Post on 14-Mar-2018
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MLK 2012 UPPER SCHOOL ASSEMBLY
1) MLK “I Have a Dream” audio
2) Introduction: Kourtney Dworsky, Chiraayu Gosrani, Brianna Gaddy, Quinn Jenkins
3) I Belong Here Poem/VIDEO
4) Being Queer: Ted Waechter and Savannah Lynn
5) “Miss Representation” VIDEO
6) Feminist: Lauren Moore and Quinn Jenkins
7) Affinity Groups: Patrick Lambert
8) Terrorist: Chiraayu Gosrani and Ted Waechter
9) I Remember: Jonathan Avery
10) Tyrone: Brianna Gaddy, Olivia Banks, Anna Jenkins, Tomisin Ogundipe
11) Tim Wise Slide
12) Why Should I Care About Diversity: Bill Velto
13) “What Would You Do” VIDEO
14) Your Life as a Boy: Jacob Warwick, Savannah Lynn, Alexis Williams
15) The Hardware Store: Anna Jenkins, Olivia Banks, Tomisin Ogundipe
16) Being Jewish at Christmas: Don Berger
17) Alumni Perspective: Teresa Porter
18) One of a Million: Kourtney Dworsky and Brianna Gaddy
19) “We Belong Here” VIDEO
20) I Belong Here SONG: Korey Weaver and Raven Watson
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SLIDE
1
Audio ‐ MLK Excerpt from “I Have a Dream” AUDIO – MLK EDIT
Kourtney: Good morning and welcome to the 2012 Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
Celebration. Dr. King was an activist and a prominent leader in the Civil Rights
Movement. He is forever etched into the history of modern America, using
nonviolent methods to express his beliefs and work for social change.
Chiraayu: After organizing the Montgomery Bus Boycott, Dr. King’s efforts led to the
March on Washington where Dr. King delivered his iconic "I Have a Dream" speech.
He became the youngest person to receive the Nobel Peace Prize for his work to end
racial segregation and discrimination. He was assassinated on April 4th, 1968 but his
memory, beliefs, and influence live on.
Brianna: This year's assembly is unique from all previous years. Rather than an
external speaker, members of the Cary Academy community will be sharing their
personal experiences as it relates to inclusion, identity, and advocacy. The assembly
will include a variety of poems, pictures, songs, videos, and reflection pieces. Some of
the pieces shared today are inspired by the I Belong Here artwork in the lobby. The
authors of several of the pieces asked to remain anonymous; these will be read on
behalf of the students by members of the MLK Committee.
Quinn: Following this assembly there will be advisory discussions regarding your
reactions to the illustrated experiences. As you listen to the pieces being shared
today, keep in mind that they are all submitted by members of our own Cary
Academy community; this is the here and now. I hope you enjoy the assembly in
celebration of Dr. King and remember that we all belong here.
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2
MEDIA: I BELONG MS VIDEO
Every day when I arrive at school, I feel privileged. I feel like I belong here.
I am not insulted with racial slurs or given offensive looks. It seems like I belong
here.
My friends are Black, White, Asian, Indian, Multiracial, and more. It seems we all
belong here.
In school, my father was insulted with racial slurs and my mother was greeted with
offensive looks. They did not feel that they belonged there.
But here, I know I belong. And I feel privileged to have a school environment that is
much more accepting than that of my parents. Although they did not believe it was
so, they did belong there.
And we all belong here.
VIDEO:
I BELONG – MS
VIDEO
3
Being Queer – Anonymous
Read by Ted Waechter and Savannah Lynn
Ted ‐ Being queer means you eventually have to reckon with the process of
coming out. But it’s not just a one‐time thing. It’s a process, and you have to come
out multiple times over the course of your life. For every old friend who knows your
identity, there’s a new friend you’d like to confide in. For every family member who
knows who you really are, there’s another who you’re scared to approach. For every
intimate group of friends you come out to, there’s the rest of your high school class.
That’s largely the reason why I’m choosing to remain anonymous.
Savannah ‐ I’ve had to come out a lot, and I usually surprise people when I say, “I’m
queer.” Well, technically, I’m bisexual, and most people don’t assume that about me.
