COLUMN: Victimized, but not traumatized

West Philadelphia has betrayed me. With the swipe of a baseball bat against my car window, I became a crime victim last week. I let my defenses down, and I joined the ranks of the helpless and frustrated. Helpless, yes; hopeless, no. Living in Philadelphia has been a learning experience. When Kathy Change set herself aflame before my eyes last fall, I thought I would never recover; when a month-long crime wave -- which culminated in the shooting of then-College senior Patrick Leroy -- marked my entrance to the University I dreamed of rural Swarthmore, where strings of crime are unheard of. Yet, for me, there has been plenty to celebrate in West Philadelphia. I wanted to come to a big city school and escape the narrow force field of my suburban home town. The unfortunate truth is that the University community in West Philadelphia is clearly divided into the "haves" and the "have nots." Falling into the jaded world of the "haves," I have strived to empower those who remain less fortunate. On the side, I have lauded myself for engaging in dialogues that explore ways to improve the town-gown relations of this community, rather than letting myself fall prisoner to my pre-assigned side of the fence, where all of the "haves" congregate. My recent victimization bothers me most not because my possessions were stolen, but because it stripped me of the ideals in which I used to take pride. The danger in becoming a victim lies in my own internal battle; I am tempted to rebuild the same fence that I had hoped to tear down. Angered by the destruction of my car and theft of my personal property, I am left to wonder whether or not I have allowed myself to become seduced by the idea that the inhabitants of West Philadelphia will ever find a commonality upon which to build a community. I don't want to believe that people will always be separated by socio-economic conditions; I don't want to surrender before I've had a real chance to engage in the battle. I came to this university to be a part of something different and now, disillusioned, I am not sure if things will ever be different. My anger won't let me sit back and listen to the gun shots anymore -- inspiration has descended, wrapping her effective claws around my neck and giving me no choice but to make the move toward improvement. If I continue to sit back, I will be strangled by a pervasive sense of worthlessness. I plan to closely with the West Philadelphia community this fall, and at the least, I will welcome any experience my role will bring. Although I have joined the team of those who have been victimized, I am hardly willing to sit on the bench and surrender to fright. If the game leaves me ridden by dilemma, so be it. I will try to plod onward as most survivors do -- my team's experience as victims should not make us feel like losers. But if I refuse to see myself as a victim, if my return to school is met with the perception of an exciting cultural opportunity, I may be able to recapture the joy, and I will once again celebrate education and opportunity in West Philadelphia. Either way, I win.

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