We are pleased to bring you a sample of written entries to the Show Racism the Red Card Creative Competition 2017.
Also, we are delighted to announce that the Awards Showcase will take place at Tallaght Stadium at 11:45am- 1:30pm. Our special guest is Ireland coach, Roy Keane and Minister of State David Stanton will present prizes. Mayor of South County Dublin Guss O’ Connell will speak to welcome all attending.
The written entries below are from students in St Senans National School, Pobalscoil Inbhir Sceine, Eureka Secondary School, Colaiste Chill Mhantáin, Mount Sackville Secondary and St Augustines College.
Jack Kelly, Colaiste Chill Mhantáin
They are not the same as us
Dont say to me
They could have been you or I
With a little change
They could be gone from our country
They do not belong here and
It’s impossible to think that
They are one of us
We need to see them as they really are
Cunning criminals and untrustworthy thieves
They are not
We need to make them
Leave here once and for all
We don’t want them to
Share our proud nation
Learn our diverse language and
We want them to
Their culture and skin colour defines them
Don’t be foolish to think that
Things can change
Now read it from bottom to top
Equal By Isabella Vozza, Colaiste Chill Mhantáin
Don’t judge a book by its cover,
That’s what we were taught when we were younger.
But why do some people judge others
Based Simply on their skin colour?
Labels are used to organise,
Yet we use them to define.
Like looking at a rainbow but not all it’s colours.
We are equal. We are brothers.
Some call it prejudice, inequality or hatred.
But it should only be labelled one thing:
We build dividing walls and make moral laws,
Yet we never just press pause.
And ask ourselves:
Why does it matter?
Why should we care?
Would you see a difference,
If the skin wasn’t there?
A Short Story -by Molly Hurley, Mount Sackville Secondary
She walked the corridors, at a time too early for the sun to be up. It was safer that way, the darkness covered her. Only she would rise at the crack of dawn to ensure she walked the corridors alone. She didn’t like feeling lonely, but it was better than the company she received.
Of course, her shield had to lift, as her cover was replaced with the revealing light. By then, however, she was nowhere to be found, except of course, for the cubical furthest away from treading feet. She would wait there, her only friends the walls and the messages scrawled on them. Her safe-haven, until the dreaded chimes of 9 o’clock. It was then she would depart her castle and rush to the safety from the hawk-like eyes, watching her but also her pursuers.
Her eyes dare not wander from her path before her as she made her walk of doom. She prayed it would not be disturbed as she sped, her step flat, all life drained. It was then the calls would come. Normally people yelling colours are crazy, but everyone knew what they meant.
The room she so wished would bring her salvation was an empty promise and although surrounded, she felt so alone. Words would cut like a knife but none, left a sour taste in the air and it felt like she was made to take it by the spoonful.She would not breath again until released from the prison she spent every-day. The fresh air tasted so much better than the spiteful room but it was not long before the voices followed. However, now they needn’t be spoken, their words rang endlessly.
She reached the place supposed to be safety, but she found no pity there. Little did he know his ear could have saved her. What must he think now? Guilt overwhelms him. She would stay hidden behind the upstairs door. No-one could reach her. Maybe they could have, but no-one tried. When every day is a “bad day” it’s not an excuse anymore. He wishes he had known that now.
She would write until the ink in her pen ran dry, the books piled around her, her distraction. It drowned out the voices so that they were only whispers and the pain didn’t feel so strong. She worked herself to the ground in hope it would not come back but, as sure as day, it did.
She was different, not a monster, but even this became too hard for her to see. Her thoughts blinded her, but they weren’t hers anymore and to her they were truths. If only the colour she saw was red and maybe she would have out up more of a fight, but they had made sure she had nothing left to fight for.
She looked at the contrast from her hand to the pale page and wondered about if things were different. Would they still use her name in that way? Would she still feel like such a monster? However, she realised this would never happen. They weren’t ready to accept her. She was different and they were scared.
It was one of those lonely nights, quiet, even he was too far under to wake. And as she sat there in front of the mirror, the tone of her skin prevented her from seeing the deserving girl staring solemnly back at her. She was deserving of friends, of safety, of a life. But hers had become a life no more. It was torturous, a misery. It felt so worthless.
She did not make it worthless. They did.
She did not return to the prison the following day, nor any other day after that. Her castle was unoccupied and her pens stayed full of ink. Her books were not touched and he realised that she had been so detached all along she might as well have not been there at all.
The nights were still and she heard no voices, she heard nothing. She felt no pain, nor happiness, nor anything. But, she made her decision. Her life felt so worthless, she felt so much pain, she preferred to feel nothing at all.
This story is not a fairy tale, it doesn’t have a happy ending. They don’t all have to end like hers. You have the power to give someone else’s story a happy ending. Stand up to racism.
Adam Ashraf, St Augustine’s College
Why does Racism judge me
By the colour of my skin?
He knocks me down,
Makes me weak
And hurts me deep within.
Why do I let him take over?
Why does he always win the fight?
Why does he make me feel guilty
For not being born white?
What’s the big deal if I’m different?
Why does Racism even care?
I wouldn’t have any of this suffering
If my skin colour wasn’t there.
Why does Racism pick on me?
I’m just a human, like any other.
I still have a heart
And breathe the same air.
Why can’t we be kind towards one another?
Why does Racism do it?
He kicks me harder when I’m already down.
No one understands what it feels like,
Knowing nobody wants you around.
If Racism only knew
That I cry myself to sleep every night.
If he could understand the pain I’ve been through
Over not being born white.
So, please help me beat Racism,
I’ve already wasted too many tears.
We can stop this once and for all.
Help make Racism disappear!
Pobalscoil Inbhir Sceine
She hears the comments
She wants them to stop,
She thinks she looks wrong,
She’s a victim of Racism.
She sees them laughing,
She pretends she doesn’t hear them,
She wonders what she did wrong,
She’s a victim of Racism.
She tries to make herself look different,
She says she isn’t proud of her looks,
She dreams to look like everyone else,
She is a victim of Racism.
And then finally,
She’s happy now that
She knows everyone is different,
She was a victim of Racism.
Emma Halpin, Eureka Secondary
Show Racism the Red Card
I was born into this world just like everyone else
But still I’ve never felt just right as myself
From the age of 2 I knew something was strange
People looked at me as if I were supposed to change
When school began it was better at first
That is until the kids learned how to hurt
They hit and kicked until I finally gave in
All because of the colour of my skin
But still, today, I don’t quite know why
They felt they needed to make me cry
One day I asked my mum to explain
She told me it was probably just a childish game
But I knew this was not about me
This was about what I could never be
I could never be like them
Apparently that meant never being their friend.
For this reason, my life will always be hard
I will grow up feeling battered and scarred
My life will be spent having to be constantly on guard
That is unless we can show racism the red card
St Senans National School
If one flower was blue and a second flower was pink.
I wouldn’t just pick one, I would have to think.
- They both living. 2. They are both flowers. 3. They are both pretty. So I’d pick both.
No matter where you come from, no matter what language you speak we are all human aren’t we. We all have feelings. We all have a right to live a happy life. We all have the right to have friends.
So in life be fair, no matter whom you are.
By Molly Danaher – 3rd class