2022 REGIONAL ESSAY FINALISTS
Regional essays are 400-500 words in length and are a shorter version of the Global Round essays.
ARGUMENTATIVE
Are bystanders who do not intervene also at fault?
ARMAND, ARGUMENTATIVE category
Middle East and Africa
Am I my brother’s keeper?
15-year-old Junior took a walk from his home in the Bronx to visit his friend at the popular teenage hangout spot, Adams’s place - two blocks later, multiple men chase him, surround him in a bodega, drag him to the sidewalk and repeatedly, viciously stab him in the neck with machetes and knives. They mistook him for a rival gang member. A crowd of witnesses were present. No one offered to help. As blood gushed from his neck, the extent of aid the witnesses provided was shouting, “Run to the hospital!” He tried, but collapsed on the sidewalk and died. One phone call to the police or a lift to the hospital could have saved this 15-year-old child’s life, yet no one even attempted. The consequences of this act of omission should be meditated on diligently and strenuously. Are we to assume these static witnesses bear no amount of fault in this tragedy? The acquittal of all fault from unmoving bystanders is a catastrophic idea.
The echoes of passive bystanders reverberate especially through the horrors of the twentieth century: Powerless Jews hauled to gas chambers; millions of innocent people dragged to the gulag in Russia. Even Solzhenitsyn with his powerful, unshaken book, The Gulag Archipelago, put some hope in the bystanders at times of extensive arrests and death: “Would not our fellow citizens have begun to bristle?” How dramatically the course of history would have changed if it were but for the voices of the onlookers during these times. One could argue that the consideration of personal safety is of cardinal value, though almost all the time no radical actions need to be taken. There is much space between nothing and dying. Even at such tragic times as the holocaust, the rumblings of the watching bystanders could have made a difference, never mind the heroic and courageous acts of people like Witold Pilecki.
The diffusion of responsibility is a well-known psychological concept; essential to the bystander effect which states that the more onlookers there are, the less likely they are to help someone in dire need. Although, the opposite is true also. If one person helps, everyone around is also much more likely to help. By this we can conclude that the amount of influence the upstander has is not limited only to himself but stretches to everyone around him. The bystander’s responsibility is thus multiplied as the potential to act effectively is increased.
After murdering his sibling, Cain cried, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”. That story has in part told us the answer is a loud and deeply felt yes. From a moral perspective, it is wise and honorable to look out for your brother; to be a good Samaritan. As Charles Dickens proclaimed: “No one is useless in this world who helps lighten the burdens of others.”
Should the law be broken if you believe the law is unjust?
XINYING, ARGUMENTATIVE category
Europe, the Middle East, Africa, Russia and Central Asia
The Battle for Abortions
I'm going to sleep. Cheers, Mum. This was the final text message from Izabela, a 22-weeks pregnant woman, before entering a fatal septic shock. For days, she waited helplessly on the hospital bed. By her side, doctors stood still in fear of breaking the law and refused to lend a helping hand until the heart of her severely defected fetus would stop beating. On September 22nd, 2021, the wait was over when Izabela became the first known victim of Poland’s near-total ban on abortions. But as many feared, this only marked the beginning of a tragic trend of preventable maternal mortality slithering throughout the Polish border.
For nearly 30 years, there have always been three legal bases for abortions in Poland. However, on October 22nd, 2020, the course of Polish history forever shifted when the Constitutional Court eliminated the legal bases for 98% of abortions by ruling all terminations under severe fetal abnormalities unconstitutional. This brought back the abortion law imposed on the population between 1932-1943 when Germans occupied Poland during the Holocaust. When the law returned on January 2021, the subject to criminal penalties, including imprisonment, fall on the medical personnel carrying out the abortion. Henceforth, trends of hospitals across Poland stopped performing abortions. In other words, without straight-out banning abortions, this ruling made the overwhelming majority of them practically impossible.
However, whether it is the massive burden imposed by Polish orders or the horrifying cries of women seeking abortions, Physician carrying out the abortion are those with the final say in breaking or following the law. To quote the late American Civil Rights Legend, Martin Luther King Jr., “One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws.” While the Hippocratic Oath, an oath of ethics historically sworn by western Physicians, extends that sentiment by stating, “Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death.” As the inherent value of life cannot be an a priori constant if a choice is to be made between two lives, it is unjust to implement a single rule controlling all Polish pregnancies under the bases of severe fetal abnormalities, and force the Physician to prioritize giving birth to the baby, when we possess the medical resources to save the mother. Under this unjust circumstance, by following the ethical doctrine of Civil Rights trailblazers, and the fundamental instinct of Ancient Greek medical texts, it is the moral obligation of Physicians to remedy the glaring systemic flaw by providing thousands of Izabelas with urgent medical services despite unethical political pressure, and sparing them from balancing the value of their lives on the Scale of Injustices that never learned in their favor. Since the dawn of civilization, generations have established that saving a life and breaking an unjust law is never a crime, it has always been a cause to fight for.
