Op/Ed

Saamir Baker

Staff Writer

I like going to conferences. If it’s a topic I can engage with, I love attacking it head on and debating with people who have opposing views.

On Friday, May 19th, I had the opportunity to attend a conference at the Central Office (440) of the School District. I initially thought we would be talking about safety and the Broad Street Line. According to the email invite, this session was supposed to be about “This is a conversation that has been had with adults, but has lacked student voice. The discussion will be around challenges that individuals are facing with the Broad Street Line. There has been many issues on the line and our children being labeled as dangerous. This is a time for them to have their voices heard around the challenges that they face and opportunity to come up with solutions. FOOD WILL BE SERVED!! I know that important for them as well.” as quoted in the email. However that wasn’t the case. “The Philadelphia Foundation and the Knight Foundation” hosted this discussion, and while some aspects of this conversation between students and adults was productive and beneficial, in many other ways the execution of this conversation was done in ways that could have been better.

As far as I know, the student attendees came from four schools: Masterman, CCP Academic Scholars, Yes Philly, and Science Leadership Academy. The adults attending this meeting ranged from organization leaders who helped students in their own ways, volunteers with the organization, and the organizations leaders. The topic of what we would be talking about was very vague up until the beginning of the discussion where it was explained we would give ideas on how to improve Philadelphia.  One particular adult in the conversation wanted to strictly talk about “sanctuaries” that the youth could go to instead of being on the streets, while junior Taytiana Velazquez-Rivera talked about community gardens and parks that were locked away from the actual community. When she brought up her idea,  an adult that was a volunteer with the organization instantly shut down that topic of discussion which prompted the leaders to tell everyone every idea is important.

The fact that we didn’t know the topics  beforehand left many people in the room with no clue on what to specifically discuss. As a result, the conversation slowly opened up, but once it was broken open conversation flowed, but only with about  15 out of the 40 students that were in  the room.

Why the low participation rate? It was my theory that many of the students were there just to be out of class that day. Many just sat there, and talked amongst themselves, but when called on to add to the conversation offered nothing. . I admit that us SLA students stayed quiet up until the discussion leader called us out, which opened a pandora’s box of SLA students, adults, and CCP students combating many different topics. Sometimes agreeing with each other, sometimes debating with each other but it was clear that SLA students were forcing their voices to be heard.

Overall, after getting into the flow on the conversation within it began to gel but by the end everyone had the same thought. What really would be changed because of our meeting, and what the hell was the main topic of this conversation we had just had?

And one future note for “The Philadelphia Foundation and the Knight Foundation”, please refrain from having your white volunteer who said that Senior Luke Risher was “too white to go to Howard” from your next meetings. Apart from the racially insensitive commentary, he asserted himself too much in conversations, and his overall feedback was in no way helpful.

Tamir Harper

Staff Writer

Dear White People,

 

Where do I begin? Do I have to begin by justifying  this piece or explaining what racism is?

 

This inspiration for piece originated from the Netflix movie and series “Dear White People.” I strongly recommend the movie and show to everyone regardless of their race.

 

During interviews around the SLA community, Black students around the building were definitely “woke” and provided statements about what they want the White community to know — both in and out of SLA.  

 

Sophomore, Naimia DeBrest: Dear White people, being in a diverse environment does not mean that you are in a petting zoo. You are not able to touch them and question us.  

 

Junior, Sandra Watson: Dear White people, just because you have a Black friend doesn’t mean you are part of the culture.

 

Junior TK Saccoh: Dear White People, just because Sharkeesh got into Harvard doesn’t mean she took your spot.

 

Sophomore Sashoya Dougan: Dear White People, just because you wear Timbs and carry little fuzzy pom-poms on your back pack does not mean you are Black or part of the Culture.

 

Senior, Husain Kegler: Dear White People, just because you go to a school with Black people that say “Nigga: does not mean you can say it.

 

Sophomore, Nzinga Bey: Dear White People, can you stop stereotyping the Black community–just because they are Black does not mean they are in a gang or listen to rap music.

 

Sophomore, Kyianna Thomas: Dear White People, stop asking if my hair is my hair.

 

Sophomore, Imani Murray: Dear White People, just because I am angry does not mean that I am going to hit you.
Are any of these statements news to you? If they are, As members of the Black community, we ask you to not double down on your defensiveness or anxiety because we doubled downed on our blackness and are checking you. We just want you to understand your privileges.  Stay woke my brothers and sisters!

Lauren  Nicolella

Staff Writer

Philadelphia had an awesome opportunity to hold the NFL Draft, but since I’m not a fan of football, it just was an annoyance. SEPTA had a bunch of detours, streets were closed off, people were flooding every corner, and there was a constant whirl of helicopters passing up above. It made it hard to come and leave school, but I guess that didn’t really matter since it was such a huge event the city was benefitting from.

On Thursday April 27th, Center City was somewhere I could not stand to be in anymore. Thursdays are usually really long days because of advisory and running practice, so I just wanted to get home since I was super smelly and sweaty. I grabbed my bag from the office and began to speed walk to my stop so there wouldn’t be that dreadful moment of the bus driving away without me.

Luckily, I had company with me so I wasn’t completely miserable the whole time. Meymey Seng and I usually wait at the corner of 22nd and Market to get the 7, but of course there was a constant line of 44’s. We heard friendly chatter of those who take the same bus as us. Someone had announced that there was a detour, so we ran over to 23rd street so there wasn’t a risk of missing it.

I constantly checked my phone, hoping that the transit app would actually be correct for once. It had been about 25 minutes and I was getting fed up, but tried to remain calm. I was glad that I didn’t have a lot of homework to worry about that night, because at that point I wanted to dive face-first onto my bed and run into the shower. It was so frustrating and I couldn’t do anything at all besides wait.

I knew of other buses I could take to get home, so instead of waiting another hour or so for the 7 that obviously was not going to show up we went to wait for another bus. We walked over to 19th street to catch a 17 since they run pretty frequently and is a double bus.

I didn’t realize it until we were about to turn onto Oregon Avenue from Broad Street that it wouldn’t bring her as close to her house like it does for me. I felt bad because I know we both just wanted to get home. I was happy to hear that she caught a bus that brought her down Oregon Ave the way she needed.

There was a huge sigh a relief after I finally stepped off of the bus, a short ride that took longer than usual. My legs felt so heavy, and suddenly there was the welcoming barking from my dogs. Honestly, there’s no place like home when SEPTA takes forever to get you where you want to be the most.

Students who go to school in Center City had major struggles to get where they needed to be, and unfortunately nothing was able to be done about it since the city had been expecting the event to come. Thanks, NFL Draft!

Tamir Harper

Staff Writer

I hear it, see it and feel it as I run my hand across the piece of paper. I question do I correct you or allow your ignorance to continue. But when I allow your ignorance to continue I beat myself up inside because of a message I attempt to deliver and cringe every time you say it. But when I do correct you and inform you I get excited because I have educated you about a young man that was shot killed for no reason.

If you haven’t already figured it out, my name is Tamir Harper, but I like to say Tamir D. Harper so that those that are ignorant are reminded of the fact  that my name isn’t Tamir Rice.

 

For those of you who have forgotten, Tamir Rice was killed by Chicago police three years ago when he was armed with an Airsoft Gun and the 911 Dispatcher failed to relay clear information to the Police Officer.

 

For people like me, the confusion is funny because I am not the only Tamir in my world, although I might be the only one in yours. In my few years of being in school, I have had over 8 schoolmates with the same name with varied spellings. Between all of us, we all were different. Each of us had different traits, from being loud to very quiet or tall to short. The Tamirs were on different tracks, but I do not believe any of us were on track to being shot and killed by a Police Officer.

 

But something I don’t express is how privileged it is to be named Tamir, and to be confused with the person whose life was unjustly taken. I get to uphold the legacy of a brilliant young man. Every white man that call me Mr. Rice cringe ten times harder because I correct him. I correct him, but tell him how privileged I am. When adults read my resume and then say “please welcome Mr. Rice,” I walk up to them and say “thank you.” I’m privileged because every time you hear the name Tamir Rice you hear about the things he could have done if his life wasn’t taken.

