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Searching for a Voice in Politics: Youth are Citizens Now, Not in the Future

by Lillian Currie for The 44 North, Guest Writer


Youth activists at a protest holding yellow signs with red letters.
Youth activists at a protest holding yellow signs with red letters.
"If political institutions want greater youth participation, they must stop treating young people as future citizens and start treating them as citizens now." 

Young people are constantly criticized for being “too disconnected” from politics. Headlines often describe Generation Z as apathetic, distracted, or uninterested in civic engagement. Older generations frequently argue that young people spend more time scrolling through social media than paying attention to elections, policy, or democratic participation. Yet, this narrative ignores a much more important question: Why do so many young people feel disconnected from politics in the first place?


The issue is not that youth don’t care. In fact, young people are among the most vocal advocates for climate action, racial justice, affordability, education reform, mental health awareness, and human rights. Across the world, youth-led protests and online movements have demonstrated extraordinary passion and concern for social issues. What many young people struggle with isn’t not caring about politics, but believing politics genuinely cares about them in return. 


Increasingly, young people feel alienated from political systems that seem distant, performative, and unresponsive to their realities.


This growing divide between youth and politics has been shaped by several interconnected factors: Broken political promises, polarization, inaccessible political language, the overwhelming negativity of political discourse, and the influence of social media. Together, these forces have created a generation that often feels powerless rather than empowered. However, despite these challenges, youth disengagement isn’t inevitable. Young people consistently show that when they feel represented, informed, and valued, they’re willing to participate. Authentic leadership, civic education, grassroots activism, and meaningful representation can help rebuild trust between youth and political systems.


One of the largest misconceptions about young people is that they’re entirely uninterested in politics. In reality, many statistics show the opposite. According to Statistics Canada, 67% of Canadians aged 15 to 30 reported searching for information on a political issue online, while nearly half had signed an online petition related to social or political causes. Additionally, 37% reported boycotting or choosing products for ethical reasons. These numbers reveal that youth are not disconnected from issues affecting society. Instead, they’re engaging with politics in ways that often fall outside traditional systems like voting or party membership.


Young people have repeatedly been at the forefront of major social movements. The global climate movement, led in large part by youth activists, has pressured governments and corporations to take environmental concerns more seriously. Movements advocating for racial justice, Indigenous rights, LGBTQ+ equality, and mental health awareness have also been heavily driven by young organizers. According to a 2021 study from the Pew Research Centre, younger generations were significantly more likely than older adults to attend rallies, volunteer, donate, or contact officials regarding climate change. These actions demonstrate not apathy, but deep concern for the future.


However, while many youth care passionately about issues, they often feel ignored by political institutions themselves. One major reason for this disconnect is performative politics. Politicians frequently speak about supporting young people during campaigns, promising action on affordability, education, housing, or climate change. Yet many youth feel those promises rarely result in meaningful change. Rising tuition costs, increasingly unaffordable housing, and economic instability continue to impact younger generations. As a result, politics can begin to feel less like a system designed to represent people and more like a cycle of empty slogans repeated every election season.


This frustration is intensified by the fact that many young people feel their concerns are treated as secondary compared to the interests of older voters. Older generations historically vote at higher rates, making them a more reliable political demographic. Statistics Canada found that voter turnout among Canadians aged 18 to 30 was consistently lower than turnout among older adults, especially in municipal elections. Because political parties prioritize groups most likely to vote, young people may feel politically invisible. This creates a damaging cycle: Youth feel ignored, which discourages participation, and lower participation then leads politicians to focus even less on youth concerns.


Another major factor contributing to youth alienation is the increasingly polarised and hostile nature of political discourse. Politics today is often framed as constant conflict rather than collaborative problem-solving. On television and social media, political discussions frequently appear aggressive, divisive, and emotionally exhausting. Instead of encouraging participation, this environment can push young people away.


