On occasion, I like to describe my childhood as a Norman Rockwell painting. I grew up here in State College, and I remember summers of barefoot softball and best friends' pools. If the real world had any concerns, they were miles away.

But I had a neighbor, a middle-aged woman named Pat, who didn't quite fit the picture. She lived on a corner in my neighborhood, so every time I went to my friend Eddie's she would see me. Most of the time she would just vaguely grimace at me. Other times though, she would stand before me and say: "damn Jap."

When you're young, you have the benefit of not really knowing what people like her are talking about. This is especially true in a little town like State College.

Nestled away in Happy Valley, State College can seem like an oasis from the hardships of the outside world. As students, most of us come for an education of the privileged; the rest come for a good time.

Naturally, then, it's easy to forget what it's like for the less fortunate. We aren't bad people, but we need reminders. In a way, we need people like Pat.

Some reminders are stronger than others. I remember a year ago, at a Penn State Amnesty International function, I heard a heart-wrenching story from brothers from Sierra Leone. Three brothers, when only in their early teens, returned from fishing one day to find their family slaughtered.

Their uncle had been dismembered and hacked to death. Their mother and sister had been dragged away, presumably raped and killed. There was "blood everywhere," said one brother quietly. The family was a casualty of the diamond-cartel wars in Sierra Leone, where cartels force service and obedience with the threat of dismemberment or death.

Like many others there, the brothers began a life on the lam. After four years of living hand-to-mouth, and after one of them passed away, two of the brothers stowed away on a ship destined for America.

When they arrived here, however, they were unable to obtain legal aid. Political asylum seekers are protected under U.S. and international immigration law, but for two poor young brothers, unable to speak English, luck was scant.

Almost immediately, they were deemed adults and the process began. Before they knew it, they were shoved into Pennsylvania's York County Prison. Incarcerated along with criminal inmates, they remained there for more than a year.

It was not until the investigation and intervention of independent agencies that the brothers' case came to light, and they were given due process.

While it's nice to see things looking better for them, it must be said that literally hundreds of asylum seekers remain in York County Prison. Some of them have been there for more than five years. Some have been beaten by other inmates.

Unfortunately, the brothers' story is only one face of oppression among many, and the current political climate is not likely to be helpful. New "anti-terror" legislation such as the PATRIOT Act digs up practices of the McCarthy era, re-invoking guilt by association (read: Islam) rather than conduct.

Moreover, a new proposed PATRIOT Act would not only allow federal prosecution using secret evidence, but also the secret arrest of immigrants. Why bother with the courts, when you can simply make people disappear?

We are on the brink today of a not-so-new era of paranoia and oppression. The last time Big Brother came around this strong, he was opening FBI investigations of protests during Vietnam. Surprise, surprise: The new PATRIOT Act terminates limitations on federal and police surveillance of lawful activities.

Or consider the guiltless detention of immigrants -- do we remember the internment of Japanese people during World War II? Have we learned anything? Maybe. Maybe not. Pretty weak for "My Opinion," but I just don't know any more. If we haven't learned anything, however, we need to.

Granted, it's easy not to care in a town like State College. Even if we are thinking about oppression, we're probably doing so over an afternoon latte. "Internment camps? Oh, wait, a scone too, thank you." I can hear it now.

But really -- we aren't bad people, we just need reminders. This is what makes this Thursday's Day of Silence for Victims of Oppression so important. From 10 a.m. to 6 p.m., participants will take an oath of silence in solidarity for all victims of oppression.

Typically, the National Day of Silence is intended to raise awareness for sexual orientation issues. This year the scope has been broadened, however, amidst concerns for awareness of oppression in all its forms. I couldn't imagine a more appropriate time for it.