Salihah Aakil

In 1961 the Berlin Wall separating East and West Germany was constructed. 
In 2015 an American presidential candidate, first announced that he wanted to build a wall on the Mexico-US border. 

And with all the pain and outrage his announcement caused
it only served to remind me of the message one nameless German graffiti writer and, in my mind, poet once scrolled on the Berlin Wall:
“Forget not the tyranny of this wall, nor the love of freedom that made it fall.”

And I carry those words with me because although I do not believe that the U.S.will ever have the money 

to pay for the brick and mortar, and break and murder that it will take to build one of our biggest mistakes. 

It doesn’t mean the words won’t divide us, 
build barriers between communities who needed nothing more than to simply speak, and now are deaf to each other,
tear whole peoples apart, butcher, cut and carve at the last bits of unity we hold on to. 

Welcome to the Divided States . . . of America. 
Where blacks and whites are at each other's throats, where new and old are at each other’s throats, immigrants gasping while you stand on their throats. 

And the only hope I hold onto is that, for every word that builds a barrier there is one to tear it down. Spark a flame that will burn all the hate away and maybe one day . . . Someone, somewhere on this fractured land will say 
"Forget not the hatred that built these walls, nor the love of humans that made them fall."

And maybe we’ll pick up pickaxes of hope and hammers of love and break down these walls that separate us. 

Like they did in Berlin.
Maybe resilience isn’t all we have to learn from them. Maybe we’ll learn to stop forgetting.

Poetry

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Salihah Aakil reflects on the real and imagined walls that divide cities, countries, and communities.

Walls

Maya Mesh

America: the home of the brave, where huddled masses come yearning to be free, where all humans are created equal. 

A land where you and I are given the same respect, no matter who you are and no matter who I am. A place where voices of dissent are given the microphone to speak, where everyone uses the same water fountain, and where all are allowed to walk down the street in whatever head scarf, wig, or covering they want. 

A land of the free and those waiting to be freed. A land that was fought so hard for, a land that was at a point of disunion but was able to mend its frayed ties before it was too late. 

America: a land of mothers, pères, hijos, and ttal. A string of words in different languages that once put together create a picture of a family, and all of the members have a connection to each other. Even though we don’t all look alike, we all share similarities. And yet with all of our similarities we choose to point out the miniscule differences in each other, hoping that it will differentiate us from our family members, from our kin. 

America's strengths and weaknesses are not confined to the nation, they are the prevailing demeanor of most organized groups. Since the beginning of our human story, each individual has tried to stand out and be different from others because, under certain circumstances, standing out has been associated with advantage. Whoever could run faster, hunt quicker, gather more berries was more likely to survive the harsh conditions of prehistoric earth. At the end of the day, our ancestors were all human, a part of the same species, but their differences allowed them to succeed. 

The truth is that there are similarities and differences between people of all walks of life.  What we usually choose to notice, though, is our differences, and while they can most definitely be used as tools to help us create better societies, governments, and communities, they are also points of friction, discord, and animosity. Humans are, unfortunately, very good at believing that we are superior to other people — that we know better, that our beliefs are better, that our skin tone is better. Yet while we are not always socially or politically equal to each other, we all have the same duty to treat each other with respect. 

Present-day America allows people of all walks of the political spectrum to speak their minds. But while each side is speaking, the other is refusing to listen. Some see the similarities in each other and try to reach compromise, but most just dwell on the differences. And while these differences are important in order to have such a innovative and changing nation, it is ultimately we the people who create the lines that divide us. 

However, difference does not have to become division if one thing is kept in mind: that we all deserve respect from other people. We all have to be open to others’ ideas, even if they differ from ours, because if we spend all of our time around people who only think like us, we can never improve. Even if we completely disagree with what another person says, understanding their argument can at least help us refute it. And, while we may completely disagree with each other on one issue, or even multiple issues, there are always things that we share because we all are human. 

We are all people: we all come from mothers, we all eat to live, we all want to have a purpose in life, we all want to experience pleasure. These things may vary but we all have desires that we hope can be achieved. We all share similarities and we all share differences. It is our similarities that allow us to form connections with each other and our differences that help us collectively grow as a people. 

At times it may be incredibly easy to completely write off a group as incorrect, but we shouldn't use differences of opinion as an excuse to isolate each other into imaginary boxes. In order to create a better tomorrow, we must acknowledge and respect our differences and honor our similarities. 

In a KidSpirit Big Question response, teen writer Maya Mesh reflects on how to bridge the differences between us and acknowledge our common ground.

Are the Lines that Divide Us Real or Imagined?

Satya Shaw

When I was eight, just one year ago, an awesome moment would have been something like creating my own world out of Legos or building a castle with all my Magna-Tiles or seeing my best friends. But over the last year, I’ve started having another kind of moment.

I am half Indian Hindu and half American Jewish. Recently I have been hearing about people expressing hatred towards immigrants and Jewish people. A playground near my home in Brooklyn was vandalized with anti-Jewish symbols, and parents of another student in my Sunday Hinduism class were spat at. The worst was when I heard about the killing of Srinivas Kuchibhotla in Kansas. Srinivas Kuchibhotla was an Indian Hindu man living in America who was killed by a racist. He came from the same part of India that my mom is from, and he could have been one of my relatives. He could have been me. 

I was mortified that someone would do such a terrible thing, and hate others so much. At the same time as this murder, I heard about bomb threats to the Jewish community; I felt like both halves of me were under attack, and this made me scared and angry. But not so scared and angry that I was going to be silent. 

There’s a line in a Hamilton song that goes: “History has its eyes on you.” And I believe that history has its eyes on all of us. I’ve been speaking up against the hatred that is being expressed in this country towards immigrants, Muslims, and others. I’ve started to stand up and fight for what I believe in — which is peace and equality for all. 

