In humanities we were each given a short biography about a enslaved African living in New York. I learned a lot about George Washington’s slaves and how he treated them. I also learned that the British promised freedom to any enslaved African that joined their side. I really liked this assignment because it left room to be creative, more than a test. With a test you really can only answer the questions on the test but with this I can go in ant direction. I like doing this because I also love historical fiction.

Name: Ruby Wexler                                                                       March 2017

Humanities                                                Africans in NY: Creative Narrative Assignment

Be Free Because I Cannot

By Ruby Wexler

My name is Debora Squash, and I was born enslaved. I worked the farm, mostly wheat and corn. I had no family except for my mother. She told me stories taught me about how to follow the stars. She always said her dream was for me to one day be free and go back to Africa. Well now I am free, sailing away over the blue sea to a new life. We sail away from our old homes to our new one.e will go to Port Roseway in Nova Scotia, Canada. The ship slowly rocks back and forth. My husband Harvey Squash sits next to me, strong and healthy. He looks at me, I think how lucky I am to have him. We met by chance really, both at a British camp, I a runaway joining the British for freedom, and Harvey who was sold to a British soldier. We were both 20 and got married soon after we met. I can’t help but remember what happened four years ago, when I was only sixteen.

The small house is dark and stuffy, filled with dust, the scent of sickness in the air. My mother’s laying on the thin pallet, it’s stuffed with old straw and is gray, it was once white. Her dress is worn down and caked with dirt. Her breaths are slow, rasping and forced. Her eyes are almost shut. The room is dark and silent except for my mother’s breathing. Then she whispers to me.

“My dear, I will be gone soon,” She says.

“No, you’ll be fine. I promise, you have to be fine!”

“My dear, we both know that is not true. My time is running short.”

“What will I do without you?”

“Go, be free because I cannot. Go my dear, go,” and with that she shuts her eyes. I collapse in sobs, screaming for her to come back. Someone pulls me off her, and I fight screaming and kicking, but I can’t escape the strong arms holding me, pulling me out of the small house, into the pouring rain. My mother’s words still echo around in my mind. Go, be free. Me, I’m screaming and yelling as another man takes her body, throws it into a wooden wagon and covers her with a cloth. I scream and fight harder as the wagon starts down the muddy road. I collapse, soaked in rain, mud, and tears.

I sit up soaked, but not in rain or sweat. The dream was so real it was more of a memory replayed in my sleep.  

“She’s gone, gone and never coming back,” I tell myself. I remember her funeral, it was raining again, they dug a small hole and threw her in, not really caring. Her headstone was unmarked. When I was walking back down the muddy road, a little girl who I’d seen running around the fields bringing messages to people. She looked at me with big round innocent eyes, and said.

“I your mama be gone you can share mine.”

“It’s okay, I’ll be okay,” I responded

I hoped that would be true, with all my heart I hoped that would be true. Every night after she died I cried myself to sleep, and my nights were filled with nightmares. I knew little about my mother’s life in Africa but she told me stories about her life in America. My mother was separated from my father before I was born, so I never met him, though my mother always talked about him. She said he was strong and hardworking, like me. She said he was kind and and handsome, and that they fell in love as soon as they met. Both my parents came to America when they were young. My mother explained The Triangle Trade to me. She talked about how they took her from Africa, from her village in Angola. About how she was forced to walk for days with almost no food and water, the sun drying up everything around them. She told about the ship, that was packed with too many people all with chains. All in tiny cramp spaces packed together. They were not aloud above deck, it was dark and damp, scary and the air was thick. I remember her saying that she didn’t know what to think. Then they stopped in Barbados where she meet my father and then they were taken to America where they were forced to work. They were together then mother was sold to General George Washington.  

I think of my mother bidding me to run, to be free. Though with the revolution that is unlikely to happen, and with our master General George Washington, the leader or the Patriots. He talks of freedom for America, though he does not know what freedom he already has. The freedom I do not have. I am now 16, I work hard everyday, I mourn my mother who passed away two weeks ago, and I still dream of freedom. The freedom my mother never got. The freedom I must have. Suddenly I know I can’t stay here. Others have run away and succeeded, some have not. I have a plan, though I will have to wait for nightfall. The whole day I feel jittery and nervous. It’s summer and sweat covers me. Everyone who looks at me seems to know what I’m going to do tonight. They all seem to stare at me, like they’re waiting for me to do something suspicious. There’s a barrel of apples and in passing I slip one into my pocket.