Is it better to act with integrity or loyalty?
ammarah, Creative category
Australia & New Zealand
To be a Loyal Nazi
Loyalty, at its core, is neither a virtue nor a vice, and stands merely as a propensity, a disposition, a mortal impulse. Yet, in practice, this unyielding devotion is what sanctions not solely the overlooking of misconducts of leaders, but the twisting of these corruptions into acts of gallantry. One does not need to reminisce far in our history to observe such instances of loyalty eclipsing humanity’s sense of integrity. Adolf Hitler’s command of fanatical loyalty to the state, led to the inherent neglect of an ethical compass and a move towards an unprecedented and industrialised efficiency of murder. Loyalty sires the worst advances in human history, and what Dr Emilia Dowling would describe as a “loyalty bind”, preventing devotees from being able to witness the epidemic of immorality unfolding in their midst. When concern is voiced regarding a point of injustice, this “loyalty bind” is what triggers enraged followers to retaliate. They attack individual integrity and assert the good of the community to necessitate obstinate allegiance to the hierarchy. Such is the insidious nature of loyalty. Such is the nature of a loyal Nazi.
Thus, what becomes of morality? In an absolutist society we define others and their choices as acceptable or as unacceptable. Our society resolves to fundamentally embrace the ideals of normative moral relativism, which determines there to be no binding absolute moral standards dictating what is true for one to be true for another. Truth is absolute. Yet, it was true for the German Reich that the Jewish race was other; subhuman. A normality threatened by the monster. If truth does not form the foundational basis of integrity, what does?
From a Kantian position of virtue, the only motive consistent with morality is the motive of duty; doing the right thing for the right reason, not to satisfy a bind of loyalty but to act upon personal integrity. Anti-utilitarianist philosopher John Rawls affirmed that if we allow obligations to be defined by community identification, they are likely to compete and differ, and thus there is no clear principle. Why is one bound to act based on the arbitrary circumstance of being a member of a community? Such blind subscription to membership is what led the ideologies of a small fascist party to evolve into national governing doctrines. Instances of resolute loyalty to community are intended to underscore the moral force of solidarity. Thus, obligations of solidarity become a variety of collective selfishness, and facilitate a culture of unreasonable acceptance.
Whilst the locus of integrity cannot be easily identified, it can be agreed upon that the loyal Nazi led to a collective human experience of suffering, death and persecution like never seen before. Be it socially, politically, or economically derived, there is universal concurrence of determined irrefutable ethical codes. Thus, while loyalty might be gained, loyalty has limits. Integrity is limited only by the weight we put on the significance of our own expression of principle.
creative
What does it mean to be successful?
hallie, Creative category
north american
What does it mean to be successful?
Success
[suhk-ses] | \ sək - ‘ses \
Merriam-Webster Dictionary
Noun
: the fact of getting or achieving wealth, respect, or fame
freedom
At three, success is the feel of ocean spray on my arms, my neck; the sun kissing my skin. Success is sand crunching beneath my toes; the roar of the sea; seagulls eating from my palm. Success is glimpses of soft sliver moons rippling in starry seas, deep velvet skies hosting the same silvery crescent, reaching--starstruck, and wide-eyed--drinking from the moon. Success is freedom from the suffocating embrace of overprotection; the joy of running wild… and free.
2. truth
At five, success is green clusters of grapes pregnant with flavor; tropical trees bowing before me. Success is claiming I am a child of Mother Nature, caught between wisps of summer, holding on too tightly for autumn to come. Success is the bonsai tree growing in the neighbor’s yard, an inexplicable desire to uproot it, perhaps to see the truth--those perfect branches were too good to be true.
3. ambition
At seven, success is the star on my paper, the first in the lunch line, the approval of friends as I stand my ground before a teacher. Success is winning races in gym class, toilsome climbs to the top of the playground. Success is waking up to worlds sheathed in ghostly white, snowflakes dappling the ground, threading through my hair, the eerie glow of night skies, extolling ice crystals in all their glory. Success is always being better, holding nothing back.
4. hope
At nine, success is unraveling the layers of my life, like skin--looking back on the tree-trunk years, combing through lifelines. Success is light in hollow-eyed children as they hold their hands out for food, for water. Success is the moon, metallic and golden-eyed, wondering if I would ever amount to anything in the world. Success is hoping that I would.
5. gratitude
At twelve, success is the pounding of feet; the scattering of fall leaves in the wake of my steps; the rattle of breath inside my chest as I run, first a mile a day, then two, then five, until my joints feel like lead when I sleep. Success is tears trickling down my cheeks as the world moves forward and athletes; I am stagnant in my hurt, my pain, my injuries, and thinking I will never run again. Yet, success is breathing fresh air four months later; lungs more tired than ever, heart newly invigorated. Success is promising to never hate anything again; instead, realize there are so many things to treasure before they waste away.