In fact, I was the youngest speaker at a vigil for Srinivas Kuchibhotla that took place in front of the Gandhi statue in Union Square Park in New York City. On that freezing and windy night, I was nervous and scared because I was the only kid there.  I worried that because I was a kid, I wouldn’t be taken seriously. I didn’t want people to think of me as cute; I wanted them to actually hear my words. After a woman called my name and introduced me, I spoke into the megaphone, but my voice started out quiet. I thought to myself, “Can I do this?” 

But then I looked up at the people gathered in front of me, and saw that they were looking at me with amazement. So I plucked up my courage and started speaking even louder. My voice rang out, and I wasn’t just saying what was on the paper, I really meant it. I still do now. I spoke about how we were all there to say that the person who killed Srinivas was a racist and did so out of hate. We were all there to fight for love, just like Gandhi did, and like his, ours is a fight with words, not weapons. 

I also said that even though I was a child, I could speak my mind just like a grownup. Once my speech was done, I listened to the applause ringing through the night. All the people holding their candles looked so beautiful, and the expressions on their faces told me that they weren’t just clapping because I was a child — they had listened and they actually believed what I had said. I have never felt so full of hope — hope that I could actually make a change, and hope that even though there is so much hatred in the world, love still exists.

The rally in Union Square gave me the confidence to speak up many more times. I am part of an organization called Kids For a Better Future (KBF). Every year we support organizations that work for kids' rights around the world. This year, KBF has been working to combat the hatred around us, especially towards Muslims and immigrants.  

Being in KBF and speaking up for what I believe in has changed me. One day, I was sitting in my class at school and suddenly I was asked to come to the middle school office. At first I thought I was in trouble.  But it turned out that our local radio station wanted to interview me over the phone. The assistant producer asked me, “What message do you have for other kids?”  I didn’t know what to say. I was very nervous thinking of all the people who would hear me. But then I remembered how powerful I felt standing in front of Gandhi’s statue opening up my heart, and I knew exactly what to say! 

I said in loud voice, “Just because you’re a kid doesn’t mean that you can’t stand up for what you believe in.  You don’t have to be a grown-up to go out and protest or demand change.”  

I am still the kid who makes Lego worlds and hangs out with friends, but this past year has changed me forever because I have found my voice.

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Satya Shaw learns to speak up for his beliefs.

Speaking Up

Heer Cheema

They are restless, moving backward and forward, surrounded by a miasma of uncertainty and despair. Sleeping in airports, caught in transition, they have no homes, because bans and war-ravaged countries are their reality. They are a reflection of my past.  

Pakistani history and literature is rife with this familiar tale of displacement. Saadat Hasan Manto, an Indo-Pakistani writer, in his 1955 short story titled “Toba Tek Singh,” reflects on the anguish and loss associated with the divisions on paper that wrought destruction on millions of lives during the Partition of the Subcontinent in 1947. His protagonist, Bishan Singh, lies lost in “no–man’s–land,” unable to return home as a result of these arbitrary borders. “No–Man’s–Land” is not only a region in conflict but, as Manto highlights, a state of distress and disconnect.    

Bishan Singh’s dilemma is universal, shared not only by today’s refugees and diasporas, but also by my ancestors, who experienced the partition of their beloved Punjab, the province in Pakistan and India that bore the brunt of the carnage of 1947.  I have heard the story of my great-grandfather’s narrow escape from communal violence when the town of Gurdaspur was dealt overnight to India, thereby becoming a place no longer safe for Muslims. He led the way out of India and across the border into the newly etched Pakistan — uncertain, sure only of the inexorable change that had struck at the heart of his land.  I have heard tell of a family house in Jullundur, India, that my grandmother visited often as a child, but neither my mother nor I have ever seen. These remnants from another time build a picture of the loss my grandparents’ generation has sustained, as this erosion continues to echo through the years, touching even those in the post-partition world. 

It was not until recently, when my grandmother’s friend — an intelligent, witty, and staunchly determined woman — wrote that “the one thing that displaced persons know is that they will never go home again,” that I understood the poignancy of that pain.  Her letter in neat cursive handwriting on cream paper taught me more about the past of my people than any school textbook.  Her approach to loss was not to pit religion against religion or culture against culture to quantify the deaths synonymous with the partition of Punjab, but rather to explore the absence of the harmonious diversity that had been characteristic of her home. It was this milieu that supported a burgeoning friendship between a Muslim convert (my grandmother) and a Catholic Christian (her friend), which would go on for over eight decades. However, in the ensuing splintering of Punjab’s pluralistic tradition, unity dissolved into chaos and the two friends did not meet for most of the latter half of their lives. 

The bond between my grandmother and her friend was born from a childhood characterized by tolerance, against the backdrop of a progressive Lahore. A childhood from a time when one’s religious identity did not equate to borders or barriers. The differences between my Nani and her friend served to broaden their horizons rather than narrow them. They were two individuals, destined for drastically different lives, but bound together by love and understanding. 

Makeshift borders delineate lives, and thus the division of Punjab separated both women across the globe, as they attempted to reconcile the loss of their home and identity. My grandmother remained in Pakistan, but her friend left the country altogether, unable to bear the mutilation of her provincial identity. The contrast between the Punjab of my grandmother’s youth and her old age serves to emphasize the transition from unity to division, and from a richly, resonating culture to a paucity of tolerance. 

In addition, it imparts an important warning, one that is relevant in the greater context of global divide. The cost of division is inescapable and pervasive.  The creation of a “no–man’s–land” has a ripple effect across generations, long after the cause of the event.  Today’s Pakistan battles against extremist rhetoric, which manifests in the forms of racial bias and religious prejudice, a far cry from the linguistic union this land was known to be pre-partition. 

As countries consider closing their borders and Syrian refugees are turned away at foreign shores, the discourse surrounding the idea of the refugee continues to grow ever more divisive. It is, therefore, important to remember the plight of the uprooted Bishan Singh and countless others like him.  Dissociation from one’s identity is dangerous not just for the individual, but also for the community at large.  

The Pakistan I know is homogeneous, largely unaccepting of diversity. The border between India and Pakistan still stands — both sides a strange reflection of each other historically and geographically. However, Pakistan’s relationship with its counterpart is tense, defined by border skirmishes, threats and deeply ingrained mistrust.  

