide meet that fate would result in not only generational trauma but an inclination to process the more presentable tragedy at the time, the war. 

In the case of the COVID-19 pandemic, one with a significantly lower death toll, the urge to hide these situations is still present. Many people within society seek a “return to normal,” a nearly impossible feat in the current time frame, especially since these people are often the ones foregoing vaccines for comfortable ignorance. This situation is where dehumanization comes into play, in the case of both pandemics. This dehumanization isn’t waged at a person or ethnic group, but at the large percentage of those affected by the tragedy at play. When any large-scale catastrophe is minimized, those affected by it are reduced to unnamed casualties. While examining those against COVID-19 precautions for any reason, it is important to remember the names they are covering up in order to do so. This statement does not address the harm these outliers could be bringing upon themselves and their communities, but they are often willing to be selfish in a way directly opposed to Spinney’s mention of selfishness within the text.

Spinney states that, within the context of being a citizen in the 1918 Spanish Flu, “your best chance of survival was to be utterly selfish…jealously guard your hoard of food and water, and ignore all pleas for help” (Spinney, 2017, p. 116). While this selfishness aligns very well with the Center for Disease Control’s recommended social distancing procedures, the selfishness most often seen in the current day is the opposite, a complete disregard for those around you, with the mentality of “once I get the virus, I’ll be over it and therefore immune.” While this attitude isn’t factually incorrect, it ignores the effects of being an asymptomatic carrier, or possibly creating a domino effect targeting those closest to the person reentering the world “normally.”

It is our responsibility, both in the case of the 1918 Spanish Flu and our current pandemic, to remember the effects of our actions both scientifically and socially. Helpful actions like social distancing are highly recommended in both cases, and a large portion of modern citizens align with CDC guidelines for safety at this time. However, there are always outliers, and it is our job to attempt to understand the situations taking place, and learn what our parts are in maintaining the collective well-being of our societies. It is our duty as members of society to seek an understanding of what ails society as a whole, especially in cases that are easy to dismiss, such as an invisible, unknown disease. While I cannot sympathize with those who act out against the guidelines aimed at keeping them and their communities safe, I can understand their fear stemming from a lack of information and guidance. Overall, in both the 1918 flu and the 2020 COVID-19 pandemic, humanity is demonstrated through the effects of the disease on a population and culture, most notably in record-keeping and rule-following. Learning from the 1918 flu’s erasure, the current pandemic should be documented extensively, which it has been, and used as an example for future generations of the importance of understanding.

Human Essay: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

 The Immoral Life of HeLa Cells

Many incredibly influential discoveries go unattributed to those that aided in their development. While the “discovery” of countries and continents can be used as examples in this statement, so can the consistent medical advancements made by exploiting unwilling or uneducated “participants” into potentially dangerous studies. In this field, many of the most recognized examples are of those too desperate for medical help to refuse additional experimentation. A power dynamic is then created, a destructive relationship between doctor and patient. This was the case for Henrietta Lacks, a woman who developed cervical cancer in the 1950s, and whose cells, which were taken without her consent, became the first scientifically “immortal” cells, HeLa. Rebecca Skloot, the author of The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, sought the story of the woman behind these cells, contacting anyone she could to discover the truth. In her research, she found evidence of the consistent exploitation of the Lacks family, by scientists and reporters alike. The family barely knew of the cells, even though they were direct descendants of one of the most medically important humans to have their cells collected. To be human within the Lacks’  story is to learn and know, to have agency, and to strive for the discovery of what has been kept hidden. 

Henrietta Lacks is no stranger to dehumanization, especially after her death. She was known as “the woman behind HeLa,” the object of scientific exploration without any recognition herself. Her life was not only a mystery to the scientific community, though, as she passed at 30, too young for many of her family members to truly remember her. When interviewed by Skloot, Henrietta’s daughter Deborah is quoted saying: “You know what I really want? I want to know, what did my mother smell like? For all my life I just don’t know anything, not even the little common little things, like what color she like? Did she like to dance? Did she breastfeed me? Lord, I’d like to know that. But nobody ever say nothing.” (Skloot, 2010, p. 42) Through almost every remaining echo of her life, Henrietta Lacks is sought after, people who never got a chance to know her seeking a glimpse of the woman she was. This dehumanization is oddly gentle, an example of the fading of memories over time. 

The family of Henrietta Lacks is explored in great detail by Skloot, as many of them were still alive when this book was being written. Another facet of this story, however, is the reason we know of Henrietta in the first place: the doctors behind her treatment and the subsequent acquiring of her cells. Both the Lacks family and the doctors are identified by their knowledge and opinion on the treatment of HeLa cells. Many doctors align with the idea that the cells were taken correctly and, as it was accepted at the time, in the proper context. This isn’t the opinion of some of Henrietta’s family members, however, who believe that her cells were taken unjustly and that they should have some sort of reparation or compensation for the billions of dollars made in the market that centers around their relative’s cells. Deborah stands outside of these groups, with Rebecca Skloot alongside her. Henrietta’s daughter seeks understanding, above all else. She seeks the world’s understanding of the person her mother was, and she seeks a personal understanding of her family’s history.

