When I was about 10, a classmate in my small-town school in Latvia liked to tell me in between classes that he hated Jews. I was the only Jewish kid in school, and one day as I walked home I heard steps behind me. My eyes caught his, and we stood there for a moment. I still remember his face—hazel eyes, closely cropped blond hair—and his navy uniform jacket over a white shirt. Suddenly, I heard a crunch as his fist landed on my left cheekbone, and I fell backward on a sidewalk damp with melting snow. I still remember the hollow ringing in my left ear. I looked around to scream for help, but the streets were empty. I've never felt more terrified and alone.
"There is nothing we can do to change him," my father said in our garage the next day. He wore a large black boxing glove on his left hand that he made me practice hitting late into the night. "You have to throw the punch from your shoulder, and pack the weight of your entire body into it," he said. "As soon as you show any fear, you've already lost."
My mother and I eventually left Latvia, and bullying was a big reason for me. It's been 22 years since I've thought about this particular incident—but the recent surge of media reports about xenophobic language and harassment across the United States brings those old fears roaring back. And now that we have an administration that has welcomed into the White House advisers with a long
history of promoting Islamophobia and boosting white nationalists, I find myself wondering what that means for today's bullies and their victims.
In a 2015 survey, 1 in 5 Muslim students in California said they experienced discrimination by a school staff member.
Extreme views can be socially contagious, especially among young people, who are more susceptible than adults to being influenced by their peers. As a journalist, I report on schools, and teachers have been telling me that violent rhetoric is more common, and that they're struggling to find the right approaches to root it out. But some educators are also part of the problem.
In a 2015 survey, 1 in 5 Muslim students in California said they experienced discrimination by a school staff member. According to a complaint filed by the
American Civil Liberties Union last year, when a Muslim sixth-grader from Somalia raised his hand to answer a question, a teacher at a school in Phoenix snapped, "I can't wait until Trump is elected. He's going to deport all you Muslims…You're going to be the next terrorist, I bet." (The school
denies these allegations.)