A graduation photo captures three fifth-graders—Rebecca, Fatima, and the narrator—on the blacktop with their proud teacher behind them. Rebecca wears branded clothes while Fatima follows Muslim dress customs despite the heat. The narrator wears a skirt altered with seam extensions by her mother to extend its use. The family arrived in the U.S. five years earlier as refugees from an authoritarian regime where criticizing the leader risked prison or death. Graduation signified learning a new language, adapting to a new culture, and relying on government aid, family support, and hand-me-downs. A subsequent jean jacket incident revealed contrasting choices about how to lead and treat others.
There's a picture of my elementary school graduation that I often think about. I'm with my classmates Rebecca and Fatima, holding our "diplomas" on the blacktop, our proud fifth-grade teacher in the background. Rebecca is wearing a branded outfit. Fatima, in long sleeves and pants, follows her Muslim tradition despite the heat. I'm in a skirt that shows the visible seam extensions my mom added to prolong its utility over multiple years of growth.
For Rebecca and her parents, graduating from elementary school was probably no big deal. But I had only come to the U.S. five years before this picture was taken. We immigrated as refugees from a country ruled by an authoritarian dictator with command-and-control, fear-based leadership. If you were caught speaking ill of the leader, prison or death was often the outcome.
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