Two weeks back, I was returning from the gym, unsuccessfully trying to deal with the after sweat. As part of my daily routine, I retrieved the mail key from our apartment and went down the stairs to fetch the mail.
For months, our mailbox had been filled with mid-term primary campaign mailings. The vitriol and conspiracy especially in some of the materials makes you really detest politics. So even for someone like me who nerds out on politics, it was a relief that we had returned back to normal: ads for window cleaning, credit card offers, on-site car wash and real estate agents.
Our landlord has kindly arranged a recycling box right under the mailboxes for sorting. Most of it goes right in there. There were only two noteworthy items: the latest issue of Maanpuolustus (the magazine of the Finnish National Defense Courses) with an interview with Finland’s President Alexander Stubb on geopolitics and one standard United States Postal Service envelope. Both had my name on them.
We were expecting an important letter in an official government envelope. But I could feel through the envelope that there was something thicker than a piece of paper inside it. I got my hopes up.
My husband was abroad for work. It was too late in Central Europe to FaceTime him. I sat down at our kitchen table and ripped open the envelope. It contained a pamphlet for new immigrants and a letter-size white paper with a card attached to it.
The card was green.
It has been a long journey to get here. Three years and ten months, to be exact. We have went through all the things you have seen in movies: affidavits, interviews, lawyers and binders of documents from utility bills to birth certificates.
But we are here now, having a permanent right to live and work in the United States.
It feels unreal.
This decision came at a symbolically important moment. Fourth of July this Saturday marks the 250th anniversary of the founding of the United States of America. Regardless where you stand with your politics, I think it is safe to say that the last year has been tumultuous. I see it across the nation in my work with libraries and foundations. When I talk to my American family, friends, clients and colleagues - Republicans, Democrats and Independents - I hear people asking: what is the present and future of this country? What exactly are we celebrating?
As an immigrant, I understand the concerns while see many reasons to celebrate. There is one big reason for my hopefulness:
I work with cities.
I established Studio Laitio in February 2024, shortly after concluding my fellowship at Johns Hopkins University. Majority of the work our team does is in cities in the United States. I feel fortunate to daily witness the perseverance, idealism and pragmatism of youth, nonprofits, philanthropy and public sector workers in American cities.
It is moments like hearing Chicago Public Library’s Commissioner Chris Brown talk about the 81 Club, which opens access to library collections to all 315,000 public school students without having to apply for a library card. It has taken several years to get here. The 81 Club is removing a real obstacle from the lives of children and teens and reminding them and their families that they own the library and its collections.
It is moments like standing in the heat of Charlotte, North Carolina, with high school students. They are carrying out observational studies on how the public spaces of Charlotte work as spaces for hobbies as part of their summer job as fellows in our City of Hobbies initiative. Four local nonprofits have gone over and beyond to build a diverse cohort of 30 youth from nearly 600 applicants. This fall, we will use the young people’s research and the results of county-wide survey to drive grantmaking and placemaking. Our goal is simple: to make Charlotte into the hobby capital of America. This exploratory work is made possible by The Gambrell Foundation, which refuses to accept the standard narrative that joy and belonging are luxuries that we should only get to when all other problems have been solved.
It is hearing Karlos Marshall from Dayton Public Library talk in our Urban Libraries Fellows program about their award-winning Reading Railroad initiative, which promotes reading amongst Black boys and men. The program highlights distinguished local leaders from entrepreneurs to civic leaders as Hometown Heroes and invites them to run storytime at the library.
It is watching people take the seat at the Oval Office at the Obama Presidential Center, correct their posture and flash a wide smile for the camera. Or how a local asset for Southside Chicago, a world class branch library, has been built inside a national monument.
It is being moved every time I run the stairs up to the Lincoln Memorial and laughing my ass off when a quasi-factual version of that same story is utilized as the inspiration to the silliest comedy I have seen for years.
My recent visit to the Obama Presidential Center was emotional. I experienced sorrow, grief and elation during my visit. The visit made me think a lot about the idea of hope. The museum’s exhibition is skillfully done. It delineates from the tempting narrative of a heroic individual and centers movements of people driving change and the ebbs and flows of progress.
The part of the exhibition that moved me to tears was a video projection, which focused on June 26, 2015 and how remaining hopeful can be difficult when progress and tragedy coincide. That day, the Supreme Court announced its decision to approve marriage equality (read: gay marriage) as a federal right, a landmark decision in civil rights after decades of advocacy and activism. But it was also a day of the memorial of State Senator Clementa Pickney who was killed by a gunman in a church in Charleston, South Carolina. The video asked how as a leader you balance a major civil rights win and a violent tragedy on the same day? Those are the moments that test your perseverance.
Here are two clips from President Obama on that same day, first at the White House and then in Charleston.
I have lived in America for four and a half years. In my work and among my family and friends, I see incredible generosity, kindness and people going over and beyond to change systems to serve more people better. I hear public sector workers share how much there still is to do and how we have slided back from the progress America had made towards meetings its ideals. But what I admire is that they show up, every day.
As the United States reaches its semiquincentennial this Saturday, I decide to remain hopeful. America is teaching me that hope is not wishful thinking but hard work. It is service, exploration and resilience. It is being mindful where you direct your energy and attention. It is creating space for asking for help, acknowledging hardship and at times asking someone to step in for you as you are exhausted. It is living with the contradiction of joy and hardship. It is recognizing pain and injustice and getting to work. It is taking care of yourself and your loved ones, but not at the cost of others. It is supporting good people doing great work. It is doing your best. It is showing immense compassion to people who operate and depend on systems that are often inadequate or even designed against their core premises.
Happy Birthday, America.
I know I am a guest here.
Thank you for letting me do my part.
Tommi, your post made me well up. Thank you for working to make our civic spaces so fulfilling. Congratulations on your permanent residency!