This is Jessie, again. Ever since my sister told me about Rochelle’s daughter and her school project I’ve been preoccupied by the differences between the experience of my daughter, Rachel, at eleven and that of Rochelle’s eleven year old daughter, Kalinda. For Rachel, eleven was the age at which she made two major decisions that have guided her life ever since. She decided that after she finished college she would go into the Peace Corps, and she decided that after she finished her Peace Corps service she would go to medical school. She did both.
Rachel was a smart child and did very well in school, but all her friends were also smart children who did well in school. So were her cousins. So had her parents been, and her aunts and uncles. Rachel never had physical fights with other girls at school, like Kalinda. But then, Rachel was an only child, born to two professors with PhDs, both in their late thirties, without great wealth, but with plenty of money for all of life’s necessities and many of life’s pleasures. Rachel lived in the same house for her entire childhood, the same one she visits now as an adult. When her second grade teacher said she was having trouble with arithmetic, we practiced every day until she was confident about it. In middle school she started learning both French and Spanish and then went on a school trip to Europe during spring break, where she was able to use these languages in real life—albeit on an extremely limited basis! Before she left, her travel group had explored the countries they would visit, and we had taken down the globe from its shelf in the dining room several times, to examine the route she and her fellow students would take. Both of Rachel’s parents and her aunt and uncle had served as VISTA Volunteers in the 1960s and 1970s, and several cousins had been Peace Corps Volunteers. Both her parents and her aunts and uncle had advanced degrees. She grew up with the tradition of both service and advanced education. By the time she was eleven, it was clear to her that this is what life involved.
What has poverty meant for Rochelle’s eleven-year-old daughter, Kalinda, and in fact, for all her children? They have moved from apartment to apartment and school to school all their lives, as Rochelle has attempted to find rents she could afford and housing that was safe. There are few books in their home, and despite a valiant recognition of the obligation to go to school, no tradition of learning or excitement or exploration of what is presented at school. When Kalinda began having trouble with arithmetic, Rochelle, preoccupied with work, economic difficulties, and extended family problems, has had no spare energy for intensive tutoring. She had always been good at arithmetic, and her attempts to deal with her daughter’s mathematical shortcomings frustrate her. I don’t know what Kalinda’s plans for her future are, or if she has any. I doubt she has ever heard of the Peace Corps. Her academic experience has not been enjoyable, and I’m sure she has no thought of attending college. She is in the “slow group” at school, and she often gets low grades.
If Kalinda’s economic circumstances were different, would she be the bright little girl Rachel was? That all of Rachel’s friends were? If Rachel’s circumstances had been like Kalinda’s, would she have been the reluctant student, aggressive and uncooperative in school, like Kalinda? I can’t know that. I have met Kalinda only once, when she and her mother and siblings all went out to lunch with my sister and me more than a year ago. Kalinda sat across from me in the restaurant, and we talked throughout the meal. I was struck by both her good manners and her appropriate conversation. She was friendly, lively, and outgoing. She certainly didn’t seem “slow.” Rochelle is the third generation of single mothers in her family, and it seems very likely that Kalinda will be the fourth. Rochelle is the first person in her extended family to have graduated from high school, though it has done her precious little good. At this point it is hard to imagine that Kalinda will graduate.
Now the federal funding for SNAP, aka food stamps, and for the after-school program that Rochelle’s children attend has been cut. And of course, there are the many states, like Texas, that have decided that increased Medicaid eligibility (which would cost these states very little) is out of the question—mostly to make a political point.
So, though impoverished children are covered, impoverished adults are not, and their extremely low incomes make them ineligible for Obamacare. Less money for food. No money for afterschool care. No money for adult health care. Rochelle’s children are perfectly normal in stature. We rarely see starving children, short and emaciated, in our country. We do, of course, see many who, like Rochelle’s children, eat far too much of the wrong foods: too high in fats and carbohydrates, too low in protein, vitamins, and minerals. But those foods are tasty, filling, and comforting, and cheap enough for their mothers to afford.
The stunting we see in 21st century America is different from the stunting of bodies that existed in the past in this country, and that still exists in too many other countries. Today’s American stunting is the stunting of the mind and the imagination that comes from our addiction to paying for poverty on the installment plan. Apparently we Americans are willing to save a little money today by cutting back on social benefits for Rochelle and Kalinda and the millions like them, and pay for their stunted lives in high interest installments in the future: poor health, handled through high cost emergency rooms; an eternal parade of school dropouts with no job skills whose lives must be subsidized by grudging and inadequate state and federal benefits; babies born to unmarried mothers who can’t support them and whose entire youthful lives must be maintained by a different range of grudging and inadequate public programs; and worst of all, the high and tragic cost of lives destroyed by drugs and other criminal activities, and mediated through the criminal justice system These national installment payments promise to be the eternal price paid by a country that refuses to guarantee decent lives for all its citizens. And the price doesn’t begin to cover (because costs like these are always in the fine print) the pain and stunting of each individual life, like Kalinda’s or Rochelle’s.