I cannot help but wonder how different my Punjab could have been.  I hope that the tradition of pluralism captured in our literature and music can be revived, so that diversity and unity is not a thing of the past. 

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections piece, teen writer Heer Cheema explores the sense of upheaval and loss that haunts refugees and diasporas long after their homelands are divided.

No-Man's-Land

Lila Hazan

March is a graphic memoir trilogy by John Lewis that allows new generations to empathize with and understand the struggle for racial equality in America. 

John Lewis is  a US congressman who was an activist during the American Civil Rights Movement (1954-1968). He worked alongside the major names of the movement such as Rosa Parks, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and Malcolm X, participating in the Selma marches, Freedom Rides, and lunch counter sit-ins, among other demonstrations.  

March is co-authored by Andrew Aydin, Lewis’s Digital Director and Policy Advisor. In addition to serving as a congressional aide, Aydin speaks at conventions and schools about script writing and the importance of Lewis’ memoir and the Rights movement.

Illustrations by Nate Powell really bring Lewis’s story to life. Powell is a cartoonist and graphic novelist who has worked on other well-known books, such The Lost Hero by Rick Riordan. His work has won a collection of awards, and he is the only cartoonist to receive the National Book Award.

Each book of the  trilogy opens with a sequence of scenes from the 2008 induction of Barack Obama as the first African American in the US presidential office. These “chapters” act as a conclusion, marking the success of Lewis’s life work. The books then continue on to Lewis’s own struggles during the desegregation of America in the 1960s. Book One begins on his childhood farm in Alabama and depicts his early righteousness and advocacy for equality with farm chickens. As he grows throughout the trilogy, his initial striving for egalitarianism only goes on to inform his belief that peaceful protest made the Civil Rights movement successful. 

In this type of graphic novel, there are three types of narration. The first is the heading — a series of dates at the beginning of every panel sequence to orient the reader with hard facts detailing the timeline and major events of the Rights movement, such as the Birmingham Church bombing. The second is Lewis’s personal narration as he looks back on the events, providing opinions and building on character relationships. The third type is the raw dialogue between characters, which provides much of the emotion of the story, as well as specific sound effects that emphasize the actions taken in every panel. Much of the writing is broad, brief enough to set up basic facts and emotional response, as is the case with most graphic novels. 

One interesting point Lewis touches on is how segregation affected not just the marginalized population but the dynamics of civil organizations of mixed races. Lewis elaborates on the prejudice and resentment the African American community felt towards all white Americans, similar to the prejudice which they themselves faced. 

Nate Powell does a fabulous job of portraying segregation in the 1960s by illustrating in monochrome, which underscores the separation between black and white people in the South. All of the pivotal comic panels use shadows as a way to communicate the gravity of every action. The simple drawing style allows John Lewis’s words to speak for themselves, and each detail included in the illustration becomes more significant. Powell’s drawings, action oriented and embellished with the classic sound effects of other comics, make stories of peaceful protest met with violence much more hard hitting. 

I would rate this series five out of five stars, not only for providing an additional  perspective but also for giving us deeper emotional insights into one of the biggest movements in US history. The clarity of narration and unique illustration style bring a new, more personal view to events that have been memorialized over time.

This memoir speaks not only as a historic recollection but also a guide for future rights movements. A movement for liberty should never be based on violence or prejudice but rather on comradery and striving for equality. The series is powerful both as an educational tool and as an insightful story about the powerful feeling of being part of something greater than yourself. 

Much of my idea of the Civil Rights Movement has become rather depersonalized because of how events have been documented. However, March allows each event to become personal and impact me emotionally, closing the distance in time.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Lila Hazan gives her take on March, a graphic memoir by US congressman John Lewis.

A Review of March

Eliza Moore

I am tired of quiet.
Today I heard 
poetry like the promises yelled into 
empty rooms.
I want to write like that.

I search for this poem the way a body feels for another body
in a darkness too blind 
to be beautiful.
I want to write a verse 
so powerful that all the streetlamps in all the cities flicker on
and I see you clearly, the poem 
in you, the gaps in your teeth and rise of your cheekbones, 
the small broken things deep
within your body; a raw heart trembling
like wildflowers.

I want words that goosebump 
like surprised hellos as my eyes stumble 
across your face. 
Words that crumble under our feet 
like eggshells, powdery and beautiful. 
That provoke question after question 
and require no answer,
that bring you and I
closer. 

I want to write like that.
Satisfaction does not cling 
to words like we do to each other’s hands.
It eludes us, masqueraded, brushing 
lightly against shoulder blades.
Closer, closer, closer.  
Hairs stand on end.
Closer.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Eliza Moore calls on the power of words to create connection, empathy, compassion, and relationships.

Closer

Ralph Wang

Throughout human history, there have been many attempts to explain society and make the world a better place. Great Unity is one of them. 

According to this ancient Chinese philosophy, we will be unified when each person works happily for the public and we have sufficient resources for survival. 

The concept of Great Unity first appeared in the Book of Rites, in which Dai Sheng recorded the teachings of the ancient Chinese philosopher Confucius. In this book, Confucius lectured on the proper behavior of humans and the ideal society, much as Plato did in The Republic. In the chapter liyun, Confucius complains that Great Unity is hard to achieve and sighs as he illustrates this concept to his student. In his theory, Great Unity describes a society in which people don’t have to shut their doors at night or worry about belongings they left on the road. The old and weak are well taken care of, and there is no war or pain. Every resource is abundant, everyone contributes to society, and everyone is free.

These ideas, in fact, have much to do with Confucius’s background. Confucius was born in 551 BC, during one of the most chaotic periods of Chinese history. Many feudalist kings and warlords were in power, and there were endless wars. The warlords’ bloodthirsty desire to dominate through force did not match with Confucius’s ideas, which led to a life of poverty for him. Confucius wished for an end to the constant war and turmoil and for a peaceful society, built on trust and harmony, that would care for everyone. This reaction is not unique; across history, craving for a utopian society is often caused by violence and chaos. 

