Prejudice in Veiled Promises By Anonymous Highschooler

“My school was safe, it was like home. But as I walked out of the office, I had an overwhelming fear of suffocating—suffocating in the same hallways I thought was home—I no longer belonged.”

In a school district like the one I went to, the possibility of the following happening was a shock, to say the least. Disappointment in the promises made, contradiction to the values proclaimed, and betrayal of the demographic we represented.  

The narrative doesn’t need to be decorated with elephantine language, because what happened was rather simple. The administration who swore to support and prosper our ideas at freshman orientation unequivocally and nondiscriminatorily*, didn’t.  

Two months before Ramadan, I went to the school’s overall club supervisor. A veteran, a teacher, and now a member of higher administration, he was a pillar in the school’s activities. His white face was always painted with a smile constantly wandering the hallways. I brought him a proposal I had mentioned at the end of last year and then again at the beginning of this year; our MSA’s very own Eid Party. The plan was lavish: food catered from local restaurants, invitations sent out to faculty and students, decorations filling the cafeteria with color and sparkle, mehndi for the girls, and games for the guys. I was met with a warm face and enticing regards, “Remind me two weeks to a month before Eid, and we’ll plan it out then!” I walked home with confidence; for the first time in our school’s history we would be hosting a huge MSA event. 

A little over a month before Eid, I went to him, this time with a preliminary plan of arrangements, and was met with cold rejection.

 “It’s too late now, we can’t host the event. You didn’t fill out the building use form last year and reminded me too late.” 

“But I did fill it out, here I have a picture.”

“Sorry, it can’t be done.”

My head lowered in shame, I walked out of the office and for the first time, the hallways of my school narrowed in on me. Students would complain about the heat, the low ceilings, and the crowded hallways, but to me these issues were negligible, my school was safe, it was like home. But as I walked out of the office, I had an overwhelming fear of suffocating—suffocating in the same hallways I thought was home—I no longer belonged. 

I spoke to the advisor and he assured me he’d try his best to make something happen, but I knew against the iron fist of administration, the chances were beyond likely. 

A week later, in the morning announcements, I learned about the first-ever Holi celebration at our school. The thought was exciting, I was glad to see our school was finally commemorating the religions of the student body. Out of curiosity, I asked the president of our school’s Hindu Students Association to see how their planning had been going, to hopefully understand what could be done differently for MSA. They told me they had started planning only two weeks ago. 

Two weeks was enough for a Holi celebration, but a month was too less for our Eid party. 

It was now three weeks before Eid. I went to the club supervisor after consulting my parents and my advisor about the situation.

“I heard the Holi celebration went nicely, I even saw you guys attended! I was wondering if there was any way we could try to have the Eid party, it would mean a lot for me and the MSA.”

“I already told you, it’s not possible, you guys can get the annex for your Friday meeting.”

A compromise? No. An alternative? No. A consolation prize? No. It was a pity play at best. Our extravagant plan was reduced to a meeting in the room we had been requesting to pray Jummah in for the entire year. There were no greetings from administration on Eid, no attendance or response to our invitation, and no support despite their promises. 

This year our MSA had their first Eid Party. Although small, the hard work and foundation are being built. I hope our school can one day stand alongside the schools that have a permanent prayer room and include all religions equally and openly. I hope no student ever feels like a stranger in the hallways of their school. And I earnestly hope that representing the total student body becomes the utmost priority of every administration, to successfully shape and hone the already academically excelling students that roam the halls of my highschool. 

*a variation of the word non discriminatory; used in this piece for oratory purposes