Nothing curdles the Sunday morning blood like a weekly student government meeting.
Beginning sharply at noon, it never fails to ruin my weekend hope for unproductive mornings. I learned that if I leave North Dining Hall at precisely 11:55 am, I can lazily crisscross the sidewalks, climb the LaFortune stairs and slide into my usual chair just in time for the meeting’s start. I’m still a bit hungover not from the night before, but from post-dining hall biscuits and gravy regret. I somehow managed to yet again eat too much of something that never deserved to be touched in the first place.
After a round of half-hearted greetings, the topic inevitably shifts towards brainstorming fun campus-wide events we can throw in the next few months. All hands are on deck, and with many of us in our fifth semester on the council, new ideas are valued like currency. You can only do so many food giveaways outside DeBartolo Hall before the luster of a free donut no longer compares to the luster of simply walking to class uninterrupted.
A hand shoots up in my peripheral and says, “How about we do a service project in South Bend?” I nod in vague agreement and everyone mumbles something that gets construed as, “I like that idea.” It gets written in the minutes. The meeting proceeds as otherwise planned.
Yet every time this South Bend service pitch happens – and it does happen on a monthly cycle – I walk out of the meeting with a slightly bitter taste in my mouth. It’s not that there aren’t plenty of worthy organizations and institutions in South Bend that could surely use the help, and it’s not that I don’t think students like myself could always grow a bit by doing service work. But when did Notre Dame start positioning itself as the undying superior to an otherwise needy surrounding community? After three years at the school, I’ve grown a savior complex. South Bend is our ugly stepsister, and we’re determined to give her a makeover even when we never enjoyed hanging out with her in the first place.
Notre Dame is blessed to have a student body so incredibly passionate about service. I think the Center for Social Concerns does a phenomenal job of opening up opportunities for students to learn about and better understand parts of the world they may otherwise never get the chance to engage with. But I’ll be the first to admit I know little to nothing about the social issues plaguing our own community. Something about leaving my Saturday brunch fifteen minutes early to quickly re-soil a yard ruined by lead paint feels wrong when two hours later I’ll return to a dorm newly repainted with a fresh coat of eggshell white. It’s far from worthless, but also far too much like serving from above, not alongside. I’ve never been able to shake the image of myself, a privileged white kid, dressed for the day in a hard hat and gloves yet getting lost on Jefferson Boulevard.
Anyone that’s ever caught the first pitch at Four Winds Field or stumbled into PEGGS for notably better biscuits and gravy knows South Bend is a city deserving of love, yet anywhere that doesn’t have a weekly margarita deal usually isn’t included on my mental map. It’s always been my philosophy that the seed of service should not be guilt or honor, but love. If you truly love something, you’ll want to help it when it’s in need. It shouldn’t feel like a chore.
I’ve failed to love South Bend, and I don’t deserve to serve it yet.
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