For many teenagers and young adults, politics is introduced not through meaningful civic education, but through online outrage. Social media platforms expose users to endless cycles of scandals, arguments, misinformation, and anger. Every day, young people encounter headlines predicting environmental collapse, threats to democracy, economic crisis, or attacks on human rights. While awareness is important, constant exposure to negativity can create emotional burnout. Politics begins to feel hopeless rather than empowering.


Growing up in the digital age has dramatically shaped how young people experience politics. Platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and X allow political information to spread rapidly, but they also reward emotional intensity and conflict. Algorithms often prioritize content that provokes anger, fear, or outrage because those emotions generate engagement. As a result, many youth are exposed to politics primarily through emotionally charged clips, arguments, or misinformation instead of thoughtful discussion or education.


This online environment can make politics feel performative rather than constructive. Politicians increasingly rely on viral moments and social media branding to connect with younger audiences. While some digital outreach can make politics more accessible, young people are often highly aware when attempts at relatability feel forced or insincere. Memes, trends, or simplified slogans cannot replace meaningful action. Young people want authenticity, not marketing strategies disguised as activism.


At the same time, schools often fail to provide strong civic education that explains how political systems actually function. Many students graduate with a limited understanding of how laws are passed, how local governments operate, or how ordinary citizens can influence change. Without this knowledge, politics can feel inaccessible and confusing. Complex political language, legal terminology, and institutional processes may seem intentionally designed to exclude ordinary people.


This educational gap leaves many young people feeling powerless. They are told voting matters, yet they’re rarely taught how broader civic engagement works beyond elections. Consequently, some youth conclude that individual participation cannot realistically create change. Feelings of powerlessness are especially common among marginalized youth who may already feel excluded from institutions due to race, class, gender identity, or economic barriers.


Personal lived experiences also shape how youth understand political and social systems. Throughout middle school, I often overheard predominantly white preteens casually calling their Black friends racist names such as “monkey” as a joke. At the time, I never had the courage to say anything, but those experiences stayed with me. They revealed how normalized prejudice and ignorance can become when people are not educated about the harm of their words. More importantly, it demonstrated why conversations about racial justice and political responsibility matter. Those preteens eventually enter high school, workplaces, and broader society, carrying those attitudes with them unless they are challenged. Silence around these issues only allows harmful behaviour to continue.


Experiences like these help explain why many young people care deeply about social justice issues while simultaneously feeling disconnected from formal politics. They see problems affecting their communities every day, yet political systems often appear slow, reactive, or unwilling to address them meaningfully. This disconnect creates frustration because youth are constantly told they are “the future,” while their present concerns are frequently dismissed.


Despite this alienation, there are many signs that young people are not giving up on democracy altogether. In fact, youth participation often increases when young people believe their voices genuinely matter. According to Elections Canada, voter turnout among Canadians aged 18 to 24 rose significantly in recent federal elections compared to earlier decades, showing that young people are more likely to participate when political issues feel urgent and personally relevant. Although youth turnout remains lower than that of older generations, the data suggest that engagement is possible when young people feel represented and believe their voices can create meaningful change.


Young people are also more likely to participate when leaders speak with them instead of talking down to them. Authentic representation matters deeply. Youth want leaders who understand the realities of student debt, housing insecurity, rising costs of living, discrimination, and online culture because they have experienced those challenges themselves. Younger candidates and grassroots organizers often generate excitement because they appear more relatable and connected to everyday concerns.


Community involvement and grassroots activism are especially powerful tools for rebuilding political engagement. Many youth feel more motivated to participate in local initiatives where they can directly see the impact of their actions. Volunteering, organizing community events, participating in protests, or advocating for local issues can make politics feel tangible rather than abstract. Research highlighted by organizations like Simon Fraser University’s Centre for Dialogue suggests that young people are often highly engaged civically, even if they don’t always participate through traditional political channels.


