Artur Zhuk, age 13

Tanvi Jeph

I see everyone through my window pane
People walking and crossing the roads,
Children holding the hands of their parents
Dogs walking with pride, wagging their tails

In the night I see,
A cricket jumping in the grass rubbing its wings
Stars twinkling and carpeting the whole sky
It is very somber but it doesn't feel the same 

The next morning, I see through my window pane
People shouting and screaming, asking for help
Buildings and houses are burnt, crushing hundreds
Blood is flowing all over as if it were water

Now every day I see ,
Camps set up on the streets, which are the new home
The faint barks of the dogs can be still heard
The beautiful sky is now carpeted with hatred and war

Now my window is burnt,
Blood all over my clothes and on me 
My eyes twitch and my lips try to move
I will never be able to see through my window again

Poetry

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Tanvi Jeph imagines the horrors of war.

Through My Window Pane

Adina Gerwin

People do not need national identities to unify them and should instead recognize their existence within a global sphere.

The word division is defined as "the action of separating something into parts or the process of being separated." This exact division is something human beings have been doing for centuries. 

The constant search for difference and the need to divide into factions has been and still is fundamentally ingrained into human interaction. We continuously divide ourselves by tribe, status, race, religion, and wealth — citizenship is another classification of this phenomenon. The earth's land has been sectioned into countries, its inhabitants divided into citizens of those nations. 

In many ways, those divisions make sense. Every country has its own cultural identity, a key one being language. Communication, how people express themselves,  is a fundamental aspect of society. When I studied abroad in Germany, I was intrigued by how common phrases portrayed different parts of the culture. For example, most Germans would often use the phrase, "I believe (Ich glaube)," while in American English, the more common saying would be, "I think." This slight difference in language reveals a lot about both countries' social norms. The language in one place promotes directness and forcefully stating one's genuine opinion slightly more than in another country, where the common phrase is simply less intense. Phrasing and language are essential in creating and having a cultural identity. People in different nations also enjoy the stability and consistency of having a set of social norms and societal expectations in their lives. There is a profound comfort in the familiar and the idea that a border protects cultural identity. 

Moreover, in theory, having separate governments and nations allows people to maintain their unique culture, heritage, lifestyles, and traditions. The hope is that governments will represent their citizens and act to further the varying goals and interests of those on their land. Furthermore, people will be able to preserve their past and feel protected by the simple truth that they are citizens of a nation. The government, or more specifically the idea of a protected piece of land, allows people to feel secure in the fact that there is a designated, unique place in which they can freely live and celebrate their culture.

To some extent, this is all very true; however, there is no one genuine interest, lifestyle, or even culture every citizen of every country has or wants. Citizens of nations across the world are, at any given moment, struggling with numerous issues plaguing their land. With so many controversial topics, most countries, to varying degrees, have a broad political spectrum. Just because people come from the same nation does not mean that they will have the same culture or even a desire to be grouped with one another. Furthermore, many citizens of the same land have very different lifestyles, leading to a significant contrast in goals and aspirations for both themselves and their country. A rural farmer will not have the same life aspirations or hopes as a lawyer working in a city. Even if there is a shared culture built on national pride and patriotism, people who have entirely dissimilar careers and live in vastly different places with distinct landscapes, such as diverging transportation methods, unique weather patterns, or even different infrastructure, will have different goals and lifestyles. The reality is that shared lifestyles and beliefs are much more uniting than the concept of citizenship. People do not need national identities to unify them and should instead recognize their existence within a global sphere and their power to create change and establish connections with people from a much greater international community. 

For example, the United States is a country where patriotism and national pride are very common. From ideas like "the United States is the land of milk and honey" to the concept of the "American Dream," there is a deep foundation in the national ideologies that fill the land. However, while both a lawyer in a city and a rural farmer might be united by their belief in a patriotic principle such as the "American dream," their life goals and the way they each will bring that dream to fruition will diverge completely. Ultimately, the entire concept of citizenship being able to unite people in a genuine way is very fragile. Other factors like lifestyle and struggle are more critical to achieving meaningful connection than citizenship is or ever could be. 

In that same vein, while some nations are governed by religion and therefore use religious practice to deny people citizenship, most countries don't have specific uniform criteria for citizenship. For many people, the idea of having criteria like political belief or small lifestyle preferences, let alone skin color, religion, or ethnic and racial background, as determining factors in someone's citizenship eligibility seems egregious and unjust. This comes from the foundational principle that not all citizens look the same or have the same lifestyles or beliefs, leading one to believe that citizenship may not be as significant or as large of a common thread between people. 

While not all patriotism is terrible, and through American country music, celebrating veterans, or the several national holidays created around patriotic values citizens can unite despite massive political polarization, nationalist pride is a complicated issue.

Many citizens across political divides believe that the United States is the best country in the world and are joined together by listening to patriotic country music. However, while this camaraderie can exist, there is also the fact that, in reality, there is no one way to be an American citizen. There is no one way to look or sound American, no one shared belief, and there is not even a unique culture that everybody in all 50 states takes part in. While this celebration of citizenship and culture around national pride does exist, it's genuinely not as if the country's inhabitants are united simply because they are all citizens of the same place. When it comes down to it, citizenship is not a very powerful tool or recourse in establishing connection. Therefore, people should acknowledge the value of seeing profound commonalities between different human beings regardless of citizenship and use that unification to better our global world and communities. 

Moreover, often when people believe that their county is the best, they ignore the many benefits of living in a diverse global world. Patriotism can become dangerous when people begin to think that their nation is superior and, therefore, they themselves are superior. This belief can discourage people from seeking global experiences such as participating in or learning about different cultures and meeting new people. Citizenship, patriotism, and national pride can obstruct the international community. For example, unlike in Germany or other places in Europe where high school study abroad is widespread, in the United States, traveling abroad for a high school exchange year is unheard of. When trying to understand this stark difference in high school and pedagogical culture, in my experience as an American exchange student, one of the most common things that come up is nationalism and nationalist pride. Growing up in the United States often means a constant presence of patriotic values and prideful ideas around America being the best. Unfortunately, I have seen that this can and does hinder students, especially younger ones who have yet to receive a college education from wanting to explore other places and cultures. Similarly, those ideas and that cultural emphasis on national pride stop so many Americans from analyzing their country's faults and being open to or even just learning about the many different, sometimes superior ways other cultures, nations, and governments operate. 

Despite these phenomena and the existence of countries and citizenship, we as individuals must remember that a global community does exist. While national identities are real, ultimately, citizenship is not an essential part of what connects people. Being a citizen of the world means acknowledging the fragility of citizenship and understanding the value of genuine human connection and shared purpose in this life. We must all recognize that the lines we draw and the nations we create are not very important to establishing meaningful relationships and that we are all people just living

on this globe. Being citizens of the world is about realizing our collectivism and the many responsibilities we have to the earth, each other, and the broader community. We must, as human beings, understand the value of seeing beyond borders or geography and instead recognize the importance of taking care of one another and protecting the beautiful planet we all have the privilege and right to call home.

