The new school year swept in, bringing a wave of unrest to Westmont High – a name that resonated as a symbol of excellence, nestled amidst the lavish mansions of the affluent suburbs. Here, a person’s worth seemed to be measured by bank accounts and social standing, rarely by intellect or kindness. Despite Westmont’s proud, stone walls adorned with multicultural banners, one only had to step through its black iron gates to sense the deep-rooted, unspoken prejudices of race and class, like a hidden moss clinging to a glamorous facade. Even the atmosphere of the opening days of school was tainted by the simmering protests just outside, opposing racial injustice cases that were shaking the nation.
Into this stifling environment stepped Jamal Thompson, a 16-year-old Black student whose eyes always sparkled with intelligence and extraordinary determination. He was new, hailing from a poor neighborhood where old brick walls and blaring car horns were familiar sounds. Jamal had earned a prestigious full scholarship to Westmont, an achievement his entire community took pride in. Yet, at Westmont, it transformed him into an “outsider,” a stark mark of difference in a sea of uniformity. Every scrutinizing glance, every whispered remark behind his back, felt like a needle pricking his heart. Jamal yearned for recognition, not just for himself but for all those who had placed their trust in him, but he knew the path wouldn’t be easy.
Jamal’s biggest hurdle came from his history teacher, Laura Miller. Ms. Miller, a white woman in her early 40s, appeared dedicated and professional. Yet, beneath that veneer, she harbored deep-seated prejudices about race and class. In her mind, students “from good areas” – those with fair complexions and names tied to vast fortunes – naturally possessed superior innate abilities and were destined for easier success. Thus, her favoritism towards them was self-evident, a matter of course.
Among the students Ms. Miller favored, none stood out more than Jessica Woods. Jessica was a 16-year-old white girl, radiantly beautiful, popular throughout the school, and, of course, from an incredibly wealthy family. She was truly Westmont’s “queen,” constantly surrounded by flatterers, boys and girls alike willing to do anything just to be invited to the extravagant parties Jessica frequently hosted at her private villa. Jessica made no secret of her blatant contempt for Jamal. She saw him as unworthy, a thorn in her side, not only because of his skin color and humble background but also because Jamal quickly proved to be a formidable academic competitor.
Right from the first history class, Jamal swiftly demonstrated his exceptional ability. He delivered insightful analyses of the American Revolution, presenting tight arguments and unique perspectives that made the whole class listen in silence. He paid no mind to Jessica’s annoyed glare from her desk. Ms. Miller nodded, but her gaze still carried a hint of skepticism, as if she couldn’t quite believe a student from Jamal’s neighborhood could be so intelligent.
“Jamal, please come to the board and solve this problem,” Ms. Miller called, pointing to a thorny question about the U.S. Constitution, one that even the brightest students found challenging. Jamal confidently walked to the board, picked up the chalk, and began explaining each clause, each profound meaning. He completed the solution almost perfectly.
“Hmm,” Ms. Miller’s eyes swept across the board, then landed on Jamal, her lips barely curving. “Your work still has a few shortcomings, Jamal. You need to strive for absolute precision.” Her voice was cold, decisive, like a small knife slicing into his confidence. Jamal briefly saw Jessica’s triumphant smirk. “Now, Jessica, would you like to add anything?”
Jessica, with a self-satisfied smile, merely added a few simple points already found in the textbook. Ms. Miller immediately offered a benevolent smile: “Excellent, Jessica. You’ve grasped the fundamental knowledge.” That praise felt like an invisible slap across Jamal’s face. He knew he’d done better, but the truth, it seemed, didn’t matter.
Ms. Miller’s favoritism became even more evident when grading tests and presentations. Jamal’s presentation on the Civil Rights Movement was a true masterpiece: full of emotion, deep knowledge of activists, protests, and silent sacrifices. He’d spent weeks researching, even interviewing elders in his community for authentic stories. When he presented, the entire class listened in silence, a few even tearing up. But when Jamal received his paper back, he was stunned to see a B+ accompanied by Ms. Miller’s comment: “Your presentation was too emotionally charged and lacked the objective perspective required of a historian.”