Improving civic education is another essential solution. Schools should teach not only how governments function, but also how students can participate in shaping their communities long before they’re old enough to vote. In Ontario, students take a “Civics and Careers” course in Grade 10, but civic engagement should be woven throughout a student's education rather than confined to a single class. Young people should learn how to contact elected officials, advocate for policy changes, evaluate sources critically, organize community initiatives, and contribute to local decision-making. These experiences help students develop a sense of belonging and show them that their voices matter before they reach voting age. As a teenager myself, I’ve seen and felt how empowering it can be when young people are given opportunities to contribute to conversations that affect their schools and communities. Civic education should encourage participation and confidence, rather than simply require students to memorize facts about political structures, history, and figures.


Additionally, political spaces themselves must become more accessible. Political discussions shouldn’t rely so heavily on complicated jargon or exclusionary language that alienates ordinary citizens. Young people should feel invited into conversations about policy rather than be made to feel uninformed for not already understanding every aspect of government. Democracy functions best when participation is encouraged, not gatekept.


Most importantly, young people need proof that participation can create real change. Trust cannot be rebuilt through slogans alone. Governments and political leaders must demonstrate accountability by following through on promises, listening to youth concerns, and creating opportunities for genuine participation. When young people see policies directly improving affordability, education, climate action, or mental health resources, political engagement begins to feel worthwhile.


Ultimately, the idea that young people are simply “too disconnected” from politics ignores the deeper reality of youth alienation. Young people are not apathetic because they’re lazy, uninformed, or incapable of caring. They are navigating political systems that often feel distant, performative, inaccessible, and overwhelmingly negative. They care deeply about the future, but many are still searching for evidence that their voices truly matter.


Rather than blaming youth for disengagement, society should ask why so many young people feel unheard in systems supposedly designed to represent them. If political institutions want greater youth participation, they must stop treating young people as future citizens and start treating them as citizens now. Through authentic leadership, stronger civic education, community engagement, and meaningful representation, politics can once again become something young people feel part of rather than excluded from. Only then can the emotional and social divide between youth and politics begin to close.


Bibliography & Further Reading


Lillian Currie is a creative and compassionate high-school student with a strong interest in helping others and making a positive impact in her community. She is passionate about pathways involving children and youth, including social work and pediatric healthcare, and enjoys studying topics such as criminal law, history, and sociology.


Outside of school, Lillian is highly involved in her community. She is an active Youth Steering Committee Member for the Women in Leadership Foundation and also serves on the youth council for Harmony Movement. In addition, she works closely with the Glocal Foundation of Canada, contributing to the writing and research of academic papers. Through all three volunteer opportunities, she has accumulated nearly 200 volunteer hours.


Beyond academics, Lillian is passionate about dance. She has been dancing recreationally for three years and competitively for two, already achieving notable success in her dance journey. She is known for being kind, hardworking, and dedicated to supporting the people around her while continuing to grow both personally and academically.


More Than A Form of Art: Poetry as Community Care

by Hanna Grover ​for The 44 North, Guest Writer


Hanna at a speaking engagement, wearing a black striped blazer. Via Hanna Grover.
Hanna at a speaking engagement, wearing a black striped blazer. Via Hanna Grover.

“In these conditions, poetry becomes more than a form of art. A poem can hold grief without trying to solve it. It can preserve joy in fleeting moments. It can transform isolation into resonance, allowing someone to read a line written by a stranger and think, Someone else has felt this too.”

Poetry is one of humanity’s oldest forms of storytelling, and today, it feels more necessary than ever. In a world saturated with headlines, algorithms, and rapid consumption, humans barely have enough moments long enough to feel. 


For many young people, poetry has become a language for emotions that are otherwise difficult to articulate. We’re growing up in an era shaped by uncertainty alongside rising rates of anxiety and burnout, increasing loneliness despite digital connection, and a globe where many youth feel pressured to mask themselves. In these conditions, poetry becomes more than a form of art. A poem can hold grief without trying to solve it. It can preserve joy in fleeting moments. It can transform isolation into resonance, allowing someone to read a line written by a stranger and think, Someone else has felt this too. That moment of resonance is powerful because it reminds us we are not alone. Youth are craving spaces where they can be authentic together as a collective without fear of judgment. And while social media evidently encourages curated identities and constant comparison, poetry invites people to speak honestly. 