By describing a society of Great Unity, Confucius revealed something deeper about his philosophy — his belief in human individuality. Great Unity, in fact, allows people to act according to their own will, and then achieve happiness. Confucius, like almost every Chinese thinker, had pretty complex feelings towards free will. On one hand, he believed that if people were to act however they wanted, society would become chaotic. On the other hand, he believed that if everyone were to act against his or her own will, society would be dreadful. Like other philosophers, Confucius sought a balance between the two extremes.

Many reformers from other cultures have come across this problem. If we encourage a completely free society, we end up with anarchism. However, if we forbid humans from acting on their desires entirely, we end up with fascism. Like Great Unity, any concept of a cooperative culture finds a subtle balance between abstinence and hedonism. 

At first, the idea of Great Unity received little attention, partially because the peaceful idea of conscience was not welcomed by the bloodthirsty warlords, and partially because Confucius was a terrible lobbyist. In fact, for most of life, Confucius was not welcomed and, despite the numerous students he raised, not very influential.

However, a coup during the Han Dynasty inevitably changed the course of Chinese history. In 154 BC seven feudal kings joined together against the emperor. It took three months to put an end to this coup. Afterward, the emperors of China began to revise their strategies. To avoid future rebellions, a new political policy had to be adopted, a strong policy that granted the emperor power above all and could control the minds of the masses: Confucianism. 

The emperors found that Great Unity, among other theories proposed by Confucius, offered an explanation for centralized control: it would lead to a better society which the Chinese could create only if they did it together. The society proposed in the Great Unity was not only appealing to civilians, but also charming for dominators, for it emphasized harmony and respect, creating a community where nobody thought above his or her position or wanted more power or wealth. 

Careful readers may ask why feudal lords would trouble themselves to rule with unity when they could rule with violence. In fact, the Qin Dynasty, which preceded the Han dynasty, ruled with strict laws and harsh punishments. After only 14 years, revolutions started by farmers who could not bear the tyranny put an end to the Qin Dynasty. Every following dynasty learned from this experience and tried to (at least to some extent) treat their people nicely. Great Unity fit the emperors’ need to maintain order without cruelty. 

Thousands of years later, at the end of the nineteenth century, Kang Yu-Wei, another famous thinker, brought Great Unity to a new level. In his book Da Tong shu, or The Book of Great Unity, Kang proposed a society free of hierarchy, with no distinctions of class or race and no discrimination. Like Confucius, Kang lived in an era of constant chaos and anguish. Born in 1858, in the middle of the second Opium War, Kang witnessed the dawn of a powerful European empire. The once mighty and wealthy Chinese empire that stretched its reign across the vast Eurasian continent was now tortured and humiliated by new warships and rifles. A massive plague occurred during Kang’s youth, killing an estimated 10 million farmers and causing twice that number to flee to other provinces. 

Though he was born into a rich landlord’s family, these horrible scenes must have changed Kang deeply and made him determined to devote himself to the salvation of the Chinese people. Borrowing from the Buddhist concept of Samsara, which portrays existence as an endless cycle, Kang argued that everyone in this world is constantly suffering, and the only way to free ourselves and our societies from this never-ending pain is through achieving the Great Unity. 

In 1898, after Kang realized the limits of feudal society, he inspired and started a reformation movement known as the “wu xu”reformation. After witnessing the strength of western societies during the Opium Wars, reformers in China sought to combine the utopian society of Great Unity with advanced western science. Despite the fact that this movement eventually failed, it inspired many young men to seek knowledge abroad, warlords to equip their troops with foreign weapons and training, merchants to do business with foreigners, and scientists to adopt western techniques. The Great Unity, deliberately or not, boosted the opening up of China, helping to found the first capitalist society in China and inevitably changing the history of the world. 

Two fundamental points of Great Unity are to make human society a better place and create equality among people. Thus, after this old theme was revitalized by Kang, it resonated with many hearts. Li Dazhao in the north and Chen Duxiu in the south combined the philosophy with Russian socialism and created the very first form of Chinese Communism. At about the same time, a young college librarian was attracted by the theme and also combined the concept of Great Unity with communism. This librarian would later become the first chairman of People’s Republic of China, Mao Zedong.

Communism and Great Unity do have some central ideas in common. Both bring up the concept of a sufficient society. In Communist communities, people need not worry about finding labor and materials; in Great Unity, people no longer need to shut their doors at night and collect lost things from the floor. Another significant similarity is that both theories require citizens to be morally perfect, as everyone must treat each other with respect and share resources. 

These concepts are not rare in the course of human history. Plato imagined a similar place in The Republic; Buddhism illustrates another world where resources are plenty and people live in happiness; Christian and Islamic sources talk about a place that offers eternal happiness, heaven. All of these perfect worlds share one thing in common, which is unlimited resources, something that brings us safety and harmony. It is not surprising that most civilizations came to similar conclusions when they were wondering what a perfect world would be like. 

In the context of the 21st century, Great Unity is still a beautiful concept that we can not only desire but pursue. A social theory called “effective altruism” is gaining popularity. Such ideas call upon people to help others effectively: five dollars probably won’t mean much for someone in New York or Paris, but it can provide a shot of BCG vaccine for the impoverished in Africa, which could save lives. A world with unlimited resources may seem far away, but we can still share what we have and care for others, proving that part of Great Unity, if not all of it, is still achievable. 

"Communism in China." Stanford University.  https://cs.stanford.edu/people/eroberts/cs201/projects/communism-computing-china/china.html 

"Han Dynasty." Encyclopaedia Britannica, July 20, 1998. https://www.britannica.com/topic/Han-dynasty

"Sun Yat-sen: The Father of Modern China." CNN, 2001. http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/1999/china.50/inside.china/profiles/sun.yatsen/

Violatti, Cristian. "Han Dynasty." Ancient History Encyclopedia, May 27, 2013. http://www.ancient.eu/Han_Dynasty/

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writer Ralph Wang explores the Confucian concept of Great Unity.