In a KidSpirit Big Question article, teen writer Adina Gerwin examines the connections that bind us within and across boundaries. 

What Does It Mean to Be a Citizen of the World? 

Jack Green

If you like realistic fiction and adventure, then you should read The Night Diary by Veera Hiranandani. 

This book is about a quiet 12-year-old Hindu girl named Nisha and her family’s journey out of Pakistan after India is freed from British rule. The Night Diary is written in the form of letters from Nisha to her mother, who died giving birth to her and her twin brother, Amil. At the beginning of the book, this format is hard to follow because it seems like Nisha is always talking to someone else, yet there is minimal dialogue. However, as the story goes on, it gets easier to understand and more interesting. 

Two themes of the book are family and sticking together. As the story progresses, Nisha and her family endure hardships, are forced to leave their home, and grow closer as a result. Her grandmother, Dadi (Dadi means grandmother on the paternal side in Hindi, Sindhi, and Urdu), loves her but is distant and doesn’t know how to handle Amil and Nisha. Her father is rarely home due to long work hours and, when he is home, he treats Amil poorly because Amil can’t focus or read.

Nisha, Amil, and the family’s cook, Kazi, have always been very close. However, Nisha and Amil are Hindu and Kazi is Muslim. This may not have been a problem before, but after becoming free from Britain, India and Pakistan are separated, and Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs are forced apart. Nisha believes that they are citizens of the same world and that people don’t need to separate; in fact, she is not even sure why they are separating. However, not everyone shares Nisha’s views on citizenship, and Nisha’s family is forced to leave Kazi behind in Pakistan, along with some of Nisha’s cousins. This completely changes their lives and the lives of many other citizens of Pakistan and India. 

There are two main events that bring Nisha’s family closer. After being forced to leave Kazi, Nisha’s family begins to run out of water. Amil and Dadi become very sick. Amil nearly dies, and this shows Dadi and Nisha’s father how horrible life would be without Amil. Nisha’s father begins to treat Amil less like an annoying toddler and more like an adult.  The second way Nisha’s family gets closer is through Nisha’s mother’s brother, Rashid Uncle. On their journey to India, Nisha and her family stop at his home to rest. He brings their family closer by giving them a temporary home and getting to know Nisha and getting her to talk more during the time she stays with him. He also convinces Nisha’s father to be a little kinder and more open. 

The family’s stay at Rashid Uncle’s causes most of Nisha’s character development; she becomes much more brave, talkative, and open. However, an event at the end of their stay causes Nisha to become even more reclusive. In my opinion, this is the most interesting part of the book, because it shows Nisha and Amil learning to socialize with others. They didn’t have many friends at home, so it is very interesting to see how they make friends with a Muslim stranger. This part of the book also conveys more emotion from Nisha than almost any other. For example, it really goes in depth about her feelings for her mother and Rashid Uncle. The content about her mother also elaborates very well on the beginning of the book, and I found that very interesting.

Although it’s a great book, The Night Diary gets off to a slow start. At the beginning of the book, there is a large amount of background information about Nisha’s daily life, some of which feels unnecessary. However, about 60 pages into the book, it gets more interesting. The book also tells the reader about some history and provides an education on different cultures. Hiranandani writes about the need for doctors in India, portrays a significant moment in India and Pakistan’s history (during the partition of 1947), and tells the reader about some leaders from that time period. Veera Hiranandani is an amazing author and she adds lots of descriptive language, like “I could hear the low buzz of men’s voices, but they didn’t sound angry or scary” (page 105). The beginning of this sentence shows one example of descriptive details in this book. 

In conclusion, I rate this book four out of five stars because of the descriptive details and character arcs. I did not rate it five stars because, at the beginning of the book, there is very little emotion from Nisha and Kazi, and the book mostly talks about Nisha’s mother and the past. The final reason the plot is slow at the beginning is that Nisha is clueless about the partition, so nothing seems tied together. But this taught me a lot about how fast changes in a community like this can come and how hard they can be for some people, especially when they lack sufficient resources, like water. This book also taught me how important it is to be educated about events like these. The Night Diary is aimed at ages 10 and up, but I would totally recommend it to anyone who likes history, adventure, or realistic fiction.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Jack Green reviews Veera Hiranandani's novel The Night Diary.

A Review of The Night Diary

Dhruvika Parikh

From being clueless about citizenship to becoming an ethical citizen of this world, my journey has been a bumpy ride. 

From being a clueless person about citizenship to being an empathic and ethical citizen of this world, my journey has been a bumpy ride. 

When I transfered to my current school, Riverside, I found that there were a lot of new terms they used that had never been implemented in my life before. These included conglom, coming together just like one big family to discuss our personal lives; FIDS (feel, imagine, do, and share), a process which helps you shape your final goal or output; and citizenship, taking up the initiative to be a responsible citizen by giving back to this world. I remember being intrigued by the term citizenship. It felt exciting, different, and something like love at first sight: magical.

I asked one of my classmates, Aaradhya, about citizenship. I still remember how my question put a smile on her face, and she answered, “Citizenship is about owning up to being a citizen of this world and trying to give back as much as we get. It's okay if you don’t understand; at first, I didn’t, but gradually you will.”

I patiently waited for the 4th session, and it was time. The teachers told us to assemble, better known in our parlance as conglomerate, on the floor. They began talking about the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) set by the United Nations, which define what we want to improve worldwide. The SDG we had chosen for the year was hunger. We watched a video on how children in rural areas face famines and don’t have the appropriate amount of food to eat. It was touching. I returned home and reflected; while I was eating, I remembered that skinny, feeble child who ate from the garbage to survive and fell sick due to the germs in the waste. That day I didn’t waste a single morsel of grain.

After a few more sessions on citizenship, we co-created a ‘Hunger Experience’ with our teachers. We all had the same mindset that, if we stepped into the shoes of children who don’t get proper meals, we would be able to understand them better, giving us the motivation to create a difference.

The next day was the Hunger Experience, which meant no food from 8:00 am till 3:00 pm. It sounds easy, but trust me, it was exasperating. By the 3rd period of the day, just after sports, we all started to get ravenous. On top of that, we had to put up with the sun’s heat directly on our heads, making us even more hungry. We did a lot of writing that day, but not one of us had the energy to solve an easy multiplication sum or recite our multiplication tables from 12 to 15. Everyone just had one thought: food. Even if someone disliked a particular food, they were ready to eat a plate full of it. While trying to complete a worksheet, I had no energy to solve the word problems and just wrote "Food" in answer to all the questions. 

The worst part was seeing other people eating – it was pure torture. At the end of the day, our homeroom teacher held out a banana and a few biscuits, and we all started pushing each other just to go and get something so minor. Our teacher then proceeded to give all of us a banana and a few biscuits. We tried imagining what those children who were possibly even younger than us could be going through by not getting their deserved rights. We remembered when we wasted food or ignored someone asking for alms on the street. We all felt that heavy emotion of guilt. I couldn’t even imagine being in that older woman's or young girl’s position. What would I be? Tired, exhausted, or just helpless?  To make up for our ignorance, we all vowed to help those students who don’t get enough food. While we may not see immediate effects, these small steps will make an impactful difference in the long run.

