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Contents Message from the Editor ................................................................................ v Message from the Director ............................................................................. vi Message from the Judges ............................................................................... vii

Poetry HAIKU

SENIOR Keven Cui “Until One Day” ................................................................. 1 Cassidy James “I’m afraid of the truth that she holds my power” ...... 1 Hanna Joshi “My Choice” ................................................................... 1

JUNIOR

Nina Oliverio “Storm” ......................................................................... 2 Nisha Venugopal “Violence in Youth” ................................................ 2 Mary Barron “Speak the Truth” ........................................................... 2

ODE SENIOR

Tatum Roy “An Ode to Corruption” ............................................. 3 Kasie Rayner “Shout-outs” ........................................................... 4 Rumaisa Ahmad “An Ode to Survivors” ....................................... 5

JUNIOR

Samantha Scott “Speaking Truth to Power: Flowers, Trees, Leaves” ........................................................................................... 6 Noah Hart-Carriere “Truth to Power: Ode” ................................. 7

Cover Illustration: Thidar Thein, Kennedy Collegiate Institute, Winner of the Pluralist 2019 Cover Contest

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Prose POSTCARD

SENIOR Emma Chumecky “The Wall” ................................................................ 9 Kevin Cui “The Mistake” ...................................................................... 9 Sona Regonda “Sorry, Mom” ............................................................... 9

JUNIOR

Katerina Amincone “2020: The Truth about Untruths” ....................... 10 Niksha Venugopal “The Movement” ................................................... 10 Nabil Singh “We Have Power” .............................................................. 10

FLASH FICTION

SENIOR Grace Gagnier “The Lonely Tower” ..................................................... 11 Connie Zeng “Last Words” ................................................................... 12 Zoe Dumouchelle “Consumed”............................................................ 14

JUNIOR

Laura Bocicariu “The Edge of Eboria” .................................................. 16 Alexandra Ike “Not How, But Why” ..................................................... 18 Brazen Goyeau “When Lucy Spoke” .................................................... 19

Frontispieces: Cory Gignac, Kennedy Collegiate Institute Quintin David-Pillon, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

Abbie McLeod, Sandwich Secondary School

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Message from the Editor This year’s theme, "Speaking Truth to Power," was based on a conversation I had with Mike Thrasher back in September 2019, back in that…before time. We discussed the social, domestic, political and work power dynamics that suppress the individual's ability to communicate the truth. It was all very interesting. It was the kind of talk that grows intense, then flickers, and ends in a chuckle, just before you switch off the classroom lights and motor home, thinking about what you didn’t defrost for dinner. But that was before. Before a virus went head to head with the agendas of the world’s most powerful leaders, and started winning. Before the killing of George Floyd, when frantic onlookers held up phones like last ditch weapons of defense against his killer. It was before an African American man risked arrest by asking a white woman to leash her dog. It was before the impeachment of Donald Trump, the sentencing of Harvey Weinstein, and the decision of the Supreme Court of Canada to deny a First Nations’ appeal to block oil pipeline expansion on their lands. It was before Mary Jo Laupp used the Chinese-owned social media platform, TikTok, to sabotage a presidential campaign rally in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and before that same platform cut off Hong Kong users to suppress their own pro-democracy movement. Speaking Truth to Power. These words are ubiquitous in mainstream media now, and, some may argue, have become cliched, and even dangerously subverted. But even though we may invent new words like “post-truth,” the truth still exists. And in a world where the truth is not even necessarily muzzled, but irrevocably devalued, nothing is more dangerous than our cynicism and resignation. Here’s to our young writers then, who will soldier on, using their words to expose post-truth for the grifter it is, and nurture a relationship with truth in its infancy, awkward and guileless and real, crowning it with the flawed and alchemical art of language. Deirdre Roberts, Editor

Nora Scout McCurdy, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

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Message from the Director Student voice is persuasive. Regardless of the forum or the medium, the thoughtful, sensitive expression of ideas can give young people tremendous influence with those who have or are perceived to have, the power. When student voice is conceived, compiled and connected to an audience in a publication such as The Pluralist, it can have considerable impact. The quality of prose, poetry and images in this year’s edition fortifies my view of the true power of young people. Their thoughts, their creativity, their honesty is impressive. Thank you to the writers and artists who have contributed to this issue. Thank you, as well, to the teachers who have guided the work and the editors who have been thorough and deliberate in their leadership. I hope everyone will experience the same exhilaration and satisfaction as I did reading the 2020 edition of The Pluralist. Erin Kelly, Director