In the insurmountable past, present, and future progress of scientific markets, it is up to the patient to become educated on the situations of their treatment as well as the ownership of their body and agency. In many of the cases Skloot presents for scientific discoveries using patient cells, the unwilling participant often simply desires knowledge of the situation. The rise of informed consent, giving pause to the long-accepted “benevolent deception” of a patient, allows education to be used in a medical setting. It is the responsibility of those undergoing medical treatment to be inquisitive, and it is the responsibility of those engaging in scientific markets to be just the same. Striving to uncover stories like Henrietta’s makes way for the voices of future patients to speak out about their treatment, and, most importantly, humanizes those covered up by a system willing to obscure their faces.

As someone who has undergone years of medical treatment for chronic pain, while I cannot fully identify with any situation present in this book, I can understand the desperation of a patient seeking any cure for their ailment. In situations like Henrietta’s, desperation can drive a patient to ignore warning signs or suspicious situations. One of the doctors in the book mentioned, on the topic of tissues being used: “I guess you could sit there with your ruptured appendix and negotiate.” (Skloot, 2010, p. 148) This highlights the ever-present dynamic of doctor and patient power disparities, allowing the outsider to see just how much authority a doctor has over a suffering patient. In the moment, it seems impossible to get over pain, so why would a patient refuse current help for the possibility of future trouble? Those in distress are unable to think long-term due to this fact. Henrietta Lacks may have allowed the doctors to remove her tissue if they asked, for the simple fact that those treating her could always choose to stop due to uncooperative behaviors. It seems difficult to truly grasp Henrietta’s situation from anywhere but the present, which is why previous attempts to explain her story have been difficult. Skloot’s travels through the Lacks family’s past and future allow exploration to a degree that no one else had sought to explore. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, no matter how you look at it, is about seeking information and explanation. I hope that with the elaboration of stories like this, we may finally see the truth behind situations like the previously unknown woman from which HeLa cells were taken.

Human Essay: When They Call You A Terrorist

 What They Call You and What You Call Yourself

As prevalent as it is in modern-day culture, the Black Lives Matter movement has consistently lacked a driving leader. The campaign is seen in marches and protests, articles and memoirs, but there has been an intentional effort to present the victims as the sole focus of the movement. Instead of a targetable leader, one that defines and details the group’s focus, the “BLM” community focuses on specific current stories, highlighting victims of the crimes they are fighting against. If anyone was to be defined as a leader of the movement, or at least a founder, Patrisse Khan-Cullors should be considered. In her memoir When They Call You A Terrorist, Cullors details her life and struggles, starting from witnessing racial divides in her Los Angeles neighborhood. Cullors consistently experienced new harm done under racial bias to both her and those she cared about. The world has been built and shifted to accommodate the majority, to provide aid to those who fit a certain description, and little else. This effect is seen in the lives of many marginalized groups, and modern society has often placed limits on the accessibility of stories that actively challenge oppressive groups. To be human within the reflection of Cullors’ memoir is to be influenced by and to influence the world around you.

The influence of the world on small children has been prevalent since the start of society as a whole, but the existence of normative systems and structures frequently harms small children attempting to grow and flourish in their own ways. When Cullors recounted her experiences of switching to a mostly-white school at twelve years old, she was hit with the realization that those around her would take note of her differences and use them as ways to pass judgment. Reflecting on her past, she explains how “[this time was when she] learned that being black and poor defined [her] more than being bright and hopeful and ready.” The influence of this one school experience isn’t to be undermined in the context of Cullors’ life, as it taught her the lesson many members of any minority will learn: there are times when you cannot help the stereotypes that precede you. No matter how hard an individual pushes, they will face situations where they cannot overcome the predefinition that others have assigned to them which strips them of their room for individuality. This textbook example of dehumanization is ever-present in daily life, but its effect on those able to be shaped by it is devastating.

Cullors’ identity is rooted in her race, as this book defines, but also in the separate factors that define her as “other.” One example of this is Cullors’ relationship with attraction, as she considers herself queer, and actively fights for the rights of LGBTQ people. Her identity is present, not only in the ways that society has defined her but also in the ways she has actively expressed love. While discussing her sexuality and relationships, Cullors mentions that “to outsiders… [the queer community’s] relationships may have seemed complex, odd, or even dangerous. But to [the community], they made sense. To [them], they were oxygen and still are…” This quote struck me as a reader, specifically a queer one. Though I don’t define my identity by it, and often don’t tell those around me, I acknowledge that my way of loving is seen as different from those around me. From my perspective, however, this is the most accurate statement on queer love that I’ve ever heard. Cullors’ gentle but firm way of writing leaves no room for argument, as oxygen cannot be taken without harm done. To queer people, our relationships matter because they are full of love, but also because they are hard to hide. Here, especially at SPU, I fear bringing my partner to open events or shows, having them on my floor, or introducing them to those I consider tentative friends. Our relationship is a lifeline, but the common experience of queer people is still present: you never know who might mind, what they might do, how they might express distaste toward a love they consider dangerous.