Great Unity

Yani Li

A thousand blades of grass sway under a single sun,
synchronized with the rhythm of the rolling wind.
Up above, blossoms of clouds float around —
a work of art plastered on one pale blue canvas. 

Nearby, a willow tree weeps into a river,
feeding the landscape’s jewel-blue arteries.
Ribbons of water curve in synchrony,
caressing the branches skimming the surface of the stream. 

A breeze curls between strands of the tree,
Combing through the orchestra of trembling leaves.
and rustling each to form a quiet symphony. 
When the wind ceases — the ensemble bows in harmony. 

A little girl runs through the meadow,
serenaded by a family of sparrows conversing on a tree.
Soaking in the energy of the birds, the trees, and the stream,
her bright laughter ripples across the scene,
accompanying nature in its final song of summer.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Yani Li reflects on the beauty of nature's harmony, even as the seasons change.

Nature's Song

Yash Patil

Once there was a family who lived life happily,
There was no other family in town that was as friendly.
People swore by them as they were so united,
But one day they had a huge fight and they were divided. 

After that fight they started living individually,
But as the days passed, they started feeling lonely.
They realized that their family was important to their identity,
So they started living together again in serenity.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Yash Patil reminds us that loving relationships, unity, and connectedness are key to our happiness.

United We Stay, Divided We Stray

Hannah Grove

Oh what a snapshot of innocence,
The soft patter of unscathed feet against rigid planks, 
Childhood in my eyes.

Though childhood is often considered a time of ignorance, 
It is my own naïveté in this conception.
My privileged lens shadowing the lurid truth, 
That childhood can be the rake of young knees,
And new skin marred by the devilish credence of men with powerful insecurity. 
That you can be born loved by family,
But despised by the world around you. 

In my privilege I wallow,
Because the words on that textbook page,
That spell out in ink “6 million innocent Jewish people slain,” Can receive more than a pitied glance and a troubled sigh.

Yet forgetting is so easy when there is no substance to the story in front of you, 
When millions of childhoods stuffed within the earth,
Are reduced to ink marks in textbooks covered by careless doodles. 
And I fear that is what we have become;
Careless.

To remember, we must empathize,
And know what it feels like to be brought to your knees for simply being alive.
I stood in a boxcar where thousands of children before me stood. 
With unscarred feet and a fettered mind,
I stood on rigid planks,
That broke the innocence of those before me.

 A hazy glow slipped onto the floor,
And outlined the vermillion footsteps 
That toddled blindly toward me.
When you stand helpless with the blood of childhood sacrificed at your feet, 
How can your heart not burn?

How can your soul not ache? So yes, never forget.
But to do so, we must know how to remember.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Hannah Grove reflects on the tragedy of the Holocaust.

Remember: Regarding the Holocaust Museum

Lulu Rasor

There is no desperate underdog story of victory, no gore, no sweeping shots of flaming battlefields and bloody soldiers, as its PG-13 rating conveys. The 2016 movie, directed by François Ozon, is instead a quiet story of aftermath and how people are left to pick up the pieces of their lives after devastation shatters them.

Anna is a young woman living in Quedlinburg, Germany in 1919, her world still overshadowed by World War I. After the wartime death of her fiancé, Frantz, she has seemingly resigned herself to being a widow without even having married. She remains trapped in the past and living for a dead man, despite encouragement from Frantz’s parents, Hans and Magda, to move on.

However, her melancholy routine is interrupted by the appearance of a stranger at Frantz’s grave. He is Adrien, a French soldier who claims to know Frantz from their time together in Paris before the war. For a while, his stories about Frantz — their shared pacifism and interest in the violin, visits to the Louvre, and nights out dancing — soothe Anna, Hans, and Magda. However, simmering anti-French sentiment, Anna’s stifling not-life, and the increasingly ambiguous nature of Frantz and Adrien’s relationship soon combine into something far more complicated than a simple story of closure.

The memory of World War I permeates almost every scene in Frantz. Both France and Germany are unwilling to forget their animosity: Anna’s visit to France begins with harsh, skeptical questioning about her real reason for coming, just moments before she witnesses the bombed-out shells of houses first-hand. Unlike Paris, Quedlinburg seemingly bears no physical scars, but the still-raw memory of the war keeps anti-French attitudes alive and well. It’s there in obvious ways, such as meetings of hot-headed men discussing retaliation against the military defeat and Hans’s initial refusal to meet with Adrien because “Every French man is my son’s murderer.” It is  also present in more insidious ways, such as a store owner’s confiding in Anna that her new dress is Parisian-made, but advising her to keep that a secret. It’s into this hotbed of simmering anger that Adrien arrives — not only a Frenchman, but a soldier, and one with unclear reasons for his journey to Quedlinburg.

And yet, despite these cultural conflicts, Anna and Adrien manage to find common ground and even friendship, like two hands reaching out to clasp together across an endless gulf. They are both haunted by the war and, more importantly, by Frantz, and their grief brings them together in a way that transcends nationality and offers both some peace. While the coloring of the movie is generally somber — most scenes are in black and white, to highlight both the tone and the historical setting — color emerges while Adrien tells his stories and explores the countryside with Anna.

The greatest strength of Frantz is its focus on the characters, Anna in particular. While the damage of World War I is apparent throughout, physical destruction is seen only once, reflected in the window of a train as Anna arrives in Paris. Instead, the focus is the emotional aftermath of a war and those left behind to deal with it.

Anna lives like a ghost in her own life, trapped by the memory of Frantz and the future they could have had together. In a city where children play in the market square and the scars of war are healing — albeit slowly — she’s a dark specter still dressed in mourning black who turns down marriage proposals and drops her studies because she lacks heart. She’s unable to move on and forget her dead fiancé, living more for him and his parents than for herself, but Adrien’s arrival and place as a sort of surrogate son lifts some of that burden.

