Jumping into a pool of vulnerability, unsure of the next words out of their mouths, 

You pray with sweat dripping down your back and the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, 

You pray that the people in front of you will think nothing of you but that you are enough.

As the gritty and honest words of “I’m gay” slip out of your mouth, you close your eyes and hope for acceptance, 

The terror, laughter, shock, or warmness will be engraved within the mind of yours forever,

All you could hope is that the people who raised you will treat you with equity and respect from this day on,

For we all should treat each other like thy neighbor, yet we live in a world surrounded by hate and violence.

But what would it look like to push the boundaries farther, you may ask?

Well, it’s not far from what has already happened,

It’s the excruciating reverse, where the fear within our heads comes to life.

What if I am not what I have come to be?

I am a being within a constant shift,

You are a being within a constant shift,

What changes are in store that pushes our mental state array?

It almost feels as though we need this “label” in order to have some version of acceptance,

Whether it be from family, friends, peers, even ourselves,

We long for the definition of who we are,

The definition of who we are? That doesn’t sound quite right.

I am not an object, nor are you, so why do we put up this boundary of who we need to be?

Our community, our surrounding, the view from above, challenges us to find our place in this cosmos,

They expect a stagnant answer, that’s really what our hungry minds want,

It seems that order and pattern are the only things that allow us to survive.

From someone who’s been to inferno and back, I’ll tell you what our authentic minds really are,

We’re far more complicated than a label; creation can’t be explained in words we would know,

Our minds are a product of this kingdom come and are far more complex than human minds can comprehend.

So why use a label, if we can be our authentically true selves?

I am a being, not a thing,

I’m nor straight, gay, bi, pan, because I’m authentically me.

Of all the stories that we’ve learned,

Is that up until this project

None of these had we yet heard.

I think its scary that these things

Can happen all around us,

And those of us who aren’t involved

Can only watch as they astound us.

These scary little stories,

Of prejudice and bias,

Will only ever stop,

If people speak up to the highest

In the chain of command

Or else the current norm will stand.

We’ll be trapped in a hateful world.

Shielded from the pains of those we know.

Unspeakable acts happening in the background

To our friends and family who we love so.

Westfield had never seemed

Like a place of racial tensions.

But from the stories which I’ve heard

There haven’t been preventions

Of racist, homophobic acts

Or xenophobic tendencies,

And when we get to school we’re told

That there are all these felonies

But nobody will listen to

A bunch of adults crying, “things must change!”

Kids just think that these teachers 

Are paranoid and strange

And I can’t even blame the kids

They’ve no stories that can even make ears peak up

They just need to hear some evidence

So for the love of God, speak up.

When I moved to Westfield, I  truly thought kids would ask about New York and how cool it was that I had been born there and lived there all my life. Instead, one of the first questions I got was, "Hey, Mustafa. That's a Muslim name, right? Weird that you don't eat pork. Why can't Arabs eat pork?" He shouted to me right in the center of the cafeteria. For the first few seconds I stood still not knowing who he was talking to. No one calls me "Mustafa." Also, I am not an Arab. This was a punch in the gut. I managed to shrug and mumble, "Ah, not sure," Offended, this non-Arab walked away as some kids stared at me, and my face got hot. Snickering was heard  behind me. My heart sank to my feet and tears travelled down my face. This was definitely not going to be a good school year. The sweat on my face showed discomfort. Even now, after two years in the same class with them, my classmates say things like, "At least my people don't blow up buildings and make women cover their heads."

I think back to that one kid in the cafeteria. I wonder if he even wanted an answer? Just as well because I didn't have one then. Before Westfield, I didn't need an answer. I had Muslim and Jewish friends who didn't eat pork either. I had Hindu friends who didn't eat beef and vegetarian friends who didn't even eat fish. We never questioned one another about it. Now, I do question my way of life. What is my faith? What does it really mean to be a Muslim?

Over the last two years, I put the time and effort to learn about Islam. I finally picked up books that my parents had collected for me but which I never read before. I learned how Islam began and about the struggles of the early Muslims. I learned about the spread of Islam to Persia, Spain, and  Asia. I read about Muslim scientists, scholars, poets, and artists. My mom even took me to the Islamic wing at the Metropolitan Museum. I took trips to Granada, Istanbul, and India, which were some of the centers of Islamic civilization. I gradually became someone who is proud of his roots. I discovered that the best way to tackle prejudice is to educate oneself. In the future, I will also think twice before I form an opinion about someone based on what they appear on the outside.

The unkind words of my classmate don't affect me now as they did before. I do want to stop them sometimes and tell them all of what I have learned. I want to tell them that not every Muslim country makes women cover their heads. I want to tell them that while all Muslims are not saints, they are not are all violent. I want to tell them that  Muslims can be Arabs, Persians, or Asians. They can be from Africa, Europe, or even South America. However, I choose to be quiet. I happen to be Muslim, and I do not need to defend myself.  I am proud of my Muslim heritage, and if I stay true to my faith, I can be kinder, more generous, and can even forgive my tormentors.  

To those who mocked me for who I am, I leave you with this quote:

"O you who believe! Let not a group mock another group, it may be that the latter are better than the former, nor let (some) women mock at other women, it may be that the latter are better than the former, nor defame one another, nor insult one another by nicknames", (Quran, Chapter 49).

I was terrified about going to a new school before the summer even began. When sophomore year started I found a group of guys that welcomed me with open arms : who seemed to care about the struggles of the new kid. Thus, I made a leap of faith; I told them my sexuality. Their first response was physically backing away from me at the table and entering an awkward silence. In the conversation that followed they tried to communicate to me that they had nothing against my sexuality - of course I had trouble believing this. I discerned that none of them hated me for who I was, but that with my sexuality came many other judgments. The next day these judgments came to light. One of the kids I told called me a fa***t several times while laughing. After telling him how much it hurt he actually apologized. Then he said “I would never have guessed. You're so cool.” “What do you mean?” I said. He said, “you don’t, like, walk or talk gay.” He wasn’t the only one with these judgments.  The next week I was called a fa***t again. 

I’ve had a visceral reaction to that word since coming out. My fists clench and I can’t help but scowl. However, I felt something different hearing it this time around. I felt like people just didn’t care. As long as what they were saying came off as a joke, the pain they inflicted didn’t matter. I was called a fruitcake many times afterwards. Then I started to realise how often homosexuality was used in conversation as a negative thing. If something is gay it’s bad. I started to worry about what I wore and how I spoke. I brought attention to conversations about my past girl-friends and the fact that I boxed, which seemed to intimidate or impress most people. I never said I was good. 

Insecurity plagues every teenager, whether they admit it or not. We worry about our intelligence, attractiveness, and popularity. These insecurities can devour you from the inside out, and we all know it. Harassment gives power to those insecurities or creates them. They are like parasites, with frothing maws and jagged teeth they tear through us. Insecurities have destroyed lives. Don’t be the one to feed somebody else's parasite. 

But here’s the truth of the matter: I have pushed past years of anxiety and depression and I chose to come to a more difficult environment because I wanted to prove to myself that I could make it. Those kids apologized because I spoke up for myself more than a few times, and it wasn’t easy. I like to think that I’ve persevered, because I’ve found kids who care and appreciate me for who I am.

But still, how much easier would it have been to walk through the hallways, choose what to wear, or introduce myself if I'd been treated differently? I’ve now realized that people often don’t understand the judgment behind their words. I’m hoping this story will change that, if only by getting the conversation started.

There was a group of local Catholic school kids who often would act aggressively toward my group of friends, taunting us, calling us names and I would often seek to avoid running into them. One day, a friend (who was actually Protestant) and I were walking home from the park. The group I referred to surrounded us and started saying derogatory things about Jews. They shoved us and threw pennies at us. I recall thinking, “How did they know I was Jewish?” Also, I thought, “I am being attacked over something I have no control over,” and the whole interaction just seemed unreasonable and crazy. I also remember feeling shame. 