It is the responsibility of those outside marginalized groups to take note of their influence. Similar to the themes of many of the books we’ve read so far, Cullors’ story accentuates that a specific gain of one group often negatively impacts another. An example within her memoir of this is the treatment of her brother Monte within the prison system. In this case, a flawed system established by majority groups treats an individual who has done no harm with harm of their own, simply because he fits categories that they consider to be dangerous and violent. As a neurodivergent person, this treatment was sickening to read about, but it brought to light the intense discrimination against a neurological “other” in judicial systems. While the preservation of human rights is brought up frequently in the case of some prisoners, frequently white people, there is an avoidance of this topic when those with mental health conditions are displayed. It is the responsibility of people in power to not only provide equality in their delegation of human rights but to educate themselves on the varieties present within their systems of influence.

As people, we are consistently separated from those different than us. Wherever that difference may be found, we constantly shy away from the stories of others in favor of the familiar. Stories like Patrisse Khan-Cullors’ open our eyes to the effects of a society that may or may not favor us over marginalized groups. This memoir aided my understanding of both the Black Lives Matter Movement and queer expression in the black community. Cullors’ was raised influenced by the world, and grew to influence it. She turned the trouble of her childhood into empowerment for change. Stories of growth such as this are integral to the understanding of differences among humans, and the effects of strong empowerment never truly fade.

Human Essay: The Death and Life of Aida Hernandez

 The Borders of Belonging

We are social creatures. It is an unavoidable fact of human existence that we collect ourselves in groups, striving to fit into the bubbles of social cohorts. Most of the time, these groups are small, contained, but this is mostly because monumentally overwhelming groups have been constructed centuries ago, forming population groups and country borders that seem difficult to comprehend, and even more so to challenge. In Aaron Bobrow-Strain’s book, The Death and Life of Aida Hernandez: A Border Story, these groups are questioned, investigated, due to the life of a woman caught between them. To be human in Aida's story is to strive to safely belong despite opposition. She is consistently seeking belonging from both people and living situations, as many people displaced by life are. This consistent motivation allows those in her situation the ability to make a stand against the systems oppressing them.

In stories of empowerment, oppressors are inevitable, although they can vary drastically. Within Aida’s story in particular, a border story, these oppressors come in the forms of border agents, law enforcement officials, and the nameless, faceless restrictors that keep the borders of their country “safe.” Individuals on either ideal-based side of this story are defined by what they seek; the future and perceived security they strive for. Members of the United States seeking to remove people like Aida are defined by their opposition to sharing a relatively safe environment with those seeking security. Aida and those like her looking to immigrate to the States are identified by their willpower to challenge this system of borders, a line drawn in the sand to keep “those people” out. Perceived safety is a large factor in the drawing of these invisible lines, as countries and civilizations are centered on many of the ideals they were constructed by. These beliefs will impact their policies, as we have seen in the United States. Since the country was founded on conquest, taking land and building a country on a limited set of opinions, backgrounds, and outlooks, the policies continuing to take hold will favor the limited group of individuals who sought to enact it in the first place.

The systems within the States specifically favor white, middle-class, heterosexual, Christian, English-speaking, able-bodied, cisgender men. As many figures within this book do not fit that description, it is not difficult to identify the places where they are discriminated against, and how these instances contribute to an overwhelming dehumanization among these people. Dehumanization in The Death and Life of Aida Hernandez is seen in the enforcement of policies that reduce human beings to an “other,” a figure that does little other than break rules and cross borders. Books like this give a reader insight into the lives of those reduced to a separate group, providing names, faces, and life stories for people who would be otherwise overlooked by those with privilege enough to shut them out. 

With the influence of books like these, society is given a chance to change, to see the world as someone other than the role they have been handed. People in places of power are provided with an opportunity for empathy, whether or not they engage with it, and people who are oppressed similarly are gifted the reassurance that they are not alone in their struggles. Similar to many previous books this quarter, Aida Hernandez’s undisputable story is given to the reader without room for negotiation. The facts of the situation are presented, the systems are revealed, and the inner workings of a society built to oppress are brought forth in detail. Systems that enforce borders such as the ones seen in this narrative should be held responsible for the harm they cause, harm such as detention centers, family separation, and community conflict brought about by the enforcing of borders to keep “safety” as a priority within a country gifted resources that could accommodate those less fortunate. In the poem “Home,” Warsan Shire writes that “no one puts their children in a boat unless the water is safer than the land.” Narratives like Aida’s are essential to the understanding of those seeking something “better,” or even somewhere they can belong. In contrast to problems like poverty and class discrepancies, border enforcement has the opportunity to physically separate families along a near-arbitrary line that has been drawn to distinguish “us” from “them.” It is the duty of those considered fellowship among the enforcers to seek understanding with the enforced.