At the same time, Jessica’s paper, a superficial compilation of textbook knowledge utterly devoid of creativity or depth, proudly bore an A. “Excellent, Jessica,” Ms. Miller announced loudly to the class, “Jessica has shown comprehensive understanding and a scientific approach to her presentation. You all should learn from her.” Ms. Miller even openly favored Jessica by inviting her to represent the school in extracurricular activities, such as a local history quiz. Once, when Jessica performed poorly on a test, Jamal even overheard Ms. Miller quietly calling her into the office, “hinting” at answers for difficult questions or giving Jessica another chance to retake it to boost her grade.
Beyond his teacher’s blatant favoritism, Jamal also endured direct friction and contempt from Jessica. “The scholarship kid from God-knows-where, daring to come to this prestigious school,” Jessica would say pointedly in the hallway, loud enough for Jamal to hear, making her friends giggle. She frequently mocked Jamal’s old clothes or deliberately spilled drinks or books on him in the cafeteria, then feigned an overly sweet apology. “Oh, my bad, I wasn’t looking,” she’d wink at her friends, “my hands are just so clumsy.” Jessica also constantly spread malicious rumors about Jamal, labeling him a “freeloader” or someone with “fake achievements,” further isolating him and making him the target of unkind gossip.
Jamal felt utterly frustrated and helpless. He looked at the unjustly low grades on his academic record, knowing they would be colossal barriers. This record would make it hard for him to apply to prestigious universities or participate in important academic competitions, directly impacting his future career. A question constantly haunted Jamal, gnawing at his mind: “What do I need to do to escape the shadow of my skin color and impoverished background? Will my talent and effort ever be fairly recognized here?” It was a question he hadn’t found an answer to, and it gnawed at his soul daily.
Jamal’s days at Westmont dragged on heavily, each history class with Ms. Miller, each lonely recess, and every dismissive glance from Jessica Woods, like invisible cuts slowly carving deeper into his spirit. Jamal tried to push it all aside, focusing intently on his studies, seeing it as his only escape. He believed that true talent would eventually be recognized, that high grades and outstanding academic achievements would be irrefutable proof. But that belief gradually wavered against the towering, formidable wall of prejudice, so high and solid he could barely see a way out, only a pervasive grayness clouding his future.
One Friday afternoon, as the dismissal bell echoed, Jessica stood in the hallway, clutching a stack of shimmering party invitations as if she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. She smiled radiantly, her voice sickeningly sweet: “Everyone, I’m throwing a party at my place tomorrow night! It’s an end-of-summer Pool Party, guaranteed to be super fun! Everyone’s invited!” The crowd of students surrounding Jessica cheered excitedly, like bees swarming for honey. Jamal stood not far off, trying to pack his books into his backpack. He hoped, with innocent despair, that even out of politeness, Jessica might hand him an invitation. He watched her distribute each elaborately embossed card to her close friends, then to other ordinary students. Jamal’s eyes met Jessica’s; she merely offered a superficial smile, her red lips barely moving as she murmured something to her friend beside her before turning away, not offering Jamal an invitation, not even a kind glance.
A cold, sharp pang shot through Jamal’s spine, piercing straight to his heart. He watched his classmates surrounding Jessica, their faces beaming with excitement as they received the fancy invitations, as if they were tickets to a magical world. He felt like an invisible ghost in that noisy hallway, openly and cruelly excluded. He bit his lip hard, trying to suppress the rising tide of shame and resentment that threatened to choke him. “It’s fine,” he told himself, his internal voice weak and pathetic, “I’m here to study, not to go to frivolous parties.” But that justification was so fragile against the harsh reality of being isolated, of being deemed unworthy of even a simple invitation.
Monday morning arrived, and the atmosphere in Ms. Miller’s history class buzzed with loud laughter and chatter about the party. “Oh my god, Jessica’s party was absolutely epic! The pool had all sorts of colored lights, and the EDM was insane!” a blonde girl shrieked, her eyes still sparkling with excitement. “I’ve never seen such a grand party! Only Jessica could pull it off!”