They see the way I dress, the way I style my hair. They hear me talk about my
boyfriend, and they wouldn’t guess that I’m queer. I think most people just assume
that I’m a straight ally, which is pretty reasonable of them.
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Ted ‐ So throughout high school, I’ve slipped under the radar for the most part. This
is good—I haven’t been bullied. I haven’t been hit with the usual prejudices against
Bi’s—that we need to just pick a side, that we can’t be monogamous, that we’re
slutty. Because I’ve only come out to people who care about me, I’ve had a pretty
easy time.
Savannah ‐ It’s not even that I haven’t experienced some monumental act of
intolerance and exclusion; it’s that I haven’t even experienced the small stuff. And I
don’t really think I would accomplish anything by coming out here, so publicly, to
everyone. I’m proud to be who I am. And I think the support of my friends is enough.
TED GOES TO SIT ON THE RIGHT FOR “TERRORIST”
4
MEDIA ‐ Miss Representation Trailer
• Miss Representation:
• 3 Minute trailer
http://www.missrepresentation.org/the‐film/
• http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6gkIiV6konY
VIDEO
5
Feminist – Written by Quinn Jenkins and Lauren Moore
Quinn ‐ Some people believe American men and women became equal
citizens around the time that we landed on the moon and integrated schools.
Lauren ‐ Every 9 seconds, a woman is battered in the United States.
Quinn ‐ Some people believe that Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton,
and Alice Paul fought the fight for women long ago, and they won.
Lauren ‐ One in three women has been beaten, coerced into sex or otherwise
abused during her lifetime.
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Quinn ‐ Some people believe the United States, as it leapt forward
economically and technologically, fully progressed socially and culturally.
Lauren ‐ Females currently make 77 cents to the male earned dollar and
women make up only 3% of Fortune 500 CEO’s.
Quinn ‐ Facts like these inspired me to research, inquire, and absorb more
about gender inequity. In middle school, my classmate announced she was on a
diet; at summer camp, my bunkmate whispered that she was raped; a few
months ago, the mother of a child for whom I babysit quietly told me she had
to quit her job because it didn’t provide enough flexibility for mothers. As I
came to the realization that gender inequality is still coiled around—and quietly
strangling—American culture and society, I realized I’m a feminist.
Lauren ‐ For many people, feminism is obsolete. But the feminist movement is
vibrant and extensive—and necessary. It’s basic respect for women, and it’s
evident in the little things: supporting the women in your life, not cutting them
down. Understanding why rape jokes are hurtful. Refusing to denigrate women
with the word “slut.” Ensuring that women are safe and respected in male‐
dominated spaces. Acknowledging, not denying, that men have certain
advantages in society, and women have certain disadvantages. Feminism is as
simple as listening to women.
Quinn ‐ Feminists are women and men. Girls and boys. Republicans and
Democrats. And if, someday, you want your daughter to have the same
opportunities as your son, you too are a feminist.
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Affinity Groups ‐ Written and read by Patrick Lambert
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When I was in 9th grade, I was in an advisory with quite a few African Americans. A
problem arose during the MLK day advisory discussions, where we were talking
about the efficacy of affinity groups. Before the conversation started, we were
assured that it was a free discussion, and that we could say anything that was on our
minds. So I shared my thoughts at the time that I didn’t think that affinity groups
were achieving their purpose. I thought that they were pulling the community apart,
not bringing it together.
Immediately after saying this, one of the African Americans in my advisory called me
a racist. Very swiftly, the advisor stopped the discussion, and switched topics. He
then came over and told me that I couldn’t be saying things like that. For an entire
year, I felt many African Americans treated me as an outcast, and wouldn’t talk to me
‐ even in class.
I realized that assumptions and generalizations can go both ways, and that you can
never generalize about who “the racists” are.