Thidar Thein, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

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Message from the Judges

Reading the poems for this year’s Pluralist is a beautiful reminder of the hope that exists in our world. This hope is exhibited in the writing of the teenagers featured in this anthology. Teenagers care about our world, one another, and the future of our humanity. Their sadness in the behaviour of adults and the challenges they face because of this behaviour is exhibited on these pages. Please read through these poems carefully and pay attention to the warnings in this poetry. It has been a privilege to select the winning poems. My hope is for teenagers to continue confronting the problems of the world with their words. Thank you to our student writers.

Lenore Langs, Poetry Judge

Jacob Gagnier, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

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Message from the Judges

No surprise, but several of this year's entries deal directly or indirectly with the uncertain times in which we find ourselves. Margaret Atwood would be proud: a couple of the entries (junior and senior) portray dark, dreadful and frightening dystopian worlds. As always, some of the entries are closer to home: exploring the fears and hopes and frustrations of teen-age life: relationships gone south, friends gone missing, speaking up when it truly matters, cell phones being confiscated by parents. I overheard someone say the other day, not in a kindly way, “Kids these days.” Well, kids these days are connected and concerned and very much aware of the world around them. They're engaged and honest and articulate. And it's a great privilege every year to find out what they're thinking. So thanks for allowing me to enter your worlds.   Write on.

Paul Vasey, Prose Judge

Relja Vojvodic, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

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HAIKU SENIOR

1st Place Kevin Cui, Vincent Massey Secondary School

Until One Day

These tyrant powers, Drown me in their crushing tides, Till I learn to swim 2nd Place Cassidy James, Walkerville Collegiate Institute I’m afraid of the truth that she holds my power

all my strength can rest between my cold bitten nails in stale white paper when I inhale her it discomforts me to know that she’s all I am 3rd Place Hanna Joshi, Westview Freedom Academy

My Choice Power makes your choice I’m one, I make my own choice The one my heart tells

Morand Payton, Belle River District High School

Payten Brouwer, Belle River District High School Secondary School

Shaimaa Al Moussa, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

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HAIKU JUNIOR

1st Place Nina Oliverio, Sandwich Secondary School

Storm

the storm is sudden

lightning flashes through dark skies and then -a rainbow

dancing in the sky

beams of colour spreading light promise of better days

2nd Place Niksha Venugopal, Vincent Massey Secondary School

Violence in Youth

Waking up to shots: bullet wounds do not define

the youth of today

Driven with torn hearts angels, you deserved better

than fear and chaos

3rd Place Mary Barron, Sandwich Secondary School

Speak the Truth

We should understand When things are falling apart We need to see change

Find courage and speak

Fight, for a better future Truth needs to be heard

Duaa Alsamhan, Westview Freedom Academy

Mattia Quinlan, Belle River District High School

Allysa Batin, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

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ODE SENIOR

1st Place Tatum Roy, Walkerville Collegiate Institute

An Ode to Corruption

I stand before you, my palms begin to sweat, it’s hard to swallow, I have a lump in my throat. Your true form emerges from the shadows – a serpent. The walls speak for you, voices of temptation and deception echoing in the hollow hall. You viper! You speak as though your tongue is poison, your venom infects my soul, spreads through my whole body. My lungs fill – I struggle to stay afloat, swirling in a pool of your repulsive sludge You slither about, awaiting my decision… do I follow you to the Garden of Eden? Your body curls I feel a tightness around my throat I am unable to speak.

Sonny Chantler, W.F. Herman Academy

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ODE 2nd Place Kasie Rayner, Walkerville Collegiate Institute

Shout-outs

This is a shout-out to truth who is vulnerable. She hides in the shadows until she is needed and explodes like a bomb when ignored. She drives people crazy when they don’t know her and, sometimes, even when they do. This is a shout-out to power, who is ear-splitting. He stands in a spotlight and calls out your name and whispers endearingly to your ego. He drives people crazy when they don’t have him and, sometimes, even when they do.

Sasha Lowe, W.F. Herman Academy

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ODE

3rd Place Rumaisa Ahmad, Vincent Massey Secondary School

An Ode to Survivors

To all of you, who have endured the worst inhumanities, You – innocent, hopeful, utterly human, You who were punished for no sins of your own, My heart weeps for you. Oh brave ones, my heart beats in sympathy As you scramble from chaos. May you stop running and rest your weary souls. Let us protect you from the ghosts of screams that plague you. You are not victims – you are survivors, warriors clad in everyday clothing Clutching swords made of love. The streets ran with your blood, but you are not broken By the demons of this earth And in the end, when the world we know is gone It is you, the Innocent, who will be remembered.

Fatima Abbas Alzayat, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

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Qi’Asia Wilson, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

ODE JUNIOR

1st Place Samantha Scott, Sandwich Secondary School

Speaking Truth to Power: Flowers, Trees, Leaves

Oh, flowers, trees, leaves, speak through the wind and through the breeze.

Roaring winds, make the trees wild, make them scream loud like a child.

The louder the roars, the stronger the power, through the leaves, trees, and flowers.

With the power, we see the truth,

speaking power, speaking youth.

The truth is honest, and honestly is strong, power to truth is where it belongs.

Oh flowers, trees, leaves, speak through the breeze.

Your truth is important. We listen to hear Nature’s words.

With her words, we hear power.

Nature speaks truth to power.

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ODE

2nd Place Noah Hart-Carriere, Sandwich Secondary School

Truth to Power: Ode

Power – you lie!

You corrupt with money, temptation, and greed You change us like the waves washing over the beach

You wash over our hearts with greed and lies You blind us to the truth

Power follows like a dog, may stay with us and protect us But like all things it will die and expose us

to our negativity and mistakes We like power at first, we like to hide behind it

and lie, we like to bury truth. But the truth will come out and put liars to shame.

When they are gone we must find someone else to trust

not to be corrupted by the power.

Ruqaya AL-Turki, Kennedy Collegiate Institute Collegiate Institute

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Tierin Cameron, W.F. Herman Academy

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POSTCARD SENIOR

1st Place Emma Chlumecky, Walkerville Collegiate Institute

The Wall What makes one lie? Is it fear of the truth? Humiliation? I’ve always agonized why it’s arduous for those to confront a true tale. Why does he hold up this conservative wall to hide who he is? Hidden behind his eyes, and falling from his mouth, is nothing but a life he wishes he had. 2nd Place Kevin Cui, Vincent Massey Secondary School

The Mistake

The mistake was there, in the middle of the chalkboard. Should I point it out, or pretend it was never made? A few words could change everything. The choice between speaking and silence could be contemplated for a lifetime, and yet is as thin as a sheet of paper, but the scissors remain ever elusive. 3rd Place Sona Regonda, Vincent Massey Secondary School

S o rr y , M o m

I got into a few medical schools last week and need to commit to one by Friday. The decision has held me hostage, violently devouring my thoughts for over two decades, and I don’t want to make the wrong choice now. Prison is only meant for criminals, so I decided to go to teacher’s college.

Augustina Sevelka, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

Danica Dogdanovic, W.F. Herman Academy

Nansy Almasri, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

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POSTCARD JUNIOR

1st Place Katerina Amicone, Sandwich Secondary School

2020: The Truth about Untruths

They said to us, “The truth will set you free.” But what version of their truth should we believe? It only affects older adults, so we should not worry. It will not last after April…the heat will make it go away. But now, it is May, and the world anxiously awaits the elusive truth. 2nd Place Niksha Venugopal, Vincent Massey Secondary School

The Movement

She raised her delicate arm high above the silent crowd. A slender arm marked with the scars of abuse and purity, lost. A survivor’s mark. The shame she had previously felt was gone, now replaced by strength. Watching with eyes of hope, the crowd followed. Dainty, but driven by passion no man could ever portray. 3rd Place Nabil Singh, Sandwich Secondary School

We Have Power

This world will always have a higher power. From governing bodies and mad politicians to centralized wealth. With great power comes… corruption. Give someone enough of something and they will misuse it. Corruption can be fought back by the collection of people who want change. Alone we have no say, but, together, we have power.

Thidar Thein, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

Tierin Cameron, W.F. Herman Academy

Saina Ahmadi, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

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FLASH FICTION SENIOR

1st Place Grace Gagnier, Belle River District High School

The Lonely Tower

“Could you tell me the story of the End, Elder Shanahan?”