Before knowing how we could help, we needed to understand what was needed. So we partnered with an NGO, Akshaya Patra, which provides meals to children studying in municipal schools. We met children the same age as us studying in a municipal school and compared their height and weight to ours, along with the number of meals they ate in a day. The difference was vast. For two and a half weeks, we accumulated around 1,100 kgs of Dal for those children by asking people in our community and putting up posters in chat rooms. 

Each of us contributed to the 1,100 kilograms of Dal.  This is what it means to be a citizen, helping with slight changes for the bigger picture. Over this whole period, I realized how a small thing such as not eating food for six hours could lead to more empathy for children facing hunger and drive people to create change. Being in somebody else’s shoes helps us experience the pain and struggles they go through. At the end of this, I recalled what my classmate said, and I finally understood. Citizenship isn’t something that can be explained by words but rather an emotional connection with yourself and others.

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Dhruvika Parikh reflects on a school trip that taught her the meaning of citizenship.

Empathic Experience

Natalie Tai

Bare feet digging into the earth, I could feel the dampness of the soil clawed between my toes as I gripped the last bit of solid ground. 

Then there was a gentle quake, a rumble, then a merciless crack down the middle. I watched as my feet parted with the earth, the gushing Pacific waters roaring between my numbed legs, callously reaching for every last corner where only echoes of one remain.

Now I stood with one foot each on a separate island, my two feet still trembling as I steadied myself on the ground beneath. Raising a foot meant plunging into freezing waters. I could not pick a side, for both islands grounded me home.

I was one year old when I first moved to Taiwan. Gripping with fat fingers that bright red passport engraved in gold, a banner reading “Majulah Singapura” (“Onwards Singapore”), this was where my story started, my adventures as a Singaporean expat in Taiwan. But what did it mean to be Singaporean? The looming question of who I was, of where that fine line between my legal identity-tag and my true identity stood, continued to oscillate in the walls of my mind. It would be too bold to claim I was a Singaporean, yet even more bold would I be to beg Taiwan to take me as one of their own. I looked down at the waters between my feet, sensing the stinging soreness of my legs as they trembled as I tried not to lose my balance. I wanted to pick a side, to be a part of something greater, to become one of those around me, and so I shifted my center of gravity towards my Taiwan, slowly letting go of my blood-bound home.

At 10 years old, that bright red passport began collecting dust. In spite of my growing sense of indifference towards my given identity, it wasn’t something I tried to hide or pretend wasn’t mine. But as time went by, my citizenship slowly became nothing more than just a “return to” column on an ID card, a library stamp on a borrowed book, or a sharpeed phone number on the sweaty palms of a 4-year-old child. Saying I was Singaporean was like prefacing a conversion saying, “if found, please return to Singapore”. For the first time, I wasn’t lost. I was content with what life was in Taiwan. Roti Pratas at the local Kopitiam became Danbing Yotiao at the corner breakfast shop. Ice cream sandwich “Ahngkuhs” became daylight market “Ahyis” stuffing a freebie bouquet of cilantro into my shopping cart. From friends to food, I loved how it felt to be disguised among a crowd of Taiwanese locals, to feel like I belonged somewhere, to be accepted and held as “part of us”. But I began to forget who I really was. Perhaps being split down the middle, being a little bit of both, being unsure of who I was, is all a part of me.

At 15 years old, I finally dug through the attic, scavenging through red and white linen, crescent moons and the five-pointed stars of the Singaporean flag. As I reached the last pile of patriotic goodies, there lay the red booklet still, my Singaporean passport. Just as I thought I had found who I really was, I saw the little booklet in my hands, weathered gold leaving only a faint depression of a banner, reading what was left of a pledge, “Maj l h S ng pu a”. The letters, barely legible, sunk into the tainted cover curled up with time, speaking of a promise of progress now barely visible. Could this be what Singapore really is? A nation speaking of onwards, justice, and equality yet showing nothing true to those words in reality? 

I looked back at the shores of the Lion City in search of an answer, in search of where that fight for onward progress stood. From the shores of Taipei, I searched across the Pacific waters for the signs of promises fulfilled, for actions that spoke the same Majulah Singapura as I had heard in pledges and anthems. But then I saw nothing, nothing of progress, nothing of justice or equality. Under the heavy shackles of political and social conservatism preventingSingaporeans from speaking freely against injustice, to protest for their rights, I saw the indignance of activists, the desperation of the marginalized, muted as the weight of government censorship and deterrence stood firmly above. I saw a Singapore afraid of its own people, a country unwilling to move forward with equal rights for its citizens as the world passes it by. Maybe this is what Singapore really is. Maybe this is who I am. 

Yet just as I was about to draw a conclusion, that Majulah Singapura stood as empty as the fallen gilt on my little red booklet, I shifted my focus and found what truly mattered, something more than any injustice or inequality. I saw the Singaporean people, bound not by gender, race, or religion but by their shared vision of the Singaporean dream, their fight for faith, for love, for life. I watched Singaporeans from all walks of life raise their voices against the country’s capital punishments, against homophobia, against the epidemic of mental illness consuming Singapore’s youth. Standing face to face with political censorship and government oppression, Singaporeans were fighting for what they’ve been promised for so long, for what was written on their same red booklet, Majulah Singapura. 

So what really is Singapore and what does it mean to be Singaporean? I brushed my fingers across the little red booklet, caressing the faint depression of where words once stood. Gold paint and great spirit, I layered on what was to stay forever, Majulah Singapura, Onwards Singapore. Onwards to a nation where its people defined who I was: bold and bright like the banner stood. To be courageous, to be indignant, to be a truth-seeker. At last, I found my place, my identity as a Singaporean.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Natalie Tai describes feeling torn between her birthplace, Singapore, and her adopted home, Taiwan.

Onwards, Singapore

Marium Ihsan

One of the most prominent issues of this century is climate change. 

There has been horrific news of natural disasters that range from permanent droughts to increased flooding and a global food crisis because of the loss of fertile land for agriculture. As global citizens, we often hear of this news, but we tend to turn a blind eye.  We have become accustomed and desensitized to even the most bone-chilling statistics. More often than not, our privilege and social confinement prevent us from drawing connections to the plight of many of those at the forefront of this climatic catastrophe.

For many years, I have heard a popular sentence: “In the next 20 years, Pakistan will face a serious water crisis.” I often heard this repeated on news channels, in geography books, or on the internet, and I always imagined just how grave this “water crisis” would be. 

Fast-forward 17 years: I am a Pakistani citizen, and I have access to clean drinking water; admittedly I am single handedly responsible for the wastage of gallons of water because of my unsustainable lifestyle. If I have all these facilities so readily available to me, then there must be no crisis, right? Wrong. 

The first instance when I was introduced to the realities of this alarming problem was in 2021, when I met with a district judicial officer who had resided in Dera Ghazi Khan, a small yet urban city in the South of Punjab, for two years while working on uplifting the community there. After hearing about the unimaginable stories of malnutrition, dehydration, and a complete lack of clean drinking water just four hours away from where I enjoyed all these facilities, I began my efforts to reduce the treacherous water scarcity in D.G. Khan. 

Initially, my efforts were limited to research and awareness so that I could thoroughly comprehend the situation in the city and navigate how to solve the water scarcity crisis for the 2.5 million people residing there. The research exhibited that, over the years, many samples of the groundwater from random areas within D.G Khan have been collected and tested, keeping in mind the World Health Organization (WHO) guidelines for safe and clean drinking water. Most of the samples collected in D.G Khan were found unfit for human consumption because they contained high levels of sulfates, chlorides, sodium, magnesium, and bicarbonates, as well as bacterial contamination. One can imagine that such high levels of contamination would have drastic effects on not just the health of the people but also the agriculture and livelihoods of the locals.

I quickly realized that awareness would not make a dent in this issue, considering the intensity of the situation. This is when I began designing a plan of my own that could make a difference to hundreds of different families. Associating myself with one of the NGOs working in D.G. Khan, the Musa Khan Foundation, I initiated a program to raise funds to construct a water sanitation plant within the region. The organization I worked closely with had already established a dozen purification plants, dispensaries, and dining halls. 

We collectively worked together to raise money through donations and contributions and began funding the development of the purification plant. The last step before construction and initiation began was visiting the city. I visited D.G. Khan in the summer and truly understood the crux of the matter I had spent the past few months researching. It was clear to me that no amount of research could have truly illustrated the depth of the scarcity and drought. Children, younger than myself, shared their stories about cholera, stomach viruses, and malnutrition, which they suffered from because of the lack of clean water. Residents were over the moon upon hearing the news of the construction of a new filtration plant close to their homes. 

One story that particularly left a mark on me was that of a young, 25-year-old mother of two; she shared with me how her husband was a laborer who worked as a builder in Lahore and she took care of her two children by herself. Holding back her tears, she elaborated on how frequently her children aged three and seven would fall ill from either a stomach virus or extreme dehydration in the hot summer months. She stated that she worried day and night about what the future held for her children, desperately praying that her fate would improve and her children would be able to live long, healthy lives free from the worries that burdened her — hoping that they would be able to move away from the dry, barren lands of D.G. Khan to somewhere that offered them fresh fruit, fertile land, and clean water. 

While putting faces and a community to my research aided me in sympathizing more and becoming familiar with the troubles of the populace, I would never truly be able to understand what type of problems paraded through their daily lives or the concerns of a young mother responsible for the future of her children, simply because I live a cushioned life miles away. 

However, the experience led to a realization that as citizens of not just a country but the globe who hear and learn about such pressing issues, there is a responsibility that lies within us to ensure that the vulnerable, marginalized, neglected, and the community as a whole is taken care of. In instances of power, wealth, and prosperity, there should be equal efforts to reciprocate and contribute greater amounts to the success of a community. A right is not a luxury, but many of us blessed with luxuries often consider them rights, and it is our duty to be mindful of what we take for granted and extend a helping hand.

In a KidSpirit Helping Hands article, teen writer Marium Ihsan explains why it is our responsibility as global citizens to help those harmed by the climate crisis. 

Water: A Right, Not a Luxury

Vincent Chang

With wild eyes, a boy stumbled onto the open banks of an unnamed river. His body was stooped low to the sand. His tread was that of a startled doe. Scratched and bloody, his little frame shook under his deerskin pelt. Run! He was so close to the gushing waves, the sandbank was right before him. All around, the footsteps of his pursuers rattled the forest. A distant whoop from behind was met with a yelp from across the rushing waters. Across the water was the firelight of his clan. Here? He was an intruder, an alien. A streak of wind rushed past his ear — an arrow. The water beckoned at his feet. Another arrow. A whistle, and he felt his leg convulse and gush with crimson. He whimpered and paced at the edge of the rushing ripples, dragging his wounded side. He did not know how to swim. And then he saw them emerge — the tribe across the river. They wore different pelts, muttered words he did not recognize. When he died, he realized that he was not one of them. 

The last breath of the ancient boy loosened in the waters, and the valley carried it in its unrelenting roll of currents and wavelets until it reached the sea. For however many seasons, the waters traced the shores of the world.  They evaporated, waited, fell as rain. Droplets landed in a wider, slower channel — a river running along the divide of Asia Minor — the marker of where Macedonia ended, and where Persia began. 

The Granicus had not a single ripple and flowed so wide that the shallow waters refracted the desert light and mirrored everything on either bank. Grecian horses snorted and stamped amongst groves of silver trees, so high that they glistened in the heat. No — not trees, but sharpened hoplite spears brandished by figures of bronze and leather.  No waterbird dared peek from amid their rustling reed-nests. Before the Greek cavalry, a shimmering carpet of Persian footmen stretched from the water to the distant hills. Sweat rolled from Greek helms and Persian helms, but without a single attempt from either side to wipe them away — their hands were too occupied with spear or sword or bow or rein. 

The waters sensed it as they tumbled about in the currents of the river: this was no longer a primal, savage sort of violence. This was not an ambush. Those on the banks: Greek soldiers and Persian soldiers — were not clans but entire nations risen from dust. This was not a hunt —  this was something new and terrible — this was war. 

A sharp whistle pierced the plains and startled the river fowl into a spiraling frenzy. Before the Persians turned their attention away from the flapping birds, a stallion broke the waves of the Granicus in a feral frenzy. Alexander the Great churned the currents and led his charge. His cavalry roared up behind him, the Greek cavalry rallying across the bank and shattering the watery mirror with their iron-tipped hooves in a tidal wave. Back! Back! The Persians pulled from the banks to brace the impact but the spears had already jutted into their flanks. Men lay dead — skewered — their weapons still polished to a point. Grecian horses rose high, only to be struck down by a cascade of Persian arrows. 

As Alexander fought, he saw in the face of his enemies occasional glimpses of familiarity — for he knew many of these men he killed — mercenaries from Greece, driven by riches away from their homeland. It was Greek blood he spilt, his kindred. But then what was a Greek? Did anybody belong anywhere at all? 

And the Granicus river quietly watched as the promise of gold and power erased all thoughts of fellowship, almost as if all these men belonged to a squabbling band of brutes, rather than the learned citizens of two learned kingdoms. 

It was a tragedy, the waters thought, as they tugged at the strewn shafts of spears and bows, at Macedonian shields and Achaemenid plates half-buried in the sand. A tragedy, that humans could hate their brethren with such sly passion when they were so similar in form. 

Leaving the warm and meandering Granicus far behind, the waters wove together an unbroken tapestry, dispersing as before and falling as rain. But something was different. Something had changed yet again. The drops were struck with a chill, crystalized and bloomed as icy shards. When the deep rush of a new river met them again, nothing was soft and all became dark. 

Nightfall. Funneling the fullest fury of a Siberian winter, a gale blasted across the Berezina river. Howling like a wolf in frenzied pursuit, it was ripping away soldiers’ tents, putting fires to rest, and gnawing at the handles of oil-lamps, so that fumbling fingers froze onto them in the dead of night. 

Draped in the heaviest of cloaks, Napoleon Bonaparte gazed at the dotted lights across the darkness from his little central fire. He said nothing. He knew that the little shimmering specks across the dark Berezina were not stars. Before him, a tumbling flow of ice as sharp as blades encased in river water so cold it cracked wooden machinery; behind him, an ever approaching Russian battalion. 

It was almost a month since his attack became a retreat. Yes, his officers had faced one of the most disastrous of offensives and survived in one piece, only to be stopped dead by a river which they thought had frozen.

Down by the Berezina bank, French bridge-builders hollered under feeble torchlight, bearing frosted wooden planks onto shelves of jutted beams in the water. Floes of ice drifted by, bobbing up and down, scraping against bare skin. Was this punishment for war? 

The gushing waters sighed into the wind. They thought of the river Granicus, the Greeks and the Persians and their shining armor.  Now nothing was valiant. Nothing was honorable. All was dead and cold and desperate in this night. They had arrived in a heartless era, the waters thought, an era where men had ceased to become anything but hopeless firewood — burning brightly together in the flames of conquering and subjugation. 

The river saw all the loaded rifles, aimed at each other in merciless precision. The rivers heard the wails in the dark: The Berezina has lost all kindness. The Berezina is violent. The Berezina is death. From his rigid sheets, General Bonaparte wondered how many of his men would be carried away in the night. The waters wondered what made a feud so bitter and deep, and if the soldiers ever asked themselves why they even fought at all. 

Helplessly, the Berezina rolled away, dragging along artillery and men and arms. In the pines, along the rocks, one river split into two. Winter went and summer slowly crept into the crevasses and roots where the water trickled by. There the waves pondered for a long time over what they saw. It seemed as though it was a human’s nature to find hate in difference, to find safety in violence. Lifting away as mist and up into the sky, the waters returned once more. 

Under flickering light, the keys of a piano rolled. The candlelight put a shine in her eyes. Hands, supple and light; they graced the keys, stroked an empty tune. Rainwater pattered on the sill. The waters flushed with a little splash of joy — this was a war no longer! Did humanity finally learn to forgive? To embrace all with the promise of universal citizenship? 

Somewhere outside there was a drawn-out screech of something falling, falling fast in the cover of night. She knew it was not thunder. She knew it was Andrew’s final flight. 

First there was a hum. Then a shudder rattled the heavens. The woman was flung back. She tasted iron. Distant bells rang, then silence fell as swift as a stage-curtain over her ears. Someplace outside, the shrill cry of an infant was dulled by the ringing of more strikes. The rainwater was funneled away into rumbling pipelines, pumped into a deep, dark channel. 

She stood in her room, her bruised body shaking. She groped in the dark until her fingers met wax. The candle was still warm.

High above, Spitfires dueled with Messerschmitt 109s. As each plane fell, it streaked the sky with a trail of flames. Wing fragments and propellers broke into the English Channel, sunk in a great splash. On the land, another round of Luftwaffe bombs hit their mark; fires bloomed all over London,  lit like sullen little candles, wavering in the pouring rain.

So the waters quietly drifted away. Quietly, because they saw how peoples were set against one another, and in silence, unknowingly, foolishly, obediently, innocently slayed one another. Quietly, because all along no one won the last war, and no one shall win the next. Quietly, because the waters did not see difference — they listened to everything, everyone. Quietly, because there was nothing left to do. 

Coo went the nestling pigeons, huddled in the nooks and the shutter-beams of windows, shadows dark and fluttering. Wind-rise, a lifting of oily wings and the flood of perfume and laughter from the avenue lapped at the edge, where the last limestone step met asphalt. Now there were the sounds: the slash of a tyre through a puddle, of heels atop marble and the clinking of cans against a rubbish-bin. Ding! In came the train. Iron wheels braced against their rails in a gut-wrenching squeal and stopped, dead.

Down came the people, issuing from the open doors of the carriages and stepping into the lights of Melbourne City. Rivers and rivers of people walking in every direction, talking, discussing, humming a tune. Eyes of every color, dazzling under the streetlights. Teeth flashing white — laughter.

A little rain-jacket sprints out from the crowd. A bright yellow against the shuffling chaos of colors. Running, chuckling with glee at the drizzle of morning rain. Up the steps and through the laneways of Flinders Street, the little jacket hops. Splash! Two little gumboots in the middle of a great puddle on the side of a bustling street. 

 A pair of curious eyes peer into the depths of the waters, then a giggle. The water rippled — it was a faint smile. 

In a KidSpirit Fiction piece, teen writer Vincent Chang ponders the violence of humanity through the eyes of an eternal witness: water. 

Restless Were the Waves

Pahal Bhasin

I want to be a citizen of the world,
A world where
There aren’t any boundaries, disputes are none,
And every person is treated as one.
Where everyone has the right to their body, the right to speak,
And these rights are not snatched to make someone look weak.
Where a women doesn’t have think twice before stepping out when it’s late,
Where no one is judged based on their looks, race, or weight.
A world where animal cruelty doesn’t exist,
And deforestation is something everyone quits.
I want to be a citizen of the world,
A world that is led by hope,
A world that is surrounded with love.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Pahal Bhasin envisions a world without boundaries. 

Citizen of the World

Ziyin Zhou and Kailun Sun

From the first laws ever established to the respective legal system of each country today, the justice system of mankind is constantly being refined. 

Lois McMaster Bujold, a famous American speculative fiction writer, said, “The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living to do so for them.” 

From the first laws ever established to the legal compilation of Hammurabi in 1792 BC, to the respective legal system of each country today, the justice system of mankind is constantly being refined. Justice systems aim to keep order across nations and deliver fairness for all citizens. Among them, punishment seems to be the most significant tool, as it penalizes those who violate the law and deters other potential offenders. Additionally, there are some specific exemplary aspects of effective justice systems, such as the anti-corruption law in Denmark and the compensation law in China. 

The most significant measure to reinforce law is punishment, and there are several aims that it can achieve. According to the BBC, acts of punishment offer reformation, retribution, and reparation, indicating that effective punishment should reform the criminal, make the criminal pay for their sins, and most importantly compensate the victims. 

An ancient Chinese folk tale reveals the high standard of self-discipline and morality ancient citizens were expected to possess. It is said that if someone made a mistake, they would be restricted in a circle drawn on the ground as punishment. The idea underlying this system was that, even if there were no guards around, one would never step out of the circle. The people of ancient China realized that the purpose of punishment was not solely to punish the crime, but also to protect the long-standing and well-established customs and traditions on which the people depended.