In an attempt to try to understand their perspective on affinity groups, I went to the
African American Affinity Group, and listened in. Initially, many of the members were
surprised that I was there. And because of my previous comments, some of them
were downright uncomfortable, and so was I. For the first time, I truly felt I was in a
place were I might not belong. But because I continued to come and listen, I learned
why the affinity group is valuable to them – and after I began actively participating, I
hope they were able to begin to understand some of my perspectives as well. In the
end, I feel as though there is a mutual respect, one born out of both my willingness
to lean into discomfort, and their willingness to allow their space to be truly open to
broader members of the community.
Now I participate actively in 7 different affinity groups, and have a much broader
view of how the core identifiers of diversity factor into our community. When I made
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that effort, it put everything into perspective. Black, Brown, or White, gay or straight,
weak or strong, old or young, male or female, we all share common challenges.
The question we should really be asking is ‐ how do we address those challenges?
The affinity groups that I participate in are part of our community, and if the people
in that community don’t participate, and if the affinity groups don’t reciprocate, it’s
harder to address those challenges that we all face. Visiting these affinity groups
changed my mindset, and I encourage you to try that as well. If you're a member of
only one affinity group, try going to another one. If you don't identify with any
particular affinity group, try going to one you identify with the least and just listen.
You may be surprised at how stepping out of your comfort zone can broaden your
own perspective.
I believe Cary Academy is just the community where we can find solutions. That
should be the goal of today's reflections. A united community.
7
Terrorist – Written by Chiraayu Gosrani
Read by Chiraayu Gosrani and Ted Waechter
Chiraayu ‐ The kid pointedly approached my friend, a Muslim student. In a menacing
tone, the kid bellowed, “Hey, you terrorist.” I watched as the color drained from my
friend’s face. With his head down, he began to fidget with his coat zipper, incapable
of uttering a single word. The kid continued his affront. “You got a bomb in that
backpack? Or a dagger? Huh?” As the verbal spattering continued, my friend covered
his ears, unwilling to hear yet another stereotype thrown his way.
Because many Americans perceive Islam to be a religion of terror and savagery,
Muslim‐Americans, among other groups, have been the target of derogatory speech,
hate crimes, discrimination, and racial profiling well before 9/11.
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Ted ‐ To be a Muslim in America now is to endure slings and arrows against your
faith — not just in the schoolyard but also outside your place of worship and in
public, where some of the country's most powerful mainstream religious and political
leaders unthinkingly (or worse, deliberately) conflate Islam with terrorism and
savagery.
Chiraayu ‐ We each have a responsibility to support the Islamic community and
others who are trying to uphold the values of their faith in the face of increasing
social obstacles.
Ted ‐ With words alone, each of us can make a difference.
Chiraayu ‐ As the kid drew his fists upon my friend, I exclaimed, “Stop! Look at
yourself. If terrorism is intimidation and violence, then YOU are the terrorist, not my
friend.”
8 I Remember – Written and read by Jonathan Avery
I remember when I was called less than a human
I remember when I was called worthless
I remember when I was call stupid, dumb, ignorant because of my skin pigment,
because of my heritage, because of my family
I remember when I was torn down by a wrecking ball
I remember when I was spat in the face, hit in the face, thrown on the ground,
because of one word
I remember when my elders would tell stories of their hardships in a so called
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“equal country”
I remember when all these things happened to me when I was in a supposed to be
safe environment, a private school,
Yes I remember when I was stabbed in my heart called personality using the knife
sharpened by my past slave masters
I remember, feel, and think about the times I was called a nigger in school.
In other words… I remember when a word used to degrade the soul and mind of the
“dark skin races”, was used on me…. A proud member of a dark skin race.
I remember sitting in class wondering how do I fit the meaning of this word HOW?!
I don’t
I never have
I never will
The N word means all of the above and I feel I do not deserve the pain that comes
from the word.
If I do please tell me why I deserve to be insulted in one the worst possible ways.
Do you know how it feels when the sharp knife yes the N word pierces you?
Do you know how it feels when any derogatory term pierces you?
The burn of such a small 6 unit weapon measured by the units called letters can burn
into your mind, cause you to bleed the blood that is considered
less than a human.
Yes I remember this pain so clearly, as if it happened today
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But in my mind I must stop the pain
As I said before I don’t fit these meanings or deserve the pain, never have, and never
will!