Adrien, too, is not without his own conflicts. A pacifist who was forced into war, he is obviously haunted by the things he did and saw, keeping the horror close to his heart. Though he was a talented violinist before he was thrust into the violence, he now finds it impossible to play. While his reasons for visiting are initially unclear, it becomes clear that Frantz and anguish over his wartime actions are a major reasons.

Unfortunately, the focus on characters was also the movie’s downfall at times. With a minimal soundtrack and black-and-white coloring, the movie dragged at times with nothing to distract me. Adrien and Anna revealed their traumas slowly and realistically, unfurling the past bit by bit, but sometimes I became bored with the way information was obviously being dangled over the head of the viewer and wanted to sprint ahead to see the fallout of these details. The use of black and white coloring also seemed frustratingly obvious — dreams, flashbacks, and moments of lightheartedness between Anna and Adrien were in color, while many sorrowful scenes were gray.

Thankfully, when the movie finally got going, it became truly engaging and I found myself less bored by all the subtle implications of past and pain. The lies and loves of the characters became increasingly tangled and unpredictable as Anna and Adrien began to break under the weight of everything they’ve kept inside, but the movie still managed to remain low-key, with moments of distress and remembered violence never feeling dramaticized or unrealistic.

Overall, I  give Frantz 3 and a half stars. Sometimes the muted feeling and slow pace of the movie worked to its advantage in showing a slow story of working through grief and the aftermath of violence, but other times it downplayed moments that should have been more substantial and made me feel disconnected or bored. However, Anna’s journey of beginning to live again, Adrien’s story of working through repressed torment, and the obstacles they encountered within and without made it an emotionally compelling story unlike any other war film I’ve seen.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Lulu Rasors shares her thoughts on the unique film Frantz, directed by Francois Ozon.

Shadows and Light

William Lohier

The first day of Seeds of Peace was a party. 

First impressions were comprised of smiles, laughs, flailing limbs, and offbeat cheering. As buses rolled in weighed down by kids who had flown thousands of miles from countries most Americans can’t point out on a map, I felt, for the first time in a long time, joy. 

The genius of Seeds of Peace Camp starts off with that first day. Counselors carrying a motley assortment of instruments and noisemakers cheer so loud you can’t quite make out the words. Campers who have already arrived form a tunnel with their reaching arms and interlaced fingers. Everyone who runs off the bus runs into an embrace. The support, the joy, the unapologetic dancing, spurs smiles and quick introductions. This initial openness was what made me feel at home from the moment I stepped off the bus.

Over the course of three and a half weeks, these small connections served as the genesis of relationships that form the foundation for the process about to take place.

The Seeds of Peace Camp international session is an international program held in Otisfield, Maine, every summer for three and a half weeks. Journalist John Wallach and Program Developer Bobbie Gottschalk founded Seeds of Peace in 1993, the same year the Oslo Accords attempted and failed to establish a sustainable peace between Israel and Palestine.

Since its inception, Seeds has brought Israeli, Palestinian, Egyptian, Jordanian, and American youth (or “seeds”) to Maine in order to facilitate meaningful dialogue between the opposing sides of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. In recent years, Seeds has also established a South Asian program, including seeds from India and Pakistan to discuss the conflict between their countries.

For three weeks, next to beautiful Pleasant Lake, we ate, slept, played sports, and made music like at any other American summer camp. However, we did this while engaging in activities where we talked to, learned from, and made friends with people whose experiences, ideology, and cultural sensibilities were often markedly different from our own. 

In a bunk of 10 boys, Indians shared a bathroom with Pakistanis. At a dining hall table, Jews shared a meal with Muslims. One of the immediately striking components of the camp was the unspoken acceptance of diversity. There is a familiarity that accompanies cohabitation.

Part of every day was spent in dialogue. We would make our way to dialogue huts, each with two trained facilitators. Tasked with discussing conflicts that for many campers are an ever-present and ugly component of daily life, we embarked on a prodigious and often painful mission of understanding, of communication, and of comprehension, unfettered by bigotry or stereotype. 

Every day campers would walk out of their dialogue huts, sometimes frustrated and drained, but also absurdly yet understandably happy that someone from the other side of the conflict had heard them and listened. 

“Trust the process,” they told us in dialogue. And I did. While at times I was doubtful of what we were doing, I trusted the people I spent my entire day with. In my South Asian dialogue, we talked about equity and equality, about terrorism, about Kashmir, about Islam. 

I listened as one of my best friends struggled to defend her religion and we cried together. I listened at night as my bunkmate told me stories about bombs and checkpoints and soldiers. Listening was central to my experience, both in dialogue and at camp in general. 

Unlike the Palestinians or Israelis, I have no direct stake in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Instead, I sought to understand the experiences that informed each camper’s opinions, how each camper moved, existed, and understood structures and systems to help make sense of the world around them. A Muslim camper explained to me that, while she believes her religion to be morally right in every aspect, she also believes humans are prone to fallacy and misinterpretation. We spent entire dialogue sessions discussing whether Muslim terrorists are actually Muslim. I became friends with a Catholic Palestinian girl who has to drive hours to the nearest town with a church every Sunday. I met a camper from the Gaza Strip who described it as Hell.

I trusted the process. Much of my experience was spent in solitude, getting to know myself better. I spent hours in the lake staring out at the mountains. I spent hours in my bunk at night using the dim light of my iPod to help illuminate the process of my thoughts becoming words as I wrote in my journal. I sang in the shower, I witnessed Muslims unroll their prayer mats in the direction of Mecca and prostrate themselves at night. I unpacked everything and saw the beauty and importance in the struggle of what we were doing. 

For every moment of solitude, there were hours of interaction. I spent days listening to people talk about their lives, their hopes, and fears. I had the realization over and over again that the worlds the other campers lived in were so far removed from mine, that I truly live in a bubble; to understand their experiences, I had to transcend prejudices that I didn’t even realize I had. 

