Not My Kind: A Vignette by Nila Maiava
Image of MCHS student Nila Maiava (Nora Sitton / The Puma Prensa)
By Nora Sitton, Staff Writer
As a result of our country’s current events, and the increased violence and abuse of power, tenth grader Nila Maiava has been displeased with the unequal treatment of various people. Out of passion and anger, she assembled a vignette to help others understand her opinions and experiences as a person of color in America.
When Nila was asked her opinion on the political issues in our country, specifically in regards to the presence of I.C.E. she stated that “we are certainly behind where we should be. I think people are not getting upset enough about the things that are happening, or people are having selective empathy by ignoring the things that don’t affect them personally.” It is understandable that many people are disheartened by injustice in the U.S. Nila was questioned about how recent incidents make her feel and she relayed that “[the events] feel discouraging to me because I am worried about the future of our country as well as my future.”
Not My Kind
By Nila Maiava
We’ll make America great again! He says, grabbing the attention of some more true patriots. Cheers erupt from the crowd, shoulder-to-shoulder, vibrant red hats with that familiar bold white slogan. Make America Great Again! Oh, I'll make sure our streets are safer too. But is it really great now? It is?
Not for the family down the street, their father was just arrested for walking across the road at an illegal crossing point, he was bringing dinner home for his family. Not for the mother who was ripped out of her job by them for having an accent, but my Uncle has an accent. Will this happen to him too?
Not for the boy who got shot by them for walking home from the store with his hood on, his mom was mad at him for being late. Not for the brown skinned girl who got taken from her front yard, she didn’t get mentioned in the morning news. She was at the white man’s house 2 blocks away the whole time, but they didn’t think he was suspicious.
Not for the girl whose roots dig deep into the American soil, like the roots of the big tree in front of my house deep into the past, if only the trees could speak, if the rivers could reflect the things they saw.
Liberty and Justice for all, but really it’s, Liberty and Justice for anyone whose skin is whiter than mine. For anyone whose kind traveled across the oceans, and discovered America, for anyone but my kind. My kind. My kind. What is my kind? I bleed the same dark red blood, I cry the same tears, I breathe the same air. All the same. So why am I different? Why is it my skin that’s different?