Indeed, drawing a circle on the ground seems naive nowadays; prisons, which analogously incarcerate people by confining their freedom, are the main method of punishment in the modern world today. To those who violate the law, the loss of freedom can potentially make them acknowledge the consequences of their actions and might cause them to feel regret. What’s more, to those who are willing to reform, punishment also represents a chance of reformation, as it helps them reflect on their crimes and look forward to a fresh page of their lives. In many cases, after penalties, those with conscience in their hearts will do their best to compensate society and become useful and conscientious citizens. Because of its successful prison system, Norway is the country with the lowest recidivism rates in the world, at around 20%. Among the Norwegian prison population that was unemployed prior to their arrests, there’s even a 40% increase in their employment rates once released.

In addition, to potential offenders who are yet to commit a crime, the punishment of others might serve as an alert to them. Punishing one person could deter the whole society and make them consider if they can afford the consequences after seeing others’ outcomes.                

However, although the justice system should be strict, it should also have its boundaries, meaning that it needs to be malleable for each crime. There should be constraints on the government and appropriate penalties should be considered. In ancient times, those monarchs who governed by despotism without etiquette applied cruelty to accomplish what could not be done within their power. These tyrants believed that citizens could be removed from society by the death penalty because they had lost their due morality and violated the law. These ruthless punishments merely stop some of the consequences of evil in general, but they cannot punish its origins. In recent times, more and more countries have abolished the death penalty. For countries that have kept the death penalty, they need to be extremely cautious when deciding to sentence a criminal to death. One mistake made by a justice system can lead to public discontent and tarnish the system. A crime only pollutes the current, while an unjust administration of justice pollutes the headwaters.

In addition, it is essential to consider the particular policies that make certain justice systems more effective. According to the World Justice Project’s Rule of Law Index, Denmark has the best justice system worldwide, based on 4 factors: legislation, law enforcement, courts, and corrections. Denmark has a strict system and the least corrupt government. This level of low corruption in Denmark is namely due to stronger standards of integrity for public officials and its judicial system. Professor Christian Bjørnskov, who researches corruption, finds this result unsurprising, as there is “a special trust culture which makes people very reluctant to pay or accept bribes. It has been like this for 150 years." In 2008, it was made a crime for companies to offer to arrange travel, special services, and gifts for government officials for commercial purposes. It is considered a crime even if rejected by the other party. From my perspective, this level of strictness in law helps to effectively reduce the impact of corruption, as the government tries to keep everyone equal and bring justice to its land; this is why Denmark was ranked first in corruption perceptions in 2021. 

Another unique portion of any justice system is the exoneration compensation system. It is usually neglected by people, but it is fundamental and crucial to the whole institution. As an old Chinese saying goes, “Men are not saints, how can they be free from mistakes?” It is inevitable that misjudgements occur, and what’s important under such circumstances are how much the country compensates the wrongly accused individual. Here are two cases. 

In 2020, in China, Zhang Yuhuan, who was wrongfully convicted of murdering two children over two decades previously, was acquitted after spending 27 years in prison. In 1995, he had been handed a suspended death sentence, which was reduced to 19 years by a higher provincial court over a decade later. The court later awarded 4.9 million yuan ($733,000) in state compensation, the largest sum granted for any wrongful imprisonment. The point of this compensation was to recompense for all his losses over the years and avoid disappointing the public as much as possible. Although no substitute could make up for the time lost and freedom taken, the justice system attempted to compensate the victim for its mistake.

On the contrary, in Colorado in the United States, Deshawn Jones, who was convicted of sexual assault, did not get any compensation. He was sentenced to six years to life in prison. Four years later, he was proved innocent and released. But the judge rejected his compensation petition. According to the Colorado Sun, the judge said, “In order to be eligible for compensation, the Act requires that Petitioner show not only that he is actually innocent of the crime at issue, but also that he did not solicit, conspire, act as a complicator or accessory, or attempt to commit the crime at issue, or any crime factually related to the crime at issue.” He concluded that trading drugs for sex were a crime that was “factually related” to the original — though false —allegations. Therefore, Jones was not entitled to compensation. In this case, Jones not only wasted his precious time in incarceration but also received no compensation. People will eventually feel upset about this system if similar situations happen again and again. How can people trust a system which cannot protect its citizens?      

In conclusion, the effectiveness of a justice system mainly depends on punishment, or how it penalizes criminals to a rightful extent. It also depends on how it treats innocent people — when an injustice is done, does the justice system compensate the wrongly convicted? However, they are not the only means of measuring the effectiveness of the justice system; focusing merely on these two elements would narrow the scope and make people neglect other aspects, such as different situations in each country and the views of citizens. There’s a saying that goes, “those who win the people’s hearts win the country; and those who lose the people’s hearts lose their reign.” A justice system will be effective if it actually benefits people and proves itself to be worthy of following. The system should motivate all citizens to withstand crime in the country and inspire them to guard society. After all, it is not only the government’s responsibility to maintain a healthy society, but the responsibility of the people within it too. 

BBC Bitesize. "Matters of Life and Death: Crime, Punishment and Justice."  BBC. https://www.bbc.co.uk/bitesize/guides/znfdpg8/revision/4.

Benecchi, Liz. "Recidivism Imprisons American Progress." Harvard Political Review, August 8, 2021. Harvard Political Review. https://harvardpolitics.com/recidivism-american-progress/.

Bujold, Lois McMaster. "Lois McMaster Bujold Quotes." BrainyQuote. https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/lois_mcmaster_bujold_389472.  

ChinaWiki. "Draw a circle on the ground as a prison for sb(huá dì wéi láo)" ChinaWiki.net. https://www.chinawiki.net/thread/53/42138.html.

Mark, Joshua. Code of Hammurabi. World History Encyclopedia, June 24, 2021. https://www.worldhistory.org/Code_of_Hammurabi/.

Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark. "Once More, Denmark Is the World’s Least Corrupt Country." Invest in Denmark, January 27, 2020. https://investindk.com/insights/once-more-denmark-is-the-worlds-least-corrupt-country.

Newkirk Center for Science and Society at University of California Irvine, the University of Michigan Law School, and Michigan State University College of Law. "DeShawn Jones." The National Registry of Exonerations. https://www.law.umich.edu/special/exoneration/Pages/casedetail.aspx?caseid=5540.

Office of Disease Prevention and Health Promotion. "Incarceration." HealthyPeople.gov. https://www.healthypeople.gov/2020/topics-objectives/topic/social-determinants-health/interventions-resources/incarceration

Pagones, Stephanie. "US Murder Rate Highest It's Been in 25 Years as Big Cities Shatter Records." Fox News, January 18, 2022. https://www.foxnews.com/us/us-murder-rate-violence-big-cities-records.

Public Interest Advocacy Centre. "Find Legal Answers: The Australian Legal System." State Library New South Wales. https://legalanswers.sl.nsw.gov.au/hot-topics-australian-legal-system.

