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In 1996, Osama bin Laden was a name on a white paper making the rounds in Washington D.C. The first World Trade Center bombing was three years old. By the end of the year, his organization, al Qaeda -- `The Base' -- would explode a truck bomb outside of the Khobar Towers military base in Saudi Arabia, killing 19 Americans stationed there. The wounded numbered in the hundreds.
For two years, professor and anthropologist Pamela Reynolds studied Crossroads, a shantytown in South Africa.
"The people who come to our church usually were either thrown out or walked out of other churches." Pastor Richard T. Lawrence leaned in heavy and delicately worked at a cup of coffee. He was a big man with a bum leg and an expansive beard. When he talked, he was deliberate and steady, like a Catholic, but when he looked up, he winked like a Baltimorean. His family has been here five generations, but his church has been here longer. As live-in pastor at St. Vincent de Paul Church, Lawrence is the caretaker of the oldest parish church in the oldest archdiocese in America. "We're one standard deviation more liberal and one standard deviation more intellectual than the other churches of Baltimore," he continued. Behind his head, next to the window that looked over the small outdoor statue of Mary, sat a row of tobacco pipes. "The funding is always slim, but never precarious. Our parishioners are very generous." He moved to his coffee again. It brought him to the subject of the homeless.
I grew up in Brooklyn. My earliest memory is of my father coming home from work. He was a banker. It wasn't a glorified job; he worked for a small savings bank. He had come out of the Depression as a farmer, had been drafted in World War II, then had come home and worked his way up from a teller to the president of this small bank. I remember watching him beginning his life when he came home. He liked his job, but he was a different person when he came home. I remember thinking that wasn't for me. But I knew that I was going to have to find a job doing something I loved. Later on, I realized that the academic life would let me do what I loved and get paid.
St. Augustine was recorded as saying, "The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page." In that spirit, we launch a new periodic column dedicated to travel that has illuminated Hopkins students, faculty, and staff.
The actual disaster response operations are a tiny sliver of my work. Our most recent operations were for Katrina and the Pakistan earthquake. You know, they could have been just awful, depressing experiences for the people who went, but it fundamentally changed their lives for the better. How many people get a chance to be part of something like that? The personal impact when you help someone in need is tremendous.
Anjali Pant, International Fellow with the Department of Emergency Medicine at Hopkins Hospital, and Daksha Brahmbatt, a faculty member at the Hopkins Public Health School's Center of Disaster and Refugee Relief and a registered nurse, are no strangers to the aftermath that disasters leave in their wake. As part of the Hopkins response to Hurricane Katrina, they faced the staggering health crises from homeless survivors, many so far below the poverty line that they were unable to afford even basic medical care. Many were suffering silently, without medication, until relief teams from around the nation were able to establish field hospitals and restart medical care.
Saturday, August 27 was Move-In Day at Tulane University. At five in the morning, Hurricane Katrina spun itself over the hot, ceaseless waters of the Gulf of Mexico and transformed into a Category 3 storm.
Washington, D.C., may be the most overanalyzed city in history. In the popular imagination, every monument contains a hidden Masonic symbol, every federal building is a little used annex where Deep Throat met Bob Woodward and every man in a suit is John Kerry. And, like many other locales that thrive on legend, if you come to the District looking for the legendary, you can find it.
When I was working with the survivors of a terrible riot in 1984, one day two tall, turbaned men came to my department in Delhi. I was taking a class. They asked the chowkidar [watchman] where I was and then stood outside the class.
In any city, there are some things that everyone seems to cheer for. One of the perennial favorites of Baltimore is the horse-racing season at Pimlico Racetrack. Hot dogs, Yuengling and sun hats all figure largely in this beginning of summer pastime, but the races are greater than the sum of their parts.
SALUD, a Hopkins undergraduate service organization dedicated to aiding the Hispanic and Latino communities in Baltimore, held their fourth annual Student Leadership Conference, entitled "Changing the Face of Healthcare: Addressing Diversity and Disparities in Health Care" on Saturday.
It was the heart of one of our unseasonably balmy Saturdays. As usual, Jay was running late. It was the damn bum leg again, he claimed. Then he whistled through his teeth, rubbed his leathery hands on his sweatshirt, and said, "I'll take the shortcut."
"See, this is all about philanthropy."
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A Malaysian proverb says, "The body pays for a slip of a foot."
What you notice about Richard Jasnow first is his impish humor and quiet smile, and his habit, when talking about important things, of closing his eyes.
Johns Hopkins' Homewood campus and a thirteen block stretch of Monument Street in East Baltimore have little in common.
The Gates, designed and installed by iconic artists Christo and Jean-Claude, graced downtown Manhattan's Central Park throughout February. A series of orange PVC arches sat every 20 feet along 23 miles of walking paths, each saffron curtain was stitched together from pleated nylon. Past projects of the artistic duo include wrapping the Reichstag, the German Parliament building in Berlin, with reams of silver plastic in 1995. The Gates was one of their more ambitious works, requiring negotiation and planning with New York City that began in 1979. Its ambiguity was also a departure from past public art installations in New York and was both lauded and criticized for its lack of overarching themes.
"There is nothing too hard . . . "