But what really stayed with me in a more meaningful way was that my friend never once said to them, “What are you bothering me for? I am not Jewish.” She stood with me. 

I came to believe that you must live a diverse life. It’s not just a mindset to surround yourself with different cultures, but also to embrace them, have an open mind and be understanding toward what they have to offer. Diversity isn’t black and white but is a color palette of beauty that many cultures can fill. Growing up in a household of two separate ethnic groups, accompanied with polar opposite beliefs yet common differences, made me embrace both perspectives. For example, my father emigrated from England, so during Christmas his traditions were celebrated every year with Christmas pudding and rum as many Europeans would do.

On the other hand, when my mother would invite our aunts from New York for Christmas or Thanksgiving, we’d have a feast with traditional Southern meals. Black culture has had such an amazing effect on my upbringing and I realize how valuable it is to be proud of my heritage. That’s especially true in this day and age, considering the controversy behind the “Black Lives Matter” movement. It makes me appreciate the struggles of the forefathers who fought for my life and for the other African-Americans before me. 

In all honesty, celebrating diversity is something I do every day. The food I eat from my mother's heritage mixed with what I was taught from my father's heritage only adds to the pride I feel, pride of diversification whose proof is found within the melanin in my skin. The way we speak, who we are, what we carry, down to the burdens we hold on our backs make up the diverse variations between our heritages. It is important to understand that by living as diverse humans with different ethnic backgrounds, we are celebrating the beauty in diversification.

As a student at my old school, I was a member of two completely different cultures which I fell in love with, the West Asian Club and The Black Club. These two socially different environments and ethnic groups diversified my ethnic background and my understanding of both. Already indulged in both cultures, learning how to speak Mandarin, celebrating the Chinese New Year and creating Asian traditional dishes only broadened my perspective of another culture. On the other hand, feeling empowered by the culture to which I was born made me realize how much I had to offer as a half-African-American student in a diverse school. I saw that you can have a voice and can speak up against injustice all while enjoying the company of your own people. 

To celebrate cultural diversity, you must dive into what a culture has to offer with an open mind. Without it, you’re only going to judge the beauty in others and the many things it has to offer. So in the end, realizing and embracing other cultures will help the world understand each other and there will be more peace and love being spread around. This is why I celebrate different cultures and diversities.

 

The book explores the sexism and sexual assault rampant in Hollywood, the challenges of being heard and recognized as a female artist, and the exclusivity of many jobs in Hollywood even today.  O'Meara addresses experiences faced not only by herself and Patrick, but addresses the even greater challenges of artists who did not even have her and Patrick's privilege as white, cis, straight, able-bodied women.  O'Meara and Milicent, her predecessor from 50 years prior, were both battling similar experiences, such as being assumed to be someone's girlfriend on set, just because of their gender and looks.  It's a fascinating read for horror fans, movie fans, animation fans--or anyone interested in hearing the point of view of women in Hollywood who are subjected to horrors that have nothing to do with the Creature of the Black Lagoon.  

Take a look at the amazing creations. 

The committee successfully hosted two school wide events - the first an assembly presented by Detective David D’Amico, and the second, a story sharing day during which members of the WHS community shared personal stories of hatred and discrimination.  Our third event is this virtual gallery, a place for education, reflection and hope.  Read personal narratives, discover new books, enjoy artwork and videos.  We may not physically be able to view this gallery as one community in person, but we remain committed to our goal of ensuring that Westfield High School remains No Place For Hate.  As always, we continue to Stand Together from Six Feet Apart.  

The gallery continues to the right.

How do we express solidarity and make a welcoming community?

 

I want to share something with you. Think about the fact that we have absolutely no idea what is in these kids’ hearts and minds right now. We don’t know their struggles and heartaches. 

