|
 By Kibar Moussoba I was sitting in my classroom on 9/11 when someone turned to me and said: “Kibar, was that you? What did you do? Was your dad flying that plane?” I froze. It took me a moment to even process what had just been said. The news had been playing on all TVs showing footage of smoke, destruction, and fear. And now, somehow, I was being linked to it. I didn’t have the words to explain how wrong that moment was. All I knew was that things were changing, and quickly. In the weeks and months after 9/11, I was no longer just a kid in high school. I was an Arab-American that constantly had to look over my shoulder. It didn't matter that I was 15 years old. It didn't matter that I was Christian. It didn't matter that I lived in rural New Hampshire with absolutely no connection to any terrorist organization. The bullying, name calling, and snickering at my expense continued longer than I care to explain. What I learned years later is this: when people don’t understand you, they create their own version of your story. And the best way to change that was to tell your own story before they tell it for you. For a long time, I stayed silent. I kept my head down. I knew that if I ignored the comments, they would simply go away. The following year, my English teacher announced a school-wide essay contest inviting students to share their reflections on 9/11 and what freedom meant to us. At first, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to participate. After all, I was not in a positive state of mind about this topic so I saw no reason to subject myself to this exercise. But, of course, the same day they announced this essay contest, the kid that was making my life miserable for a year decided to take another stab at me. I wrote the whole thing that night. I wrote about my family’s journey to America. About what it meant to leave behind a war-torn country. About how proud we were to become citizens. And about how, after 9/11, that sense of belonging was gone for me and most Arab-Americans in this country. When I was selected to read my essay in front of the entire school, I was terrified. The same students who had been bullying me, who had laughed, who had made me feel like an outsider — they would all be in that room. What felt like the next day, I stepped onto that stage as the last finalist to read their essay. I closed my eyes, and with slight anger in my voice I belted out the first words, "I was born during a war." Over the next 4 minutes I spoke about freedom from my lens, but what it could truly look like. I spoke about the façade of unity in this country. I spoke about pride and perseverance; how escaping war from my birth country only led to war in this country. When I finished, there was silence. I could practically hear the jaws hitting the floor. I was unsure if what I had just done was going to help me or hurt me, but the principal encouraged everyone to applaud and I walked off stage. As we exited the assembly, something unexpected happened. The one kid who led the charge at making my life miserable for the past year stopped me in the hallway. He looked at me, but didn't say anything this time. As he stuck out his hand, his blank face turned to remorse. He didn’t say a word. But he didn’t have to. That moment told me everything. He saw me. That moment taught me a lesson I will never forget: stories have the power to shift perspectives in ways that arguments never will. People fear what they don’t understand. When we don’t know someone’s story, we fill in the blanks with assumptions. The best way to break down bias is to make yourself known. Stories create connection. Facts inform. But stories connect. When someone hears your lived experience, they don’t just process information — they feel it. When you share your truth, you take back control. For a short amount of time, I let others define my identity. But telling my story helped me reclaim it. So, if you feel misunderstood — don’t allow yourself to shrink. Share your story. Let people see you. Because when they do, their perspective might change forever. We all have a story that could change someone’s perspective. My story brought me to the TEDx stage. Ask yourself, what’s one part of your story that others could benefit from hearing? Kibar Moussoba is the senior program manager of People Experience at Southern New Hampshire University, where he leads strategic Inclusive Listening initiatives to enhance employee engagement and equity, diversity, and inclusion. With a deep passion for fostering meaningful workplace experiences, he helps drive key initiatives aligned with the university’s strategic goals. Beyond his role at SNHU, Kibar is an award-winning entertainer and professional DJ, known for creating unforgettable experiences at events across New England and beyond. His love for music began at the age of five with piano lessons, and by 19, he had launched his professional DJ career with Main Event Entertainment. Originally from Beirut, Lebanon, but having spent most of his life in Southern New Hampshire, he developed his DJing skills early and quickly became a sought-after performer. His ability to blend diverse musical influences and craft dynamic atmospheres has made him one of New England’s top DJs. In addition to his professional commitments, Kibar serves on the Board of Directors for the Mental Health Center of Greater Manchester and has been recognized with several accolades, including the prestigious 40 Under Forty award in New Hampshire. He is also a TEDx speaker, sharing insights on resilience, perspective, and personal growth. A husband and father of two, Kibar balances his career with his dedication to family, mentorship, and making a meaningful impact in every space he enters. Please note: Each week, we invite members of the greater Global Citizens Circle community to contribute to GCC Voices. The views and opinions expressed in each blog post are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Global Citizens Circle. When we don’t know someone’s story, we fill in the blanks with assumptions. The best way to break down bias is to make yourself known. Stories create connection. Facts inform. But stories connect. When someone hears your lived experience, they don’t just process information — they feel it. When you share your truth, you take back control.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
GCC Voices
Archives
April 2025
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed