Five years ago, a lone gunman entered a Sikh temple in suburban Milwaukee and opened fire, killing six and injuring four others.

Four hundred miles away, JJ Singh Kapur and his family were worshiping in suburban Des Moines when there was a knock at the temple door.

Outside were TV cameras and reporters looking for the local Sikh community's reaction to America's most recent mass shooting.

Kapur, now a senior at Valley High School, recalls that moment as a crossroads in his young life.

He could shed the outward symbols of his religion for a greater sense of security — cut his hair, discard his turban and blend in with his West Des Moines classmates.

Or he could promote understanding and acceptance of Sikhism, a little-known religion in Iowa.

He chose the latter — becoming an outspoken ambassador of his faith through public speaking — and earned a heap of accolades along the way:

A prestigious award for original oratory at the National Speech and Debate Tournament

The Citizen of Character Award presented by Drake University and the Robert D. and Billie Ray Center

The Robert Mannheimer Youth Advocacy Award from the ACLU of Iowa

And, most recently, being recognized by his peers as Valley High's 2017 homecoming king

JJ traces these accomplishments and more to that fateful day in 2012 when the media first pointed its microphones and asked: Can you please explain your faith?

The question still haunts him today.

'The fear came into me'

JJ was 2 years old on Sept. 11, 2001, when planes crashed into the Twin Towers, the Pentagon and a Pennsylvania field.

In a speech that won him nods from the most prestigious tournaments in the country, JJ retells his 9/11 story as told to him by his parents.

Should 9/11 be required teaching in Iowa classrooms?

As the family gathered to watch news of the biggest terrorist attack in U.S. history, an image of Osama Bin Laden appeared on the television screen.

JJ pointed to the picture and pulling at his dad’s sleeve said "Papa!"

"My father tells me that this was a moment of profound fear," JJ told the audience at the National Speech and Debate Tournament in Birmingham, Alabama.

"He was afraid — afraid that American would, as I had so innocently done, see my father's beard and turban and think, 'terrorism.'"

Sikhism originated in India, and is an independent religion. But is often confused with the Sunni and Shia denominations of Islam.

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"In the aftermath of 9/11," JJ tells the audience, "our grieving nation quickly adopted ... a simplified narrative where all Sikhs and Muslims are national villains."

'Hey, Osama!"

Gurwinder Singh Kapur encouraged his son to embrace Sikhism, at times giving turban-tying presentations at JJ's elementary school.

JJ's hair was typically tied back and covered with a patka, or head covering, which is worn by Sikh boys.

But for his elementary school talent show, he wore his hair long when he went on stage and sang "Staying Alive" by the Bee Gees.

"Wearing a turban and looking different was always awesome," JJ said. "It was always a cool thing for me."

JJ recalls only one instance of bullying, in middle school when a classmate became aggressive, touching his head to see what was under the cloth. The principal intervened.

But there were other incidents that made JJ wary.

At age 10, he walked into a fast food restaurant with his father, who wears a turban.

Heads turned, eyes glaring. A group of teens shouted, “Hey, Osama! Go home!”

'I was afraid'

JJ struggled with wanting to fit in, and as a young teen developed an outgoing personality to help smooth over any rejections he faced.

After the Oak Creek shooting, he heard stories about violence and hate directed against fellow believers.

He grew fearful of becoming a victim and thought it might be safer if he cut his hair or stopped wearing his turban.

As a tenet of their faith, Sikhs leave their hair unshorn, believing it is a gift from God.

But in 2012 many Sikh men and boys were choosing to blend into Iowa schools and workplaces rather than stand apart in such a visible way.

“I was really scared,” JJ said. He turned to his father for advice.

Gurwinder Kapur emigrated from Singapore to attend college at the University of Kansas before coming to Des Moines.

He'd asked his own father whether he should forgo the outward symbols of his religion when he came to America. Now, he gave his son the same advice:

"As Sikhs, we are rare ones. If we don’t stand up for our beliefs and we don’t stand up for who we are, eventually we will go extinct."

'We say a prayer'

JJ holds a 15-foot-long turban cloth while Gurwinder grips an opposite end.

The thin red cotton flows like a wave across the hallway of their West Des Moines home, and they stretch and neatly fold it, creating a tighter and more refined layer.

JJ twists the strand around his head, forming a turban.

