2021 Winning Essays

Middle School

First Place: Untitled by Cecile Usdin, eighth grader at Isidore Newman School in New Orleans, LA 

Second Place: What Did I Do? by Charlie Finger, eighth grader at Isidore Newman School in New Orleans, LA 

Third Place: Spread Thin by Sophie Spera, eighth grader at Lycée Français de la Nouvelle-Orléans in New Orleans, LA 

Honorable Mentions:   

Zyquan Champagne, seventh grader at Morris Jeff Community School in New Orleans, LA 

Stamatis Gamvrogianis, eighth grader at Brother Martin in New Orleans, LA 

Amare Lewis, seventh grader at Morris Jeff Community School in New Orleans, LA 

 

High School

First Place: Grandmama’s Poem by Deja Robinson, eleventh grader at New Orleans Center for Creative Arts in New Orleans, LA 

Second Place: What is Love? by Alex Nelson, twelfth grader at Episcopal School of Baton Rouge in Baton Rouge, LA 

Third Place (tie): Objects of Love by Andrea Norwood, twelfth grader at Episcopal School of Baton Rouge in Baton Rouge, LA 

Third Place (tie): The Art of Anger by Essence Tarrence, eleventh grader at St. Charles Catholic High School in LaPlace, LA 

 

College

First Place: A Response to Berthe D's "Love" — A River Live Session by Jorge Abadin, student at UCLA in Los Angeles, CA

Second Place: Where's Love? by Lauren Trichell, student at Delgado Community College in New Orleans, LA

Third Place: What's Love? by Naomi Winston, student at Xavier University of Louisiana in New Orleans, LA 

 

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First Place, Middle School

Untitled

by Cecile Usdin

“What is love?” Martin F. Tupper attempts to answer this question by defining the undefinable. Tupper describes love as an all-consuming sudden passion formed deep within us that takes us by surprise. In an era of difficulties, we are surrounded by hate, little in this world do we see love; common love of our fellow man no matter class or creed appears to be fading more and more every day. The importance of love is ever so relevant when hate is so widely seen, like a flame in a cave it illuminates. Whether it be hate for people whose past is unlike yours, whose skin has more melanin, or hate for those whose love is bound by gender, we need to put down this dangerous weapon, for it will lead to our destruction.

“Love doesn’t discriminate,” Lin Manuel Miranda writes in “​Wait For It​” a song in his famous Broadway musical ​Hamilton​. We cannot let love be biased against the Black, Asian American, Latinx, people, not the republicans, democrats, or LGBTQ community; people, people are biased against people. The need for love regardless of differences is ever so important. People choose hate when love is our only defense against the evil that plagues this world. We need to let down our defenses and open our arms to others, show compassion not cruelty for others instead of putting ourselves and our own gain first. In the 21st century, our priorities have been confused: people storm the capital, let their knees kill others, and disregard the power of a gun. This negligence is unacceptable. Depression rates are up, especially in teens growing up in this un-nurturing environment where they are shown hate day after day, where they are scared to go to school, in fear of being bullied for loving someone of the same gender, and in fear of bullets littering their bodies. Lately, the presidential race has been the main source of divide in our country, pitting people against each other. However, our democracy has fought to live another day, and if we get it right; if through love we come together we can create a safe haven for tomorrow.

“We lift our gazes not to what stands between us, but what stands before us. We close the divide because we know, to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside” Amanda Gorman recites. Gorman talks about putting love above all else. She describes the need for our differences to be celebrated, not used as blockades against our future, and how we must look at each other as human instead of alienating those differences. In order for a future of progression, we must act in love.

New Orleans, a loud soulful city hasn’t always been a place of love. The vibrant city has a dark past of segregation and hate. Not until 1864 was slavery officially abolished. Now the city celebrates our rich history and cultural differences. Traditions that span centuries back are still upheld, such as the skull and bones krewe that marches on Mardi Gras every year. New Orleans is a place where love means love, from Southern Decadence to Essence. A city once plagued with hate is blossoming into one of love and devotion to difference.

I urge you to remember where we came from and contemplate where we are going. We must change paths if we want a better future for tomorrow’s kids. They deserve better than the pollution ridden, hate plagued earth that we call home. This is not a gift, we are not passing on a key to the great America, it is a lock on their future and we hold the code, a burden we are laying upon their shoulders weighing them down so they may not succeed. So this all-consuming burning desire mustn't be smothered, we can not stomp on the flame of love, being as unattentive to it as we are to the horrors that we let happen before our eyes. Love is free, it is invaluable so use it liberally. When you see another human in need extend yourself, if not because they struggle because they are human and that is enough. As Martin F. Tupper states love as a passion, we must hold that passion in a different light, hold it to humanity, not your reflection.

 

 

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Second Place, Middle School

What Did I Do? 

by Charlie Finger

 

“What did I do? What have I done?”
Asked the innocent black man as an officer pulled out his gun
And after 3 quick shots to the back of the head
That innocent black man fell to the ground, dead.
There was no trial
The officer’s decision was final.
And just for the dangerous color of his skin
That black man could never call a white man his kin.
For the bigotry of those who oppress
That man’s torment would never recess.
The horrible ways this county live
Must not be accepted in the world as it is
The must be action and there must be movement
So as that we end this injustice that has become a pollutant

 

 

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Third Place, Middle School

Spread Thin

by Sophie Spera

 

 

 

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First Place, High School

Grandmama’s Poem

by Deja Robinson

The winter after mama left me, I would lay
in bed and converse with loneliness. For the
first time ever, I heard the screams of silence.
You told me not to be startled and let myself melt into it.