Finally night comes; now’s my chance. I slowly walk outside to make sure no one’s there, I see know one so I take the change and  cover my head with a cloth and run for the woods. I run so fast everything is a blur. I can hear the distant chorus of dogs barking, sniffing me out. No, they wouldn’t have already found me. It is just my imagination. I keep running. The pounding of my feet on the soft ground is like a steady rhythm leading me on. Every snap of a twig, every rustling leaf, every hoot of an owl fills me with fear. I keep telling myself that they can’t have found me, not yet at least. I don’t know how long I run for, but the sky is lit by the stars. My feet ache but I keep moving. The forest seems somehow more sinister at night everything seems unearthly, like a nightmare. I pass a few houses, I get nervous, hoping no one with see me. Once in my journey I stop and cross a river, it will not only refresh me but it might help hide my stench and make it harder to track me. On the other side of the river I collapse, breathing heavily. I stay there until I catch my breath. Then I stand and start to walk again, the sky is starting to get lighter and I can see more. I stop to eat my apple I bury the core so no one will know I’ve been there. Soon I’m on a dirt road, the sun has fully risen by now. I hear the light trotting of horse hoofs. I panic and make a split second decision and stay in plain view of the road. The horse is a soft chestnut with a white stripe down his nose. Sunlight makes the horse seem gold. There a tall, pale man, with blond hair and bright blue eyes. He’s wearing the red uniform of a british officer. His boots are covered in mud and his hat is tilted to the side. I am suddenly filled with hope. A Tory!

“What are you doing here, girl?” The man says with interest and a little bit of annoyance.

“I’m comin’ from Mount Vernon sir,” I reply nervously. He raises his eyebrows.

“Doing business for your master or…” he trails off. What do I say?

“I, I-”

“Who’s your master girl?” he says cutting me off. Now I know what to say. A memory comes back to me once I was by the Big House and through an open window I heard General Washington saying that the British were promising freedom to slaves who joined them. I take a deep breath.

“General Washington sir, ” I frowns, I quickly continue, “I’m Loyalist though, I ran away to join the Tories, sir,” I finish. He looks at me, a long steady gaze.

“If you be lying to me, if you’re a spy trying to get information…”

“I promise sir, please I only want my freedom!” I say desperately. The man takes a deep breath.

“Very well, follow me.”

I nod. I can’t believe it! The man turns his horse around and takes off. I grin as I run after the chestnut horse, follow it to freedom.

I stayed at the British headquarters. There I met Harvey Squash we were soon married. After we were married I thought of the little girl who talked to me the day my mother died, maybe now it would be possible for me to have a little girl of my own. The British promised us freedom and even though we lost, they kept their promise, even though I was still property of George Washington, Sir Guy Carleton helped me, my husband, and many others escape.

The ship is rocking, swaying I feel a little dizzy. The air is thick,  I take a deep breath.

“You okay?” Harvey asks. I nod, he puts his hand on my growing belly. “Let’s name her Hope.”

I grin, “Perfect,” That was my mother’s name.

The ship suddenly stops, we are here. I hear the sounds of men unloading the ship. The cries of children and their parents reprimanding, people going about their daily business. There is a loud scraping and a soft light shines through a square in the ceiling, the sounds from outside grow louder. A man’s face areas in the new open space. He has dirt on his face and his clothes are covered in grime. He frowns.

“Ya can came up now, we be here,” he says.

I nod, Harvey stands up next to me, some of the others below deck with us start to stand. I step above deck, bright sunlight momentarily blinds me, and fresh, salty air fills my lunges. As I look around my mother dying words come back to me,

“Go, be free because I cannot. Go my dear, go,”

I whisper to myself,

“I am free now, I love you mama”

Refection Of Essay:

In Humanities we were asked to write an essay connecting three time periods with one theme. These were: the Salem Witch Trails, based on Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, the Red Scare and McCarthyism, and current day problems. I wrote my essay about the intolerance of difference in these three time periods. While writing this essay I learned a lot about how much fear of difference resulted in horrible moments in history like the Salem Witch Trials and The Red Scare. I also found many connections, between what is happening now to the past. I had a very strong thesis. I spent a lot time on my thesis because it was the beginning I really wanted to start strong. I had a couple mistakes with grammar and and punctuation, I think that this can be fixed by someone else reading it over. My tutor and I read it over part of it but didn’t have enough time to finish. I think the more I edit it with her I think the better it will be, I should also have Suzanne read it over too. I think that I could’ve spent more time on my conclusion, so next time I will take more time with writing that. For this assignment it think that each of my analysis were very similar to each other, though that may have been since times I was writing about were very similar. I also think that I proved my point well. Overall, I think that the essay is very strong even though the conclusion could be stronger.

