Logan squeezes my hand. My mind is as blank as an erased whiteboard. I can’t remember one thing we wrote out on the notecards. I glance out the window, then focus on Principal McNeil. I pick up Logan’s thread as best as I can. “I’m not in Debate. This isn’t— Look, we’re not Jewish. To our knowledge, RHS doesn’t even have any Jewish students. But let me ask you, if there were Jewish students in our school, would you have us look them in the eye and deliver reasons to kill them? I don’t think so.”

I shift my gaze to Mr. Bartley. Swallowing hard, I say, “If we look at the broader picture, this assignment promotes intolerance and hatred not only toward Jews, but toward people of color, our LGBTQIAP+ community, people with disabilities, to name just a few. It feeds into white supremacist beliefs that exist today. Would you ask us to argue in favor of slavery? Would you ask us to advocate for the actions of school shooters? What about the terrorists who murdered three thousand people on 9/11?” I shake my head. “No. I’m certain you wouldn’t. So why would this assignment be okay?”

Mr. Bartley’s mouth is flat, like the line of a heart monitor hooked up to a dead patient. Neither he nor Principal McNeil responds. I don’t get it. Do they seriously have nothing to say?

Gently, I tap Logan’s foot, needing her to take over. I can’t dislodge the lump pushing against my windpipe, making it nearly impossible to speak or breathe. I release the second button below my shirt collar.

Logan’s eyes flash with concern, but I bump her knee and she gets the message to continue. “Cade and I visited the Safe Haven Museum and Education Center. It held nearly a thousand Jewish and non-Jewish European refugees.

“In contrast, the US government brought over 425,000 German POWs. Many stayed in this area. Instead of saving some of the millions of innocent people, we welcomed, housed, and fed the enemy. As an alternative assignment, we propose a field trip and paper on the Fort Ontario Emergency Refugee Shelter and US immigration laws during World War Two.”

Principal McNeil stares at us.

“We’d appreciate it if you’d review it now,” Logan says.

They turn the pages, taking their time reading the material.

Mr. Bartley’s expression gives nothing away, but I notice his tight grip on the papers and his white knuckles.

A few minutes later, Principal McNeil sets down his packet. Looking from Logan to me, he asks, “Anything else you would like to add?” He purses his lips like he’s annoyed.

Have we made any impact? I’m not sure.