“Yeah! The food was like something from a five-star restaurant; I tried all the expensive sushi!” another boy added, his eyes wide.
Jessica sat at the front desk, her hair cascading over her shoulders, smiling gracefully, accepting the adulation as if it were her due. She glanced at Jamal, then offered a knowing smirk, a smile like a knife twisting in his fresh wound, before continuing her story. “Does anyone remember the flashmob at the end of the party? It was so much fun! Too bad not everyone got to join in.” Jessica’s last sentence, deliberately emphasized, echoed loudly, and the whole class chuckled, their eyes collectively darting towards Jamal.
Jamal sat at the back desk, trying to maintain a calm facade, but his chest felt constricted, his heart pounding as if it wanted to leap from his ribcage. He felt those eyes on him like needles pricking his heart, not once, but dozens, hundreds of times. The image of his classmates laughing and chatting joyfully about a night he was deliberately excluded from replayed in his mind, every detail vivid. He felt so small, so weak, like an insect being crushed. A hot, salty tear, uncontrollable, rolled down his cheek. He quickly turned his face to the window, pretending to admire the lush green trees outside, just to hide the vulnerability that tormented him. The laughter echoing in the classroom was like incessant mockery. “He was probably busy studying at home!” one friend said sarcastically, and the laughter erupted again, louder, more triumphant.
Ms. Laura Miller stood at the front of the classroom, having witnessed the entire scene, from Jamal’s pained eyes to Jessica’s malicious remarks and the class’s resounding laughter. Yet, she did not intervene, not a single word to restore order or show concern for Jamal’s feelings. On the contrary, a faint, almost satisfied smile played on Ms. Miller’s lips, a barely perceptible smirk, as if she, too, enjoyed the students’ “fun,” and Jamal’s isolation was entirely deserved, a price he had to pay for “daring” to enter their world.
Time flew by, and a semester passed amid Jamal’s injustice and humiliation. For him, each day at Westmont felt longer than a year, dragging on under scrutinizing gazes and mocking words. He constantly wondered if he would ever truly be himself, if anyone would understand the burdens he carried. Just as hope seemed to have withered away, an important announcement was made, igniting a faint, yet strong, glimmer of light for Jamal to cling to: The major state-level academic history competition was approaching. This was Jamal’s golden opportunity to prove his true abilities, to shed the burden of those unfair grades, to escape the shadow of discrimination. He immersed himself in preparation, pouring all his heart into it, seeing this as his final chance to change his fate, to struggle free from the mire of prejudice. But then, that dream was cruelly extinguished.
“The faculty has met and decided on our school’s representative for this year’s state-level history competition,” Ms. Laura Miller announced in class, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. Her gaze swept across the room and settled on Jessica, who sat upright, waiting as if she already knew the outcome. “Jessica Woods. You will be Westmont’s top nominee!”
The whole class applauded loudly, but Jamal froze. His heart felt like it stopped beating. He knew Jessica was no match for him, yet Ms. Miller publicly chose her. This injustice choked him, a bitter taste rising in his throat. After class, Jamal found Ms. Miller, his voice filled with bewilderment and a hint of despair: “Ms. Miller, I believe I’m more capable than Jessica to represent the school. I’ve spent so much time researching history…”
Ms. Miller looked at Jamal, her eyes cold and unsympathetic, as if he were bothering her with a pointless question. “Jamal, I understand you’re enthusiastic. But Jessica has more experience in state-level competitions, and she possesses the confidence and communication skills a school representative needs. Furthermore, she’s a more well-rounded student than you.” Ms. Miller paused, taking a sip of tea, as if considering, then added a statement Jamal knew was a blatant lie, a pre-arranged untruth meant to end any further debate: “And most importantly, I have the absolute agreement of the school board on this decision. You should focus on your coursework, Jamal.” Ms. Miller’s words were like a splash of cold water, extinguishing Jamal’s last flicker of hope, making it vanish like smoke.
After being selected, Jessica, with Ms. Miller’s increasingly blatant and unspoken “cooperation,” began to undermine Jamal more openly and subtly. Jamal noticed he was often the last to know about competition preparation meetings, application deadlines, or necessary requirements. Ms. Miller would “forget” to inform him, while providing Jessica with detailed, attentive guidance, ensuring she had every advantage. Once, Jamal overheard Ms. Miller and Jessica discussing a special training session for the school’s representative. He approached Ms. Miller to ask, and she simply replied indifferently, without looking him in the eye: “Oh, that session isn’t for you, Jamal. It’s just extra support for Jessica, to familiarize her with the competition format.”
Then, one morning, the atmosphere in the history classroom became unusually tense, unlike any other day. Three school board members, including the stern principal, with judgmental expressions, appeared to observe Ms. Miller’s class. Jamal knew this wasn’t an ordinary observation; it was a perfectly orchestrated spectacle, a meticulously prepared performance designed to showcase Jessica’s fabricated abilities and deeply bury Jamal. Just before the class bell rang, Jamal accidentally saw Jessica whispering with Ms. Miller at the teacher’s desk. Ms. Miller subtly handed Jessica a thin stack of papers, their eyes exchanging a glance filled with secret understanding. Jessica smiled smugly, quickly tucking the papers into her bag. The moment the school bell rang, Jessica looked directly at Jamal, still holding some of the revealing papers, flashing a triumphant and challenging smile, as if she was about to witness an intriguing event, a worthwhile performance about to unfold.
And then the school bell rang, signaling the start of a new class. Ms. Miller began her lecture with an unusual enthusiasm, her voice clearer and more engaging than usual. Occasionally, she glanced towards the school board members, who were taking notes with attentive, serious expressions. When she posed a question, Jessica was the first to eagerly raise her hand. She answered fluently, precisely to every detail, as if she had memorized all the questions Ms. Miller would ask. Each of Jessica’s answers received a satisfied nod from Ms. Miller and approving glances from the visiting officials. A feeling of disgust welled up inside Jamal; he knew perfectly well this was a charade, a performance meticulously rehearsed down to every line.
Then came a more challenging question, a complex issue Jamal had deeply researched and had superior insights into, unique perspectives not found in any textbook. He hesitated, about to raise his hand, but Jessica was quicker. She again answered perfectly, without a single stumble, with knowledge and analysis Jamal knew for certain Jessica couldn’t have acquired on her own without prior “help.” Ms. Miller smiled proudly, looking towards the school board as if to say, “This is our school’s gem, an all-around excellent student, an undeniable talent.” Jamal felt a surge of rage ignite within him, an inexpressible fury that consumed every cell. He understood everything. Jessica had been overtly “assisted,” and he, Jamal Thompson, was being publicly pushed into an abyss, right in front of the people who could decide his future. A feeling of helplessness rose to his throat, choking him, making him want to scream the truth, but his throat seized, unable to utter a sound.
The culmination of the cheating didn’t stop there. One time, Jamal lingered in class after school to ask a question, and he inadvertently saw Ms. Miller “hinting” at essay topics to Jessica in detail, even providing her with exclusive research materials Jessica couldn’t have found herself. When Jessica asked a difficult question, Ms. Miller didn’t hesitate to whisper crucial pointers to her, the keys to keep Jessica always ahead. Jamal felt his insides twist. This was no longer just favoritism; this was corruption, blatant academic fraud, the destruction of faith in justice itself!
Jamal felt cornered, his talent buried under cruel conspiracies and prejudices. Disappointment, anger, and a sense of utter helplessness surged to a climax, like a storm sweeping through his soul. He began to doubt his self-worth, wondering if it was his fault, or if this world was simply so unjust that it trampled upon truth and talent alike. Through long nights, Jamal lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling, tears endlessly streaming. “What am I supposed to do?” he whispered. “Will anyone see the truth? Will anyone believe me?” He felt an extreme loneliness, a burden that his 16-year-old shoulders were forced to bear, a burden no one understood, a cry for help echoing in vain.
