COLUMN: "Willis and Arnold Don't Live Here"

From Bill Madison's "Crackers In My Soup," Spring '92.From Bill Madison's "Crackers In My Soup," Spring '92.· "This shit really pisses me off." I take a quick glance around, not quite sure what shit has ticked my roommate off. It could be a variety of things, knowing that it doesn't take much when your sitting in front of Steinberg-Deitrich Hall. "What are you talking about?" "I know you see that. Look." Before us marched a group of sorority sisters, no more than five, but with enough hair for twenty. There they were prim, proper, and immaculate -- suitable flagships for Panhel. Maybe that's why I was so shocked to see them parading a group of black children across campus. The irony was profound. I suspect for the most part that none of these women can number among their acquaintances many people unlike themselves. I also suspect that most of these women grew up in completely homogeneous communities, limiting their "black experience" to the salutation of a domestic or from merely watching television. Neither circumstance, however, can be seen as being a fault of their own, since we all are products of our backgrounds. Also, the simple fact that they choose to volunteer their time to spend a few hours with disadvantaged youth is more than commendable, right? Maybe, but something is wrong with this picture. In a school such as Penn, I find it hard to differentiate between what passes for compassion and what are expressions of one's own selfish motives. Whenever I see a group of white students who volunteer through campus outreach programs in the West Philadelphia community, I get a bittersweet feeling in the pit of my stomach. In terms of volunteer work, the ends always justify the means. I can't in good faith begrudge those who feel compelled to help out those less fortunate than themselves, regardless of their motives. But motives are the issue here. I get the strange feeling these are the same women who ride Escort from the library to Superblock when dusk first settles on campus. I get the feeling that these are the same women who cross the street at night when they sense the impending doom of a typical "West Philadelphia denizen" approaching, his backpack in tow. My roommate and I have coined numerous terms for this phenomenon, but the most appropriate one is the "petting zoo mentality." I'm quite sure everyone remembers the petting section of the zoo. You know the place, where you could -- at the bold age of five or six -- touch the cub of a lion or a tiger, trusting in the attendants' assurances that no harm would befall you. Interesting thing about the petting zoo; animals were either too young to be a threat to the general population, or were pitiful creatures that had been declawed and defanged to achieve the same effect. Maybe it's a part of the program, but I fail to see what benefit kids receive by being dragged up and down the Walk, other than giving Greeks the opportunity to preen their own feathers. It's possible that Penn offers afternoon workshops for these children, and that's where they're heading. Maybe Locust Walk is so extreme in its historical significance that no black child in West Philadelphia should grow up without seeing it. I don't know. Compassion's a strange thing. I've argued with people who don't see the rationale behind affirmative action, view the elimination of the Mayor's Scholarships to Penn as only neccesary in light of the University's budget constraints, see the importance of a Diversity Awareness seminar for incoming freshman as irrelevant, and yet are still willing to drag some black child down the Walk in order to earn their liberal's merit badge. How can someone like that offer any thing to a black child, other than contempt? Civic responsibility, a legacy from the whirlwind '60s, has never really settled on the Penn campus. Seeing someone give of their time to help someone less fortunate than themselves is wonderful, but time is not always enough. The only advice I can give anyone before he or she attempts to connect with a youth from a background vastly different from your own: it is better to check your heart, not your hair, before you embark. Volunteerism may be chic now, but don't forget that these children have lives that don't begin and end in the shadows of College Hall. · Bill Madison is a senior International Relations major from Alexandria, Virginia. Crackers in My Soup appears alternate Tuesdays.