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Those of us who are fortunate enough to work with children know how inspiring they can be. Being a parent is a gift in itself, but witnessing the remarkable growth, confidence, and maturity that children can achieve over the course of a single school year is nothing short of magical. At the same time, children possess an innocence and vulnerability that awakens the protector within us. How many stories have we heard of teachers, caregivers, and ordinary people sacrificing themselves to protect the children in their care? It is only natural, then, that hearing about terrible things happening to children who have no one to defend them touches something deep within all of us.

One such child was Iqbal Masih.

Iqbal was born in Pakistan in 1983 to a poor Punjabi Catholic family. His father abandoned the family, leaving Iqbal's older sister to help care for him and his three siblings while their mother struggled to support them by cleaning houses. At some point, Iqbal's father took out a loan from a thekedar (a carpet factory owner) for 600 rupees, using the only collateral he possessed, his children. Thus began Iqbal's life of bonded servitude at the age of four, forced to work to repay his father's debt.

Because selling children into labor was illegal, these peshgi (loans) operated outside any meaningful government oversight. Factory owners freely added fees and exorbitant interest, making the debt virtually impossible to repay. For many families, the loan became a life sentence passed from parent to child.

The number of bonded laborers trapped in this system reached into the hundreds of thousands. Iqbal was only one of countless children forced to sit at a carpet loom for as many as fourteen hours a day. They were given little food and severely beaten for even the slightest perceived misbehavior. It is difficult to comprehend such cruelty when we remember that Iqbal was only five years old. Years of abuse and malnutrition permanently stunted his growth. By the age of twelve, he had the physical appearance of a six-year-old child.

What can be said about the human spirit? Among the thousands of children suffering under the same conditions, what gave Iqbal, at only ten years old and after six years of bondage, the courage to simply say, "No more?"

Having learned that the Pakistani government had declared bonded labor illegal, Iqbal escaped from the factory. He sought help at a police station, hoping to report his employers. Instead of protecting him, the police returned him to the factory and accepted a reward for doing so. Despite the brutal punishment that followed, Iqbal refused to surrender. He escaped a second time and eventually found his way to a school operated by the Bonded Labour Liberation Front (BLLF).

There, he was welcomed, educated, and given something he had never truly known, freedom. His determination was extraordinary. He completed a four-year educational program in only two years. During this time, he began speaking publicly about the horrors of bonded child labor, telling his story to anyone who would listen. Though still only a child himself, he became a leading voice against the practice and was eventually credited with helping to secure the freedom of more than 3,000 children.

In 1994, Iqbal received the Reebok Human Rights Award. During his acceptance speech, he said:

"I am one of those millions of children who are suffering in Pakistan through bonded labour and child labour, but I am lucky that due to the efforts of Bonded Labour Liberation Front, I go out in freedom. I am standing in front of you here today. After my freedom, I joined BLLF School and I am studying in that school now. For us slave children, Ehsan Ullah Khan and BLLF have done the same work that Abraham Lincoln did for the slaves of America. Today, you are free and I am free too."

On Easter Sunday in 1995, at just twelve years old, Iqbal was doing something every child should be free to do, riding bicycles with his friends. He knew there were people who wanted him dead. He had received numerous death threats because his activism threatened the enormous profits of the carpet industry. On that day, his assassins caught up with him.

Iqbal was shot and killed while riding his bicycle. Many believe he was murdered by members of the so-called "Carpet Mafia," individuals whose purpose was to protect the interests of the carpet factories by silencing those who challenged them. In death, Iqbal joined the ranks of the heroes he admired, including Abraham Lincoln, sacrificing his life in the pursuit of freedom for others.

Although Iqbal's life was tragically brief, his influence continues to be felt around the world. Among the many honors bestowed upon him after his death, one stands out in particular. In 2014, the Nobel Peace Prize was jointly awarded to Kailash Satyarthi and Malala Yousafzai for their courageous efforts to defend the rights of children. Satyarthi was recognized for his decades-long fight against child labor and the exploitation of children, while Yousafzai was honored for her advocacy of every child's right to an education. During his acceptance of the award, Satyarthi paid tribute to Iqbal Masih, acknowledging that the young boy's courage and sacrifice had inspired his own work, and he dedicated the honor to Iqbal's memory. In doing so, he ensured that Iqbal's voice and the cause for which he gave his life, would continue to be heard around the world.