Amidst what felt like endless months of humiliation and injustice, when Jamal had nearly plunged into despair, a glimmer of light unexpectedly appeared, faint but resilient. It was Mr. Will Green, the English teacher, a Black man in his 40s, with understanding eyes and a deeply fair heart. Mr. Green wasn’t new to Westmont; he’d worked there for years, witnessing countless instances of Black students being unfairly treated, their talents buried under layers of prejudice. He understood Ms. Laura Miller’s two-faced nature, knowing how heartless she could be. Most importantly, he saw in Jamal a reflection of his younger self – an intelligent, passionate Black student who had been isolated and underestimated due to his background. Jamal’s pain mirrored his own past, compelling him to act.
Mr. Green had quietly observed Jamal throughout the semester. He witnessed Ms. Miller’s attempts to undermine him, Jessica Woods’ scornful looks, and the unsettling silence of the other students. He saw Jamal’s resilience as he tried to cope, but also recognized the pain gnawing at his soul. After that fateful observation day, as Jamal shuffled out of class with red-rimmed eyes, Mr. Green made his decision.
One afternoon after school, as Jamal sat alone in the library, trying to find some peace, Mr. Green approached. “Jamal,” he called softly, sitting in the chair opposite him. “Do you have a moment to talk?”
Jamal looked up, surprised, at the teacher he had always respected for his fairness. “Yes, I do, sir.”
Mr. Green looked him directly in the eye, his voice warm and sincere: “I’ve been observing you since the beginning of the school year. I know you’re a very intelligent student, and I’ve also noticed what you’re up against. You’re not alone, Jamal.” Jamal felt his heart skip a beat. Finally, someone saw it, someone understood. “I know there’s an upcoming state-level public speaking competition for students at our school. You have the potential to shine on stage, Jamal. Would you like to register? I’ll be your mentor, even if you’re starting later than the other contestants.”
Jamal’s eyes widened. A state-level public speaking competition? That was a highly impactful competition, and crucially, it wasn’t under Ms. Laura Miller’s control. But the fear and exhaustion from being constantly trampled lingered. “But… I’m afraid I’m not good enough, sir. I’ve tried so hard, but everything seems to be against me. I won’t have enough time to prepare.” Jamal’s voice trembled, memories of the observation day and Jessica’s threats flooding back.
Mr. Green placed a hand on Jamal’s shoulder, his gaze steady. “Jamal, your talent cannot be buried by others’ prejudices. What you’ve experienced, that pain, isn’t a weakness, but a source of strength for your voice. I believe you can turn your anger and frustration into powerful words that move people. Trust me, and more importantly, trust yourself.” Mr. Green’s words were like a refreshing breeze, sweeping away the dark clouds in Jamal’s heart. He saw hope. He nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll do it!”
Jamal’s decision didn’t take long to reach Ms. Laura and Jessica. Upon hearing that Jamal would register for the state-level public speaking competition with Mr. Green’s guidance, Ms. Miller’s face registered a flicker of annoyed surprise, her eyes sharply darting towards Mr. Green during a faculty meeting. “Mr. Green,” Ms. Miller said with a tone full of scrutiny and contempt, “you seem very enthusiastic about ‘extracurricular’ projects. I hope you don’t forget your main duty is teaching English at Westmont.” Mr. Green merely offered a calm smile, not replying, but the tension between the two was palpable. Jessica, unable to contain her discomfort, looked at Jamal with a gaze full of competitiveness and hostility. “Alright, scholarship boy,” Jessica murmured as she passed Jamal in the hallway, “go ahead and try. This competition isn’t for dreamers. You’ll just make a fool of yourself.” She even overtly threatened him: “You’d better know your place, or else, don’t blame me if your luck gets ‘darker’ than it already is.” A chill ran down Jamal’s spine at her words, but at the same time, it ignited a fierce fire of anger and determination within him.