“With pleasure. Long ago the wind that blew in my face smelt of the blood of thousands. It was rancid, heavy with the scent of death and I could feel it seep into my skin, tainting me forever. People panicked when the Sickness broke out. Cities burned and towns were abandoned, but there would be no escape for the people of earth; this was the beginning of the End. The Sickness spared few and held no prejudice; millions died and they died in agony. Even after death, the victims of the Sickness would be denied peace; they were still dangerous and were buried crudely in hopes that their plague died with them. These mass graves remain marked only by the grass that grows atop the dirt, the dead below forgotten.

For the survivors of the Sickness, their trials were not yet over. They would have to overcome the harsh environment of a world that wanted to strike them down. Stripped of resources and tormented with harsh weather, living off the land would prove difficult, although these difficulties provided a distraction from the grief the survivors felt. For those who did not adapt fast enough, their end was painful and slow unlike the Sickness. However, the survivors would be graced with peace only after their suffering appeased the Great Mother. The Great Calm was bestowed upon humanity twenty years after the End began. The weather settled, and the land was finally on its way to its former glory. The earth had been restored.

The Great Calm was probably the second most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, the first being the Tower. When the End began there were skyscrapers and houses. Of them all, only the Tower remained. All the others fell to the storms before the Great Calm. When standing, the buildings were a disgrace and so, the arrogant creations crumbled. Only the Tower was spared as a reminder of what humanity was when the End started: selfish, greedy, unkind, and disloyal creatures that dared to lack compassion.

As we look upon the Tower now it is different from how it was before the End. Originally it was an engineering masterpiece, the queen of her inanimate kingdom. Seventy-some years later, the Tower is still a queen, but now she bears a different crown and rules over different subjects. She now is graced with a biological crown, a sign of the Great Mother’s forgiveness and rules over all who gaze upon her broken window panes. She stands tall and serves to remind humanity of their wrongdoings.

We had to learn respect the bloody way once, and once should be enough. Remember this child, for new graves can always be made.”

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FLASH FICTION

2nd Place Connie Zeng, Vincent Massey Secondary School

Last Words

Her name was, by the will of my mother, Maryanne Potts. She stood at only five foot two, well below my mother’s gracious height of five foot eight, and she was just as thin, except for her plump, young face. Her eyes were deep and crystalline, framed by golden hair and white-rimmed glasses.

Maryanne had only one defect: a jagged mark on her porcelain white face, right across her left temple. She never did get around to telling me how she got it. We always joked that she was mere inches away from being Harry Potter. That was alright with her because she liked jokes.

And she liked flowers too.

She wasn’t good at gardening by any means. She was scared of bugs and snakes and dirt. So she painted the flowers instead. She liked them better as oil on canvas.

Maryanne was an art student, attentive and obedient, but maddeningly demure. She liked to paint barnyards and sunsets and pastel candy shops. Even her cheeks gave a soft, muted, blush colour that made her seem as pristine as a daisy.

Maryanne was, along with everything she painted, a quaint, serene thing.

She was a good painter. An exceptional painter. The last thing she ever did was paint a long, wistful cloud across a peaceful, golden sky. And into it she peered - an infinitely vast sky - bound not by the frames of the painting, but only what she held in her mind.

An infinite sky. An infinite lifetime.

The painting hangs in her old room.

It is the greatest thing I own and will ever own. My mother thinks so as well.

Maryanne had no last words. Decidedly, they were not real last words. They were not genuine. Not substantial or tangible. Insignificant. I could not accept it, and Maryanne could not have accepted it. Mundane. Indeed, she liked quiet, mundane things. But not this.

The painting was her true last word, if words are spoken only with purpose.

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Nansy Almasri, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

With divine intent.

She was of no particular greatness, and yet still had about her an ethereal, distinctive quality. No expression and no glance were replicable - idiosyncratic to only that very moment - to that very brief second where she possessed it. That, however subtly, every smile and frown was somehow different from the last. I could not capture its dreamlike essence. I could not remark upon its true composition. Not with words, or paintings, or otherwise.

It was always fleeting.

Her eyes, her smile, her paintbrush, her presence.

Always fleeting.

And no matter how much I hoped to, I could not chase after it.