I still remember your favorite words, ​I’m right up the road,
I’ll Share your load,
if you just call me.
It still brings me comfort, but it’s nothing without your percussion.

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Second Place, High School

What is Love?

by Alex Nelson

 

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Third Place (tie), High School

Objects of Love

by Andrea Norwood 

 

Love is fruit. I mean, it’s right there in the Spanish language, isn’t it? ​Media Naranja. ​Literally: “Half of an orange.” Figuratively: a concept akin to a “soulmate.” Perhaps it’s meant to be some kind of reference to someone being your “other half,” reinforcing the idea that you’re not whole unless you find a romantic relationship. But that’s stupid.

To me, a m​edia naranja ​calls to mind a half​-eaten​ orange. An orange that someone has carefully peeled, and, despite all the effort that went into the act of preparing, still chooses to give the other half to someone else. Your soulmate—or soulmates—is the person you’d give the other half of the orange to, not the other half of yourself. Because love is sharing. It’s a sacrifice that leaves you feeling better than you did before, not like you’ve lost something.

There’s love in the grapefruit I offer to my friends when they visit my house—our tree has far too many anyway. Grabbing a large paper bag and running out to our tree in the backyard, which leans over from the weight of the golden fruits it gifts us. We laugh as we reach for higher and higher fruits, as the bag becomes heavier and heavier in our hands. But the weight doesn’t bother us; it only means more love is within it. And maybe the tree loves us, too, for it so graciously offers the fruit to our reaching hands.

There’s love in the chopped apples, peeled satsumas, or sliced watermelons that my mother brings me. They come at random times, usually in the middle of some dreary homework assignment, never expected. But they bring sweet joy to whatever task I am doing, sun light in the middle of dark clouds of math equations. It’s just a fruit, and yet there’s so much more contained within it.

Perhaps that’s why we give flowers to our significant others—they’re the reason we have fruit, after all. Perhaps we want the relationship to sprout like a fruit, into something we can both share. An orange for us both to peel and eat together. And in the peeling and the sharing and the eating, perhaps we are also peeling away and sharing our deepest feelings in a manner so different from the words we are so used to sharing.

Of course, we can’t see love with our own eyes in this world. But perhaps there are vessels that can carry it—rings, flowers, chocolates. And fruit, storing the goodwill and sacrifice and caring of others all within its peel that we so eagerly uncover.

 

 

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Third Place (tie), High School

The Art of Anger 

by Essence Tarrence 

 

Dear “Scoundrel,”

I wonder if you are delighted in Heaven that much has not changed centuries ahead. I wonder if you are applauding the multiple, unjustifiable murders of my black sisters and brothers. The system learned early to cheat us out of our rights. I wonder if you are proud of the part you played in that? Or are you ashamed of the cruel treatment you subjected to others? Most of all I wonder what would have been your response if that negro man had not offered you the amount of grace that he had. What if he allowed himself to be angry at his circumstances?

Through remnants of slavery, it was engrained early on to accept the bare minimum given to us. It has trickled down through centuries of generations. You fought for a system that kidnapped people from their homelands, brutally forced them to work, and then put laws in place when they fought for their freedom through a war to prove they would always be less than. Black people have been through so much for this country, but we are never allowed to just let our anger consume us. I have heard the phrase,” Others are lucky that black people simply want equality and not revenge,” and that is the most frustrating but true statement ever. When we constantly ask for something as easy as to be treated equally and it still repeatedly ignored, it is hard to keep a smile on our faces and continue to push forward. We are taught to push it aside because “we will be proving white people right.” You let your anger lead you through life, why can’t we?

You both were laying on your death beds, but you still found a way to be foul. However, that “simple negro” gave you grace in his last moments. He had every right to be angry, and nobody can dispute it. As you can tell playing into respectability politics has gotten us nowhere. No matter what we will always be black. Whether we put on a doctor’s coat or are walking down the street in our hoodies. The first thing seen is our melanated skin. The system may not have changed, but I guarantee you a lot of our mindsets have.

People like to use the, “we all are humans,” excuse, but it absolves others from accountability. To say you and the sickly black man were equals, in the end, is insulting. Black trauma is always used as a stepping stone for someone else’s character development. We see it today when people argue for Confederate leaders to keep their statues or when little black girls get teased for wearing their natural afro to school. We notice it when people slightly switch their tone to speak to us. Those are all remnants of the years of discrimination. It may not be done consciously, but that does not help the person it negatively affected. People may change over time; however, we never forget those subtleties. It can be a phase for you, and you may have repented to God, but I could never forgive the damage you have done. I have learned over the years, “Yes, I am allowed to be angry.”

I do not have to accept the bare minimum of others simply not being racist and have learned to see how they are actively speaking up against it. I have learned to stop being scared of being labeled a “social justice warrior” or the “angry black girl” for seeking equal treatment. I have learned it is fine to be unsatisfied with the given circumstances. I have learned to not bite my tongue in fear of feeding into a stereotype. If someone’s automatic response to my anger against racism is racism, they were never going to respect me anyway. I have learned my anger does not equal hatred but a need for change.

Sincerely,
A Fed Up Negro

 

 

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First Place, College

A Response to Berthe D's "Love" — A River Live Session 

by Jorge Abadin

 

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Second Place, College

Where's Love? 

by Lauren Trichell

 

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Third Place, College 

What's Love? 

by Naomi Winston