Hanna receiving a regional health & wellbeing award for Poet2Poet from Ingenious+. Via Hanna Grover.
Hanna receiving a regional health & wellbeing award for Poet2Poet from Ingenious+. Via Hanna Grover.

I’ve witnessed this firsthand through my work founding and spearheading Poet2Poet, a youth organization focused on enacting poetry to battle the youth mental health crisis and create connection. Through workshops, open submissions, and community initiatives, Poet2Poet was built around a belief that creative expression can foster emotional connection and empower youth voices. What began as a platform for young poets gradually became an international global community where youth across the world could share their stories and engage in health and wellbeing programming through poetry. Poet2Poet has published over three hundred poems from young writers around the world, each carrying a different perspective but united by the same desire to be heard. Moreover, Poet2Poet focuses on delivering opportunities to promote youth health and wellbeing through poetry by running free in-person and virtual writing workshops for youth. Our most recent workshop for National Poetry Month, Waves and Words, was a collaboration with Unsinkable, one of Canada’s largest storytelling-focused youth mental health charities, designed for youth aged 16-25 in Canada, in person and virtually. After weeks of planning with the amazing Unsinkable team, Waves and Words was created to intentionally provide a space where youth used writing and poetry to explore emotional wellbeing, identity, and healing. The entire event felt surreal, but what struck me most was how people who entered the room as strangers left feeling connected through shared vulnerability. At that moment, it was clear that the beauty of poetry is how it transcends barriers. No one needs formal training, expensive resources, or a perfect understanding of literary devices to write a meaningful poem. Poetry is accessible because it begins with honesty and an inherent creative freedom to experiment with language on the page, and that’s exactly what was seen during the workshop. 


The banner for Hanna’s "Waves & Words" workshop
The banner for Hanna’s "Waves & Words" workshop

Hanna at a workshop, connecting with writers using paper & markers. Via Hanna Grover.
Hanna at a workshop, connecting with writers using paper & markers. Via Hanna Grover.

My journey in building Poet2Poet has always demonstrated how poetry can function as a form of care. Unlike many conversations around mental health that often focus only on diagnosis or intervention, poetry allows people to process emotions and deal with challenges in accessible human ways. It’s vital to have a daily outlet for your well-being, and in the case of Poet2Poet, a community that can support you. National Poetry Month further amplifies this idea by transforming poetry from an individual act in isolation into a collective, community movement. During National Poetry Month, poetry becomes visible in schools, libraries, communities, and online spaces. It encourages people who may never normally engage with poetry to pause and encounter it, regardless of whether they see themselves as a “writer”. It reminds us that everyone has a story worth telling. Every person carries experiences, memories, fears, and hopes that can resonate with others. 


At the end of the day, poetry matters now because humanity matters now. In a fast-moving world that can sometimes feel emotionally numbing, it’s clear that poetry helps people reconnect—with themselves and with one another—one line at a time.


Hanna Grover is a youth advocate, researcher, and public speaker driven by a commitment to health and wellbeing equity, children’s rights, and youth empowerment. Her journey began with a simple belief: that young people deserve a seat at every table where decisions about their wellbeing are made. Today, that belief shapes everything she does, from founding Poet2Poet, a youth-focused organization that merges poetry with mental health, to working with national health organizations to create more equitable healthcare systems. Through Poet2Poet, Hanna has helped thousands of youth across 70+ countries use writing as a tool for healing, connection, and advocacy. Alongside her many personal initiatives, she serves and collaborates with a range of organizations, advisory councils, academic teams, and advocacy platforms on projects that center youth voices for systems-level change. She has had the privilege of speaking at national conferences and panels, often serving as the youngest voice in rooms filled with fellow policymakers, researchers, and professionals with a hope to empower others like her. Her advocacy has been recognized through awards like Canada’s Top 10 Under 18 Changemakers, British Columbia's Medal of Good Citizenship, and Surrey’s Top 25 Under 25.