The life of Iqbal Masih reminds us that courage is not measured by age, size, or strength. It is measured by the willingness to stand for what is right, regardless of the cost. A boy who should have been forgotten in the darkness of a carpet factory instead became a light for millions, exposing an injustice that many preferred not to see. His story continues to challenge us to defend those who cannot defend themselves and to refuse to remain silent in the face of exploitation.

Thank you, dear Iqbal, for your courage, your determination, and your unwavering spirit. Though your life was far too short, your legacy continues to inspire the world.

You will not be forgotten.

Those of us who are fortunate enough to work with children know how inspiring they can be. Being a parent is a gift in itself, but witnessing the remarkable growth, confidence, and maturity that children can achieve over the course of a single school year is nothing short of magical. At the same time, children possess an innocence and vulnerability that awakens the protector within us. How many stories have we heard of teachers, caregivers, and ordinary people sacrificing themselves to protect the children in their care? It is only natural, then, that hearing about terrible things happening to children who have no one to defend them touches something deep within all of us.

One such child was Iqbal Masih.

Iqbal was born in Pakistan in 1983 to a poor Punjabi Catholic family. His father abandoned the family, leaving Iqbal's older sister to help care for him and his three siblings while their mother struggled to support them by cleaning houses. At some point, Iqbal's father took out a loan from a thekedar (a carpet factory owner) for 600 rupees, using the only collateral he possessed, his children. Thus began Iqbal's life of bonded servitude at the age of four, forced to work to repay his father's debt.

Because selling children into labor was illegal, these peshgi (loans) operated outside any meaningful government oversight. Factory owners freely added fees and exorbitant interest, making the debt virtually impossible to repay. For many families, the loan became a life sentence passed from parent to child.

The number of bonded laborers trapped in this system reached into the hundreds of thousands. Iqbal was only one of countless children forced to sit at a carpet loom for as many as fourteen hours a day. They were given little food and severely beaten for even the slightest perceived misbehavior. It is difficult to comprehend such cruelty when we remember that Iqbal was only five years old. Years of abuse and malnutrition permanently stunted his growth. By the age of twelve, he had the physical appearance of a six-year-old child.

What can be said about the human spirit? Among the thousands of children suffering under the same conditions, what gave Iqbal, at only ten years old and after six years of bondage, the courage to simply say, "No more?"

Having learned that the Pakistani government had declared bonded labor illegal, Iqbal escaped from the factory. He sought help at a police station, hoping to report his employers. Instead of protecting him, the police returned him to the factory and accepted a reward for doing so. Despite the brutal punishment that followed, Iqbal refused to surrender. He escaped a second time and eventually found his way to a school operated by the Bonded Labour Liberation Front (BLLF).

There, he was welcomed, educated, and given something he had never truly known, freedom. His determination was extraordinary. He completed a four-year educational program in only two years. During this time, he began speaking publicly about the horrors of bonded child labor, telling his story to anyone who would listen. Though still only a child himself, he became a leading voice against the practice and was eventually credited with helping to secure the freedom of more than 3,000 children.

In 1994, Iqbal received the Reebok Human Rights Award. During his acceptance speech, he said:

"I am one of those millions of children who are suffering in Pakistan through bonded labour and child labour, but I am lucky that due to the efforts of Bonded Labour Liberation Front, I go out in freedom. I am standing in front of you here today. After my freedom, I joined BLLF School and I am studying in that school now. For us slave children, Ehsan Ullah Khan and BLLF have done the same work that Abraham Lincoln did for the slaves of America. Today, you are free and I am free too."

On Easter Sunday in 1995, at just twelve years old, Iqbal was doing something every child should be free to do, riding bicycles with his friends. He knew there were people who wanted him dead. He had received numerous death threats because his activism threatened the enormous profits of the carpet industry. On that day, his assassins caught up with him.

Iqbal was shot and killed while riding his bicycle. Many believe he was murdered by members of the so-called "Carpet Mafia," individuals whose purpose was to protect the interests of the carpet factories by silencing those who challenged them. In death, Iqbal joined the ranks of the heroes he admired, including Abraham Lincoln, sacrificing his life in the pursuit of freedom for others.

