Student Essay Contest Winner - First Place, Middle School
This is post 6 of 6 in the series “South Side Weekly Student Essay Winners 2022”
The prompt for South Side Weekly’s third student essay contest was inspired by sociologist, author, and poet Eve L. Ewing’s poem, “I saw Emmett Till this week at the grocery store.” We asked students to write a piece of Chicago history—a person, an event, a place that no longer exists—into 2022.
Upon learning that our prompt was based on her poem, Ewing generously offered to sponsor a portion of our prizes, which—in addition to Weekly merch, gift cards to 57th Street Books/Seminary Co-Op bookstores, and a one-year print subscription to the paper—include $500 in cash for first place winners and $250 for second place winners, as well as signed copies of her books.
We received over sixty submissions from all over the South Side. We are so grateful for each of these submissions and for the time, energy, and care students put into writing them. The essays were wonderfully creative and meaningful, and they made our decision process incredibly difficult.
Madeleine Parrish, the Weekly’s education editor, formed the selection committee, which consisted of Chima Ikoro, the Weekly’s community organizing editor, Bridget Killian, the Weekly’s visuals editor, Jackie Serrato, the Weekly’s editor-in-chief, and Adam Przybyl, the Weekly’s managing editor. They decided to print first and second place for middle school and high school, as well as honorable mentions for both categories.
Read all winning submissions at the links below.
I remember the times when redlining was normalized I used to go door to door trying to get people to help stop it But I got told that I had to keep my mouth shut I didn’t listen and continued the fight Until my people got their rights I wasn’t going to stop And now here I stand I stare down across the street at a bank, I never thought I’d see Its walls are red, Its life is drained A building so tall, I never used to see People used to think this was going to change their life Not for worst Not to get cursed They wanted a good change They wanted to live free But this red bank has done it all People get in, people get out Tears forming in their eyes, some of joy others of sorrow, they didn’t get their dream I see through the window, and stare at a man, only he’s not white, but brown instead With a loan in his hand he runs happily across the street I followed him cautiously, amazed by his speed He reaches his destination A tall brick house it seems Astonished by joy I continue to see He knocks on the door, and it opens quite quick A white man steps out, but he seems discontent With cars zooming by I can’t really hear as they speak But suddenly I hear a loud voice, a tone of sadness and anger reaches me across the street “Porque me trata así? ¿Es porque no hablo su idioma? O es por mi piel?” Why do you treat me like this? Is it because I don’t speak your language? Or is it because of my skin Why do they treat my people like this? My community is full of culture that they don’t see Our Art, Music and Food they enjoy without being frightful They don’t understand we came here in search of the American dream I hear sirens approaching, what could this be? The police walks towards them and suddenly I see He gets taken away, as I’m about to step in A hand in my shoulder quietly speaks “Let’s wait and see, and we’ll take action if need be” I look back at the men, I hate to see him suffer like this “Take that crazy man away, put him in jail, he doesn’t deserve to be free” This just strikes directly to my heart, how dare they say things like this I guess racism won’t stop Why is it that some people don’t understand, we all are humans, no one is more, no one is less “Déjeme le digo una cosa, la última, mi piel me representa y todo el trabajo duro que he hecho, no voy a pelear, te voy a probar que estas equivocado sobre mí ” Let me tell you one thing, the last one, my skin represents me and all the hard work I’ve done, I’m not going to fight, I’m going to prove you wrong about me Sad to see some things never change, this man is right He knows there is no need to fight Those words said it all No matter who you are, Black or Brown, Immigrant or not, the judgment doesn’t stop This is sadly just life “I wish I could do something, but my hands are tied” The hand behind me whispered to me “What do you mean your hands are tied, I see them and, they are free” “You know what I mean!” I didn’t know what he meant, But his words made me realize your hands can never get tied If you can’t work with the system, then change the system He grabs my hand and he walks me to the bank Now I see a black man standing there Sad face all around, I assume he didn’t get the loan Sadness again, truly hard to see I fought for a change once, I fought for it! But people don’t care The man runs from the bank reaching Logan Square We follow close behind “I am sorry, I can’t sell you the house, I wish I could but I am getting threatened, and I am not afraid for myself, I am more afraid of what they can do to you.” I am speechless This man just told him the truth He seems to care but what can he do? Not getting the house is an unforeseen truth “Even if I couldn’t get the house, you were kind, thank you and goodbye.” I look at the men next to me “I still don’t understand” “I can’t do anything about this, people are different some are nice, some are not, What gets done is unfortunately not up to me” I am surprised, that’s all I can feel, “Listen please, you can make changes, we must keep on the fight after all, It’s our legacy that we leave behind” We part ways after our exchange I just sadly roam the streets Thinking about my legacy, the things I have seen and the little I’ve done The thing is some people don’t see it happen Obviously they no longer have maps with red lines drawn Yet the generations of red lining can still be seen They divided our people, they divided everyone Making some think that they are above us and that we are not good enough But this is not about leaving it for others to solve We have to show how bad life has become Our parents bought homes generations ago Our kids live in them now 10 more generations to go We can paint a house and sell it again, yet the neighborhood remains the same Brown and black these are the colors that don’t seem to change We stand back and relax hoping for progress, we think future generations will solve the crisis This is all hidden history They, silent minorities, they make people segregate They shut their doors right in our face They don’t do this for good When will we wake up and see This isn’t a dream It’s a nightmare we live We can’t sit and wait for the pinch One step at a time is all we need Fighting for change cannot continue to be a dream As Our future generations will be left in the dark Living in our ignorance for the fight we didn’t fight.✶ ✶ ✶ ✶
Jessica Marquez is in the 8th grade at Joseph E. Gary Elementary School.
Student Essay Contest Winner - First Place, High School
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Student Essay Contest Winner - Second Place, Middle School
Student Essay Contest Winner - Honorable Mention, Middle School
Student Essay Contest Winner - First Place, High School
Student Essay Contest Winner - First Place, High School
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In light of Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson's appointment to the U.S Supreme Court, Black women in politics reflect on the weight of being historically outnumbered and breaking through barriers
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