She stood on Mount Nebo, the place where Moses saw the Promised Land and took in its vastness. She visited one of the great wonders of the world, Petra, and witnessed its breathtaking magnitude. She stood next to the River Jordan, where Jesus was baptized; she rode through the desert on a camel; she climbed to the top of an ancient theater in Amman.
And as wondrous as all that was, the highlight of her trip was elsewhere.
She says: “The day we spent with the students from (the town of) Al Torrah could have been a day I spent with my best friends. Yes, we didn’t speak the same language; yes, the girls wore hijabs (head coverings)…
“But on the bus that day, when the driver put on some music, we all started dancing and suddenly, we were all just teenagers … and nothing else seemed to matter.”
In November, Bailey Russell and four other students from Bishop Kelly traveled to Jordan (with two teachers and Dan Prinzing, executive director of the Idaho Human Rights Education Center) as part of a semester-long, cross-cultural interchange. The program included nine days in Jordan.
“So many preconceived ideas flying out the window.”
She didn’t know much about the Middle East before she went. She did a lot of reading.
But she knew what she saw on the news:
“Desert, Arabs, Sunnis, Shias, camels, turbans, hijabs; maybe darker images: terrorism, bombs, Uzis, rape, tanks, tear gas, dictators. These were some of the images I pictured before traveling to the region.
“(The day we visited Al Torrah), I was filled with a mixture of nerves and curiosity, and I didn’t know how to approach these foreigners … They invited us into the home. Everyone sat down on couch cushions.
“We started getting to know each other over sage tea, and three glasses later, I was infected, infected with their Jordanian laughter and happiness.”
This was her first trip out of the country, ever.
But the experience of bridging differences is one that Bailey has done her whole life, starting from, well, when she was born.
Bailey was 5 months old when her mother, Shannon Russell, adopted her from Haiti.
“I always think of myself as Haitian before black, because I’m not African-American; that’s different. … I am American, but I always say Haitian. I’m proud of it.”
Growing up black in Boise has been formative.
It’s given her a tough skin, she says, and made her strong. She’s fielded remarks that range from curious to insensitive, from rude to hurtful.
“I get frustrated a lot, but I don’t get angry. People are curious. If I lived in an all-black community, and there was one white kid, I’d be, like, ‘Oh, how do you take care of your hair? How do you take care of your skin?’
“But I’m much more sensitive about the remarks I make because I’ve had so many made to me.”
Throughout her young life, her mother encouraged her to explore ideas.
Her uncle, a Catholic priest, encouraged her to take in different experiences and meet different people.
But when Bailey did volunteer tutoring at the Boise Language Academy last year and met refugee students from around the world, she was surprised to note how small her world actually was.
“I became best friends with two girls from Nepal, and their culture just fascinated me. I was almost embarrassed because, you know, they know our language. They know our food, they know this and that — and we know nothing. I don’t know one word in Hindi. I don’t even know anything about what they eat.”
Bailey spent two or three hours tutoring nearly every day — although, she confesses, there was more chatting than anything. She loved the work.
“I had a revelation … The world is so big, and I feel like in Idaho, if you let it, the world can become very small.
“Which is not always a bad thing, but for me, a sense of community doesn’t have to mean small. It can mean sense of community in a worldwide sense.”
This expansive view came hand-in-hand with her growing focus on current events.
Always outspoken and often with a divergent viewpoint in school, she decided she needed facts to bolster her arguments. She devours news.
“When people say this or that, I can say, ‘Well, now, that’s not true. You need to know your facts.’ …That’s one of my pet peeves, people who argue things, and they have no idea ...”
Before the trip, Bailey talked to a friend she had met volunteering who was from Jordan. Her friend described the challenges of being Muslim in America, and when her friend said she didn’t think she would ever feel free as a Muslim in America, Bailey understood something new about stereotypes.
“I have friends. We’ll see a Muslim walk down the street, and they’ll get leery. I’m, like, they’re just people.
“9/11 was horrific. … But we defined Osama bin Laden as the Muslim (people) after that. We can’t do that. It’s scary. That’s how Japanese internment camps happened; that’s how the Holocaust happened.
“Fear is one of the scariest weapons … because when people become afraid, they do crazy, irrational things. …We have to stop feeding this fear monster and start feeding the education one.”
In Jordan, Bailey found some things hard to swallow, which became that exercise in education — watching and listening, asking questions.
She was very disturbed at seeing soldiers with machine guns at the River Jordan. (“I don’t think that’s what Christ had in mind.”)
She also didn’t care for the separation of men and women at the mosques. And she could never wear a hijab — but now she understands why Muslim women do.
“Does it still bother me? Yes, because that’s not what I’m used to. But is it wrong? Is it evil? No.”
When the group returned, she and the other students made a pact to speak out whenever they heard stereotypes and misinformation.
“If you don’t stand up for rights in this world, no one will. That’s a big problem in America. (We think), ‘Somebody else will do it.’
“I always thought: What if Martin Luther King said, ‘Someone else will deal with civil rights’? Would I still be going to a different bathroom than you are?”
The trip has cemented Bailey’s quest for justice and her zeal for working for human rights.
When she was younger, she considered medicine and politics. Now she’s pondering a law degree to work with nonprofits because, she says, one must understand law to fight injustice.
“Even if I don’t agree with a person, I still want them to be able to live with basic human rights. … I’ve always loved the idea that everybody deserves equality.
“(Because) when everybody is on an equal playing field, it eliminates so many things — envy, greed, hatred. Hatred spawns from ignorance and misinformation and un-education. One big thing about justice is making sure everyone gets an equal education, (which means) people are going to be more culturally aware, and cultures will get along better.
“It’s a big domino effect. I want to be a part of it.”
Know someone living “from the heart”? Idaho Statesman photojournalist Katherine Jones spotlights someone in the Treasure Valley who influences our lives not only by what they do, but how and why they do it. Do you know someone we should know? Call 377-6414 or email kjones@idahostatesman.com.
Already open-minded, a Bishop Kelly student finds out the world is bigger than one