9
Tyrone ‐ Anonymous Read by Brianna Gaddy, Olivia Banks, Anna Jenkins, Tomisin Ogundipe Brianna ‐ On September 17th, 2011, one of my Facebook friends posted a status
saying:
[MEDIA OF BROKEN WINDOW HERE]
Olivia ‐ “Someone smashed my car window and went through all my stuff.
Thanks, Tyrone – I hope you found everything you need to buy some crack. Bad way
to start the day.”
Brianna ‐ The way he jumped to a stereotypical conclusion left me shocked. This
kind of racial bigotry, stereotyping, and hatred is, while many of us hesitate to
believe it, still very apparent in today’s society. The comments on the post ranged
from:
Tomisin ‐ (laughing) Hey, it wasn’t Tyrone, it was Jaquan, actually.”
Brianna – …to the one courageous comment:
Anna ‐ “No need to be a bigot about the whole thing.”
Brianna ‐ The fact that there was only one comment, out of 23, that attempted
to break the hateful racism proves the point that there are still cases of this verbal
racist slander. We are the face of the new generation; we must be in charge of the
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environment we live in. It is our responsibility to create an environment where all
people can be accepted. It is OUR RESPONSIBILITY as the future of this country.
So,
ALL: Take a stand now, and break the cycle of oppression.
10 TIM WISE SLIDE
–
11
Why Should I Care About Diversity ‐ Written and read by Bill Velto
Why should I care about diversity? I am a child of privilege. I am white, male,
Christian, heterosexual, from a middle class family that, while not able to grant my
every want and dream as a child, certainly indulged me and provided far more than
what I needed. I have never faced personal discrimination or hardship because of my
gender, skin color, age, faith, sexual orientation, or lack of material wealth.
Why do I care about diversity? I was raised by parents who responded to John F.
Kennedy’s challenge, “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can
do for your country” by moving away from their families to Chicago to become
community organizers involved with trying to guarantee equal access to basic human
rights for all people. My mother was involved with Project Head Start at the
beginning of Johnson’s Great Society. Dad was active working with community
organizers to help a variety of groups get representation, decent housing, and
medical care. My first experience at a protest came when I was still in a stroller with
my dad, picketing a bank to protest discriminatory lending practices. When I was five
we moved to Upstate New York. I was surrounded by people whose skin was the
same as mine, who shared my Christian background. My parents continued their
work for social justice. Dad worked to provide decent housing for elderly and
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handicapped individuals, to help people pay for higher education, to provide food for
their stomachs. Mom worked to help as many kids as possible come into
kindergarten with proper nutrition, having learned to read, write, and do basic math.
When I was in college, the reserve base outside of town expanded to become a full
time facility, home of the 10th Mountain Division. I remember the discussions in City
Council meetings as residents were concerned about the impact 30,000 people,
many of whom were black or Latino, would make on the lily white community. I
remember hearing people of Italian descent at those meetings speaking vehemently
against military housing being built in their part of town, forgetting it WAS their part
of town because the original Irish settlers of the region didn’t want Italians polluting
“their” neighborhoods.
Why DO I care about diversity? I care because I believe that everyone deserves
decent housing, food and medical care, regardless of their personal wealth. I believe
that everyone is entitled to a good education that will allow them to pursue their
dreams to make their lives better. I believe that everyone in this country should be
able to be who they are and contribute to this great country according to their gifts
and talents without being limited by their appearance, age, or capabilities. I believe
people in love should be able to marry, if they so choose, regardless of their skin
color, ethnicity, or gender identification. I believe people should be able to enter the
house of worship they choose without fear of finding sacred symbols burned, walls
covered in hate speech, and sacred spaces defecated on. I believe there is “that
which is of God”, the Inner Light within each of us.
Thus I believe all persons have inherent worth, independent of their gender, race,
age, nationality, religion, and sexual orientation. I believe that all of us together with
our differences and similarities form the warp and weft of the strongest fabric of
society. I believe that this strength can only come, however, through acceptance,
understanding, appreciation, and love for all people regardless of creed, color, or
country of origin.