Today, I turn fifteen years old.
Today, I redefine success.
Success
Noun
6. Success is the story of my life, the paintbrush in my hand; the learning to grow and helping others grow. Success is freedom, truth, ambition; success is truth and gratitude. To me, success is everything I will become, and everything I become in the process of becoming.
Write about your greatest inspiration.
Saqina Qamilia, Creative category
southeast asia
Fly Away, My Little Birdie
My grandpa Abraham was the most enthralling man to live.
Although he lost a leg in an accident, he claimed to have fought in wars, crossed oceans and lived in a special home for children with superpowers. All of these seemed unfathomably exotic to someone who lives in a modern metropolis like me. So whenever he visits, I would beg him to regale his tales to me. He often obliged, telling them like secrets that could only be entrusted to me. He would carry my frail body and toss me around the air, reenacting his stories, asking me to fly away as our vibrant laughter filled the room. Folklore of him saving a princess and being chased by monsters always sounded utterly mind-blowing to me, so I asked,
“What kind of monsters grandpa?” The curiosity in the five year-old me was itching to find out.
“Oh, terrible ones. Even worse than the ones under your bed. They don't have hunched backs or rotting skin that stank like putrefying trash though. They were much worse. Their hearts were rotten, eyes filled with evil demise and their mouths only spoke the unpleasant!” he revealed.
I spent my entire childhood believing the fairytales I was told, going around the school telling people his fable, further deteriorating my reputation as a freak. The day I found out that monsters and superpowers were simply fiddlesticks, my beliefs ground to a halt. I furiously demanded that he stop the lies. He smiled and simply replied,
“They were never lies, my love. They were true events that needed to be told in metaphors so you could believe. You needed to believe, to hope, so you could fly away,”
“Why wont you get it? I don't have superpowers, grandpa, I'm just a loser who could never fit in. I'm never flying anywhere!” I yelled as I sobbed uncontrollably through my tears, insurmountably grieving the death of my child-like innocence.
“my dear, you have the best superpower of all. Your lionheart. Use it to fight those monsters, battle them, then fly away, my little birdie,” he said softly.
It dawned upon me years later that he was being completely truthful, only hyperbolic for the sake of my innocence.The wars he fought were actually the criticism he had to face as a disabled child. He crossed oceans to be sent to an orphanage specially for disabled children after losing his parents to world war ii. The princess he saved was my grandmother, who also suffered like he did, and the monsters chasing them were the rot-hearted pessimists whose life mission was to bring believers down. My grandfather was an oddball and misfit like I was, yet he embraced it. And so because of him, today, even as the monsters criticise the way I fly as I'm soaring through the sky, I just keep flapping on. For his virtuous optimism is the bone of my wings.
Describe the Perfect Day.
California, Creative category
north america
Describe the Perfect Day
On the perfect day, there are no green, faux-leather chairs or stiff blue beds wrapped in wax-like paper. There are no flimsy plastic cups of too-sweet grape juice, sealed with foil lids that I struggle to remove nor are there any medicines whose tases I need the grape juice to wash down. There are no fluorescent lights to reflect off the nonexistent beige tile floors. I do not awake to the pain of a needle in the top of my hand and there is no inch wide mark where a bracelet squeezed my wrist too tight. I don’t struggle to swallow thick barium and I don’t taste the sweetness of the strawberry syrup that doctors like to top it with. I don’t hear the thunder of an MRI or smell the piercing metal of a head CT.
I will not have the false joy of watching the sunset from a window that refuses to open. I will watch as the sun bleeds into the vast ocean above my head from a tree, exactly the one I sat in the day before I was diagnosed, but this time I will have no diagnosis to anticipate. Its branches will be uneven and rough, and they will leave my hands stained brown so that my sister will ask me if I’ve been playing in mud, and I will be able to do nothing but laugh, taking small pleasure in the fact that not she, nor anyone else on Earth, will be able to understand the beauty I had just seen.
At night, I will climb down from my perch and surrender to the grass to gaze up into the sky, studying the lights above me. I’ll find one that’s brighter than the others and wonder if it’s a planet or just an exceptional star. I’ll think about how far away it is, and how it’s possible that the speck of light could no longer exist, and I’ll have no idea. I’ll try to fall asleep, feeling the Earth’s coolness under my back, but I won’t be able to. I’ll hear the whispers of the weeds as they communicated some secret, and feel the bugs, busy about their lives beneath the surface of the dirt. They won’t make me squeamish, but instead I’ll be absorbed by their energy, unable to find a moment of rest in the presence of such monumental life. I'll think about how on any other day, anything even slightly less perfect, I would never be able to lay as I was, and suddenly, I’ll be overcome with gratitude. As I lay there, the night sky smiling back at me, I’ll feel sorry for the people who manage to fall asleep under the stars. I think if ever I were able to close my eyes while in the presence of all that beauty, it would surely be that I had lost my mind.