You don’t have to live like a refuge… except on Mischief Night

Has anyone ever heard of Mischief Night?

Apparently on the night before Halloween, inner cities batten down the hatches for a night of vandalism, or worse, evidently in anticipation of Halloween night the following evening.

One of the maintenance workers in my office told me that “mischief night used to be fun. A little graffiti, a few eggs here and there, and we’d all go home, drink soda, and watch movies all night.”

He told me all this by way of lamenting what Mischief Night has become since then—houses and car get lit on fire, cars are destroyed when people bash in the windows, and passers-by get mugged or kidnapped.

The principal of the San Miguel school (where two of my roommates work) told his students at assembly that he did not want any of them to even leave their houses that evening because in the past, some students have not returned to school for several days following mischief night. When Mark asked one of his colleagues what happens on mischief night, the very well-mannered man answered, “They burn the f***ing city down.”

So, what does a group of white, new-to-the-inner-city volunteers do? Pack our bags and sleep somewhere else.

While I’m sure those who work with immigrants and refugees would object to my use of the term (which I use loosely), we were actually refugees for the night. We were displaced from our home because of a well-founded fear that we might come to harm if we remained there.

We went to the Philadelphia JV house, where we were warmly received by our friends with beds to sleep in and homemade Filipino food. Really, it was a pleasant gathering of friends, but for the fact that we couldn’t go home.