THAT is why I value diversity.
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12 MEDIA – WHAT WOULD YOU DO
http://abcnews.go.com/WhatWouldYouDo/video/black‐teen‐shoppers‐targeted‐boutique‐
10589928
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Your Life as a Boy – Written by Jacob Warwick
Read by Jacob Warwick, Savannah Lynn, and Alexis Williams
Jacob ‐ This a piece I wrote for a school assignment last spring. It’s called “Your Life
as a Boy.” The assignment was to write a personal narrative. We present it to you not
as an isolated story of one, but rather as a story that we all, to some extent,
participate in. This is not a tale of wrong; this is a tale of forgiveness. This is not about
one; it’s about us all.
Alexis ‐ It is eleven thirty on a Monday, and the North Carolina sky is the epitome of
blues, a blue that would make a designer salivate and a photographer grin. You are
13, short, slightly overweight, and quiet. It is gym class ‐ your worst fear ‐ and you
return to the gymnasium as a prisoner to his cell. “Maybe this time”, you think, “they
will leave me alone.” Then you laugh at yourself quietly. Of course not. A table of
seniors turns to stare ‐ they think you are crazy, walking alone, laughing to yourself.
You think you might be crazy too, but they will not know about that; you will not let
them.
Savannah ‐ You cannot see the sky in the locker room. You rush to change, ashamed
of yourself, your body, your mind. You hope and pray that they will not notice you,
holed off as you are in a corner of the locker room (oh, how you curse that infernal
place!) When you hear the singing, you know it has started. There is no going back.
You drop your textbook ‐ it spills out to a lesson on the floor. You know it is coming;
you reach down, pick up the book, and read. Pretending not to hear, you wince as
the inevitable lines pierce through the paragraph:
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Alexis ‐ A wolf pack has a definite social structure and rules of conduct.
Savannah ‐ “I’ve paid my dues / time after time / I’ve done my sentence / but
committed no crime”
Alexis ‐ The pack leader is the alpha male.
Savannah ‐ “And bad mistakes / I’ve made a few / I’ve had my share of sand kicked in
my face / but I’ve come through”
Alexis ‐ This animal is dominant over all the other wolves in the pack.
Savannah ‐ “We are the champions, my friends. / And we’ll keep on fighting ‘till the
end / We are the champions / We are the champions”
Alexis – At kills, the alpha male also gets to eat first.
Savannah ‐ “No time for You.”
Savannah ‐ At this line, they all turn and look at you. The singers point, their hands
accusatory. Mistrust and malice loom in the air; a thunderstorm in a bottle. You look
away, pretend not to notice. The storms inside you must not reach your face. They
know you are different, they can smell it with their snouts. You are trapped. You
envision them with wolf faces and it makes you want to run and run and run until
you cannot run any more.
Jacob ‐ As you walk down the hallways, you feel alone in the world. Kids leer, girls in
massive groups giggle to each other as if it were a form of communication. Teachers
linger in the doorways, afraid to step out of the relative safety of their domains. They
watch, silently, turning away into their classrooms, pretending not to hear when they
actually do. “That’s so gay.” “Fag.” “Fairy.” “Queer.” They don’t want to deal with it,
to step out and make a difference. It’s dangerous, and at an affluent private school
with a lot of conservative parents, no teacher wants to be branded as the one to
intervene on the behalf of THOSE people.
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ALEXIS ‐ It is in 9th grade when you see your first pride parade. You are leaving from
orchestra practice and the crowds are horrible. You cannot drive yet so your parents
come to pick you up; they want to stop and watch the parade. You are
uncomfortable with this, but you do not know why. The parade is mediocre, small
and well protected by a police force that intimidates you. The people are worse.
Guys dressed in drag, topless women. You are so embarrassed for your parents. And
then the club float comes around. Scantily clad men, dancing to loud music, on a
float. You are mortified ‐ the float cannot pass out of sight quickly enough.
And… something more. Standing, horrified, next to your parents, you think you are
perverted. And that day, you make a mental pact: they will never know. You feel so
alone.