As someone who has been kept on the favored side of a conflict such as this one, I seek to understand situations such as Aida’s. While I was raised in the States, my home is in Mid City Los Angeles, a diverse hub of culture and communication. The area prides itself on diversity, and the world apart from it has been somewhat of a shock to me as I’ve made my way out of my own contained bubble. While I am from a white family, my parents consistently sought out places where those with different stories would surround me, and our neighborhoods have always been diverse and different while accepting and communal. General hostility toward those of different races or documentation statuses was never tolerated, but Aida’s story still opened my eyes to a specific type of personal resonance with this enforcement. I’ve heard less intense stories from a close friend of mine, mostly centered around stories of the intolerance of non-white immigrants to the States combined with the persistence of travelers due to the opportunities that the country offers. As we within this country pat ourselves on the back for our sustainability and idyllic situations, we must also recognize the appeal of this flawed utopia to those outside of it. While the water may not be safer than the land, there is always another place to go. Why wouldn’t a traveler try it? The worst they can do is get sent back to their home. Seeking belonging is important for any human, but the connections between belonging and desire can be found in the oppressors’ actions, the inner workings of a society that prevent those “outside” from having a place within.

Human Essay: Evicted

 Humanity to Housing: Community Building in Evicted

Nationwide economic difficulties are not very frequent occurrences in the States, but each time they do happen, much of the country is taken by surprise, the poorest often unable to recover from the massive blow often dealt to both their livelihood and living conditions. In Evicted, Matthew Desmond follows the stories of eight families in Milwaukee, documenting their struggles during the Financial Crisis of 2007-2008, and the aftermaths that this tragedy prompted within their lives. People within Desmond’s documentation come from various backgrounds, experiences, and socio-economic statuses, all providing a different view of the devastated state of the housing market after the Financial Crisis. In these stories of desperation, care, and recovery, humanity is expressed through a need or desire for empathy. Much like other tales of community, Evicted elaborates on the community built through struggle, care, and empathy and the effects of these situations on those within.

Desmond’s way of storytelling allows the reader to empathize with many if not all of the figures in his book, even if their viewpoints and interests contradict one another. For example, Sherrena is the root of many individuals’ troubles within her story. She is an ambitious person, but often an unsympathetic landlord. While the time that this documentation focuses on was hard for most, at the end of the day, Sherrena still had a roof over her head. She still owed property and had a support system many of her residents couldn’t dream of. Desmond tells her story at length anyway, allowing a voice to someone many readers would be hesitant to listen to. Part of the crafting of Evicted is centered around being understanding and empathetic toward those who society often looks down on. People living in trailer parks and roach-infested apartments aren’t typically the people society highlights to speak about poverty. Ironically enough, we hear news about economic struggle from those who experience the least of it: news stations looking for a drastic statistic or heartwarming story to catch the attention of viewers, impersonal websites and articles reducing people to numbers within an equation, and the highest, most vocal of society, people with power, wealth, and status who talk about the “devastating” effects this statistical decrease has made in their incalculable profits.

Taking a very human approach, Desmond documents each interaction and story he tells with care and interest, truly presenting an unbiased opinion of each individual. One recurring theme throughout these narratives is a sense of dehumanization found in a lack of empathy. When asked about the characters within this book, my peers highlighted Sherrena as a character they were able to identify with the least. I believe that this isn’t strictly centered in Sherrena’s story alone, but in the effect she had on others and their lives. With Arleen and Lamar in particular, Sherrena expressed casual care and interest in her tenants until they fell behind in rent or particularly frustrated her in another way. One situation where this feeling of separation may have solidified for a reader was when Sherrena met with other members of her community’s real estate association. While talking with friends after the meeting, Sherrena expressed disdain for Lamar, who has been consistently highlighted as caring and kind among her tenants. While her concerns with him were warranted, he was behind on rent and had done a sub-par job on a task he’d asked Sherrena for, the reader still is led to sympathize with him, whether that’s due to his disability, his care for his boys, or simply the way Desmond portrayed him. Arleen also highlights a situation easy to sympathize with, as she is a mother of four, constantly evicted and separated from her children due to her circumstances. An opposition to Sherrena after hearing these stories is understandable, but Desmond still attempts to tell her story authentically.

