Anusuya Sivaram

As a student in central London, the vibrancy of the city never ceases to amaze me. Not only does the action never pause, but the city’s rich multiculturalism is evident everywhere I go. A four minute walk west of my flat leads me to bustling Chinatown, where I can buy anything from a lacquered tea set to a pig uterus. Five minutes southwest leads me to Soho, often labeled the heart of the gay scene in London. Ten minutes to the north takes me to the British Museum, where I can see (but not touch) relics from literally everywhere the British army set foot—which is indeed, everywhere. A few tube stops away is Brick Lane, where I can eat a fiery curry and get my eyebrows done in the afternoon, and dance the night away to an underground British indie sensation. However, London’s diverse population isn'’t constrained to these artificial oases of difference. As opposed to other places I called home, when I go out, I see people in every size, color, shape, and flavor.

When I first arrived, I was struck by the number of new immigrants the city housed, —literally. The first meal my family shared in London was at an Indian restaurant in King’s Cross run by a Bangladeshi man. My father struck up a conversation with him, asking him about his family and his job. When asked if he was happy in London, there was no doubt in his mind —he was absolutely certain that London offered him more opportunities, more support, and more options than his native Bangladesh had. From welfare and health care, to business opportunities and cultural enclaves, London had everything he felt he needed to lead a rich and productive life. I asked him why he chose London, —there are plenty of other cities in the world that are closer to Bangladesh—, his answer surprised me. In his experience, and the experiences of his peers, London was more racially and culturally tolerant than cities in the Gulf or other European cities, and even more so than America.

In the two months since I had that conversation, his answer continues to surprises me less. Tolerance isn'’t what I experience here—, a celebration of everyone’s differences and abilities is a more accurate characterization of life in London. Universal health care and professors whose doors are always open provide support, albeit in very different ways. Trafalgar Square hosts celebrations for nearly every holiday in the world, and I can find a protest (and counterprotest) for a plethora of causes on London'’s streets. I can kiss my date in plain sight across from St. Paul'’s cathedral and nobody bats an eye. There are Hare Krishna groups passing out fliers to the twenty-somethings queued up for entry into the hottest gay bars in Soho, and Asian immigrants hawking beautiful handmade crosses in Portobello Market. London feels like home because it is everyone'’s home. There is room for every belief and every person—not just a grudging concession in the spirit of “tolerance,” but an active concession to encourage every lifestyle to thrive. Despite the bitter cold, I’m thriving here as well.

I spent my Easter Sunday racing around the King’s Cross neighborhood in search of 3 kilograms of rigatoni, a significant departure from the way I’ve spent the holiday in previous years. The heat and humidity, along with the fact that it was a bank holiday, made the experience far from pleasant. When I returned to the shelter an hour later, I was sweaty and exhausted, but triumphant in my goal. I volunteer for an organization called Foodcycle, based in Central London. Every Sunday, we collect surplus food from grocery stores and farmers markets to cook nutritious, vegetarian meals for the homeless in our neighborhoods. The process is exhausting—we visit 3 separate sites and carry approximately 40 kilograms worth of bread and produce to the kitchen where we operate. For the next 5 hours, we’re cooking about 40 3-course meals, serving our beneficiaries, and washing a seemingly infinite number of dishes. When we finish for the evening we’re physically drained—however, I feel that I can speak for all of our volunteers when I say that the work is spiritually and emotionally rewarding.

Every Sunday I see the same faces line up to be served—however, my peers in the kitchen change weekly, drawn from a seemingly endless pool of eager volunteers. The devotion each volunteer exhibits is something I’ve never experienced outside of Georgetown. Many of them attend LSE as full time students or hold full-time jobs—in some cases, both—but all are enthusiastic about giving up their precious free time to serve people they’ve never met. Competition for cooking spots is fierce—our rota is filled up weeks in advance, and cancellations are rare.

However, I’m not sure that what I’ve encountered is pure selection bias—that our volunteers represent a microcosm of the British population who are extremely committed to service. The UK’s spirit of volunteerism is obvious to any casual observer. LSE’s Raising and Giving society is one of the largest organizations on campus. A different charity collects on every street corner, and it seems as if a national fundraising campaigns is always taking place. Most recently, Red Nose Day called upon citizens to “do something funny for money”—the whole city was dressed up in outlandish costumes, comedians performed for charities, making the spirit of giving as contagious as the laugher that accompanied each performance.

Georgetown’s tradition of service stems from our mission as “men and women for others”. Though the Church of England is officially established, only 15% of the UK population attends church at least monthly (2007 study by Tearford). Additionally, a 2003 study found that only 35% of the UK population “believes in God”, compared to 73% of Americans. In his speech at the beginning of Michalmas Term, former LSE director Howard Davies remarked that it’s perfectly possible to become elected to political office in the UK as an atheist, a feat that’s nearly impossible in the US. As an atheist, I’m well aware of the fact that religion isn’t the only source of morality or empathy for others, but I am surprised at the way that charities have managed to engage people of all ages and backgrounds to give back to their communities and the world at large—in my experience, a role that is often occupied by religious organizations.

The invisible presence of organized religion in the UK leaves me with mixed feelings. The community that a church offers is unique, and its benefits often extend to more than its immediate members. I do miss Georgetown’s emphasis on reflection and personal development, something that I’ve tried to recreate for myself here in London. On the other hand, I’m happy to live in a place where religious considerations don’t dominate politics in the same way that they can in the US—though the UK has its own share of political problems. My time apart from Georgetown has made me nostalgic for the times I’d catch the faint sound of 11:30 mass from Dahlgren as I walked to the ICC to study, and the presence of the Jesuits I love and respect on campus. I know that my own personal development owes a lot to both my family’s and Georgetown’s different spiritual traditions, but my experience at LSE has allowed me to observe the counterfactual. While I can’t say whether a country with a stronger religious tradition is any better or worse off than others, I can say that service is an integral part of my life. Whether sponsored by a church or not, and I’m glad to have the opportunity to serve here in the UK.