Page 75 - ACTL Journal_Sum24

This is a story about a child who interprets the world based on what he knows and a teacher who judges him based on what she does not know. Each of us is limited by what we don’t know and each of us is limited by what others don’t know. With knowl- edge comes understanding, with understanding come humili- ty, with humility comes wisdom, and with wisdom comes the capacity to make justice happen. And to make justice happen, we can never forget what the world looks like to those who are vulnerable. It’s what I consider to be the law’s majestic purpose and our profession’s noble mandate and it’s why I’m so deeply proud to be part of that profession.
Thank you, American College of Trial Lawyers, for making me feel so lucky and proud to be one of you.
Sandra A. Forbes Toronto, ON
SUMMER 2024 JOURNAL 74
“What do you see here,” the teacher asks? “Tell. William Tell. The arrow,” they’re calling from the benches. “So what do you see? Describe the picture,” says the teacher, who is still turned toward me. I stare in horror at the picture; at this man called Tell. And he’s holding a strange weapon and aiming and he’s aiming it at a child and the child’s just standing there not knowing what’s coming. I turn away. Why is she showing me this terrible picture? Here, in this country, where everyone keeps telling me I’m to for- get or that it never happened; I only dreamed it but they all know about it. “You’re supposed to be looking at the picture. What do you see?” she asks impatiently. And I make myself look at the picture again. “I see an SS man,” I say hesitantly, “and he’s shooting at children.” A gale of laughter in the classroom. “Quiet,” barks the teacher, then turns back to me. “What did you say?” and I can see she was getting angry. “The hero is shooting the children, but . . .”
“ut what?” the teacher says ercely. “What do you mean?” Her face is turning red.” “But it’s not normal,” I say, trying not to cry.
Now she’s beside herself and shouting. I forced down the lump in my throat and I tried to concentrate but I can’t interpret what’s going on. “It’s not normal because . . .” I’m stuttering again. “Because why?” she says loudly. “Because our block war- den said bullets are too good for children and because only grownups get shot or they go into the gas. The children get thrown into the re or killed by hand, mostly that is.”
She screeches, losing her composure. “Sit down and stop talking drivel.” I look
over at the teacher, standing there shak- ing with anger, standing there in front of the big black board, her hands on her hips. My eyes begin to smart and the big blackboard turns watery, it gets bigger and bigger, until it surrounds the whole classroom and turns into a black sky.
My life started in a country where there had been no de- mocracy, no rights, no justice. No one with this history does not feel lucky to be alive and free. No one with this history takes anything for granted. And no one with this history does not feel that we have a particular duty to our children to ensure that we will do everything humanly pos- sible to keep the world safer for them than it was for their grandparents; a world where all children, regardless of race, color, religion or gender, can wear their identities with dig- nity, with pride, and in peace.