Savannah ‐ It’s at about this time that, when you pass a happy couple holding hands,
or ‐ god forbid ‐ kissing on the street, you discreetly look away, and blame the wind
for your watery eyes. You know in your heart that you will never have that. The
obstacles are too great: society would never let you. And the stereotypes hound you:
you are not tall, or thin. You never dressed in girls clothes; you played soccer with
the other boys at summer camp when you were little. You don’t like pink, or glitter,
or saying the word “fabulous”. You are not emo. You don’t even like Lady Gaga very
much. You do like cats. How could you ever find someone even remotely like you?
And even if you did, you would still be a freak.
Jacob ‐ Now it’s halfway through your junior year, and you are returning to the
scene of the crime: the gymnasium. You are following a group of middle school‐ers
down the hallway, and as you listen discreetly to their conversation, you realize that
they remind you of a pack you knew a long time ago. You hear words that you have
not heard in a long time: “sissy”, “faggot”, “queer”. Finally, one of them turns to the
other and says it; your heart skips a beat, your soul lights up in anguish, and you
physically make a full stop in shock.
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Alexis ‐ “That’s so gay!”
Jacob ‐ Then you realize something: you are much taller than them. You are higher
on the social order. Most importantly, you are alone; it is you and them. You manage
to catch up before they reach the cave that is the middle school locker room.
Jacob ‐ “Excuse me.”
They turn, surprised, to the giant looming overhead.
“Could you please not say that?”
Their faces morph; they are no longer wolves. They are confused 7th graders standing
in a hallway. They are small.
Alexis ‐ “Say what?”
Jacob ‐ “‘That’s so gay’,” you reply. “It’s derogatory. And offensive.”
Their eyes widen. You have dared to do what no other has: you have breached a
divide that no other dared to. Your heart is beating in your throat, you are intensely
nervous. You realize that everything hinges on their response.
Alexis ‐ “Oh,” says one with a shrug, already turning back to the locker room door.
“Sorry.”
14 The Hardware Store ‐ Anonymous
Read by Olivia Banks, Anna Jenkins, Tomisin Ogundipe
Olivia ‐ The door of the hardware store opens and I fix a smile on my face as a
customer walks through the door. “Can I help you?” I ask ‐ polite, friendly, open.
Anna ‐ The answer varies. Usually, it begins with: “Is there a manager or someone
who can help me?” Eyes peer towards the back of the store, as if an older, more
masculine employee is going to emerge from one of the aisles and save the customer
from having to deal with a teenage girl.
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Tomisin ‐ Another time, the man says “I’m looking for electrical outlets – never
mind, I can find it myself.” Before I can answer, he sets off purposefully, poking his
head into several aisles before spotting what he wants.
Olivia ‐ This time there are two customers, a boy and his friend. “Don’t bother her;
she probably doesn’t know where they are,” one guy says to the other, who laughs
and nods in easy agreement.
Anna ‐ Once, a construction worker walks quickly by, saying “Don’t worry about it
sweetheart, I’ll go back to the service center.” The man strides past me with a
patronizing smile, and slaps the counter as he passes with a large, heavy hand
covered in dirt.
Tomisin ‐ Another time, a family enters, and the father says, “I have a feeling you
might not know where this product is.” He is trying to be polite, but he can’t stop
from laughing, and expects me to laugh as well.
Olivia ‐ Now, it’s a woman walking through the door. She says: “Let me speak to one
of your hardware guys.” She doesn’t even look me in the face, just searches through
her purse for her glasses, her phone, her shopping list.
Anna ‐ I silently page hardware, and smile again when the customers come up to
the counter to check out. All they see when they walk in the door are the facts that I
am sixteen and female.
Olivia ‐ To them, a teenage girl couldn’t possibly know anything about mechanics
and hardware; when they look at me they see what they want to see. They see a
stereotyped version of me.
Tomisin ‐ Day after day, I stand at the cash register as waves of boys, girls, men, and
women glide past me looking around for someone male, someone older, someone
society has told them would be better working in a hardware store.
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15 Being Jewish at Christmas – Written and read by Don Berger
It was the last Friday in December before Christmas vacation. All the students in Mrs.