Transparency International. "Denmark." 2021 Corruption Perceptions Index. https://www.transparency.org/en/cpi/2021/index/dnk. 

World Justice Project. WJP Rule of Law Index 2020. https://worldjusticeproject.org/our-work/research-and-data/wjp-rule-law-index-2020

Xiao. 2021 Corruption Perceptions Index. Share America,  February 16, 2022. https://share.america.gov/zh-hans/the-2021-corruption-perceptions-index-shows-no-significant-improvement-of-corruption-levels-worldwide/.

Xuejiao, Cai. "Fighting China’s Wrongful Convictions, One Case at a Time." SixthTone, April 15, 2021. https://www-sixthtone-com.translate.goog/news/1007173/fighting-chinas-wrongful-convictions%2C-one-case-at-a-time?_x_tr_sl=en&_x_tr_tl=zh-CN&_x_tr_hl=zh-CN&_x_tr_pto=sc.

Yeping, Yin. "Danish Ambassador to China Moves on to Germany." Global Times, July 5, 2015. https://www.globaltimes.cn/content/930449.shtml.

Zuozhuan: Commentary on the "Spring and Autumn Annals."

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writers Tommy Zhou and Kevin Sun examine some traits of effective justice systems around the world. 

Justice Systems: Punishment or Redemption?

Oryna Bielikova

Everyone is tired of the heat
And people are waiting for autumn to meet.
We are bored of wearing shorts
And we are deep in our thoughts
About the perfect time of year
And rustling leaves that we can hear.

Autumn is for dreamy ones
Who like to drink coffee and enjoy fresh buns.
Rain is an enjoyment for me
It makes me drink a cup of tea.
Children are having fun jumping in puddles
Their parents are getting warm cuddles.
They’re watching their kids from the window
And waiting for the appearance of a rainbow.

Everyone has their own joys in autumn
But the fact is that it’s absolutely awesome.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Oryna Bielikova pens an ode to the coziness of fall.

Autumn

Julia Dun Rappaport

The salty
Freshness of
Lady Liberty’s
Sorrow
Blends with the
Tears of those
Who cannot see her
Weathered crown in the
Satin
Darkness
Of hopeless
Empty.
A
Melting pot of
Bleeding souls and
Weeping
Hearts.
Locked fences
Blocked futures.
Bitter language
Bites.
The echoing
Quiet of the
Deserted dreams
Crumbles her copper
Crown.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Julia Dun Rappaport laments the closed borders and harsh language that too often define the immigrant experience. 

Deserted Dreams

Jasmine Xu

Blazed icily —
Tore through the bitter winds in a
Passionate last dance. A flame.

Rustled silently —
Carried the whispers of those
Left behind. A ghost.

Tickled with its fingertips the
Dried and dead. An end

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Jasmine Xu evokes the early days of fall.

The First Maple Leaf That Fell

Nikita Zinoviev

Children had just started studying after a long summer break. It was Stephen’s sixth school year. He had recently moved to a new house with his family. It was the biggest and the most expensive one in the area, since Stephen’s family was quite rich. His parents were often busy at work, so this young man felt sad and lonely. Luckily, his cheerful and loving  grandma, Mary, lived with them and took good care of the boy all the time. Every day they enjoyed  each other’s company in their huge, fertile garden, playing board games and sharing their dreams. 

Since the village was very small, not more than a hundred pupils attended the local school. There  were a few groups of students, which were divided due to their interests. In the beginning, it was  quite difficult for Stephen to make friends in a new place. One day, when he was walking along the wide  corridor, he noticed a huge old door with a very unusual handle. His curiosity always took over him, and this time was no exception. As soon as the boy opened the door, he saw a lot  of long shelves with all kinds of books. Stephen also heard somebody reading quietly. At the back of  the room, not far from the window, there was an old round wooden table with four young people sitting around it. There were three girls and one boy, who enjoyed reading and discussing the story  together. Stephen was very interested in such a process, so he came a little bit closer and asked if he could join them. 

“We would love to expand our little company,” Peter said. He was a medium-height, well-built boy  with short dark hair and green eyes. An interesting thing was that both boys were the same age but  studied in different classes. Unlike Peter, the girls were Stephen’s classmates. All the young ladies  were 15 years old. Mary was a shy girl with long fair hair and beautiful blue eyes. Ann was quite a taller, fit girl with brown eyes and an attractive smile. Kate was the shortest among the children, with very shiny dark hair and big brown eyes. 

After that day, they met for reading in the library every  day. Stephen’s grandma was very excited when she heard the news about his new soulmates. 

During the school year, this group of children had a lot of various adventures in different places.  Most of all, they enjoyed spending their free time either in the library or in the park. They did a really good job collecting the rubbish and watering the trees, bushes, and flowers there. This year the park looked much better than any time before. The children also did a very good job sorting the books in the library, so anybody could come and quickly find the one he or she needed. The school director  granted these young people a thank you letter for improving the educational process. They were also allowed to stay an extra hour in the library, which was the best reward for the young people.  

Every weekend the local citizens had a little tradition to organize a fair and spend fun time together. Stephen, Peter, Mary, Ann, and Kate were not an exception. This fair was their favorite activity of the week. Every time the children came back home, they brought something new: toys, sculptures, magnets, souvenirs, dishes, and a lot of tasty treats. Once they also met a new friend, Max, at the fair. He was well-built and tall, with medium-length dark hair and green eyes. This boy had just recently come to live in the village, but he had already become very popular among the children. 

The first time Stephen’s company met Max, they invited him to spend the weekend together. That  Sunday everybody was celebrating a Village Day. There were so many children’s attractions, water rides, carousels, and snack shops at the fair that all the villagers came to spend the day.  The whole local center was full of beautiful decorations: colorful bunting, hung-up umbrellas,  balloons, fireworks, candles, bright ribbons, extraordinary fruit, and wooden sculptures made this place look really special. Everything looked very cozy and memorable. All the children met near the entrance of the fair at noon. In the beginning, Stephen took everybody to try the water ride: they took three double swimming circles and tried all the water attractions in the area. After this, all  the young people felt hungry and decided to have some lunch in the cafe. They ordered two large  pepperoni pizzas, some apple juice, and a cheesecake for dessert. Stephen was very happy to treat his  friends and paid for everybody. 

The rest of the day they spent searching for interesting souvenirs.  Suddenly, Stephen noticed a really nice wooden crossbow and decided to buy it. Unfortunately, when  he reached into his pocket with his hand, he found no wallet in it. He got really upset, because he wanted to present the crossbow on his father’s birthday, as he was a big fan of weapons. Peter, Mary, Ann, and Kate  did their best to help look for Stephen’s money. However, Max told them that he had to go home  because his parents would get worried about him being out so late that evening. After he had left for home, the children searched for the wallet for another hour. Sadly, it was all in vain. An unlucky boy had  to come back home with empty hands.  

