Integrity, a thousand times over

A classroom at Family Matters Chicago. Photo: Gerald Farinas.

In the sixth grade at Aliamanu Elementary School in Honolulu, I was punished for doing the right thing. Or I thought I did the right thing?

It was one of those classic moments of childhood injustice. A few classmates decided to pull a reckless stunt—one of those elementary school pranks that felt harmless to them but clearly crossed a line.

I saw it happening and tried to stop it. I told them not to. I remember raising my voice, even trying to walk away from it.

But our teacher, Ms. Lisa Chock, wasn’t interested in who said what or who did what—or who said a damn thing versus those who didn’t.

Her verdict was simple and sweeping. The entire class was to be punished. Each of us was told to fill several pages of our composition books with the word “integrity.”

One word.

Over and over.

Line after line.

Page after page.

Other teachers overheard the commotion and Ms. Chock rendering her judgment.

A few other teachers even came to my defense, saying, “Gerald tried to stop them.”

But Ms. Chock held her ground.

She told them—and us—that integrity isn’t just about what you believe inside. It’s about how a community works. And in a community, justice doesn’t always land where it seems fair.

Sometimes the good get swept up in the fallout too. Because if integrity only protects individuals, then it’s not really integrity—it’s immunity. And immunity corrupts.

At the time, I was angry.

Confused.

Maybe even resentful.

Why write “integrity” over and over again when I’d tried to live it? Or did I?

But as the hours passed, as the notebook filled, the repetition had etched something deeper than just a sense of frustration.

It wasn’t just punishment, was it?

It was formation, huh?

A forced meditation?

The word started to look different the more I wrote it.

It took on weight, rhythm, gravity.

I began to understand that sometimes we carry burdens not because we deserve them, but because integrity is communal—it binds us, disciplines us, and yes, sometimes punishes us as one.

To this day, I’m not entirely sure what the lesson taught me. Or if I understood the philosophy behind Ms. Chock’s decision.

I sort of understand now that Asian culture sees integrity in this fashion.

Nevertheless, I know it taught me something.

I think about it often when justice doesn’t seem fair. When consequences fall on the wrong shoulders. When I see good people punished alongside the guilty.

Integrity, it turns out, is not about being spared.

It’s about showing up anyway.