Archived Story

Feeling others’ pain - Students at Lolo School imagine the emotions of persecuted people and speak for them

Westley Lund - Black Americans
“The Voices Whom History Has Silenced” emerged from a piece of writing, an interior monologue, which is simply the imagined thoughts of a character in life at a specific point in time. They are best guesses based on experiences as witnessed or evidenced through first-person stories, poetry, quotes, photographs, artwork, song lyrics and music.

The very act of considering, “How might this person experience this situation?” develops an important “habit of mind.” When writing we tap into our own well of pain, pride, sorrow, confusion, and joy. Although we may never have experienced racism, oppression, or marginalization as have large groups of people in our country, we’ve known the pain of losing a family member or friend; we have experienced the difficulty of making a tough decision; we have felt on the outside or been put down by others. Likewise, we have felt joy.

From these shared emotions we can construct a piece that allows us to attempt a momentary entrance into another person’s life.

That is exactly what my eighth-grade students did after extensive reading, as well as human rights studies in Social Studies class, theater of the oppressed work with Karie Pietrykowski, and much discussion. They wrote interior monologues as though they were a member of a culture who has experienced racism, oppression, marginalization. Students also created pieces of narrative art using mixed media to attempt to reflect the depths of racist actions as well as the hope for a time without human rights violations. The groups of marginalized people consisted of Japanese-Americans, Native Americans, Jewish-Americans, Hispanic-Americans, women, Arab-Americans and black Americans.

Dave Christensen
Seventh- and eighth-grade language arts teacher
Lolo School District 7

Racism

I am the fire that burns everything

I am the slap across the face of man

I am the ash at the end of life

I am the dust that everything will turn into

I am the lonely people

I am their tears

Their pain

Their dreams

The dreams that they have laid under your feet

Step lightly

For you step on their dreams

Don’t crush their hope with your hate

Don’t kill them with your hands or weapons

Open your horizon

And pass through the wall of hate and death

Learn to let them all live

Learn to let them all feel happiness

Not only sadness and pain

Let your hand touch them lightly

Not with pain that they always get

For being what they are

Or who they will be

Let them live

Let them live their lives

No hate

No pain

No racism

Bishop Bartle




DYLAN CAPLIS - Women's Rights



I Remember

I remember picking cotton in the fields

my hands blistering,

my back aching,

sweat dripping down my neck.

I remember my brother

the scars on his back,

the look on his face,

ashamed, hurt, hopeless.

I remember the burning cross in the yard

the ghostly men with the white hoods,

galloping away into the darkness,

reckless, evil, careless.

I remember the speech given on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

I have a dream,

I will not give up,

I will fight back.

I remember the song

strange fruit growing from the poplar trees,

full of sorrow and pain.

I remember the bus

The driver telling me to give up my seat.

I shall not be moved.

I will stay strong.

Now, and forever.

Alisa Barker




ALISA BARKER - Black Americans



It Doesn’t Matter

It doesn’t matter

That I raised you from

Crib to grave.

It doesn’t matter

That I gave my life for you

So that you would succeed in

Life.

It doesn’t matter that

Everything I got I gave to you.

It doesn’t matter that

You did not thank me for all I did.

It doesn’t matter that

As soon as you could you left

Without a goodbye.

It doesn’t matter that

You did not call me on my birthday

Or any holiday for that matter.

It doesn’t matter that

You came to my front door beaten and poor

With only the clothes on your back.

It doesn’t matter that

I nursed you to health

And helped you pay for things.

It doesn’t matter that

When you were well again

You left after you took my money

And my valuables.

It doesn’t matter that you stole, lied, beat me

To get what you want.

It doesn’t matter to you that you

Treat me like filth.

I guess it doesn’t matter to you

That I raised you with all my heart.

But

It does matter to me

That all you see is

I AM A WOMAN

Taylor Heath




KELLY BALFOUR - Japanese Americans



Assumption

you call us irrAtional and barbaric,

you call us camel jockeys and towel heads,

you call us teRrorists and power seekers,

but we Are americans just like you.

you call us evil sheiks and heartless villains,

we cant deny our heritage,

But we live in this country just the sAme.

we cant deny who we aRe and where we cAme from,

But, no one can.

there is no true american,

everyone came from somewhere.

but still you call us.

greAsy merchants and mad dictators,

we are portrayed as,

cruel, deceitful, hot tempeRed fanatics.

when you think of us you think of,

deserts, camels, and aladdin.

you somehow believe that are heArts are filled,

with secret plots to destroy america.

But what makes you think that you are more american than me?

i am A person,

and my thoughts aRe not of

belly dAncers and oil,

but of hope, peace, and an end to this

assumption,

aBout who arabs are,

and who they are not.

Ali Laird




JONAH CARDWELL - Jewish Americans



Hope

I am the art that is hidden

That I hope someday will be displayed.

I am the courage in her eyes

Standing up for hope and change.

I am the dishes she has always done.

Soon to be a lawyer fulfilling her dreams.

I am the children she dresses everyday

Soon to kiss goodbye for work.

I am the speech so strongly written

The ears that gasp as they listen.

I am the rose that starts to wither.

For fear of losing a battle.

I am the pencil indenting deeply,

Pressing hard for hopes and dreams.

I am the cheers of woman,

Agreeing with strong passion for change.

I am the star that never lightens,

The pressure for change that must stay heavy,

I am the dragon breath spraying fire of change in your face.

I am the tears of fear,

That sting your soul.

I am the change you are soon to know.

Dylan Caplis




TAYLOR HEATH - Women's Rights



That day it all ended.

That day I discovered the attack on Pearl Harbor.

I was

Angry, afraid and confused

Because of what was happening to my country.

Yes, my country.

Just as much mine as theirs.

I was born here,

Raised here.

I was an American

I am an American.

I was sad, scared, concerned

For my country -

How was I to know?

How was I to know it would all change that day -

All get worse,

All end.

How was I to know my grandfather was arrested?

Japanese fishermen, you see, were considered spies for Japan.

How was I to know

That the banging at my door that night would echo

In my head forever?

How would I know that later that night my tears would soak my baby sister’s face

As I held her in the corner of the room.

Watching

Watching with my mother as my brother pleaded with the tall men

To not do this to our family.

I still remember that glance of my father’s strong green eyes

Staring into my tear-filled ones, giving me some small amount of hope and bravery.

I vaguely remember the rest of that horrible night.

A blur of running, screaming,

Gathering what belongings we could.

Being in a crowed train

Behind barbed wire

Gathering straw for beds.

I remember confusion, tears and helplessness.

I watched as my little sister grew up in a world surrounded by a fence.

Believing she wasn’t good enough -

Believing that somehow she was different

That in some way - she deserved this.

I was, and am, an American

I believed in this country.

How was I to know that didn’t matter?

How was I to know the color of my skin would speak for me?

How could I have known my loyalty to America meant nothing?

Kelly Balfour




SAM BELLEQUE - Women's Rights



I couldn’t understand why

It was only a book.

I wasn’t breaking any laws.

The Nazis just came up behind me

And grabbed me.

I was taken to a dark building.

I could feel the fear of the others.

Some that never left.

I feared that I might have the same fate.

I was lucky though,

I got to see the sun again,

But only to be abused.

Only to be horribly mistreated like I wasn’t a person.

Only to watch as all my belongings were burned.

I cried, not for the things that I lost,

But because I finally realized that nothing mattered to these people.

Nothing except my skin,

my religion,

my books.

I didn’t understand

Why man, considered to be the most intelligent race,

Was so dumb as to be blinded by somebody’s skin, religion, books.

I couldn’t understand.

Emilee Williams
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