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FLASH FICTION 3rd Place Zoe Dumouchelle, Walkerville Collegiate Institute

Consumed

Life used to be something that was fun. Playing in the backyard and staying up late on the weekends. You were my best friend, we did everything together. However, when the stresses of life consumed you, you disappeared like a flash of lightning.

The person that stands before me isn’t you. I’ve become the robot that you’ve constructed in your head, every detail expected to be perfect, my actions not decided by me, but what I think would make you happy; it hurts.

When I am alone, I am free. Able to be myself and have my own thoughts and emotions. I’ve tried to say how I feel. It takes a lot of courage to stand up to you, your values and beliefs are so strong, priding yourself on thinking before you act. I used to agree with this, but I don’t anymore. I go back and forth debating if it’s worth causing an issue. Should I break the mould I’ve tried so long to fit into? The answer should be no, but my mind tells me yes. I finally build up the courage to express my thoughts. I convince myself you will listen. We are always told that when you tell someone what’s wrong things will change. We’ve all heard that saying “honesty is the best policy”, but I guess sometimes that isn’t true.

I tell you how I feel. I express my hurt, and how I love you, but my mind can’t continue this downward spiral of sadness that you’ve caused. You don’t care. You don’t react. You just tell me I’m wrong, I’m overthinking it, I’m hurting your feelings.

Nothing changes, it only gets worse. I thought speaking up would make things different. This power they had over me would be broken. I’d be free to live. All that happened was the control got tighter, the rules expanded, and my life slowly shattered into pieces.

I always thought that telling the truth and expressing how you felt was the right thing to do, I never thought that it was wrong or that I’d be put down for it. Some things in life we can’t control.

Sometimes, power is stronger than the truth.

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Nora Scout McCurdy, Kennedy Collegiate

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FLASH FICTION JUNIOR

1st Place Laura Bocicariu, Vincent Massey Secondary School

The Edge of Erboria My father has always been a valiant man, even during the harshest and most brutal times of Erboria he managed to uplift everyone in this city. He was seen as a god brought from heaven at the most hellish hours of the night. My father knew a time where we stood together strong and free. He was the leader of a small group that were against the Rekkers and their treacherous manifestation. The Rekkers are more than evil; they capture anyone brave enough to voice their opinion, and return them… lifeless with no soul in their eyes, becoming what the Rekkers want them to be… powerless. Ever since the Rekkers acquired power of Erboria, freedom is a word that has lost all meaning. Famine, terror, and poverty are all that is known to us. I was awakened by my father’s peculiar wrist watch ticking. Then, cries of my father filled my ears like a potion of darkness. I surged up, staring out my cement barred window. It was two men hauling my father off, dragging him by his feet like some savage animal. He was scratching at the lifeless dirt, loosening the grip the Rekkers had on him. I stood there paralyzed in fear; I wanted to move, but my mind couldn’t grasp what I was witnessing. My father screamed, “Aifes! Aifes! Don’t let them.” The Rekkers beat him mercilessly, leaving him limp like a corpse, the silence even worse than the screams. I knew what was going to happen to him. I fell to my knees sobbing. My heart felt like imploding into a million shattered pieces of guilt. The sun rose from the night’s depression. I went to my father’s bedroom door, extending my hand to grasp the handle. I paused for a moment. Groaning came from the other side of the door. I opened it violently to embrace my father, but the man standing there wasn’t my father. This man carried himself worthlessly with no aspirations or ambitions. My lip quivered as I whimpered, “Papa?” He stared at me like I was a stranger. In that moment I made a promise that I’d finish what my father started. I would defeat the Rekkers and their mighty grip on this society. I gathered everyone in Erboria. Standing there, looking at their malnourished faces, I spoke. “A utopian system, when established by the Rekkers, is a dystopian misery, one in which there’s no freedom to breathe, and the reason it’s impossible for Erboria to have tranquility. As a society, we have the power to change that. I’m sick of this suffocating society where we fight each other for the sake of fighting without pure reason. No more will we be afraid of the darkness and its iniquitous behaviors. We must fight for what is ours. Freedom!” Their faces became illuminated with ambition. I led the march down to the Rekkers headquarters. I grasped what was left of my father’s legacy… his peculiar wrist watch. We stood there together with strength, looking past the edge of Erboria…with hope.