Here is the essay:

Ruby Wexler                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Humanities

7th Grade                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Comparative essay

3/6/17   

Discrimination Against Difference

By Ruby Wexler

No one is exactly the same. This is impossible, so then why are people intolerant of those who differ from themselves? Accusations against, and intolerance of those who are different have been a theme throughout history. The Salem Witch Trials of 1692, The Red Scare of 1950, and now, Donald Trump, president in 2017, all demonstrate this intolerance. During the Salem Witch Trails anyone who stood out was accused of witchcraft. Two-hundred-forty-five years later the Red Scare struck, this was a period where everyone feared communists. Anyone who disagreed with the government or refused to swear an oath to America, was accused of being a communist. And now President Donald Trump is intolerant of gay, transgender, and people of color, and anyone who doesn’t agree with him. In times of hysteria, people resort to accusing or blaming those who they perceive as different. We are afraid of what we don’t understand, that is to say we are afraid of what is different.

During the Salem Witch Trials, fear ruled over the Puritan society. Many horrendous things were happening like people accusing others, mainly people who stood out in the society, like enslaved Africans, of witchcraft. Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, explores the hysteria of the Salem Witch Trials. In the beginning of the book, Abigail, a girl living in Salem with her uncle, is blaming Tituba for witchcraft. Tituba lives and works for Abigail’s uncle, the reverend. Tituba is being blamed for witchcraft because of the color of her skin. Abigail tells her uncle why she suspects Tituba. “ABIGAIL: Sometimes I wake and find myself standing in the open doorway and not a stitch on my body! I always hear laughing in my sleep. I hear her singing her Barbados songs and tempting me…” (Miller, p.62). Abigail connects Tituba’s ethnicity to witchcraft. She mentions her native songs as evidence that she is a witch. Tituba is being accused by Abigail because she is the minority. Tituba is an enslaved, black woman from Barbados, which makes her the lowest person in the social hierarchy. She is surrounded by white, English, settlers, to them she is an easy target. It is easy for the others to believe that she is a witch. Because she has different customs, speak a different language, and she has different colored skin. However, these differences should not change the way that she is treated. She is different from the majority, but this does not mean that she is not human. The Puritans blamed all their problems of the devil and his worshipers (witches). Because they needed someone to scapegoat. In this case witches are their target, they have no solid proof that someone was a witch so they resorted to blaming those who were different. However, the Salem Witch Trials were not the only time that fear of something or someone resulted in an unjust hunt those who stood out.

The Red Scare of 1950 was a time of panic much like the Salem Witch Trials. Instead of hunting witches they were hunting communists. Russia had recently become a communist country which caused panic, because America was afraid of communism would spread. They were searching for anyone who was a spy or part of the communist party. There was hysteria during the Red Scare and this was somewhat induced and renewed by the government, especially by Senator Joseph McCarthy. McCarthy claimed to have a list of communists in America. “During the Red Scare, anyone whose beliefs strayed from the majority was a suspect. People who fought for racial equality were called communists, as were people who wanted to limit the development of nuclear weapons,” (Fitzgerald, p.58-59). During the Red Scare everybody was terrified of communists, everyone was accusing others. People who stood out were targeted. There was very little evidence for the accusations, so if someone was different,this was a sign that this person was possibly a spy, a communist supporter. It was easier to believe that an immigrant from Russia was a communist than an someone who’s family had lived in America for a long time. People who had different ideas, or people who were against certain things the government were doing would be under suspicion. For example people who fought for equal rights were convicted, for it could have been thought as a rebellion like what happened in Russia and the reason it was a communist country. It was often perceived as an act of support or allegiance to the communist party. McCarthy was a someone in power who targeted those who were different, and now President Trump is very similar.

Many people have inaccurate fears about others they perceive as different. When people are afraid they discriminate against those people that they may have fears of. When Obama was president he passed a law that said, transgender people to use the bathroom that corresponds to the gender that they identify as, no matter what their biological gender is. Though President Trump has other views on the matter. “President Trump on Wednesday rescinded protections for transgender students that had allowed them to use bathrooms corresponding with their gender identity, overruling his own education secretary and placing his administration firmly in the middle of the culture wars that many Republicans have tried to leave behind,” (https://www.nytimes.com /2017/ 02/22/us/politics/devos-sessions-transgender-students-rights.html?ref=todaysp

aper&_r=0). President Trump is targeting a certain group of people who have done nothing wrong. By saying that people can’t use a certain bathroom because of their choice is basically saying that that person’s thoughts, their choices, and how they feel don’t matter. The basis for this is fear put out by some that a transgender person is going to attack them in the bathroom. There is no evidence that this will happen and so the claim is inadequate. Even though the claim is not true the fear is still there, this causes them to discriminate against, in this case, transgender people. President Trump and others are discriminating against those who they perceive as different based on an irrational fear.

Throughout history people who are different from the majority have been persecuted and oppressed. Difference is not bad but people accuse those who are different because they don’t understand those people. In the Salem Witch Trials people were persecuted because the Puritans needed someone to scapegoat, and the easy target was people who stood out. This happens again in the Red Scare, were the fear of communism swept the land. These are both similar to now where there are many prejudices about people who are different. Fear can make people do crazy things. The fear of the unknown, one of the biggest fears the human race has. Though you might not notice it everyone has a least a little subconscious prejudices of fear.

In Humanities we are each studying a colonial research topic, mine is clothing, to research these topics we are using Noodletools. For each of the note cards we had to fine a evidence, from a database, book or interview. Once we found a good piece of evidence we would copy and paste some of it into Noodletools. This was one of the last note cards that I did, for me it was harder to find evidence because I had used most of it and I didn’t want to be repetitive. Next we had to put the quote into our own words. This was a little hard because it couldn’t be similar to the quote while saying the same thing. Lastly, We had to write an analysis, this for me was the hardest. Sometimes it was all questions and other times I would just restate the quote. I think in this note card I found a good balance between the two, while also adding my own thoughts. I think that I did a good job on this note card and since I worked on it so much I got a four!

Ruby Wexler

Notecards

notecard #9

Fashion Shows Identity

Source:

Hall, Jill M. ““Clothing and Fashion in the 17th Century.”.” Facts On File , 2014, online.infobase.com/hrc/search/details/358077?q=colonial clothing.

Quote:

“The details of appearance conveyed identity. Contemporaries recognized a person of wealth and privilege by his or her fine clothes, rich ornaments, and elegant bearing, and responded with an appropriate level of deference. Clothing also represented actual value. A person’s wardrobe represented a significant investment. Clothes were worn, repaired, remade, handed down, and sometimes sold or pawned for cash.

European writers revealed their discomfort with the relative undress of Native people, describing them as “naked” even while enumerating their garments (breechcloths, leggings, moccasins, mantles, and so on). Colonial narratives record gifts to the Native leaders, gifts that usually included at least some items of European clothing. A key element of many colonial ventures was to “civilize” American Indians, and an essential part of European civilization was proper—that is, European—clothing. In this instance clothing served both as a gift of value, costly and—in the colonial context—rare, and a gift of identity, which would bring the Native leader and eventually the community closer to the European ideal of appearance.

Native peoples adapted European cloth and clothing, incorporating them into their dress. They used thick “duffel” cloth for cloaks or mantles that had traditionally been made of furs. But as the growing colonial population eroded the traditional Native ways of life, Native peoples were increasingly pushed to adopt European ways, especially European clothing.”

Paraphrase:

• A person’s wealth was distinguished by their clothing and decoration.
• One’s clothing was one of the main things that they spent their money on.
• Clothes were used, sold, given to younger relatives and reused.
• The Natives were first viewed to be naked because they wore little clothing.
• The English gave gifts to the Natives lots of the gifts had English clothing in them.
• Some of the European settlers wanted to “civilize” of the Natives, one of they ways they tried to make them more proper was to give them English clothing.
• Eventually the Natives used some of the English clothing as well as their own.
• The Natives used a cloth called duffel cloth to make cloaks, though their cloaks were usually made out of furs.
• As time went on and the colony grew, more and more Natives started to the English ways and use more and more of their clothing.

My Ideas:

Clothing was one of the main points that lead the depletion of the Native Americans. The English settlers gave them gifts that often included clothing, the Natives started to take the new clothes into their own culture. This seemed harmless at the beginning, but later it became clear that the English want to take over the Natives. I think that they tried to make the Natives respectable by making them look more like the English. One of the examples of this is Pocahontas, she was the daughter of the great chief Powhatan, then she married John Ralph. She was given a new name was taken into the English traditions and ways of dress. In a way this is a less brutal version of bringing Africans and making them work under terrible conditions. The enslaved Africans started to adopt the English clothing while still keeping their own culture’s clothes. Though like the Natives they were eventually forced into the European ways of dress. The English showed their wealth and rank through their clothing, enslaved people were automatically judged by their clothing and race. The Natives also had their own hierarchy that was also shown by clothing. I think that eventually the Natives were showed their rank through the amount of English clothing they had showed their rank because if you could have traded moe clothing that means you have things to trade and you are wealthy. Clothing could also have been very helpful or unhelpful in the drama of society. If you were someone looking to get married you would want to have nice clothing to look wealthy, to look well keep and maybe just to show off. If you wore odd or different clothes you might be though as odd or different. The English settlers spent a good amount of their money on their clothing, the Natives and enslaved people weren’t this particular though they were still showing their rank through their clothing. 

History:

Created: 11/02/2016 12:44 PM

For Thanksgiving we all had to write a piece about a person and a food that we connected over. I think that this is a representation of some of my best work. I feel that I am good a zooming in on a small moment. This was also a very meaningful piece for me and I feel like I put all that emotion into the piece. This was also one of my favorite writing things that we have done this year.

11-4-16                                                                                                      Humanities

Food Writing                                                                                              Group B

Cookies And Reindeer

By Ruby Wexler

In the middle of winter when it’s so cold and the freezing air seeps through the walls and fills the house with bitter icy air, only is one thing that makes me grin and fills me with joy. Gooey chocolate chip cookies, though they are warming to eat it’s really more about the process of making them that warms me so much. I always love to make cookies with my sister, Ella. We always make them when it’s cold and take them out of the oven early so they’re warm and gooey.

On a freezing morning that seems to go on forever, I am sitting in the living room, wrapped in a warm blanket. My sister comes thundering down the stairs. She hurries to the pantry, leaping like a deer. She opens it with a flourish and pulls out a yellow and red bag, which makes me grin.

“Chocolate chips!” I yell. Ella smiles and nods. She started to pull out all the dry ingredients. I run over to the fridge. All cold has left me now. I pull out the milk, butter and eggs, then run to the shelves and grab canola oil. We pile all the ingredients on the counter and take out bowls, spoons and measuring cups. We start to mix the dry ingredients. They are all as white and fresh as the snow outside. Ella sticks her finger into the sugar, that we are about to add, and taps my nose so the tip of my nose is white.

“Ruby the white nosed reindeer!” She sings.

“Had a very sugary nose,” I continue. We both laugh. The sound is like little chiming bells and fills the room with sunshine. When it’s time to add the brown sugar, we eat so much of it there is only just enough to put in the mix. I turn on the mixer it swirls the light brown contents until it is smooth. It 1looks like freshly made caramel waiting to be eaten. Then we add the flour mixture, slowly sprinkling into the bowl slowly mixes it in. We look in the bowl, there is only a little bit of flour left Ella takes it and throws it in most of it ends up on us because the mixer is too fast. We fall over laughing getting the snow white powder everywhere. At last it’s time to add the chocolate chips. We take turns adding them, throwing them in then watching them disappear in the depths of the dough. The recipe says to add a cup, but we always add an extra handful for fun. We scoop out the dough on to sheets, making sure they are evenly spaced out and put them into the oven. Then we take our places across from the oven with the bag of chocolate chips between us. The wait is almost unbearable. With ten minutes left, we have eaten almost all the chocolate. Five minutes left the floor is hurting my butt! Three, two, one! The timer dings and Ella puts on oven mitts, and pulls out the gooey, perfect cookies. We wait again until they are cool enough to eat. I touch one. It’s warm but not too hot. We both grab the same cookie and grin I break it in half, we each take one half and take a bite. The outside is crunchy, but the inside is gooey and the chocolate is melted perfectly. We eat a few more then save the rest. They are always good but not as good as the first bite that I shared with my sister.  

This memory is important to me because my relationship with my sister has changed. She decided to go to boarding school. She left home four years earlier than I thought. That memory took place three years ago but it feels like another lifetime. It feels like a hundred years until she comes home for break. It’s like one of my best friends has grown up and left me, no, one of my best friends has grown up and left me. Leaving behind me in a ever blowing storm, where I sit alone waiting for the angel that will save me with the sweet smell of baking cookies. Though when she does come home we make chocolate chip cookies and I feel as happy as I did three years ago. When we do we dance, and I am, once more a forever happy reindeer.

This is my Giver Essay, we wrote these after we read the book The Giver by Lois Lowry. This was only a four paragraph essay which is shorter than essay I have written in the past, this men’t that it only had two body paragraphs instead of three. This was interesting because when we started to think of the topic we were going to write about, we were in the middle of the book. I wanted to do color, when I had thought of this topic there wasn’t much evidence for it. I also brought up my own topic, it seemed a littler harder and different than the other topics. Even with this I really liked it and stuck with it (even though once I wanted to change my topic) and I think that I did a good job.

Color Makes a Perfect World

By Ruby Wexler

What is a perfect world? In Lois Lowry’s The Giver, everyone is the same, they feel no real emotion, and they live bland colorless lives with families they don’t love. 12-year-old Jonas, a young boy who lives in this community which is a supposed utopia, is a good rule following citizen. This all changes when he is assigned to to be the next Receiver of Memory. As the Receiver, Jonas is given all the memories of the past. He receives the memories from the Giver who has the memories that are kept from the rest of the community. As he is receiving the memories, Jonas starts to see color. With color comes emotion and longing for someone else to share them with besides the Giver. He sets forth on an adventure to show everyone the wonders and joy they have never seen. In this society, keeping the sameness is essential to keeping the so called utopia. However, color represents difference and individuality. Emotion gives you freedom and new experiences, both of which in this society are considered dangerous to the sameness.

By trying to make a utopia the Elders have made a dystopia, where people are like blind, obedient robots. To make a utopia they took away emotion to make everyone the same, but in reality this dehumanized the community. One day the Giver is explaining the sorrows of Sameness to Jonas. “‘We relinquished color when we relinquished sunshine and did away with differences.’ He thought for a moment. ‘We gained control of many things. But we had to let go of others,’” (Lowry, p. 82). The Elders have gained control of the weather and  sickness as well as the lives and thoughts of the community. Everyone is the same, they feel no real emotion, only a toned down artificial version. People can no longer see color-this is to abolish difference, to make a perfect world. Though in a truly perfect world couldn’t people be truly happy? Yes, they take this away to stop argument and anger, though if you don’t know the opposite of  happiness you don’t know what true happiness is. Without both you cannot feel love, therefore you cannot receive the greatest gift of life, you cannot be loved. With no real emotion you cannot be happy, and with no difference you are just a one of millions, just bland without color.

In the community, there is no color, everyone looks exactly the same, and no one is special. To be truly free you have to be different, you wouldn’t get to truly live. After Jonas starts to see color for the first time, the Giver explains about skin tones. “No, flesh isn’t red. But it has red tones in it. There was a time, actually—you’ll see this in the memories later—when flesh was many different colors. That was before we went to Sameness. Today flesh is all the same, and what you saw was the red tones,” (Lowry, p. 81). Jonas sees color, he knows of difference. Later on, he wonders why the rest of the world cannot experience this. Though the answer he gets is unsatisfactory, he is told that it’s dangerous. Color represents diversity, and without diversity nothing would ever change for better or for worse. This is what has happened to Jonas’s society, everyone is the same, this is a ever looping pattern. To grow and think you must have another opinion a another way to look at things. Color gives happiness though can also give so many other emotions. Color makes us truly human. The community which is supposed to be a utopia is truly a dystopia that is full of emotionless beings that are only shells of what there once was.

To make a utopia, Jonas’s community went to sameness. Though, to keep the sameness they had to pay the price of losing the ability to see color and to feel true emotion. By letting go of these they are making a dystopia by trying to make a utopia. Jonas and the Giver are the only ones who have access to what it was like before the sameness. This makes them the only ones who can see that the world is full of puppets whose strings are held by the Elders. To have choice and freedom of thought is dangerous according to the Elders. Jonas finds out about this and decides that he wants the world to feel real emotion. To have a true utopia people must be truly happy, but you can’t be truly happy if you don’t know what anger is. If there is one point of power controlling everyone like puppets, that is a dystopia. To try to make everything perfect, you end up dehumanizing people and destroying the world.