Although Iqbal's life was tragically brief, his influence continues to be felt around the world. Among the many honors bestowed upon him after his death, one stands out in particular. In 2014, the Nobel Peace Prize was jointly awarded to Kailash Satyarthi and Malala Yousafzai for their courageous efforts to defend the rights of children. Satyarthi was recognized for his decades-long fight against child labor and the exploitation of children, while Yousafzai was honored for her advocacy of every child's right to an education. During his acceptance of the award, Satyarthi paid tribute to Iqbal Masih, acknowledging that the young boy's courage and sacrifice had inspired his own work, and he dedicated the honor to Iqbal's memory. In doing so, he ensured that Iqbal's voice and the cause for which he gave his life, would continue to be heard around the world.

The life of Iqbal Masih reminds us that courage is not measured by age, size, or strength. It is measured by the willingness to stand for what is right, regardless of the cost. A boy who should have been forgotten in the darkness of a carpet factory instead became a light for millions, exposing an injustice that many preferred not to see. His story continues to challenge us to defend those who cannot defend themselves and to refuse to remain silent in the face of exploitation.

Thank you, dear Iqbal, for your courage, your determination, and your unwavering spirit. Though your life was far too short, your legacy continues to inspire the world.

You will not be forgotten.

Charles Coward was a British soldier who enlisted between the First and Second World Wars. By the time Britain entered World War II, he was serving as a Quartermaster Battery Sergeant Major. From the very beginning of his service, his ingenuity and defiance made him a constant headache for the Germans. Captured twice during fighting in Germany, Coward escaped both times before the Germans could transport him to a prison camp. During one remarkable escape attempt, his fluency in German allowed him to convincingly pose as a decorated Nazi hero. His performance was so believable that his captors actually awarded him the Iron Cross before discovering the truth.

Even after eventually being imprisoned in a POW camp, Coward continued to resist however he could, sabotaging German operations at every opportunity. Following multiple escape attempts, he was transferred to Auschwitz in 1943. Because of his fluency in German, he was appointed as a Red Cross liaison for British prisoners of war, a role that granted him limited freedom of movement, access to supplies, and occasional entry into the Jewish section of the camp.

Auschwitz was divided into separate sections: one for POWs and forced laborers, and another for Jewish prisoners, where Coward witnessed unimaginable atrocities firsthand. Refusing to remain silent, he and fellow British prisoners risked savage punishment and certain death by smuggling food and medicine into the Jewish section. At the same time, Coward secretly wrote coded reports to his contact “William Orange,” a codename for the British War Office, documenting the horrors he witnessed inside the camp.

As he came to understand the scale of the extermination taking place daily, Coward devised an extraordinarily dangerous rescue operation. Using chocolate rations to bribe guards, he helped Jewish prisoners escape by disguising them as deceased non-Jewish prisoners. He provided them with uniforms and forged identity papers, allowing them to pass inspection and avoid immediate execution. Coward later estimated that more than 400 lives were saved through this daring effort.

After surviving the war, Coward testified at the Nuremberg Trials, where his eyewitness testimony proved invaluable in exposing the diabolical nature of the Nazi regime and the systematic planning and operation of Auschwitz. His remarkable story later inspired the film The Password Is Courage. In recognition of his courage and humanity, Charles Coward became the first British citizen honored as Yad Vashem’s “Righteous Among the Nations.”

Thank you, Mr. Coward — the “Count of Auschwitz.”

 The story of Anne Frank has inspired generations—from her powerful belief that “people are really good at heart” to the bravery of Miep Gies, who risked her life to hide Anne’s family and later preserved her diary. That this took place in the Netherlands, where others also chose courage over fear, fills my heart with hope.

Corrie ten Boom was born in 1892 in Haarlem, the Netherlands, into a family of devoted Calvinist watchmakers. She delighted in both the craft and the business, but more importantly, the ten Booms believed deeply in helping others, especially the Jewish people, whom they saw as God’s chosen.

As the Nazis invaded and began rounding up Jews, Corrie and her family opened their home, joining the Dutch resistance. With the help of an architect, they built a hidden room behind a wall in Corrie’s bedroom, complete with a warning buzzer to alert those in hiding. The ten Booms took in as many as they could.

Eventually, they were betrayed. The Gestapo raided the home. Though the Jews hiding there escaped detection thanks to the secret room, Corrie and her family were arrested. Her father died soon after, and Corrie, along with her sister Betsie, was sent to Ravensbrück concentration camp. Incredibly, they managed to smuggle in a Bible and held secret worship services, offering faith and hope to fellow prisoners. Betsie later died in the camp.