 

We don’t know who just found out a parent has cancer or whose parent has a chemo treatment today. We don’t know whose parents are going through a nasty divorce. We don’t know whose parent just lost a job, or who hasn’t seen or heard from a parent in the past month or year. We don’t know who has a parent locked up, or which teen just broke up with their significant other. We don’t know who experienced a trauma years ago or more recently. We don’t know which one has a parent at home who couldn’t get up to say goodbye this morning because they are hung over. We don’t know whose parent is working a night job in order to pay the rent, and we don’t know who is food insecure and worried about where the next meal is coming from. We don’t know who wasn’t able to go “back-to-school shopping” and afford to get new clothes and school supplies.

 

In 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic has affected us all in different ways. Students have lost their normal, and many who already have anxiety or depression may be struggling more so without the ability to visit a school counselor or spend time with a trusted adult outside of home. We don’t know which child is home worried sick about a parent’s health, or about a parent who who is an essential worker. We don’t know who has lost a loved one to the virus. We don’t know which kids struggle with internet access, or who don’t want anyone to see their home on a video chat or hear a family member in the background who is yelling or drinking. We don’t know which teens are needed to babysit their little siblings during the day. We don’t know which teen is having to shelter in with an abusive parent. This is a very stressful time for many, but for many of our young people, it can be devastating.

 

We don’t know whose parent is in a rehab, we don’t know which teenager is suffering with social anxiety, depression, an eating disorder or bipolar disorder. We don’t know which one has been diagnosed with cancer, diabetes, arthritis, etc. We don’t know who is living with a parent who beat up the other parent last night and now the teen is worried sick over their parent and was up all night crying and will probably nod off in school today. We don’t know which teen had to get their other siblings up and ready because their parent suffers from depression and can't get out of bed.

 

We also don’t know which teen is struggling with sexual orientation or gender issues and may worry that if they come out, they could loss the love and respect of their friends or family members. Or maybe they are trans and gets harassed and bullied about it in school or at home. We don’t know who is about to drop out of school if one more bullying incident happens to them or if they fail one more test on account of having difficulty reading. We don’t know who has such low self-esteem, agonizes over their appearance or grades, or who feels like they have no friends. We don’t know who is carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders and is thinking life is just too overwhelming to go on like this.

 

Please be kind. Be even kinder. Be flexible and patient.  Know that you have no idea what these kids are truly going through. No idea at all. If we knew, maybe we would be kinder. Maybe we would be in awe of all they are facing at their ages. Maybe we would be more understanding and compassionate. Trust me, if you knew, you would. You would understand why some kids act the way they do. It isn’t easy going to school on so many levels. Teach your child to be kind. Model being kind. Do kind things as a family. Don’t be so quick to judge others. Let your children hear you speak kindly about others. Let them hear you say that you don’t know what another family is dealing with. Teach your child to see life from another point of view. 

 

If you are a teacher, coach, or school staff member – these are the kids who are in your classrooms, halls, locker rooms and on your fields. Be kind. Try to listen and see these children for who they are.  Find their strengths. Show them you care. Get to know them as a person. All it takes is one caring adult to help a child live through and cope with the worst of situations. One caring adult who was there for a child at a critical time in their life who believes in them. A trusted adult who shows they care, someone who can listen and be present. Someone they can trust. 

 

Be that light for a teenager. Please. I beg you. If it wasn’t for a few teachers in my life, who were caring and attentive and made me feel like I mattered, I’m not sure how I would have made it through those tough years. I came from a home with a lot of adverse childhood experiences and trauma. We had a big house and money, so my friends assumed that I had a great life. They had no idea what I was experiencing. There are many others like me who are faced with so much pain and struggle. Please consider that you just never know. But you can be the one who makes a difference in their life. 

 

As a grief counselor and bereavement specialist at Camp Clover in New Jersey, I meet and speak with many grieving students and they share with me their stories of struggle and pain that most people in their lives know nothing about. Some of the kids who seem to “have it all” actually have so much pain in their lives, and yet we don’t see it so we think they are fine. Don’t assume you know what someone else is dealing with.

Lisa Athan, Executive Director of Grief Speaks (www.griefspeaks.com) National Speaker on Grief and Loss