I played sports, I played music, I wrote poetry, I listened to poetry, I found spaces to discuss issues and thoughts about race and oppression and roots I never realized I had opinions about. As cheesy as it sounds, I tried to live in the moment, to be present, and to see people beyond their opinions or words. 

For every tear shed or chair thrown in a dialogue hut, there were countless moments of simple humanity and friendship. I talked with an Egyptian girl about why she no longer wears shorts in public. I wrote poetry with a Jewish-American girl who found herself becoming increasingly pro-Palestine as camp progressed. I listened to Pakistani music and talked to another Egyptian girl about the SAT. I walked past the lake sandwiched between two of my best friends at camp: an Israeli and a Palestinian. I constantly asked myself, “What is happening here?”

With no phones for three and a half weeks, all we were left with were thoughts and ideas. “Be raggedy,” they told us. To be raggedy means to be unafraid to give voice to ideas that you may not have the right words for, but that hold truth. And being raggedy was cleansing. Once I exposed myself for the world to see, my ideas and beliefs were shaped and strengthened by the crucible of constant questioning.

I talked to a Muslim boy who was homophobic as a result of his never having been exposed to queerness. I asked him why he thought what he thought. He told me and I disagreed, but I understood what informed his beliefs, and I saw the person as separate from the opinions. Seeds taught me how much ideas are shaped by the environment you grow up in. I knew this boy as a friend and honest, hard-working person long before I knew him as a homophobe. I knew he had a strong moral compass and that I could trust him. I took the information that he was homophobic and added it to the picture I already had of him, but I did not let that one opinion obscure the human behind.

It’s hard to believe all this happened in three and a half weeks. Looking back, I think of it as a lifetime. A lifetime broken into moments during which I grew years. A lifetime broken into conversations spent trying to search for that one tiny shared truth that would allow us to truly understand one another. 

It is a truly humbling realization to remember who you were going into an experience after seeing that the person coming out of it is completely different.

It’s impossible to say whether Seeds of Peace will ever accomplish its underlying purpose of one day solving the Israeli-Palestinian and Indian-Pakistani conflicts. In fact, talking to many seeds as camp drew to an end, it seemed that many had confirmed and strengthened the beliefs they came to camp with. When viewed in the context of a world that is becoming increasingly polarized, where political views have become progressively more synonymous with morality and decency, when conflict seems ever more prevalent in our lives, Seeds of Peace is failing its original mission.

However, even those who left Seeds feeling more righteous in their opinions, who believe with assiduous conviction that their side has the moral high ground, have spent three weeks living and creating a shared space with the other side. Even those who will go back to their country to join the army and play an active role in the conflict know those they are fighting as people. Even those who experience conflict daily know how to use their words and ideas productively, or at least cathartically, as an alternative to violence.

I'm still in the process of trying to unpack and explore the ways in which camp has changed me. I have yet to cauterize some of the wounds it has opened. I struggle to keep in touch with people living in different time zones. I try to follow news from seven different countries. I worry about friends in active conflict zones, who have to navigate checkpoints and soldiers.

I have to come to terms with living in a country that is increasingly candid about not wanting me. I have to watch as people kill and hate and dehumanize others. Everywhere I look, I see conflicts and divides that no one is trying to bridge with dialogue. 

One concrete thing Seeds has given me is conviction: I want to bring this space into a world with so many opinions and so little listening.

As the Persian poet Rumi wrote, and social justice activists often quote: “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.”

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer William Lohier shares how his time at Seeds of Peace transformed his views on unity and division, dialogue and listening, justice and conflict.

Seeds

Subodh P. Ganakwar

There should be unity,
Not division.
If in this belief you think and act
We will be the world's best vision.

Unity is the best policy
And it glorifies our democracy.
Often we make the wrong choice 
Only because of egoistic division.
Watch out!
When we are divided
Blame is the game.

My dear friends
Let us unite to build a better future
If in this belief you think and act
We will be the world's best vision.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Subodh P. Ganakwar describes his vision for a unified world.

My Vision for the World

Global Youth Voices

I was born in Northern Israel. When I was five, the alarm sounded and I was taken to the bomb shelter in my brother’s room. It was the first time, but not the last. A year ago, I flew to Maine, USA, to a special camp where I met teenagers from around the world, including Palestinians. Three weeks with the so called “enemy” shaped the person I am today. When I came back, I wrote a book about unity called “The Way Life Could Be.”

For years, people have been trying to create unity among both communities and individuals, but today’s reality  proves that while there may have been some success, the task as a whole has failed. So why and how could our generation be the answer to this ongoing question?

First, we must recognize that unity extends beyond the people we know or are expected to know by society. True unity includes involvement and cooperation between different kinds of people, forcing us to leave our comfort zones and deal with reality. To do so successfully, we must put prejudices aside and differentiate between communities and individuals, perspectives and personalities. Why? Because whenever there is more than one person in a room, there is more than one opinion. The moment we meet this conflict of values,  we realize how difficult, but also necessary, confronting it is. Only by challenging ourselves in this way can we create friendships with our counterparts from different communities.

“Why me and why now?” some have asked me. Me, because no one else can make the change for me. Only I, as a teenager--who has no interests, gets no money, is obligated to no organization, and does just what he believes in -- only I can truly be committed to achieving my goal.

Wherever and whenever we were born, to create unity we must act according to three values:

Humanity- remember that everyone is human. Differences of opinions or qualities are just opportunities to get closer.

Democracy- remember the right of everyone around you to share his or her story and speak up. Remember to follow your heart and, in the same breath, respect the other.

Liberalism- our behavior, not our sexual orientation or the way we look, determines who we are.

Finally, we must never give up. Since we are very young, we are told about our limits. We are told about the boundaries to our abilities, we are told to be like everyone and not to think beyond the status quo. But if we want to create change, we are obligated to never give up, and stay strong against those who try to prevent us from being who we really are and doing what we really want to do.

 “China is a communist country.” Someone in the discussion group declared. We were from Asia, Europe, Africa, Oceania, South and North America, killing time chatting aimlessly.

