Day of Respect: Students hear accounts of discrimination

It was a day of explaining deep hurts and of weighing what's right — a Day of Respect at Modesto High.

Community speakers on Wednesday told of pain others had caused in their lives, hoping teens would gain from their suffering and make the world a warmer place for others.

"It may not change attitudes, but it does change behavior," said Sharon Froba, who founded the day 14 years ago. Froba, who participates every year, has saved hundreds of letters from students thanking her and saying her words made a difference.

Senior Seamus Tate, who helped schedule the speakers, said their stories are inspirational. "They open us up and get us out of our comfort zones," Tate said.

"I definitely think the Day of Respect has an impact on how kids treat each other," he said.

Adam White, also a senior, said as a freshman the stories "opened my eyes." He gets even more out of the real-life examples now, he said. "I feel like I'm in their shoes."

Day organizer Andrea Pegarella said the dedication of even frail speakers amazes her. "Sometimes as they relive it, sharing their stories, it helps them — I love that," Pegarella said.

Speaker Sherman Kishi was playing tennis at Livingston High School on Dec. 7, 1941, when men accosted him, cursing. Shaken, he went home and learned that Japan had bombed Pearl Harbor.

The next May, on his 17th birthday, he and his family were sent to an internment camp for Japanese-Americans. Kishi, 86, said he shares his story "so you'll remember that such a thing has happened to people in the United States."

Personal experiences

Don Vaughn, 81, told of long-entrenched racism. In 1964 he was hired over the telephone for a job in San Jose, but when he met his boss, the offer was rescinded — the firm's clients "just weren't ready" to work with a black man, he said.

However, Vaughn said, every time in his life he faced violence, "it was a white person that prevented it. I have learned that race doesn't have a darn thing to do with it. It's the individual."

Norm Nomof said he was "chased around a lot because I was Jewish" and had difficulty getting into medical school because in 1943 there were limits on how many Jews could enroll.

But what he talked to students about was anger. "The way people get worked up in our political system until they become completely irrational," Nomof said. "There's a lot of anger over immigration, but it's not really about immigration. Our society is going through changes, and some people need something to blame."

For Phillip Langlois, being gay was a truth he avoided for years. In high school, "there was something that was really pounded into my head, that to be gay or lesbian was absolutely the worst thing you could be," he said.

He spoke of casual taunts and whispered insults. "How you behave, what you say has a dramatic effect. It can change lives," Langlois said.

Frank Johnson urged teens to show respect for themselves and others. Talking about boys hitting on his daughter at the mall, he proposed a switch. Imagine me hitting on your mom using that language, he said.

Others' perceptions

Ahmad Kayello, imam at the Islamic Center of Modesto, grew up in Lebanon playing with kids of all religions. He wears the modest black robe traditional to his faith and his U.S.-born wife wears a scarf.

After the Sept. 11 bombings strangers called him "bin Laden" and his wife was accused of being in league with al-Qaida.

Kayello invited students to visit the mosque and meet its 2,000-plus members. "Some believe they're terrorists — 2,000 terrorists in Modesto! Ignorant people, they do exist everywhere," he said.

He travels frequently and finds passengers avoid sitting by him and watch him warily through the flight. "I prepare myself in advance," he said with a wry smile.

Speaker Debbie Johnson was an active kid until a bout of flu triggered rheumatoid arthritis. Now a wife and mother, she uses a wheelchair and a service dog named Stone to manage what once was easy.

Stone helps her pull on her jeans, pick up things she drops and close the door as she leaves. But he can't make clerks talk directly to her or keep business patrons from pushing in front of her in line.

"My disease just happened out of the blue. Each and every one of you, it could happen to you. How would you want to be treated?" Johnson asked.

Mohamed Rashid, 19, was born with spina bifida. He said when kids pick on him, he reminds himself, "They don't know what I've been through."

At Modesto High, students know a bit more about what he and so many others have been through after Wednesday, having heard their pain and weighed what's right.

Bee education reporter Nan Austin can be reached at naustin@modbee.com or (209) 578-2339.