What Global Citezenship Means to Me

Danielle Fenn

In English to know something well is to know something like the back of your hand; in Italian it’s the inside of your pocket. If I study the back of your hand will I be able to map out your personality? If I let you in to a pocket of my life will you know me any better?

Every morning I wake up in a bed with a box spring, a mattress, a set of flannel sheets, and two comforters. Breakfast is waiting in the cupboard upstairs; there is cool milk in the fridge. I hop on the bus and am transported to the school doors. Is this a universal Canadian experience? No. There are people starving in my country too, people without access to clean water in provinces that are speckled with fresh water lakes. My country is divided by historical tribal resentments.

To be a global citizen is to recognize that despite cultural, ethnic, race, gender, mythical differences all people have the same basic needs. To recognize that some places in world are better equipped with resources but not necessarily better at distributing them. To be filled with a sense of responsibility when confronted with suffering instead of a sense of pity and sorrow. If we consider ourselves as part of the same global family we won’t want to let that family down. Nothing is worse than the look of disappointment on the face of your mother, father, sister or brother, all who love and want the world for you.

The back of my hand has a scar from a bike accident; it has sunspots and bumpy blue veins. My pocket is littered with dryer lint, gum wrappers and bits of scrap paper that help me remember where I left my keys. What’s in your pocket?