Mr. Green began diligently mentoring Jamal. Despite Jamal’s later start compared to other contestants, thanks to Mr. Green’s dedicated help and Jamal’s exceptional intelligence, their study sessions were incredibly fast and effective. Mr. Green not only taught Jamal public speaking skills – how to logically organize ideas, how to use vocal tone to convey emotion, how to command the stage with charisma – but also helped him regain faith in himself, transforming his pent-up pain and anger into power for his speech. He encouraged Jamal to write about his personal experiences, the discrimination he had endured, and his yearning for justice and truth. “This is your story, Jamal. Let it touch people’s hearts. Let your pain become the most powerful call to action.”
The state-level public speaking competition arrived. It was held in a large, fairly formal city auditorium. Contestants from across the state were all outstanding students from their respective schools. The prize was a prestigious full scholarship to a top state university, along with a tour of national universities and a chance to be nominated for the national competition. Jamal was scheduled as the last speaker, to conclude the morning session. This meant Jessica Woods, who was also participating in this specific public speaking competition, would present just before him.
When Jessica Woods’ name was called, she walked onto the stage with absolute confidence, her golden hair flowing, dressed in a custom-made gown. Jessica had rallied her friends, using promises of lavish parties and other favors to “buy” their cheers. Loud shouts and large, personalized signs with Jessica’s name flooded one corner of the auditorium, creating a noisy and dramatic welcome. She smiled smugly, waving to her “fan club.” Her speech flowed smoothly, meticulously prepared, with polished language and a professional demeanor, but it was hollow and lacked emotional depth. It was like a perfect replica from a textbook without any personal touch. She concluded her speech to fervent applause from her arranged crowd and a nod from the judges.
As Jessica stepped off the stage, she deliberately walked past Jamal, who was waiting for his turn. Jessica’s eyes gleamed with contempt and triumph. “Good luck, scholarship boy,” Jessica whispered, her voice low but laced with biting malice, “my performance must have shown you how inadequate you are, right? You’d better not make a fool of yourself in front of everyone, or else, don’t blame me if your fate gets ‘darker’ a hundredfold.” The threat sent a cold chill down Jamal’s face, but at the same time, it ignited a furious blaze of anger and determination within him.
The moment Jamal’s name was called, he stepped onto the stage, the spotlight shining directly on him. Thousands of spectators sat below, and millions were watching online. Jamal thought he’d be alone, that no one but Mr. Green would be there to cheer for him. A wave of anxiety washed over him. But then, his gaze swept across the audience, and he was stunned. In a small corner, not as boisterous as Jessica’s group, were a few familiar faces from his class, some other Black students he hadn’t spoken much with, and even a few other ordinary classmates. They weren’t cheering loudly, but their eyes were full of support and hope. A sudden warmth spread through Jamal’s chest. He wasn’t alone. A small smile touched his lips. The unexpected presence of those friends, however few, gave him immense strength, dispelling all his fear and insecurity. He took a deep breath, feeling extreme nervousness, but now, it was mixed with an iron will and indescribable joy. He remembered Mr. Green’s words: “Turn your pain into power.” He looked down at the crowd, the images of Jessica and Ms. Laura fleetingly appearing in his mind. This wasn’t just a competition; this was his battle, for justice and for the voice of the forgotten. Jamal’s speech was titled “The Voice of the Forgotten.”
He began by deeply analyzing pivotal moments in American history, how historical events were not merely recorded on paper but etched deep into people’s memories. “History is not just dry words in textbooks,” Jamal began, his voice calm yet resonating with inner power, “but an echo of experiences, a story of suppressed voices, of human rights trampled. We cannot build a just future if we refuse to confront the dark parts of our past, the mistakes that have caused so much suffering.” His voice gradually grew stronger, academic, and profound.
“And it is within those tragic pages of history that I found my own story, and the story of people like me, right here in this seemingly civilized school environment,” Jamal continued, his voice shifting to a deeper, more personal tone. “For a semester, I’ve lived under judgmental gazes, mocking words, just as those before me endured. Some mornings, I’d come to class, and stories of a lavish party would echo around me. A party where all my friends were invited, except me. Their laughter, the whispered allusions to ‘scholarship kids’ who didn’t belong, pierced my heart like a thousand needles, making me just want to disappear, to bury the name Jamal Thompson into oblivion.” The audience began to stir, many bowed their heads, their eyes filled with deep empathy.
