Character Journal - Original Writing

The era of reform in the 1800’s was a time in American history where the country was still trying to balance the power between the Government and the individual states. Era of Reform is a broad term used to describe the changes that were emerging in the country on the belief that people, and the systems that governed them, needed to be perfected. The upper middle and upper class citizens saw some people as maybe less than perfect and wanted to change that. This paper will look at one reform movement in particular, the prison and asylum reform movement.

The air is cold the hallway smells like fresh rain due to a leak in the ceiling. You take a right to continue down the hallway until you see a slightly off yellow with a seven year old boy hanging off of his bedpost while he says “mommy, daddy where are you moving my dresser”. Dresser is said incorrectly for this boy has a speech impediment and it ends us sounding more like dezzer. The boys parents respond “away”. The boy responded “no no no no no leave it here”. Although he had been told for months that the family was moving he was still not able to accept it. That young boy was me. I didn't accept my fate that i was really moving to another place, at the time. Just like millions of american citizens refuses to accept the idea of the atrocities that go on within our food system. People would rather act young and childish then accept the fact that horrible things happen within the world not just our food

Mary Gordon concludes her essay in an interesting way in which she compares American history to a “very classy party that was not much fun until they (the immigrants) arrived” (1013). Throughout her essay, she describes the prejudice and the hardships immigrants faced as they entered Ellis Island. She explains how immigrants are unappreciated for the role they had in shaping American culture and are instead remembered for the suffering they experienced. Ellis Island represents that not all of American history is honorable and glorious, but from Gordon’s perspective it should be. Coming from immigrant descent, Gordon sympathizes with the fact that her ancestors went through tough situations in order to establish a home in the United States.

By day 4 our hotels had run out of fuel and water. Sanitation was dangerously abysmal. As the desperation and despair increased, street crime as well as water levels began to rise.The hotels turned us out and locked their doors, telling us that the "officials" told us to report to the convention center to wait for more buses. As we entered the center of the City, we finally encountered the National Guard.The Guards told us we would not be allowed into the Superdome as the City's primary shelter had descended into a humanitarian and health hellhole.The guards further told us that the City's only other shelter, the Convention Center, was also descending into chaos and squalor and that the police were not allowing anyone else in. Quite naturally, we asked, "If we can't go to the only 2 shelters in the City, what was our alternative?" The guards told us that that was our problem, and no they did not have extra water to give to us. This would be the start of our numerous encounters with callous and hostile "law enforcement". We walked to the police command center at Harrah's on Canal Street and were told the same thing, that we were on our own, and no they did not have water to give

Reading Jhumpa Lahiri’s essay, My Two Live, I got that the author, as an Indian-American, tried to define herself throughout her whole life. The changing of her feeling for her identity and the death of her parents and her bicultural experience changed her feeling for her identity from humiliating to confusing to accepting to cherishing. Lahiri wanted convey us that the bicultural things can be seen as a shifting equation and she used “one plus one” for instances. Basically, I agree with her notion. However, in my opinion, the result of the equation is not just zero or two. It should be equal three or even bigger, when you really understand your great nation, United State of America.

Imagine, smoke in the air. Cloudy and gray outside, with sounds of carts being carried across rocky gravel. The shouts of people talking about politics, economy, and most important, the revolution. You can hear people yelling and disagreeing with others opinions. You are standing in the middle of the rocky road looking around, watching people’s actions, watching slaves work hard, watching women carry babies and holding their children’s hands. Kids leather shoes, clapping against the road, with laughter coming from their mouths. Dogs barking, horses pulling away from their riders. Everything is so busy and loud. You can barely hear yourself think. Shouts come from a small house across the road.

I am writing this journal for you so that you will always know our heritage and where you ancestors came from. We may be United States citizens but our culture and homeland is elsewhere. Somewhere I am hoping you will one day visit. Here is a little bit of history about our dear homeland. The island of Puerto Rico (formerly Porto Rico) is the most easterly of the Greater Antilles group of the West Indies island chain. Located more than a thousand miles southeast of Miami, Puerto Rico is bounded on the north by the Atlantic Ocean, on the east by the Virgin Passage (which separates it from the Virgin Islands), on the south by the Caribbean Sea, and on the west by the Mona Passage (which separates it from the

Inside the county jail, the officers looked at me with disgust and distrust. Then proceeded to tell me that “the colored entrance is in the back”. So I exited the jail, my face burning in embarrassment. I don’t know what I had expected. Walking around the jail, I came to the colored entrance where I was greeted kindly by the elderly African-American man who let me inside, and lead me to where Rosa was being held. He let me inside her cell, and I took my place in the chair across from her at the small and dingy table.

Reporter stated Gabriel came in yesterday, 5/1/18, for a risk assessment. She was sent from his school. He made a statement wanting to kill the teaches and himself on 4/30/18. He wrote a note and the note stated “I am racists. I don’t like white people. I just want to kill them and both my teachers. They everything me. They lie on me. I just want to kill myself.” Reporter asked what did he mean by “they everything him” and Gabriel said they blame everything on him. Gabriel said he is not suicidal right now. He shook his head yes for still wanting to hurt his teachers. He does not have a suicidal plan. Mom (Lakesha) said that Gabriel does not have access to any weapons. She had no safety concerns for him. Gabriel does have a history

I stared at the rough wall of our new “home.” Since I was stuck in an internment camp, there was no way my summer -and maybe the rest of my life- was going to be enjoyable. The torrid camp was hot and dry, There were more people than the overcrowded barrack could fit. Each barrack held row upon row of cots.

The year is 1892 and America stands on the precipice of change. Well over 12 million starving, restless immigrants place themselves before the Americans. All of which took that leap of faith into the cold unknown. Their fates are sealed and in the hands of strangers whom owe them nothing. Opportunity awaited past those iron gates and for many there was no

I just was hoping by praying to Moses I was headed towards my freedom. I kept traveling and walking until I finally came to some stop. I looked around and from a very far , I could see a cardboard sign. I immediately collapsed to the ground crying , when I realized the sign said , “Welcome to Pennsylvania”. I had made it , Me , a runaway slave I made , I am free at last.

"Why did Mildred stay at your house? as I recall you give her the creeps" She says.

Sitting at a crowded table surrounded by my friends roaring with laughter, I gazed out at the ocean. The glaring sun burned on my skin, and I was exhausted from spending the day at the boardwalk of the Jersey Shore. My stomach was growling, and all I could think of was how badly I wanted food. All of a sudden, the aroma of melting mozzarella and fresh tomatoes hit me like a train. I could hardly wait. The waitress soon came over and left the pizza on our table. I wanted to begin eating at that second, but first I had to take a picture of this beautiful creation.

Using the readings in this module to support your comments, respond to the following two questions in your first post: