Ethics
by Sylvia Baer
"Leaders gain power for one of two things: to truly help others, or to truly help themselves."
—Fred Kuhner (my father)
“Sylvia, you are just another stupid foreigner.” It was the fall of 1957, I was seven years old, and my teacher Mrs. Barnes declared this loudly in front of the class. I didn’t understand what she was trying to say.
Several months earlier, in February, I arrived from South America not knowing any English at all and entered the second half of first grade. With a lot of practice and help I learned enough of the language to skip the entire second grade curriculum and land in third grade in September. I knew the “stupid” part didn’t mean what I thought it meant. But she was right about one thing: I was a foreigner.
At recess I asked my best friend, Patty, to explain it to me and she said, “Well, I think she thought you didn’t do the right thing in the class election today.” Now, I was more confused. We were learning about voting and an exercise that we did in class was to elect a class president, vice-president, treasurer, and secretary. Each job’s responsibilities were detailed by Mrs. Barnes. Then someone nominated a person for the position, that person was seconded, and their name went on the board. Two names were placed for each. I was surprised to be nominated for secretary and my name went on the board alongside Betty Granger.
I didn’t know her very well, but I knew her to be the tidiest of all of us. Her crisp dresses were always perfectly creased, her wavy golden hair held back perfectly with barrettes, and her classroom cubby never had awkward pieces of paper spewing out. She was dedicated to neatness and order—the opposite of me. The job of the secretary required taking care of the class plant—a big-leafed, dark green monster which our teacher was very proud of. “I’ve been teaching for 15 years, and this plant has been taken care of perfectly all this time,” she told us.
I loved seeing my name on the board and felt a touch of arrogance at my fame, but I had nagging doubts. Betty was responsible and neat. She would take much better care of the plant than I would—I knew this—I was sure of this.
We voted by a show of hands and when the voting came for secretary, I lost by one vote.
Mine.
I voted for Betty. Mrs. Barnes continued her attack, “When you are a foreigner you just don’t have any sense of what is right —look at Sylvia.” Everyone turned to look at me and not understanding the situation, I smiled and waved.
After school Patty and I went over to her house where her mother was simmering a giant vat of tomato sauce with meatballs. The scent of it glided over and around me and hugged me in comfort. Patty’s parents were from Italy having arrived in this country a year before she was born. Everything they had was lost in the war and coming here meant starting over and having hope. Their dry-cleaning business had started to be profitable, and they looked forward to being able to buy a house soon. “With a room for me,” Patty would exclaim,” so I won’t have to sleep in the living room!”
"Mrs. Bartolli,” I began as I sat at the kitchen table, “something happened at school that we don’t understand. Can you explain it to us? What did I do that was stupid?” And I recounted the events of the election. As I spoke, her face got redder and redder. She yanked off her tomato splattered apron and took me by the hand into a small alcove of the kitchen.
On the wall she pointed to a photograph of an old man and woman with a small boy standing between them. “Those were my parents and our son, Joseph,” she began. “We took that picture in 1943 in a park. I asked them to pose in front of that beautiful tree. Mr. Bartolli and I walked back home and mamma and papa took Joseph for a candy treat. Within the hour they were killed by Nazi soldiers. Killed buying a little candy. Shot. And why? Why do these things happen? It’s because sometimes people just want power over others, and they forget what’s right and wrong. They don’t stop to think—they just grab.”
I was stunned and Patty’s head was bowed down. “But Sylvia, you did the right thing today. Instead of just wanting to show off you decided what the right thing was, and you did it. In English that word is “ethical.” And here is the secret, “I leaned closer, “being ethical—that—that is the real power because maybe immediately it seems to make no difference and you might get made fun of, eventually the right way—the ethical way—always puts more good into the world.”
She hugged me and continued, “the more you learn about this great country that we live in, the more you will realize that everyone—everyone—has foreigners somewhere in their family. And see, it’s like this big pot of sauce here, full of lots of different ingredients all bubbling away together. Delicious!”
I walked home later that afternoon and my mother was setting the table for dinner. As was her habit in Spanish she asked me, “What did you learn at school today, Sylvia?” And as was my habit I didn’t tell her too many details because she simply didn’t yet understand the school system or American ways.
But today I told her that I learned a new word and it would be—I declared—my favorite word forever: Ethical.
And it still is.
