No. 6
I was eleven years old and in grade 6 in Jamaica, when I made my first protest.
As there was no staff room at our school, the teachers sat in our class and ate their lunch at our desks. But every lunch time when we came back from playtime, we would be faced with their dirty dishes and empty soda bottles, which we had to clean away.
We were annoyed as they always told us to clean up after ourselves.
This went on for a while and we thought there was only one way to deal with the problem.
One of our classmates with the best handwriting wrote a simple note with the wording we all agreed on, but we knew that unless someone owned the note then we could all get punished.
I decided to sign the note: Sherry-Ann Collins.
We left the note stuck to the blackboard and went out to play, it was lunchtime.
While having one of the sweetest games of stucky – the one, where there are two teams and a player from one team would run after the other to try and catch them to stick them to the spot, until their teammate came by to release them – I got a tap on my shoulder from my classmate who told me the teachers were calling me inside.
I said, “Sure”, totally forgetting all about the note.
I got to the classroom and saw the note in the teacher’s hand and then remembered. “Oh, the note.”
The teachers asked me why I had left the note and I told them. They said I was rude leaving them a note and I would have to go and see the principal about it and receive three strokes of the strap across the palm of my hand on the stage, in front of the whole school, after lunch was finished.
Standing on the stage, waiting for lunch to be over, I was annoyed to be missing playtime. News spread about what was about to happen to me. I’d never had the strap before, so didn’t know how I would react. All I knew was pupils would sometimes cry when they got the strap as it was damn painful, especially since it was made of discarded car tyre.
But I decided that day, no matter how painful, I would not shed a tear. And powered by the injustice of what was to take place, I set my face ready.
First stroke, and then second stroke.
After the third stroke, I rubbed my hand as it was stinging, but still no tears, and then the principal leaned into me and says quickly: “You are right.”
Shocked, I looked at her and a thought popped into my head: “A wha’ di bumbo-raaaas-claaaat you just beat me on the stage in front of the whole school for, if you agreed with me?”
Seeing through her I came to a new realisation, even though they all knew the right thing to do, they chose to follow the crowd, including the leaders at the top.
Silently, I left the stage and went back to class.
The teachers had a new reputation for me, “Sherry-Ann Collins is feisty.” / too bold.
But as I no longer cared what the adults thought of me, I wore my reputation with pride, quietly. It inspired me to always ask questions of those in charge, the leaders, because if they couldn’t do the right thing, I might as well lead myself, living by my life lessons. Treating people as I would like to be treated making my own mistakes and owning them.
The next day, there were no more dirty dishes and soda bottles left on our desks, or forever more while I attended primary school in Saint Ann, Jamaica.
My first protest had achieved results.
I was happy with that.
Best wishes,
Kenisha (her)
Years later, this life lesson was to inspire the creative for my first anti-racism campaign #AssumeNothing – a note on the outside back cover of Pitch magazine with my signature.
It was the leaning in that did it.
Watch on Pitch TV.