“I witnessed the truth being twisted, talent being publicly trampled, even in a class observed by the school board,” Jamal continued, his voice full of indignation yet maintaining control. “When I saw secret documents being exchanged, when I saw the smug smile of a contestant fabricating brilliance on stage, my heart shattered. I asked myself: Can justice ever exist in this world when even education can be bought and blatantly manipulated?” Jamal’s voice resonated through the hall, carrying the pain of the wronged, but also a powerful call for change. “But then, I realized, we cannot remain silent. The forgotten must raise their voices. Prejudices must be exposed. Because, if we don’t fight for truth, then truth will be buried forever. And if we don’t believe in justice, then justice will never be established.”
Jamal’s speech was not only logical but also deeply emotional, coming from the depths of his soul, perfectly connecting grand history with everyday life. He not only told his own story but also voiced the sentiments of thousands, millions of people who had been unfairly treated because of their skin color, their circumstances, or societal prejudices. When Jamal finished his speech, the auditorium fell silent for a few seconds, as if everyone was still immersed in his words, then a thunderous applause erupted. It wasn’t empty applause, but heartfelt empathy and respect. The audience rose, applauding non-stop, many tearing up with emotion, for they saw their own stories reflected in Jamal’s words. Even one gray-haired judge, usually stoic, reached for a handkerchief to wipe his eyes.
Jamal won the state-level public speaking competition decisively. When his name was called, the entire hall erupted. Jamal stood on stage, his eyes welling up, unable to believe his ears. The applause was deafening, echoing throughout the auditorium, lasting endlessly. He saw his mother bursting into tears, her eyes filled with pride. Mr. Green stood beside the judges, beaming the brightest smile Jamal had ever seen. Jamal’s speech was highly praised by the judges for its academic depth, persuasiveness, and inspirational power, hailed as a “masterpiece that touched the soul.” Journalists vied to interview him; audience members and teachers alike lauded his speech as one of the best they had ever heard, a truly awakening voice.
Meanwhile, in a corner of the auditorium, Ms. Laura and Jessica stood frozen in shock. Jessica’s face was pale, her eyes wide with utter disbelief and rage; she simply couldn’t accept the truth. She stared at Jamal as if he were her sworn enemy. Ms. Laura, equally ashen, tried to maintain her composure, but her lips were tightly pursed, her eyes betraying extreme irritation and discomfort, as if the whole world was turning against her.
The national-level public speaking competition was held a few months later, in an even larger, more magnificent auditorium, with millions watching online. The pressure was exponentially greater, but Jamal was now far more confident. He presented his speech again, fine-tuned and perfected with Mr. Green’s assistance, transforming it into a global message. And once more, through his talent and the genuine power of his story, Jamal won the national competition decisively.
The video of his speech quickly went viral on social media, attracting national and international media attention. Jamal became a phenomenon, an inspiring speaker for young people, especially the vulnerable and those who had been forgotten by society.
In interviews following the competition, Jamal didn’t directly accuse Ms. Laura or Jessica, but he spoke about “invisible barriers” and “deep-seated prejudices” within the education system, and how they could stifle the talents of less fortunate students. His words, combined with evidence and lingering rumors at Westmont High about Ms. Laura’s favoritism towards Jessica, ignited a powerful wave of investigation from the school board, educational organizations, and particularly from angry parents demanding transparency and justice.
Jamal’s story is a stinging reminder of the prejudices that still exist all around us. Don’t just feel indignant; act! Each one of us can become a Mr. Will Green – someone who dares to see overlooked talent, dares to speak up, and dares to ignite hope for those whose abilities are suppressed.
Have you ever witnessed injustice? Don’t stay silent. Start with the smallest things: support the vulnerable, and most importantly, question your own biases.
Justice doesn’t just happen. It must be fought for, protected, and built by you. Be a part of that change. Are you willing?