 

So let me drop some knowledge for those that don’t understand what I’m saying. It’s like having a powerful name like Queen Bey. My nickname used to be Mirmir, but now it’s Tamir Rice. The name that some just say or even write on tickets for events. The name Tamir must now be held to a  higher standard. All of the Tamir’s in the world must walk with their heads high and push through the barriers we encounter. We are carrying the name and the reputation of Tamir Rice with us.

 

Aaron Watson-Sharer

Editor

 

The phrase is “If you’re on time, you’re late, and if you’re late, you’re fired.” Well at SLA, we have four latenesses equals one detention instead.  Surprisingly, I’ve never had to attend a detention at SLA. 8:15 A.M. has become a staple in my head over the years; just get here by that time and the phone call home won’t come so I won’t get aired out by my mom. That’s my only objective when I my alarm goes off at 6:55 A.M.

 

I wake up and take a 25 minute shower that feels like only seven minutes. It’s now 7:20 A.M. I’ve got 22 minutes to get out the house or I’m late. SLA is unique in Philadelphia as we have no uniform, which I love. The next challenge is to make an outfit on the spot. Most of the time it’s just a hoodie with some pants or basketball shorts and a pair of Nike sneakers but even that takes a good five minutes to put together (often because my clothing smells like it hasn’t been washed or has some random stain). Now it’s time to give myself a quick once-over to make sure nothing is off with my face. Ears are there? Check. Eyebrows? Check. Bags in my eyes from exhaustion? Check. My hair is pretty used to it’s look so I push it back twice and to my right three times. My appearance suggests I’m ready for school. It’s now 7:28 A.M. I have 14 minutes to leave the house.

 

Here’s when my mother sends me a text reminding me to go to school. It’s not unusual so I shrug it off. It’s 7:30 now and I go to wake up Luke. Luke has a hard time getting up some mornings. You have to scare him to get him up. He gets woken up at 7 A.M. but always goes back to sleep.

 

“Luke it’s 7:35!” “Get Up!”

 

“Oh {expletive}”

 

This is when I proceed to go pack a lunch and Luke turns into Usain Bolt. I pack the usual. The peanut butter and jelly, the protein bars, pretzels, yogurt and probably leftovers from previous nights. I tend to need 3000 calories to stay among the living. I have this packed and then pack my baseball bag. For a practice, that means just a glove and cleats because I don’t feel like having a change of clothes. It’s now 7:40 A.M. I’ve got two minutes.

 

These two minutes go about 50 times faster than a math class. Oddly enough, in just five minutes, Luke’s left the house. The competitor in me kicks in and I bolt out the house and walk to the trolley stop.

 

Like usual I’m two minutes late to my stop, which still gives me a solid chance of being on time. I know 7:53 A.M. is the magic time where the only way I am on time is if SEPTA conductor code name “Jerry Rice” is driving. The driver gets his name because of his surprising resemblance to former football player Jerry Rice. He’s very fast and hasn’t let me down before.

 

If everything goes as expected I get on the trolley at 7:50 A.M. I’ve got 25 minutes. Before my senior year, there was always one person who I knew if they were on my trolley I was late. That was Micah Henry. He accumulated almost 200 lateness’s (if not more) in his SLA tenure and the sight of him on the trolley was equally exciting as it was frightening. I didn’t want to be like Micah, my Saturday mornings weren’t meant to be spent in our cafeteria.

 

The trolley lands between 8:06 to 8:14 P.M. If it’s before 8:12 A.M., Benjamin Simon, who also rides the trolley, classifies the extra minutes as “leisure time.” When there’s leisure time no matter how short, I get a good conversation in with Benjamin before school. When it’s too late to enjoy that leisure time, I speed walk to school. I see other kids run and even though I could be late, it gives me a good chuckle. I never run to school unless I have three lateness’s from that month. If it’s 8:15 A.M., I celebrate the on time and get ready for class even though I’m late to that.

 

SLA has provided me with a glimpse of how I’m going to function everyday in college and has brought understanding to how I’m geared from the moment I wake up. That start time 8:15 A.M. isn’t a when school starts. It’s a countdown. My weekdays are geared to successfully reach school before this time, which I failed to do yesterday, when I acquired a 14th lateness.