Watch Us Rise(73)

“No, wait,” I say, starting to wonder what the staff has been through that they aren’t telling us. “We have another idea too, a list of demands that we’re putting together. Maybe you all can help us. We can work together on an action,” I say.

“Oh, no, no, no, that’s not what we meant at all. We just wanted you all to know that we appreciated your thoughts,” Ms. Lucas finishes.

“It’s going to take all of us,” Jasmine says, looking around at our teachers, the ones who have helped to push us all year, the ones who’ve had our backs. “We’ve really been thinking of what we want—besides our club being reinstated. And I think having you all stand with us will help.” She pulls her journal out of her backpack and reads the following: Write Like a Girl—Our Demands

1)We demand a space for our voices to be heard and our thoughts and ideas to be valued and shared. We will not be silenced or shut down or shut out of the conversation just because you don’t agree with what we are saying. Hear us!

2)We demand an end to sexual harassment of any kind, including: threats, intimidation, or violence. In the case that harassment occurs, we demand a jury of teachers and peers and restorative justice circles that honor our voices.

3)We demand an inclusive curriculum that honors and includes the voices of BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of color) and LGBTQIA+ communities.

“Wow,” Ms. Johnson says, standing up and looking at the list over our shoulders. “This is powerful,” she says. “And what were you planning to do with it? How were you planning to get everyone’s attention?”

“We want to stage a walkout modeled after A Day Without a Woman,” Jasmine says. “And it would be even better if we could walk out with the women who make Amsterdam Heights run.”

Our teachers exchange a look.

“We want in,” Ms. Lucas says.

A DAY WITHOUT WOMEN AT AMSTERDAM HEIGHTS

How would the school run without you?

Who would send the emails?

Who would answer all the phone calls that come in?

Who would make the copies?

Who would greet the families?

Who would file the forms?

Who would order food for staff meetings?

Without you—-

Who would make the building clean?

Who would empty the trash?

Who would maintain the hallways?

Who would mop the floors?

Who would wash the windows?

Who would make us look good?

Who would nurture the future?

Won’t you please join us next Wednesday at 12:00 p.m. to see what a day without you all would look like?





Last week we hand delivered flyers to all the women who work at the school. It’s our last week, and today is the day. We walk in together—me, Nadine, Jasmine, and Isaac, the four of us bonded always through this year. We’re all wearing our favorite activist shirts, and we make our way past security and toward our classrooms. Ms. Lucas gives us a thumbs-up in the hallway, and I can’t believe we’re actually going through with this. Our plan is to all walk out right after the first-period bell rings. After Principal Hayes does his morning announcements, we will leave.

The bell rings, and I hear his voice. I look around my classroom. There are about eight other girls sitting around me. We are sitting in Mr. Smith’s math class. I look around to see if they’re watching me to make the first move, but no one even looks in my direction. I wonder if they know I’m behind the action, and I also wonder if anyone’s actually going to move, when all of a sudden I see girls walking out of their classes through the window in the door. Whoa. Samantha, who I’ve always thought is cool, stands up and grabs her book bag. So does her best friend, Kristen, and their friend Camisha. They all start packing up. Mr. Smith turns around from the board and asks them to take a seat.

“Not today, Mr. Smith,” Camisha says, and opens the door to walk out. The rest of us look around and grab our book bags and papers. We stand up, almost like a chorus, and file out together.

“Um, ladies, ladies . . . what’s, uh . . . ,” Mr. Smith starts.

“You know, ‘ladies’ is old-fashioned, Mr. Smith. I like to use ‘womyn,’ spelled W-O-M-Y-N, so I don’t have to include the word ‘man.’ ” I smile, and a few of the other girls clap. Mr. Smith moves to call the front office. “There won’t be anyone there to answer,” I say, and walk out.

When we start down the hall the noises get louder and louder. I see girls hugging each other and calling out as they walk. I see teachers smiling and hugging one another. Ms. Sanchez is holding the door for all of us on the way out.

When we get outside, Leidy is standing with about twenty-five people from all over the neighborhood. They are holding signs with different sayings and drawings.





Leidy is holding a sign that says: I support my black, brown, trans, immigrant, Muslim, Indigenous SISTERS. And then I start to see some of the male teachers—some who look like they’re just getting word about what we’re doing, and some who seem to have already known, with signs that say #I’mWithHer, and #SayHerName, and Ally for Life. All of a sudden I hear music, and I see that all the women of the school jazz band are walking outside playing their instruments, and the basketball team is walking out in their jackets, calling plays to each other the whole time.