Honoring the Child Within

The Roots of My Social Justice Spirit

The first two weeks of school have been packed full of classes and events geared towards building community with my new peers. Everyone here at the Humphrey School of Public Affairs has been so kind and willing to help. It seems all they want to do is help set us up for success as grad students and beyond.

For me, one of the coolest aspects of studying for a Master of Human Rights at the Humphrey School is how many international students there are. I have learned so much from them alone and am so excited to learn more. Many of these international students have already been doing human rights work in their own countries, like in Iraq, Afghanistan, Vietnam, Columbia, Brazil, Ukraine, Uruguay, and many more! I get to learn right alongside these folks and hear their firsthand experiences with human rights violations and the work they are doing to make their country a safer place for their loved ones. It is utterly inspiring.

My preferred mode of transportation, until snow falls, has been riding my bike. It rained last Friday, so I tried to catch the bus. I say ‘tried’ because when it pulled up to me at the bus stop, it slowed down, but never fully stopped, and took off as though I was not there. Now I am nervous to rely on the bus to get me to school when winter comes. Fortunately, due to some magic, Maddi (my fiancé) was right there in her car seconds after the bus drove by. When she pulled over, she actually stopped and picked me up (Metro, take note, you stop when someone is at your bus stop)! Thank you for taking me to school Maddi!

On the way home Friday, I rode the bus and when we stopped on Franklin Ave, there was a young lady cracked out at the bus stop. Eyes, jolting everywhere, body making uncontrollable movements, and then I saw her lips desperately wrap around the crack pipe as she was lighting it. Right at a crowded bus stop, for all our eyes to see, but she was not with her body. She was clearly somewhere else, and everyone moved around her cautiously. I couldn’t help but feel so sad for her and all the others in her position. What could she be, if the world was a kinder place? What could she be if she had access to all the opportunities that her heart desired? Who could she be if she did not feel the need to escape this fucked up world through that pipe?

I feel like this is a good time to begin talking about why I chose to even apply for a Master of Human Rights program. This may be something I continue to explain throughout this Queer Balladeer blog project. So let me get that ball rolling now. When my dream of playing professional baseball was born at about eight years old, I was quickly met with powerful resistance due to my gender. “Girls can’t play ball,” was the dominant narrative that continues to persist today in every sport. It wasn’t even until this year that U.S. Women’s Soccer players were even able to get equal pay, and the US women’s soccer team is one of the most popular sports teams in the world to ever exist, man or woman.

So, at eight, being told that the reason I can’t play professional baseball is due to something that is completely out of my control because I was born female, never mind that I was one of the best players on the team, this was when I first felt my social justice spirit stir and wake. Due to man-made, arbitrary, gender norms that trumped everything, those of us outside these norms just had to suffer silently. But my spirit was and has always remained fierce and I refused to accept that narrative of the dominant culture. I continued to pursue my dream to be a pro ball player, and when I was 18 years old I found a semi-pro women’s baseball team in South Bend, IN and joined. Even though I lived in Eau Claire, WI, I would drive every weekend in the summer to games all across the midwest, down to florida and up to Toronto, Canada. Playing women’s baseball was one of the highlights of my adult life, though it would not last that long as the resources to continue that path were gravely limited and led to nothing substantial. But the memories I will cherish always. It’s where I was exposed to lots of lesbians for the first time in my life (…more on that later, I’m sure!).

I have a picture of me in my first year of little league baseball. That eight year old that I see reflected back at me, is the person I do everything for. She was so fierce and strong. No one could tell her that she wasn’t going to change the baseball/sports industry. No one could tell her that she did not deserve to be throwing fast ball pitches to the best ball players. No one could tell her that she couldn’t field any grounder, or throw just as hard, if not harder, than any boy. The powerful belief little Jerrika had in herself overruled all dominant norms that were trying to remove her from her dreams. She was bound and determined! This determination set me on a life path of fighting for, not only my own rights, but for every marginalized person.  

This photo is hanging in my studio where I once played guitar every day, now I study every day. She is there to always remind me of the power and innocence that began this journey years before. She is who I do this for. She is why I sobered up from alcohol and changed my life three years ago. Her power is awake in me again. During my years of heavy drinking, I worried so much that I was disappointing her. As I pull the lens back on my life right now, I know she is not disappointed in me at all. In fact, I feel her right beside me, cheering me on. I hope to continue to give her the coolest life full of all her wildest dreams coming true. We’re on our way little Jerrika, we are on our way…!