Corrie was unexpectedly released—later discovering it was due to a clerical error. Days later, all the women in her group were sent to the gas chambers. She returned to the Netherlands during the brutal "Hunger Winter" and opened her home to people with disabilities, protecting them from Nazi extermination efforts.

After the war, she founded a rehabilitation center for survivors and traveled the world sharing her story of forgiveness and faith. Her books, Tramp for the Lord and The Hiding Place, chronicle her extraordinary life. Perhaps most astonishing of all, she once forgave one of the cruel guards from Ravensbrück—embodying the compassion and strength she lived by.

Thank you, Corrie ten Boom.

I have long marveled at the courage of the Polish resistance during WWII. Poland, tragically sandwiched between Germany and Russia, was quickly overrun by both. Despite the overwhelming force against them, many Poles resisted bravely. One such resistor was Irena Sendler.

I was surprised to learn that antisemitism was present in Poland even before the war, partly due to the influx of Jewish refugees fleeing Russian persecution. Irena’s father, a compassionate doctor, treated all patients—including Jews—for free. He ultimately died of typhus contracted from one of them. The Jewish community offered to support Irena and her mother financially, but they declined.

As a university student, Irena protested the segregation of Jewish classmates and defaced the “non-Jewish” label on her report card. Her activism started early and only deepened with time. She became a social worker, focusing on helping mothers and children.

When the Nazis occupied Poland and the persecution of Jews intensified, Irena fought back quietly. After her Jewish colleagues were removed from her department, she began forging documents for Jews in need. Because of her role in social work, she was allowed to enter the Warsaw Ghetto under the pretense of disease control. She smuggled in food and medicine—and smuggled out children and infants.

Together with other social workers, she helped form Żegota, a network dedicated to rescuing Jewish children and placing them in convents. Irena carefully recorded each child’s original and new identity, hoping to reunite them with family after the war. She buried them in glass jars underneath an apple tree. When the Gestapo caught wind of her efforts, Irena was arrested. Just before her capture, she managed to toss the records to a colleague who hid them in her clothing. They were never discovered.

Despite brutal interrogations, including breaking her legs, Irena revealed nothing. She was eventually sentenced to death, but fellow resistance members bribed her guards, and she escaped. Even after the war, under communist rule, she continued her work protecting children.

Irena Sendler faced unimaginable danger, yet never gave in to hatred. She lived to be 98.

Thank you, Irena.

As a longtime teacher of young children, the accounts of child deaths at the hands of the Nazis are almost unbearable. Who can forget the little girl in the red coat in Schindler’s List, or the smiling faces in photographs taken before the Holocaust—children dressed for school pictures, their innocence shining, unaware of what lay ahead? As a mother, the thought of being torn from my children is devastating. One story haunts me: during a mass execution, a woman held her baby aloft, cooing and smiling, trying to keep him from feeling fear—moments before they were gunned down and thrown into a pit.

So when I discovered the story of Jeanne Daman, a teacher who fought back and saved countless children, I felt a deep sense of gratitude.

Born in Belgium in 1918 into a Catholic family, Jeanne pursued teaching at a time when the Belgian constitution promised education for all children without discrimination. But as antisemitism rose and Nazi control tightened, that promise was stripped away, replaced by propaganda. In defiance, Jeanne went to work at Nos Petits Kindergarten, a school for Jewish children.

As deportations increased, she watched her classroom shrink. One day, the Gestapo arrived and claimed they were taking two children “to their parents.” Jeanne knew it was a lie, but she also knew that resisting would endanger the sixty other children in her care. She made the agonizing choice to let the two go—then closed the school to protect the rest.

Jeanne forged papers, placed children in Catholic orphanages, and hid them with sympathetic families. She kept meticulous records so survivors could be reunited after the war. She also secured forged identities for their parents—especially mothers—placing them in homes as maids. It is said she saved more than 2,000 children.

Her bravery didn’t stop there. With her blonde hair and blue eyes, Jeanne joined the Belgian resistance, gathering intelligence and helping capture several Gestapo agents.

Lately, my research has drawn me again and again to the plight of children—their brightness, their innocence. When I learned about Jeanne Daman, I whispered a thank you to whoever might be listening.

Thank you, teacher and protector of children, Jeanne Daman.