Words Matter: Harm builds over time. So does healing.

Updated: May 20

by Lillian Currie for The 44 North, Guest Writer


In partnership with Harmony Movement, University of Toronto Schools, and Unsinkable, our discussion will feature 4 panellists who will explore the role of language in both reinforcing harm & creating the conditions for more respectful, inclusive, and courageous school communities. Lillian’s essay is a special-edition feature in support of this event.
In partnership with Harmony Movement, University of Toronto Schools, and Unsinkable, our discussion will feature 4 panellists who will explore the role of language in both reinforcing harm & creating the conditions for more respectful, inclusive, and courageous school communities. Lillian’s essay is a special-edition feature in support of this event.
"Belonging is more than simply being allowed into a space. Belonging is knowing your humanity will be respected once you are there." 

Language is often referred to as “just words.” But anyone who has ever walked into a classroom and suddenly felt smaller because of a joke, comment, nickname, or even silence knows that words are never just words.


Words shape how people are treated.

They shape who feels safe enough to speak.

They shape who is defended and who is left behind.


In schools, language quietly shapes the atmosphere. It can make a classroom feel welcoming, and just as easily make someone feel they’re only surviving the day instead of truly belonging there. One sentence can stay with a person long after the bell rings.


Anti-Black language in schools is not always obvious. Sometimes it’s a racial slur yelled across a hallway. Other times it hides behind “jokes,” stereotypes, or comments that people dismiss as harmless. It can sound like a surprise when someone tells a Black student, “Wow, you’re so articulate,” as if intelligence were unexpected. It can appear in assumptions about attitude, behaviour, or intelligence. It can appear when Black students are punished more harshly than others for the same actions. And sometimes, the most painful part is not what’s said, but what’s not said: The silence after racism happens—the silence that makes students feel completely alone.


That silence can hurt more than the words themselves.


People often think courage and vulnerability are opposites. Courage sounds fearless and strong, while vulnerability sounds exposed and uncertain. But when it comes to confronting anti-Black language in schools, the two are deeply connected. Real courage requires vulnerability. Speaking up means risking awkwardness, rejection, conflict, or isolation. It means saying something even when staying quiet would be easier. It means caring more about another person’s dignity than your own comfort.


For many Black students, vulnerability is not a choice. It happens the moment they walk into spaces where they feel pressured to monitor how they speak, act, or express themselves. There’s a constant awareness of how they might be perceived: “too loud,” “too angry,” “too intimidating,” or “too ghetto.” That pressure is exhausting. It means code-switching and rehearsing your tone before asking a question in class. It means wondering whether defending yourself will make you seem “aggressive.” It means hearing stereotypes repeated casually and then being told, “It’s not that serious,” when it hurts.


One of the hardest things about harmful language is how quickly people focus on intention instead of impact. Students excuse comments as “just jokes.” Teachers sometimes overlook harmful remarks because they were not “meant badly.” Friends defend each other by saying, “That’s just how they talk.” But words don’t stop hurting simply because someone claims they didn’t mean harm. Pain doesn’t disappear because the person who caused it was laughing.


One of the most dangerous things schools can do is allow harmful language to become normal. When anti-Black comments happen so often that people stop reacting, it sends a message. It tells Black students that their pain is something they’re expected to handle quietly. It teaches others that racism only matters when it’s ‘extreme enough’ to make national news.


But racism doesn’t start with headlines.

It starts with what people allow.


It starts when someone says the n-word and nobody corrects them.

It starts when Black hairstyles are labelled “unprofessional.”

It starts when Black students are punished for behaviours others are excused for.

It starts when teachers avoid conversations about race because they’re afraid of getting uncomfortable.

It starts when students decide silence feels safer than speaking up.


But silence is never neutral. Silence protects harm by allowing it to continue.