Dehumanization in Evicted isn’t seen in the writer’s words, but in the reader's responses and the individuals’ actions. People like Arleen are often seen by society as unwell or even unwise, but Desmond’s gentle ventures into humanity for the individuals of his story allow these walls between reader and character to be broken down. Rather than active dehumanization within this book, there is a focus on the building of humanity for individuals, giving the reader enough context to truly care about the people within.

This book, along with the previous one, gave me insight into perspectives I have not experienced but have lived adjacent to. Desmond creates a very important perspective as a writer, one that highlights all stories, giving the reader a choice on who to agree or sympathize with. Books like Evicted are crucial to the overall growth of understanding within a society thriving off exploitation and separation. When presented with a piece of media as all-encompassing as this book, a reader is forced to see all perspectives of a situation they had no say in, limiting separation from others. I believe it is the responsibility of citizens within societies that hold this type of exploitation to educate themselves by engaging in stories that foster empathy. Without care for others, how are we to know or care what our actions do to others?

Evicted is a book that fixates on the individualization of people present in a system that seeks to group them under a statistic. Matthew Desmond ventures into this space without bias, seeking an understanding of these people and their identities. Those represented in this book are individualized by their experiences, but also by their trust and care for others. The hope that they have is perpetuated by some dream of a better situation for themselves and those they care for. From the simplicity of Scott’s dream to return to medicine to the undeniable empathy shared between Crystal and Arleen when they met, Desmond is intentional about the identities of those he writes about, telling the nuances of their stories to allow a reader sight through their eyes. This book as a whole is centered around the fact that humans will lean toward care unless interrupted by self-interest.

Human Essay: Strangers in their Own Land: Anger and Mourning on the American Right

 The Deep Story and Community of Strangers

All humans, no matter where they originate from, have a story. More specifically, every member of any group has an informed perspective of the world based on their experiences, traditions, or culture. Sociologist and writer Arlie Hochschild describes this narrative as an individual’s “deep story.” In her book, Strangers in their Own Land: Anger and Mourning on the American Right, Hochschild travels to Louisiana in search of narratives that counter or contradict her own. She interviews and shadows many citizens to gather an understanding of their stories and to see what makes them unique in their experiences. Hochschild sought to put herself in the shoes of those she encountered, trying to observe the lives and ideals of this group in the heart of the South. To be human from the perspectives of those represented within this book is to be part of a group, a contributing member of a sustained and prideful community.

Southern hospitality is a frequent term while positively describing the Deep South, but much that is said of the region by those not aligned with their beliefs is negative. It is understandable for those within the communities in that area to feel as if the rest of the country is against them, for many reasons. A common “deep story” of those in the South, as explored by Hochschild, is a feeling of isolation from the rest of the country and government, combined with a collective sense of pride, often for assumed preservation of concepts such as The American Dream or for the continuation of older religious ideals. The citizens focused on within the book have a combined pride in their success as a community, and their identities are preserved by this sense of self.

Another facet of the personas described in this novel is found while examining the citizens’ reactions to current political changes. One of the most influential parts of this novel comes when Hochschild brings the reader into the shoes of those she interviewed by describing a line making its way toward the American Dream. People given aid by the government, for any reason, are seen as unfair citizens, cutters in the line of progression. Those in the Deep South attempting to make their way toward this dream feel cheated by the government and those who seem to be making their way forward. People who benefit from this system of aid are seen as less, simply due to the chances they’ve been given. Hochschild presents this opinion by saying to the reader that “these are opportunities you’d have loved to have in your day, and either you should’ve had them when you were young, or the young shouldn’t be having them now.” This call to empathy allows a reader to see from these people’s eyes, contemplating why the actions and feelings of that person are meaningful and informed, even if they aren’t positive.

Many of the negative statements said about the Deep South and the political alignments of those within it stem from their mistreatment or discrimination toward minorities. To them, traditional households often require a woman as a homemaker, traditional marriage is between a man and a woman, and traditional “America” is run and inhabited by people who look like them. Hochschild explores this concept through her analogy of a line toward the American Dream. Those behind and ahead of the viewer are the people they started their journey with, often from similar backgrounds and with similar ideals. Everyone else is a blur. The harm comes when the viewer sees people begin to bypass the line, people who look and sound and love differently than everyone else who has waited their turn. These people walking past are dehumanized. They’re reduced to a factor of their identity, and that identity is being given aid that the viewer wasn’t offered. Their faces were a blur anyways, so why wouldn’t the viewer think that gay, black, Muslim, transgender, and many other types of people were being treated specially by a government that doesn’t care for the “Real American,” the one who has been waiting and working their way through a line toward their rightful dream. The viewer lacks an understanding of the struggle that warrants these allowances, the years of racism, homophobia, and religious persecution that permeated these citizens' lives before they were given a bit of a boost by a society that finally seems to care about them. Of course they don’t see that perspective, though, as they were conversing with those around them in line, people who look and believe and love just like them.