Zahn’s third grade class were excited. Excited about the two‐week vacation whose
start was only an hour or so away, excited about the holiday season, and excited
about our final school event: the Holiday assembly in the school’s library. So, why
couldn’t I get excited? I nervously nibbled my finger nails while my classmates
chattered incessantly about things to come.
I dreaded Lakeville Elementary School’s holiday assembly. I dreaded it because far
more than any event that took place during the school year, the holiday assembly
made me feel like I didn’t belong. I was Jewish. And from the moment we filed into
the library, the holiday assembly was all about Christmas. The giant Christmas tree to
the right of the library doors as we entered, the song books filled with Christmas
carols, the white lights strung around the entire library walls, and the huge platter of
Christmas cookies – Santas and Reindeers and Snowmen – all told me that I was
different.
Sure, there were a couple of Chanukah songs at the end of the song book. But it was
when we sang these songs that I felt the most uncomfortable. The loud chorus that
had bellowed during the Christmas carols quieted to an unenthusiastic obligation.
We Jewish students sang softly so as to not call attention to our Jewishness and our
Christian friends were mainly unfamiliar with the lyrics and tunes or uninterested. I
would have much preferred not singing a Chanukah song.
I didn’t know many of the carols. So I sat and mostly listened during these holiday
assemblies, wondered what my Christian friends thought of me, and waited for the
assembly to end.
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16
Alumni perspective – Written and read by Teresa Porter
On my first day at Cary Academy, my advisor and I were wearing almost matching
outfits. Normally this wouldn’t be too embarrassing . . . except my advisor was a 65
year old man named Mr. Jones. You might not have recognized me then, a wildly
intimidated 14 year old, but you wouldn’t have recognized much else around here
either. The building we are sitting in was a construction site. The SEA was a wide‐
open field. The Upper School was filled with empty classrooms. The handshaking
ceremony took just 15 minutes . . . okay, I am exaggerating, but there were many
fewer of us – half the faculty we have now and no Junior or Senior class. Every day
we heard the message loud and clear: Cary Academy was “under construction”, and
not just the new buildings but the traditions, the student activities, even the first
fleeting feelings of school pride . . . all under construction.
I joined Cary Academy in the 9th grade, in only the second year of the school, when
50% of the students (like me) were new. While much of what we built those first few
years was as solid and strong as the floor beneath your feet . . . some of what we
built had a shaky foundation. I don’t know how else to say it, but we just didn’t quite
trust each other. We didn’t know who we were supposed to be. We didn’t know
what it meant to other people when we said we went to Cary Academy. We would
never have been caught dead wearing a Cary Academy t‐shirt. We were a little
embarrassed – we didn’t know what we were a part of. Since we were spending so
much time worried how Cary Academy would be viewed in the external community,
we spent a lot of time trying to figure each other out. Were we nerds? Were we
snobs? Were we just rejects that didn’t make it in public school?
Half my graduating class didn’t even speak to the other half – because in the absence
of knowing what we were supposed to be, we just fumbled around picking on
different cliques within our grade trying to tell the world what we weren’t by
isolating those among us we didn’t want to be like. We didn’t want to be seen as
nerds, so if you seemed to care a little too much about school, we made fun of you.
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We didn’t want to be seen as stuck up, so if you cared a little too much about what
you looked like, we made fun of you. We routinely used “gay” as a derogatory term
for everything from surprise vocabulary quizzes to forgetting to wear a belt and
really didn’t even think there was anything wrong with it. I could go on and on. But
the truth is we spent so much time fighting with each other and fighting to not be
seen one way in the community . . . we missed a critical part of the “construction” of
Cary Academy.
But the school has changed, and matured, over time. What I see surrounding me
now is a school where instead of fighting to seem the same as everyone else you are
working together to figure out who you are. I see affinity groups, diversity meetings,
and assemblies like this one that shake us up and say keep staying true to who you
are. Every Spring you have the Ubuntu celebration – an entire day dedicated to
learning more about each other. One of the largest student groups on campus is the
Gay Straight Alliance. Despite our early floundering and trying to figure out who we
were as a school, you’ve created a place that simply says “everyone welcome”.