On Monday, when the children were entering school, they saw Max surrounded by his classmates. As  soon as Peter got closer to the crowd, he saw a lot of expensive souvenirs in Max’s hands. Max was  boasting and showing them off. After a while Stephen, Kate, Mary, and Ann came up to them.  Everybody was really surprised, because Max hadn’t bought any of these things with them yesterday.  

Stephen walked up to Max and said, “Hi, Max! Where did you get all of this?” 

The boy answered: “They are presents from . . .” 

Unexpectedly, Stephen’s wallet fell out of Max’s backpack. There was absolute silence for a couple of seconds. 

“Nevermind,”  said Stephen, and he persuaded the company to leave right away.

In a KidSpirit Fiction piece, teen writer Nikita Zinoviev explores the difference between true and false friends.

Real Friends

Dr. Martyn Barrett

Are young people uninterested in and disengaged from politics?

Are young people uninterested in and disengaged from politics? Some commentators have argued so. 

They point out that, in many countries, young people who are eligible to vote in national elections do so less frequently than older generations. They also point out that, over the last few decades, there has been a significant decrease in the percentage of young people who turn out to vote in national elections.

However, this argument ignores the fact that youth under the age of 18 are not allowed to vote in most countries. Trends in voting behaviour tell us nothing about the political interests of those who are below the age of voting. 

In addition, citizens – whether young or old – are able to engage in the political and civic life of their countries in many different ways. Some ways do indeed involve electoral processes (e.g. voting, joining, or campaigning for a particular political party, etc.). These are what are called "conventional" forms of political engagement. However, there are also many "non-conventional" forms of action that can be taken, for example, participating in political protests and marches, signing petitions, writing political articles or blogs, and liking and sharing political articles on social media. And there are other forms of engagement that are focused more directly on providing help to people in need, helping to solve community problems or raising money for good causes. These forms of engagement are perhaps better termed "civic" rather than "political" actions because they sidestep formal politics entirely. 

Importantly, both non-conventional and civic action can be used by youth who are below the age of voting. And numerous studies have shown that many young people are strongly committed to both non-conventional and civic action. 

One very interesting aspect of youth activism concerns the specific topics on which this activism tends to be focused. Many youth choose not to engage with conventional politics at all (mainly because they think that politicians are not interested in what youth have to say, and they believe that conventional political engagement is ineffective in bringing about real change anyway). So many young people instead choose to focus their energies on single issues or causes about which they have strong feelings. At the global level, they may be concerned about climate change, pollution, global inequalities, the greed of multinational companies, racism, or human rights, while at the local level, they may be concerned about transport facilities, littering, recycling facilities, or youth amenities. 

It is notable that young people’s interest in global issues is often very pronounced. These issues are frequently experienced as having considerable personal meaning and relevance, and are pursued using forms of political and civic action that are very different from those that are used by older generations. 

However, we must avoid making overgeneralizations based on studies that have been conducted in Western democracies (which is where most of the research has taken place). This is because the lives, concerns and range of political and civic activities that youth undertake often differ from one country to another. 

These differences stem from the specific circumstances of the countries in which they live, and also from the design of political institutions within those countries. For example, the importance that young people attribute to conventional politics tends to be lower in countries in which there are longstanding democratic traditions and higher in countries in which democratic processes have been strengthened in recent years. In addition, political institutions can be designed in such a way that they either provide plenty of opportunities for youth to participate and contribute (e.g. through youth consultations or youth representatives), or they can be designed to inhibit, restrict, or even prevent the possibilities for youth to contribute. Also, all countries have their own specific internal cultural and political concerns and preoccupations which influence patterns of youth engagement.

However, across all countries, the education that young people receive at school can be very important for their engagement. We know that when schools enable students to raise social, civic or political issues in the classroom that are of concern to them, allow them to discuss controversial issues, encourage them to express their own opinions and to listen to one another, and allow them to explore a variety of different perspectives, students acquire higher levels of political interest and knowledge, and this boosts the likelihood of their being politically and civically engaged in the future. It is also beneficial for students’ future engagement if schools provide opportunities for them to contribute to formal decision-making within the school, for example, through class representatives, student councils, and student representation on working groups. 

What students learn in class at school is also very important. For example, being taught at school about the various ways in which youth can participate both politically and civically boosts the likelihood that they will sign petitions, participate in boycotts, follow political news, engage in charitable fundraising, and attend community meetings. And when students attend multi-ethnic schools and develop friendships with other students whose families have migrated from other countries, they develop more tolerant attitudes toward people from other cultural backgrounds, and they also become more globally minded. There is clearly a great deal that schools can do to foster and promote young people’s political and civic engagement. 

I myself think that we have a great deal to be optimistic about in relationship to youth engagement. One very positive feature of their engagement today is precisely their concern for the global community. Research into young people’s sense of global citizenship is still in its infancy. However, the studies that have been conducted so far have shown that youth who have a high level of global-mindedness are much more likely to be tolerant of cultural differences, appreciative of cultural diversity, supportive of global human rights and humanitarian needs, and willing to contribute to international humanitarian relief efforts. They are also more concerned for the environment and are more likely to engage in pro-environmental activities. In my view, all of these are incredibly important outcomes for the future well-being of the world. 

Here are just five inspirational examples of the many ways in which young people around the world are currently engaging with political and civic issues. 

In a KidSpirit PerSpectives article, author and professor Martyn Barrett shares his extensive expertise on our fall theme.

Young People, Active Citizenship, and Civic and Political Engagement

Olga Phaedra Pouppis

To all the kids that are bullied because of the way they are
Stand up.
Sit down.
Raise your hand, if you want to speak.
Listen to the rules.
Don’t have an argument with me.
I’m right. Always. Why? Cause I am.

Always talk nice.
Don’t raise your voice.
Don’t show your feelings.
Smile.

Sure, you can be different.
But only in a way it suits us.

Yes, you can be our friend.
But you must do what we say.
You don’t want to?
You have to.

Don’t speak to her.
We know better who can be your friends.
Don’t speak to him.
We know better who you want to speak to.

Study. More. More. More.
You’re tired?
We don’t care.
You need to get good grades.
You can’t be successful without those grades.
But don’t be too good.
It’s annoying when you’re better than us.

What’s that you’re wearing?
Get it off.
We will tell you what to wear.

You want to have short hair?
Are you kidding?
You’re a girl!
Girls don’t have short hair.
You want to have long hair?
Are you a man or what?
You’ll look like a woman!
Nobody will like you!

Put makeup on.
You’re ugly without makeup.
Hide those scars.
Those birthmarks.
You must be beautiful.

Sure, you can be different.
But only in a way it suits us.
No, you can’t do it your way.
Do as we say, or society won’t accept you.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Olga Phaedra Pouppis urges us to embrace our differences and be ourselves.

Different

Ties that bind, boundaries that divide. In this issue, KidSpirit contributors around the world take a closer look at the meaning of citizenship. What are our responsibilities to each other? Are they defined by lines on a map or can we become a global society? 

Through My Window Pane

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