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The Grinch, Shrek, and now Elphaba — the Wicked Witch of the West. Infiltrating pop culture, these greenified social outcasts invite us to reconsider what it means to belong. Many characters with a green hue have existed in childhood shows and memories for decades, offering lessons in empathy for those who are different from us. 

Consider the Grinch, agonizing over what to wear to the Whoville Christmas Party while masking deep-seated anxiety about socializing with those who once rejected him. Or Bruce Banner, the Hulk, whose green skin manifests his rage and pain, transforming him into a destructive force that mirrors the internal battles many of us face. These common tales with ostracized beings encourage us to hold hands and dance metaphorically with what we do not understand.

It is for everyone’s benefit when students bear witness to tales of resilience in the face of ignorance. Students need to understand what it means to be… green. 

I teach Frankenstein, a novel about a creature abandoned and misunderstood. Over time, popular culture has leaned into “greenifying” the monster, a color choice that raises an interesting question: Does the green hue signify his villainy, marking him as an unnatural horror? Or does it symbolize his status as an outcast, someone more misunderstood than monstrous? Who is the real monster: the creature, a grotesque replica of man, or the creator who neglects his own Adam, ashamed of what he has made? 

My high school students discuss the complexity of true villainy and examine the ripple effects of both empathy and neglect. Through this lens, the creature exists as a symbolic “other” in society upon his rejection, his green skin becoming a visual cue for alienation. My students begin to consider the ripple effect of compassion — or lack thereof.

I want my students to remember these tales and see the “green” as an opportunity — not to vilify those who are different, but to understand them. The state standards for my Arkansas high schoolers require us to examine characterization, the impact of setting on a character’s development, and the thematic lessons found in these struggles. These are common ELA standards across most states, and they naturally lend themselves to discussions about character flaws and the ability to overcome adversity regardless of one’s background or setbacks. 

I relish this task, often prompting students to reflect on their own trials — times they have felt misunderstood or out of place — so they can connect more deeply with the characters’ turmoil and triumphs. Every day in my classroom, I must remember this too: Uniqueness is to be cherished. A world filled with people who look, think, and live differently is not just a good world, it’s a better one, despite all attempts to stifle the humanity hidden beneath. 

The misunderstood characters in history and literature, green or otherwise, are often the change-makers, pushing forward social progress and widening the acceptable use instructions for being human. My teachers praised the Susan B. Anthonys, the Rosa Parks, the Elie Wiesels for existing in spaces of “different” and pushing against the status quo. 

These figures weren’t just rebels; they were visionaries whose very existence challenged the world to be better. While their skin doesn’t shine emerald in the sun, their differences make them stand out in their respective stories, forcing society to confront its own limitations, expanding our collective capacity for empathy. 

As a child, I loved stories like Charlotte’s Web, The Lorax, and Matilda, where characters overcome bleak societal adversity, their victories rooted not in brute strength but in the quiet, persistent force of understanding: Wilbur is spared because of Fern’s unwavering belief that his life has value. Matilda, dismissed as insignificant, finds empowerment through the kindness and intellect of a good teacher. These narratives teach that empathy isn’t just a virtue—it’s a catalyst for transformation. 

When my students read about Dr. Frankenstein’s creature or discuss real-world figures who were cast aside, they begin to see how otherness isn’t a curse but often a call to change the world — and empathy begins to bloom. Through these tales of the “other,” students learn how to embrace their differences.

Just as the “Wicked Witch” has a story worth hearing, teachers and students cannot shy away from narratives of otherness out of fear. Moving toward understanding the “green” in others helps dismantle the walls of misunderstanding and build a future rooted in compassion, not the harsh divisions that too often define our landscape. It is important now, more than ever, to work hard to see the goodness in others despite our differences. After all, what is truly “wicked” about being green?

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