As someone raised in a very diverse setting, I have always had difficulty engaging with people similar to those mentioned in this book. However, Hochschild’s line segment aided in my understanding of this people group. With my identity belonging to multiple groups frequently antagonized by people within this American Dream line, I found it difficult to remove my preconceived ideas regarding people who tend to be right-leaning Christians. Surprisingly, my time at SPU so far has changed my perspective on some of these situations, especially when engaging in discussion with some of my classmates who hold differing, if not entirely contrasting, views to mine. Hochschild’s book helped me to chip away at the empathy wall I’ve built for myself, and I believe that books like this are vital to our understanding of those around us. We are responsible for our allowance of differing opinions to enter our lives, and this book shows how we can expand our points of view without changing them entirely.

Strangers in their Own Land highlights the stories of people who have often been reduced to caricatures, exploring how their opinions were formed by the world they inhabited. Hochschild expresses insight into their sense of community and humanity, giving the reader a walk along the road that was formed by citizens seeking out an American Dream.

Human Essay: God's Long Summer

 Humanity Under the Watch of God

As members of society, one of the first things we are taught is to attempt to see a situation from the point of view of another: “imagine what it would be like in their shoes.” This subtle pull to empathy seeks to engage us in dialogue with others, driving our desires to understand their backgrounds and beliefs. Society fosters many stories and perspectives, the majority of which directly influence another group, either in a dynamic of power or companionship. In God’s Long Summer, five different stories of Mississippi’s 1964 “Freedom Summer,” all with varying social, political, racial, and religious backgrounds, demonstrate the variety of humanity. From Fanny Lou Hamer, a pious civil rights activist, to Sam Bowers, a similarly religious Klu Klux Klansman, Charles Marsh weaves together the narratives of these contrasting citizens, telling a story of guidance and belief. To be human within the context of God’s Long Summer is to be driven by an ideal bigger than oneself. 

Multiple qualities are seen as the driving forces behind different individuals represented in this overarching narrative. For William Douglas Hudgins, this focal point is the concept of an isolationist church, and he devoted his life to the assumed preservation of the sanctity of his religion. From another perspective, Ed King, a white pastor, sought the integration of church spaces, fighting for his beliefs of acceptance and Christian action. Each figure depicted in this novel had a belief that served as their foundation, the majority of which were based on their interpretation of the Christian religion. These pursuits set them apart as individuals, granting humanity to each in turn. While their beliefs may not be seen as all-encompassing or even generally positive, each statement of purpose grants that person individuality. 

The second chapter of this book is devoted to Sam Bowers, detailing his life and rise to notoriety as the Imperial Wizard of the Klu Klux Klan of Mississippi. Bowers led many egregious acts of violence, all under his beliefs in religion. Throughout his chapter, Bowers detailed multiple instances of spiritual communication that he felt guided by throughout his righteous journey. At a point within his chapter, Bowers chronicled the events following an unfulfilled suicide attempt, where he resolved that “[his] life is no longer [his] own: it is God’s” (Marsh, 2008, p. 55). This man, whose life was defined by damage and hatred, believed in the same God that the rest of the members of this text do. 

When the Klu Klux Klan is mentioned, many people imagine the group’s signature hoods and outfits, items that define the members as part of a whole. While dehumanization can be seen in the other stories of God’s Long Summer, Sam Bowers has a life of dehumanization on both sides, from his assumed enemies to his own identity. While none of the events of his past condone his actions, Marsh explores this man’s life from an objective standpoint, not trying to sympathize, but to give the reader a deeper insight into the life of a man so influential to American history. In the case of Marsh’s chosen stories, dehumanization can be defined as reducing people to an “other,” a separate, often opposing group only defined by its separation from the viewer’s beliefs. Bowers’ story shows evidence of him dehumanizing others, as the crowd he led was a white supremacist hate group. However, on a less evident note, Bowers has been dehumanized as an individual, reduced to a number within the Klan. Marsh’s exploration of both his personal and religiopolitical identities shapes Bowers into an intriguing, while simultaneously repulsive, figure in American history.

On the topic of influence, it is evident that one of Marsh’s primary goals for this compilation of perspectives was to emphasize how stories of different natures influence the lives of those who are considered allies or enemies. On a deeper level, this means holding those with power to make statements responsible for the effects of their ideals on others. Responsibility is arguable, as some may favor an “every man for himself” approach as opposed to a community-based group of support. A character within the novel that showcases an intriguing amount of personal responsibility is Ed King, who broke away from the stereotypes of his social, racial, and religious identities by fighting for the rights of black citizens and growing into an incredibly vocal activist. King’s perspective on society shaped his personal responsibilities, at least in his own eyes. An integral part of the concept of responsibility is that one is taught the social expectations of them, in order to shape how they interpret what they are “responsible” for. Those raised in a culture with less empathetic expectations are subject to looser ideas of responsibility. No one is misguided through their own eyes, and we see within this book how different interpretations of righteous purpose lead to vastly separate conclusions.

