I see him crying.
As I gather my things and close my locker, I notice him weeping silently down the hall. A few minutes earlier, as I walked along the hallway, I saw them taunting him. As he bravely responded and defended himself, they got louder. They pulled things out of his locker and called him names that described their disgusting feelings toward his colour. Then they left, leaving him dishevelled, weak, and in tears. And now, as my backpack hangs loosely off my shoulder, I contemplate. Should I say something? Should I confront the others? I walk down the hallway and instinctively touch his shoulder. He turns around and looks at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen. He says nothing, yet I can hear him. With every tear that rolls down his face, I hear him screaming for help, for answers, for respect. He picks up his things, runs down the hall, opens the door, and leaves. I never saw him again. I stepped into the 21st century with hope. My hope was that I would live my life always feeling equal to my peers, that my future children would grow up in a world where their individual merits would never be judged based on the colour of their skin, that sometime within these 1,000 years that racism would die. Completely. Already many of my hopes have been shattered. I know the world has changed over the years. I see black men shaking hands with white men in the newspaper; I hear of innovative aboriginal politicians who have made a difference in Canada; I see many interracial couples. But racism still thrives. It is beating in the hearts of people the world over, just waiting to come out and strangle someone's hopes, dreams, and self respect to death. And because of this, I am terrified. Will my full potential never be realized because of the colour of my skin? Will my peers ever stop seeing me with colour-blinded eyes, not realizing that I am exactly like them? Will I be left out or taunted, even in the smallest ways, despite the intense multiculturalism of our country? Will I only learn the answer to these questions by suffering through the pain? Fate holds my life in its hands. For all I know, I may live my life without any harassment, always feeling equal to my peers. But that does not bring justice to the boy who cries; to the one who waits earnestly for the day when respect is not reserved for only one colour, but for every colour of the spectrum; to the one who yearns for a love so brilliant that it cuts through racism, killing it completely; to the one who, like me, is waiting for the answers.Copyright 1996-2001. Toronto Star Newspapers Limited.