I want to encourage you to remember that you’re still building a school – the way
you speak to each other, the way you accept and encourage one another, the way
you choose to stand up for what you know is right will all create the foundation that
Cary Academy will continue to be built on. My hope for you all is this: that one day,
ten or fifteen years from now when you walk back on campus – your legacy will be
greater than what my class can claim, more than just a handshaking ceremony or
new buildings or a faint memory of that time you wore the same outfit as your
advisor . . . you will see your legacy in the way students show each other an
uncommon kindness, the way the fullness of each person’s differences are
embraced, and a school where each member is fearless about protecting the culture
of respect that is being created here now.
17
One Of a Million ‐ Anonymous Read by Kourtney Dworsky and Brianna Gaddy
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Kourtney ‐ “People talk a lot about strength in numbers, about the tactical
benefits of being one of a million. Not many people, though, like to talk about the
flipside of that, namely being weak and alone. That’s how I’ve felt for a lot of my
life: weak and alone, one in a million (and, let’s be clear, not in the extraordinary
sense but rather in the far less empowering “weird” sense.) That’s just it: I was
weird. And it showed.
Brianna ‐ “When I enrolled at Cary Academy in sixth grade, I was terrified of
those around me, and of myself; this was yet another beginning, another
opportunity to prove I wasn’t weird, but I was sure I’d somehow jeopardize it all
by being who I was. But I didn’t: I had friends, I was happy. I don’t know how it all
happened, but I remember walking around with my friends in the middle school
backyard one day in sixth grade and suddenly realizing things were going well.
Kourtney ‐ “I first came out to two of my closest friends in 8th grade. They were
both girls: I would come out to my guy friends my freshman year. De‐restricting
myself to that degree was scary, and I feared I would return to my one‐in
existence as I let more people see who I really was. To my surprise, though, that
didn’t happen; though I have never been one of a million, I’ve come to realize I’ll
always be one of a few. It’s been at Cary Academy that I felt safe, one of my five
or so friends who knew who I was and were OK with it. One of the twenty or
thirty students who congregate at Gay Straight Alliance on Fridays. One of the
many in our community who appreciate diversity. To be fair, it hasn’t all been
smooth sailing: I’ve been asked if I’m gay 9 times. Every time I’ve been asked,
that fear rises in my chest. It moves up my lungs and into my throat. And I’m
surrounded by the possibilities of the one‐in. The one‐in is not good.
Brianna ‐ “And when all the fears of being one‐in overtake me, attacking me
with memories of vicious words and depression and being alone, I remind myself
I’m not one‐in. I’m one‐OF: one‐OF my group of friends, one‐OF the GSA, one‐OF
those who value diversity, one‐OF the 11.7 million Americans who are gay,
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lesbian, bisexual, or transgender.
Kourtney ‐ “I am one‐OF, and that’s a good feeling. “
18 MEDIA – TED WAECHTER’S WE BELONG HERE PSA VIDEO
19 I Belong Here Song ‐ written by Korey Weaver Korey Weaver on piano and vocals, Raven Watson on vocals [Verse 1] I belong here Just as much as you do And there's nothing you could do Or say to rain on my parade. Whether here is there Or where it is I belong there. [bridge 1] You could never Understand the Way I feel About this. But you will know The moment you show Yourself It's where you belong. [Chorus] In this space In this place In this world Graced by grace.(2x) [Verse 2] you belong here Just as much as I do So let no one tell you You're not, you've got what it takes. To take what you have And make it work out in the end.
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[Bridge 2] I swear to you That we Will be All we Can be As long as we are here And there’s No way To say What I want Except You belong. [Chorus] In this space In this place In this world Graced by grace. (2x) [Chorus 2] Take these words Hold ‘em close Cause you know You belong [Chorus] In this space In this place In this world Graced by grace.
20 CLOSING – Olivia Banks
Olivia: On behalf of the MLK Committee, we really hope you enjoyed today's presentation and reflect upon what it means to our community. Students, please head to your advisories next. And of course, Seniors First!