Newton’s third law says “To every action there is an opposite but equal reaction.”
Beginning, End.
Arrival, Departure.
Future, Past.
One thing I am realizing as I wrap up my Political Science/Journalism internship in Washington DC is that these nouns are more than just scales of time defining a moment in one’s life; they are transition points, continuously shifting, moving, and evolving our lives from one experience to another. The internship has ended, but a new era of my learning has begun. I depart Washington, but arrive at new memories of friendships, trials, and triumphs. I skim towards my future, but my past acts as a light of guidance. In such a continuously changing story, where do I start my reflection?
I could start at the first day I got the call that I was awarded the internship, standing in the cold November air outside the ENMU Communications Building. Or I could start at the endless shopping trips, with my mom, sister and I fighting Christmas crowds and Black Thursday bargain crows to assimilate my Washington worthy wardrobe. Or I could start at the first time I met my lesbian roommate in the crowded cafeteria of the Chicago Midway Airport, not knowing that I would spend the next four months constantly in her company through thick and thin, fun and failure.
But maybe it’s best if I don’t start with my very first night in DC, when this small-town country girl got ripped off $40 by a slick DC taxi driver who knew a guppy when he saw one. Or the time I rode my bike to the Northwest side of DC (not a great part of town) to buy basketball shorts and was the only white girl in sight. Aaannnddd I’m sure it wouldn’t be a good idea to start this reflection with the story of how I called the ticket office of the George Washington University and told them I was credentialed press doing a story on the uprisings in North Africa and could I get free tickets to the Ladysmith Black Mambazo concert that night?
Although those are each interesting, comical, and enlightening stories, none of them capture the essence of what I learned while living in DC. It is hard to quantify four months of experiences, decisions, and relationships. But one central theme in my adventures was community, the specific groups of my work, home, and environment that interacted in unique and inspiring ways. Each was separate from the others, but all offered me different support, encouragement, and challenges.
My work environment consisted of two communities, the office community and the Capitol Hill reporter’s community. Although they were similar, these two groups of people offered me vastly different experiences. In the office, I was a grunt worker, an intern used only to cover events and provide free labor. When my events were finished, I would upload audio clips and talking point summaries to a website. While my writing and editing courses superficially prepared me for the duties I was expected to complete, my editors taught me the necessity of stylistic choices and lead sentence configurations. They also taught me the difficulty of dealing with poor workplace communications. Their interpersonal relationships were built on the need to hold power over each other. Since my supervisors were harnessed with such a heavy workload of editing, website managing and event coordinating, they were often excessively stressed and short-tempered with each other and the interns. This was real-life co-worker experience that cannot be achieved in any classroom setting.
The second facet of my work community included the reporters of Capitol Hill. Every day, when I was not confined to the office, I would attend pen and pad sessions, press releases, and news conferences that showcased a number of national political leaders. The events also brought together some of the greatest political journalists in the country. I quickly learned that journalists are not the cut-throat, hardcore people I anticipated them to be. While they are very dedicated to their trade and to getting the true story, they also are friends and co-workers who create a support system for each other. One moment that stands out in my mind is when I sat down at a conference table during a pen and pad session with Eric Cantor. As the journalists around me continued talking and joking together, I sat quietly and enjoyed their banter. Then I impulsively turned to the woman next to me and fired a quick, sarcastic remark about Eric Cantor being a swarming maggot, and she burst out laughing uncontrollably. She then introduced herself as a managing editor for Human Events and when she heard I was new to the Capitol Hill scene, she proceeded to introduce me to several of the journalists in the room including writers from Politico, The Hill, Reuters, and CNN. It was in that moment I realized that although these people are dedicated and hardworking journalists, they are still people, with emotions and needs and networks.
The third, and most endearing, community I established in DC was that of my apartment building, Folger House. The four story red-brown building became a beacon of relaxation and fun in my mind. Bright yellow trimmed windows added an air of levity to the Capitol Hill neighborhood where it was situated, and the large sign that said “Folger” over the door led its occupants to being called The Folger Family. Folger contained a conglomerate of interns all in their twenties who formed a special bond over politics, intellect, and circumstance. Initially, the seventeen in my Folger Family spent time together simply because we didn’t know anybody else. But over the semester we became inseparable, always hanging out on the weekends and evenings. We often joked that the drama created within Folger would be the perfect setting for a reality TV show. But no matter how irritated we became with each other, we recognized the Folger House was, and always will be, a place of discussion, exploration, and learning.
A fourth and final community I experienced in Washington was the political community. Washington is a city built on politics, power, and ambition. Everywhere you go in DC there is some inkling of the political realm. The streets ooze politics. The women click around in high heels with their Staff Badges bouncing on their hips. The men huddle together in rich Italian suits and discuss the latest hearing, mark-up session, or legislation. Newspapers with dramatic political titles litter the sidewalks. The Capitol Rotunda looms over the trees, always visible. In every coffee shop, young staffers pour over op-ed columns while their blackberries blink incessantly next to them. Washington eats, sleeps, and breathes politics.
Living in the midst of this political hub was like a crash course in political language, rhetoric, and practices. Although I studied major political figures in school, there is no greater learning tool than having to facially identify politicians in the Capitol hallways and on the capital streets. Many times I was unable to put names to the faces that I was looking at and was reduced to writing a physical description in my notebook and scouring Google after the interview. It was not only names and faces I learned in Washington, I also learned history by witnessing history in the making. I researched past legislation that led to current amendment legislation. I analyzed politicians and their staff and discovered the truth behind who really runs the policy-making procedures. All of these are examples of experiences I had only ever read about and watched on TV. While in Washington, I walked the walk and talked the talk of the Big Leagues.
Although nothing could have prepared me for what I experienced in Washington, Washington prepared me for the experiences of my future. I am confident that my college courses will take on a new meaning now that I have witnessed political and journalistic communities of Washington. I am eager to resume my classes because Washington has instilled in me the necessity of gaining a higher education in order to be a better player in the political game. Although I will miss the constant buzz of the Washington political community, I know continuing my college courses will better prepare me to return to Washington either as an elected official or a journalist.