“It was. But it has long been capitalist, after it opened up.” I began to pull my ears and brains closer to the discussion. Spending the longest time ever in my life with teenagers from places across the globe, I was always ready to seize the chance of getting to know them and their perspectives of the world, especially their views on my country.

“But Chinese never own their land! Their property rights over real estate last only 70 years. That’s communism!” 

He couldn’t possibly know that “real estate” is  so powerfully arbitrary that it could easily light up a world of hope or destroy everything meaningful to a typical Chinese speaker. Nothing the word “communism” would cover. I opened my mouth to speak, but my words were suspended in mid-air every time by a similar voice. The voice of America.

“Someone here is from China,” said someone eventually, suggesting my otherwise forgotten presence. 

I smiled wearily, already giving up. I felt that every attempt at explanation was already futile, that the voice of America would always dominate American ears. The country is indeed great. However, there will forever be illusions of unity unless the voice slows down, is silent for a brief moment, and makes room for the world’s million flickering candles of life.

Things do change, yet there were also people who are bluffed and bewildered or even blinded by what they are told. We should not blame them, as one can hardly imagine that trillions of people are on the other side of the globe, let alone fully embrace this colorful and fast-changing world. Yet truth is always somewhere, whether it is in the crisis facing Syrian refugees or the hearts of residents of Guam. One should always listen, and sacrifice oneself to the endless yet meaningful pilgrimage of truths. Truths about the self and the other, the past and the future.

To listen for truths, we must keep in mind that they might come surprisingly, and that we should cultivate equal awareness and respect for different cultures. Hold on to differences, as they might turn out to be a major truths. While truths may seem unacceptable against our own cultural backgrounds and cultural clashes are inevitable, they are often reasonable under certain circumstances. Try to slow down a bit before continuing your thoughts and take a moment to paint others’ thoughts onto the broad canvas of your life. Take a deep breath and feel the wildly different experiences and thoughts fill your mind. Take another step, and you will find the world in an unexpected beautiful angle.

Unity is about the resonance of individual stories on the worldwide canvas of culture. We might only have a tiny space in which we may paint bits of ourselves, but take that little space as an unexpected gift! We would be surprised at how different people actually are from what we think they are, and the process of discovering it deserves all our time and effort.

From racists to religious bigots, there is no shortage of those who wish to keep us from uniting. 

In my own country, Pakistan, religious bigotry is prevalent at all levels of society. It is so predominant that in 1979, Pakistan’s first Nobel prize winner, Dr. Abdus Salam was snubbed by his own government. He was an Ahmadi, a member of a sect of Islam not recognized by the Pakistani government. Salam wanted to establish an international research centre in Pakistan for third-world physicists, but the government didn’t show interest. He was ostracized in Pakistan and forced to continue his research elsewhere. This is an important case of bigotry because he brought such pride to the nation by winning the first Nobel Prize in any category for Pakistan, but was treated so deplorably that he left Pakistan. Had Abdus Salam been allowed to give lectures here, the Pakistani society today would have benefitted greatly from it. Instead, due to ignorance, Pakistan was deprived of one of the greatest physics professors.

However, the new generation of youth can be an empowering voice for change and unity. Most of the hate exhibited by previous generations stems from misinformation. For example, in 2015, an American presidential candidate said that the American Muslim population of New Jersey celebrated the atrocity that took place on September 11, 2001, but there is little to no evidence supporting his statements. When the “leader of the free world” is susceptible to such misinformation, then many people can fall victim to it. 

Now, with access to research and the internet, this is becoming much less likely to happen. Improved communications technology allows for more interfaith dialogue. Online forums like KidSpirit allow children from different backgrounds to work with one another, teaching us that there is no difference between us and people of other races or religions. Communication like this instills in them from an early age the idea that all people are equal. 

The increase in global unity can be seen with many young people supporting pride week, a parade that is meant to show solidarity with the LGBTQ+ community. The youth of today are taught to reject stereotypes and not to judge anyone by color or appearance. In fact, some schooling systems have changed their religious study syllabuses to include most major religions, which is a huge step in the right direction. 

The case of Abdus Salam shows us that no matter how much success we achieve, no matter how many accolades we attain, people will still judge us based on our beliefs, or the color of our skin. Despite our best efforts, disunity still exists. However, the new tools at our disposal, such as enhanced communication methods, will allow for a much better world in the future. 

In Bosnia and Herzegovina, many of our elders, who have experienced a war between different cultures and religions, have developed hatred towards each other. They teach their descendants not to build relationships with people who are "different." 

To address this problem, young people in Bosnia and Herzegovina established an organization called Youth for Peace to promote interfaith, and interethnic cooperation,  end violence, and create a culture of peace and justice for youth. Its main goal is to spread love and teach people that despite all our differences, we are all humans. 

 In January 2015, I was invited to take  part in a Youth for Peace project called "Joyful Life." My first trip to the camp was bound up with suspicion and uncertainty. I thought about giving up because I was afraid I wouldn’t make any friends and that I wouldn’t fit in.  

But I found that we young participants have more open minds than our elders have. When we first met, we immediately found a way to talk. We discovered common interests and a shared  language. We forgot about stories of the war, we forgot about hatred and prejudices. Although we were not all of the same ethnic or religious identity, gender, or sexuality, we found connection. 

The wealth of society lies in the diversity of faith, way of life, tradition, nationality, and above everything, mutual agreement and respect.  First, we should start with ourselves. We should not spread hate, but learn to love people no matter who they are. We need to establish a group that will lead our entire generation to the right path, by spreading kind words, words of hope and love that will bring peace and unity in our world.

The wealth of society lies in diversity of faith, way of life, tradition, and nationality, and above everything, mutual agreement and respect. 

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writers around the world explore how young people can promote unity, cooperation, peaceful dialogue, and mutual understanding

How Can the Next Generation Be a Force For Unity?

What binds us together? What keeps us apart? How can we bridge divides to communicate across boundaries? KidSpirit contributors from all walks of life consider the lines that connect and separate our communities, families, and selves.

Walls

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