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Ilham Taher, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

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FLASH FICTION 2nd Place Alexandra Ike, Sandwich Secondary School

Not How, But Why Adults huh, will they ever understand what it's like to be a teenager now? We’ve grown up with technology, yet they're always asking us, “How are you always on your phone? How are you always on social media? How is a small rectangular box with no meaning taking up so much of your time, peace, and piece of you?” Cuts, scars, and bruises, is how they lived on the outside, yet satisfaction, relaxation, peace is how we feel on the inside. They can't seem to comprehend, so in rage and fury, they ban; they take away our phones, thinking the problem is now buried, so focused on how they don’t realize, why? With everything that's going around, a crazy pandemic has come to town, closed schools, no job, the stress starts to pile up until we can't take it. We've had enough. 13-19 looking for a getaway, our phones, our escape from the reality we live today. If you really wish to understand why those devices give us a new high, the tiny boxes you can't withstand take us to our Neverland. We know you care about our education, “Stay on top, don't slack off,” but when we get that notification, ding ding ding, all our worries wander off. If you really wish to understand why, when you take them, we sometimes cry, not because we're addicted and fear missing out, but that one good distraction we're now left without. All this miscommunication. Put yourself in our shoes and ask, what would my life be like if I were born in 2002? Would you have compassion? Would you stand your ground? Or, would you think, Wow! I think I get it now, instead of taking the easy way out, should I take some time to understand to ask myself, why not? And maybe give cell phones another chance.

Gina Hijazi, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

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FLASH FICTION 3rd Place Brazen Goyeau, Westview Freedom Academy

When Lucy Spoke

The One day in September, A little girl named Lucy walked into her middle school alone, in silence. She was shy and not one to talk out loud. Over the years, she allowed herself to be pushed around because she thought that that was better than speaking up for herself.

As the year continued, she thought that she was doing well in her English class. As her teacher handed back the most recent assignment, she flipped over the project and looked at the top of the page. Where she usually saw a big red A, she saw an F. She was brought to tears. She did not know what she did wrong. She followed the instructions and everything.

She reviewed the project, holding back tears, reading the comments in the terrifying red ink. Most of the comments were accusing her of copying her classmate. She thought to herself: I do not even know who this person is. How could I have copied him? Why would I copy him?

The bell rang, bringing her back to reality.

She went through the day, thinking about what she should say to her English teacher. She had never done anything like this before. She realized that she might be biting off more than she could chew. Millions of ideas were bouncing through her head. Should I be serious or not? I do not know how to do this. Why am I trying to do this? She soon realized that this was a big deal because only god knows what her parents would do if they found out.

The final bell of the school day went off, telling Lucy that it was now or never. She walked to her English class and opened the door. She stepped into the room. Her teacher was not yet aware of her presence and working at his desk.

Lucy asked in a low voice, “May I speak with you?”

The teacher looked up from the papers he was marking. “Yes, what can I do for you?”

She took a deep breath. “I was wondering why you thought that I copied Tommy’s paper.”

The teacher looked at Lucy with a look of surprise. “I never thought that you copied anyone. Where did you get that idea?”

Lucy pulled the project out of her backpack and handed it to the teacher. He examined it and opened his computer. He looked at the screen with a sense of disbelief. “This is a big misunderstanding

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because this is not your project, but it has your name on it. I must have mislabelled the projects when I printed them out. Wait a minute. I might have it on my desk.”

Sure, enough he did. He erased and retyped something into the computer. He then handed the paper back to Lucy with a smile on his face. She thanked him and walked out the door, jumping for joy.

From that moment on, Lucy had a great rest of her school year. She realized what she could accomplish if she just had her opinions heard.

Narjis Chokr, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

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Evan Vacratsis, Kennedy Collegiate Institute

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

· Teachers of the Greater Essex County District School Board · Ron LeClair, Chairperson of the Board · Erin Kelly, Director of Education · Dr. Clara Howitt, Superintendent of Program · Lenore Langs, Poetry Judge · Paul Vasey, Prose Judge · Deirdre Roberts, Editor, Art Contest, Anthology Layout and Design · Mike Thrasher, Teacher Consultant, Secondary English and Teacher Librarians · Caroline McGuire, Layout and Design, Program Department, GECDSB · Dwayne Teskey, Manager of Media Services, GECDSB · Steve McLaughlin, Recording and Sound Technician, GECDSB · Carl Chevalier, Recording and Sound Technician and Photographer, GECDSB