As someone who is white, I think it’s important to recognize that confronting anti-Black language cannot only fall on Black students or students of colour. Too often, the people most harmed by racism are also the ones expected to carry the full responsibility of addressing it. But white students, teachers, and community members should also carry responsibility to challenge anti-Black racism, especially in moments where silence feels easier. During my last years of middle school, I constantly overheard predominantly white peers calling their friends racist, stereotypical names like “monkey” or “gorilla” as a joke. At the time, I didn’t dare to say anything—I didn’t have the courage to. 


I still remember hearing the laughter surrounding those comments, and I feel uncomfortable as if it happened yesterday. 


In those moments, I was afraid of speaking up and making things awkward, especially since I didn’t know the people who spoke those words. What makes these moments especially important to address is that those students are about to enter a new stage in their lives, perhaps with the belief that their language is acceptable. The more we excuse it as humour, or “just joking around,” the more normalized it becomes. Racism doesn’t become dangerous only when it becomes extreme or violent; it becomes dangerous when people grow comfortable enough to stop recognizing it as harmful at all. That’s why courage matters not only in major public moments, but in ordinary everyday conversations where harmful language is allowed to pass unchecked.


There’s a specific kind of loneliness that comes from experiencing racism in places that constantly claim to value inclusion. Schools may hang posters celebrating diversity, hold assemblies about equity, and talk about belonging, while students still feel unseen in everyday life. Representation without accountability becomes performative. Inclusion without action becomes empty.


Real inclusion feels different.


It feels like entering a classroom without preparing yourself to be hurt.

It feels like knowing that if someone says something racist, others will step in before you even have to ask.

It feels like teachers are listening instead of becoming defensive.

It feels like learning about Black history in ways that go beyond pain and oppression to also celebrate brilliance, creativity, joy, resistance, and humanity.


Belonging is more than simply being allowed into a space. Belonging is knowing your humanity will be respected once you are there.


The responsibility to create that kind of environment belongs to everyone, although courage can look different depending on who you are.


For students, courage can mean interrupting a racist joke even when friends laugh or roll their eyes. It can mean saying, “That’s not okay,” even when it risks social backlash. For Black students, courage can mean continuing to speak honestly about experiences people would rather ignore. There is strength in refusing to make yourself smaller so others can stay comfortable.


For teachers, courage means understanding that neutrality is impossible. Teachers shape school culture every day through what they challenge, ignore, or normalize. Courage can mean addressing racism immediately instead of awkwardly moving on. It can mean admitting when they don’t know something and being willing to learn. Some educators avoid conversations about race because they fear making mistakes, but silence often causes more harm than imperfect effort.


Vulnerability for educators means recognizing that good intentions do not erase blind spots. It means understanding that being corrected is not an attack but an opportunity to grow. A teacher willing to say, “I didn’t realize the impact of that comment, but I want to understand,” creates far more trust than one who refuses to listen.


For administrators, courage means going beyond statements and promises. Diversity initiatives mean little if students still don’t feel safe reporting racism. Schools cannot claim to value equity while ignoring unequal discipline, achievement gaps, or student experiences. Accountability is uncomfortable because it forces people to confront systems they may benefit from or contribute to. But discomfort isn’t the same thing as harm. Many students live with discomfort every single day simply trying to exist in these spaces.


What makes vulnerability difficult is that it requires honesty. Nobody wants to believe they may have contributed to harm. Nobody wants to admit they stayed silent when they should have spoken. But healing cannot happen without honesty.


Repair is another form of courage.


Too often, accountability is treated only as punishment. But real accountability is about growth and change. It’s about creating environments where harm is recognized, addressed, and prevented from happening again. Apologies alone are not enough. Repair requires reflection, education, changed behaviour, and consistency.


A student who uses anti-Black language should not simply be suspended and forgotten. They should understand why those words carry so much harm. They should learn the history behind them and the impact they continue to have. Accountability without education can become performative, but education without accountability becomes meaningless.


Repair also means listening to people who were hurt without expecting them to explain their pain perfectly or politely. Black students should not have to become educators while trying to process their own experiences. There is something deeply unfair about expecting people to calmly defend their humanity while they’re hurting.


Social media has made these realities impossible to ignore. Videos constantly surface of students using racial slurs, teachers making discriminatory comments, or Black students being humiliated while others watch and record. These moments remind people that racism is not simply part of history—it still exists in everyday life. But social media also reveals how quickly people rush to defend harmful behaviour instead of confronting it. Comment sections fill up with excuses like, “They’re just kids,” or “Everyone is too sensitive.”


What those responses fail to recognize is that harmful language shapes environments long before visible violence occurs. History has repeatedly shown that dehumanizing language allows people to tolerate dehumanization itself.


At the same time, social media has also revealed incredible courage. Students organizing walkouts. Young people sharing their experiences publicly despite fear. Communities demanding accountability from schools that ignored racism for years. There’s power in people refusing to stay silent. Every person who speaks up makes it easier for someone else to do the same.


Still, courage in real life is usually quiet. But that doesn’t make it less meaningful.


It’s the student sitting beside someone who feels isolated after a racist incident.

It’s the teacher checking in privately with a student who seemed hurt after a discussion.

It’s the friend saying, “That wasn’t funny,” even when nobody else does.

It’s the administrator willing to listen without becoming defensive.

It’s the parent teaching empathy before prejudice has the chance to take root.


These moments may seem small, but school culture is built from moments like these. Harm builds over time. So does healing.


The future I hope for is not one where schools become perfect overnight. Bias does not disappear instantly. But I hope for schools where students no longer carry these burdens alone. Schools where anti-Black language is challenged immediately, not because policies demand it, but because people genuinely care about one another’s dignity. Schools where vulnerability is seen as strength instead of weakness.


I hope for classrooms where conversations about race are approached honestly instead of being avoided out of fear. Where Black students do not have to wonder whether their experiences will be believed. Where inclusion is not treated as a yearly event, but as something practiced daily through language, actions, leadership, and accountability.


Most importantly, I hope for a future where students no longer confuse endurance with belonging.


Because surviving a school environment is not the same as feeling safe in it.


The deepest wounds caused by harmful language are often invisible. People remember the slurs, but they also remember the hesitation. They remember who looked away. They remember who stayed silent. They remember sitting frozen while others laughed. They remember learning, sometimes very young, that their dignity depended on how much discomfort others were willing to tolerate.


That is why courage matters so much.


Courage is not about being fearless.

It’s about choosing humanity even when it’s uncomfortable.


And vulnerability is not weakness. It’s caring deeply enough that staying silent no longer feels acceptable.


To build schools rooted in dignity, accountability, repair, and inclusion, people must first be willing to face uncomfortable truths. They must be willing to unlearn harmful language, challenge systems that normalize harm, and truly listen to experiences beyond their own. That work is difficult, but maybe education was never only meant to teach academic success. Maybe part of its purpose is teaching people how to care for one another ethically and compassionately.


Language will always shape school culture. The question is whether it will create environments where some students are merely tolerated or environments where every student feels genuinely seen, respected, protected, and valued.


And the answer depends on whether enough people are willing to speak, willing to listen, and willing to change.

Lillian Currie is a creative and compassionate high-school student with a strong interest in helping others and making a positive impact in her community. She is passionate about pathways involving children and youth, including social work and pediatric healthcare, and enjoys studying topics such as criminal law, history, and sociology.


Outside of school, Lillian is highly involved in her community. She is an active Youth Steering Committee Member for the Women in Leadership Foundation and also serves on the youth council for Harmony Movement. In addition, she works closely with the Glocal Foundation of Canada, contributing to the writing and research of academic papers. Through all three volunteer opportunities, she has accumulated nearly 200 volunteer hours.


Beyond academics, Lillian is passionate about dance. She has been dancing recreationally for three years and competitively for two, already achieving notable success in her dance journey. She is known for being kind, hardworking, and dedicated to supporting the people around her while continuing to grow both personally and academically.


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