What transpired at Clayton High School on May 28 was almost inevitable. A principal approaches a podium. A microphone stops working. In a matter of hours, the very words that the school appeared to wish to keep contained were quoted in statements from civil rights organizations, read aloud by strangers in different states, and discussed on cable news. It didn’t work if the intention was to keep things quiet.
Leen Hijaz, the valedictorian of Clayton High School in Johnston County, North Carolina, which is located in a suburban sprawl area just outside of Raleigh, had dedicated six months to a task that most eighteen-year-olds wouldn’t even consider trying. She battled for the privilege of taking the stage through official channels. She was officially excluded from the ceremony’s roster because she received her diploma a year ahead of schedule. She did, however, push. She was eager to talk. And she said what she had come to say when she eventually arrived.
The comments weren’t outrageous. They weren’t a tirade. Hijaz told her classmates and their families as she stood at the school gymnasium podium that they were fortunate to have a voice at a time when so many people struggle just to be heard. She identified those locations as Afghanistan, Sudan, the Congo, and Palestine. She brought up ICE-separated families. The crowd cheered in response. Then, from the side of the stage, Principal Melissa Moore Hubbard came over, leaned in, and led Hijaz away from the microphone. The speech was finished.
The shape of what came next is familiar. Hijaz claimed that the school had threatened to withhold her diploma in a TikTok post about the incident. The video went viral. Her comments “departed from her approved remarks,” according to a statement from Johnston County Public Schools, and administrators took action “to maintain the integrity and focus of the program.” In a statement, the Council on American-Islamic Relations commended Hijaz for her moral bravery and urged authorities to refrain from punishing her. The district verified that she had received her diploma by the beginning of June.
Given the stark contrast between Hijaz’s words and the reaction to them, it is worthwhile to sit with what she actually said. She didn’t criticize any particular politicians. She didn’t mention movements or parties by name. She presented a fairly conventional argument regarding the privileged’s obligation to speak up. In the same way that most moral claims are political, the content was political. School administrators might have been genuinely taken aback. It’s also possible that some of the names she used in her speech set off a reflexive institutional reaction that nobody gave much thought to.
This pattern continues to appear. While speaking about mental illness and her experiences as an LGBTQ student, a valedictorian from New Jersey had her microphone muted in the middle of her speech. Instead of taking the chance to state it outright, a Florida valedictorian made a subtle allusion to being gay. NYU declared it would completely pre-record student speeches in order to avoid any unscripted moments, seemingly having learned from its own viral moment in 2024. There is a recurring theme here: students expressing their opinions despite institutions’ concerns about what they might say.
As this develops, it seems like schools are consistently calculating the same equation incorrectly. The message is not eliminated by the intervention. It turns into the message. Afterwards, Hijaz expressed her pride in using her platform even though she was unable to finish what she had planned to say. It sounds correct. The principal moved in the direction of the podium. Already, the audience had heard enough to applaud.