Charles Marsh sought out these stories to communicate the events of Freedom Summer from multiple intertwined perspectives, all with different motives, but similar sources. The individuality of characters is shaped by their convictions in combination with the groups they belong to. Fanny Lou Hamer was a black woman who served as a devout and powerful activist. Sam Bowers was a white man whose beliefs in religion led him to a position of power within one of America’s most harmful extremist groups. William Douglas Hudgins was a white Baptist pastor who believed strongly in the isolation of the church. Ed King was a white activist who sought to desegregate churches, creating safe spaces for mixed-race communities to exist. Finally, Cleveland Sellers was a black political educator who set the foundations of non-violent educated power. All of these figures were guided by their paths of intent, their identities defined by their actions and how they were remembered. Marsh highlights the importance of these beliefs in his work, emphasizing the purpose and effects of events such as Freedom Summer.

Human Essay: Witness

 A Witness to Humanity

When examining the course of human history, many monumental events stand out, either as testaments to the kindness of humanity or the race’s profound and unforgettable cruelty. Elie Wiesel, a Holocaust survivor, renowned activist, and respected writer, experienced this cruelty firsthand but used his life experience to shape and inform the changing world of the events taking place within the lives of those affected by immeasurable harm. Wiesel taught of his experiences in the Humanities Department at Boston University, fostering an engaging question-based classroom setting. He challenged his students on their notions of perspective and humanity, led by the diverse lives of those who took his courses combined with his personal story. Ariel Burger, a close friend of Wiesel’s, as well as an assistant within his classroom, chronicled these events in his book Witness: Lessons From Elie Wiesel’s Classroom. Informed by the discussions in Witness, it can be stated that humanity is found within observing the world around you and making personal judgments about the events taking place. When someone is dehumanized, if they are stripped of what makes them inherently “human,” often made part of a larger whole, removed of their individuality, and restricted from personal contemplative thought or questioning. 

Wiesel’s classroom saw many students over the years, and Burger’s introduction of each speaker highlights the diversity present within the classroom. Before reading a student’s statement or question, the reader is informed of that student’s area of study, as well as their name and often another identifying feature about them. Burger makes a clear point to emphasize each student’s individuality, and the questions offered will often convey important points regarding their perspective or background. Within the class, Wiesel makes a clear point to listen to others, bonding over similarities and respectfully discussing differences. After a Catholic student asks him a question that concerns the respect of other religions, Wiesel ends his response with the statement: “The distance between us is not as great as we think it is” (Burger, 2018, p. 61). Witness seeks to teach the reader, as Wiesel taught his students, that humanity is found within all of us, and our experience of getting in touch with it is informed by our experiences and the stories we choose to be a witness to.

On the other hand, dehumanization is referenced in Wiesel’s teachings when he discusses great tragedy by human intentions. One such example comes when Wiesel states that “the killer is as human as we are, but he has chosen to betray his humanity” (Burger, 2018, p. 52). This type of removal from humanity is one of three mentioned within the book, the second of which is the conditioning of those malleable enough to be inducted into a position of harm. Finally, an underlying narrative within Wiesel’s story is the mention of the dehumanization of those undergoing mass tragedy, such as prisoners in the Holocaust. These victims are dehumanized due to their lack of control and the circumstances of their confinement. These three perspectives, one of sought violence, one of pliability, and one of captivity, paint a vivid picture of what it means to be both human and dehumanized. The concept of dehumanization comes into play when people conform to a greater whole, a quantifiable number, united under a certain label or ideal. Once people lose their individuality, they are subject to the treatment and actions of their group or idea, following suit due to a fear of the ostracization or punishment of their peers or captors. Wiesel’s life story, from a teenager within a concentration camp to a world-renowned activist and philosopher, can be examined as a reclamation of his humanity, breaking out of the oppressive systems of his youth to tell his story, from the widespread and respected academic and philosophical communities of the world to the small space of his ever-insightful class.

The story of Witness, almost even more so than Wiesel’s life itself, is the tale of students and a teacher. Ariel Burger is a witness to Wiesel’s story, and he has made us witnesses to his journey through the friendship of his teacher. Within the book, the author contemplates “[what his mission is], as a witness to a witness” (Burger, 2018, p. 229). It is the responsibility of humans to acknowledge the systems around them, and attempt to understand the affects of the actions of the groups they participate in on those within and surrounding their community. From the perspective of a witness, that entails action. The act of remaining a bystander in these troubling scenarios removes the ability to act according to one’s personal biases. Instead of becoming a participant, a bystander loses their sense of individuality, reducing them to a number or statistic. However, if one steps out of their place of observation, they are able to act, becoming more “human” in the process. On the negative side of this act is those who commit harm to others to conform to a desire or demand. They have renounced their humanity for violence, nursing a cycle of cruelty. 

Wiesel’s life is one of intense struggle and immense success, and one of the most profound parts of his story was his hope and faith, both in his spiritual life and in the world that had warred against him. Despite the torture he endured, Elie Wiesel still had the belief that humanity as a race was grounded in good, that any act of violence warred against the humanity of the person committing it. Through his life and work, Wiesel committed himself to the identity of the witness, carrying his story with him, and allowing those close to him insight into the lessons he had learned from it.

What Does It Mean To Be Human - Intro Paper

 The Processes of Humanity vs. The Processes of the Human

It is a fact of life that humanity is flawed, from the biblical moment of the first sin to a daily encounter of discrimination, or simply the shortcomings of otherwise healthy human bodies. Humanity exists within the boundaries of physical form and has created boundaries of mental and societal nature as society has progressed. Societal structure often harms the individual thinkers within it, separating humanity as a concept from the individual figure of a “human.” What it meant to be human to me is not as much a question of consciousness or knowledge, but a question of place and identity within a surrounding culture. 

Humanity as a culture seeks similarity. The act of forming communities often involves seeking uniformity, a pleasant monotony in those nearby. While the fostering of cultures is integral to the progression of society, lest cultures fade to obscurity in favor of similitude, it is an undeniable truth that communities will continue as varying sectors of shared ideas, traits, or beliefs. An integral piece in the history of human society is the concept of segregation, the act of separating one or more from a whole due to an identifying difference. While seen in large-scale tragedies like the United States’ continued history with racism or the German pursuit of assumed “purity” through the Holocaust, segregation is also seen in small ways throughout history, influencing individuals to the point of either notability or insignificance. 

One such figure was artist Vincent Willem van Gogh, who was ostracized throughout his life for his differences but praised for them after his passing. Separated from society and seen as the common humor of his town, Van Gogh sought to capture the beauty that he saw so vividly, all the while knowing of his community’s opposition to his creation. For a man that has become a staple of art history, Van Gogh’s experience within the culture he lived in was overwhelmingly negative. However, he is often regarded as one of the most talented painters, and most intriguing people, that ever lived. His view of the world was one of indescribable brilliance, a colorful perception of the people and places he held dear. When humanity praises its progress, one of the topics often highlighted is creativity, the preservation of a soulful form of creation that can be seen and interpreted by all, each coming away with their own view on why a piece was created and what it represents. For all that is held dear within the art community, many artists of all forms have experienced a similar journey of opposition and praise as Van Gogh. Humans create in many forms, but the most notable products of creators often come from turmoil and opposition. From my perspective, I see it as near impossible to imagine a society without creativity, and creativity without separation from a whole. 

As I was raised, being human and part of humanity was about fitting in, by any means necessary. As an autistic person, I was taught that my “true self,” what I felt was wholly me, was something to hide, to let out among those closest to me, but only for small periods, in order to not scare them away. If I was too loud or too quiet, too talkative or too isolated, moved too much in ways that weren’t societally common, or didn’t follow typical notions of “normal” life, I was told that I was inaccessible as a person or friend, too isolated within my own world to possibly be someone that others would see as a possible connection. Humanity as a societal concept felt out of reach, too far to be reasonable as a goal for my life, but too close to ignore as a standard of existence beyond my “own world.” In order to be approachable and liked, I conformed to societal demands, attempting to subdue the things that made me “other.” It was only until the pandemic hit that I was able to confront the effects this suppression had on my mental health, and coming out of the extended isolation, I feel more “myself” than I have since I was a child. While the greater portion of humanity does not experience many of the small details that make my lived experience my own, each person has their weight to bear, the things they stifle in order to conform to a whole. In this age where we are approaching societal gatherings with both caution and anticipation, people are more themselves than ever, having had time to reflect as I did. Pauses like this help foster a sense of growth within society, giving people time to choose their own paths, free of outside influence.

The cultures we were raised in are undoubtedly essential to the people we grow into, the shoes we fill in our lives were often worn by those who raised us. However, when we are removed from the roles we are expected to conform to, we are left to reflect on our own beliefs through all lenses. Having gained the knowledge of those before us, we are able to reflect and choose our own paths. Many adults consider college their first venture into adult life, and while this is reflective of age at the time, it is also often the first time modern-age humans are separated from the beliefs and identities they were raised within. In giving people a chance to think for themselves, humanity advances in many ways, from spirituality to ingenuity. To me, humanity is the perseverance of individuality despite the pursuit of similarity, and the acknowledgment of differences in views based on the origin of one’s ideals and beliefs. The progression of human history reflects the simple value of community, but also highlights the influence of isolation on those who were separated from it, whether voluntarily or not. Humanity is flawed, and it is still learning, but it is unique if nothing else.