"It's your pride and glory," his father explains, watching proudly. "When you put the lovely crown on our head, the turban, the crown, we say a prayer."

JJ marked his entry into adulthood with a turban-tying ceremony in seventh grade. Elders wrapped around him a saffron-colored turban, considered a pure color by Sikhs.

But it would be years before JJ felt comfortable wearing the turban each day. He made that public declaration on his first day at Valley High.

At the time, JJ was the only person at the 1,900-student school wearing a turban.

He chose a red cloth — one his father used to wear — which they cut to fit and practiced tying each morning.

When Valley staff took his registration photo for his school ID, the pictured reflected a turban, and a faith, passed down from father to son.

'He holds my hand'

JJ takes a metal tool, similar to an envelope opener, and adjusts his grandfather's turban. It's a tender moment between a grandpa and grandson.

"Come, come," JJ says, guiding 82-year-old Amarjit Singh Walia to the garage door so they can attend Sunday services.

His father helps lift Walia into the van. The three generations are wearing red turbans.

At the temple they take off their shoes; Sikhs go barefoot or wear socks. JJ walks his grandfather to the altar, which holds the holy scripture. It compiles writings and teachings of Sikh gurus.

They bow down, offering a personal prayer. A priest sings prayers.

Other families fill the space, men on one side, women on the other. Founded in the 15th century, Sikhism is a monotheistic religion, meaning members believe in one God.

Many women wear brightly colored scarves over their hair. Visitors are welcome, and two from a Lutheran church stop by. Before entering the sanctuary they don orange head coverings.

About half the Sikh men are wearing turbans.

Others wear the same orange coverings as visitors, having forgone the turban, shaved their beards and cut their hair.

'A part of who I am'

Every Sikh practices his or her faith differently, JJ explains later. The decision to wear a turban is a personal one.

For many, the pressure to go clean-shaven is immense. Even finding a job can be difficult.

One day, JJ's turban might become an obstacle as well.

After graduating from high school, he plans to attend college and law school. He wants to run for political office, to offer more representation to Sikhs and other minority communities.

But campaigning for election and knocking on doors while wearing a head covering that is so widely misunderstood could prove challenging.

The first Sikh elected to U.S. Congress, Dalip Singh Saund in 1956, removed his turban and went clean-shaven, according to reports.

That's not a choice JJ plans to make.

"In my book, in my heart, the articles of my faith will always be a part of who I am and a part of my identity," he says.

Yet even small proclamations can be difficult.

Recently, a friend stuck a sticker promoting awareness and understanding of the Sikh faith on the family's minivan.

It shows a turban colored with symbols of America — red stripes and white-on-blue stars — and the phrase: "We are Sikhs."

JJ's father peeled it off, unsure of how other drivers would react.

When another sticker appeared, Gurwinder decided it should stay. It was time.

'He reads a room'

JJ found a way to express himself at school in speech.

Valley's speech coach Dave McGinnis recognized JJ's passion immediately — a fearless, almost manic, energy.

"He reads a room" said Dave, who asks students to call him by his first name. "He gives a different speech in every room that he's in, and very few speakers can do that."

JJ performed in front of his largest audience yet this spring.

About 2,000 people packed an auditorium in Birmingham, Alabama, a city that has grappled with hate crimes. A 1963 church bombing killed four black girls and became a symbol of the civil rights movement.

There's a danger in an oversimplified story, JJ told the audience at the National Speech and Debate Tournament.

There are consequences to a narrative that says all Muslims and Sikhs are "national villains."

“In October of 2001, vandals spray-painted the word, ‘Towelheads’ on our Sikh temple,” he says. “That winter, two Sikh-owned gas stations in our community were held at gunpoint.

“Many Sikh boys who were bullied at school were forced to renounce tenets of their Sikh faith by removing the sacred turban and cutting their unshorn hair.”

JJ walks silently across the stage, drawing the audience's attention.

“Ladies and gentleman," he says, "it’s time to flip the script.”

Stage lights shine down, stymying JJ's view of their standing ovation.

But he stands tall, soaking in their support and affirmation.

'The driving force'

JJ helps classmates push tables to the side on a morning at Valley, creating space to practice the last speech of his high school career.

As they review the latest draft, Dave and JJ engage in a familiar, almost jovial back-and-forth between teacher and student.

"It's all wrong," JJ mutters at one point, wanting to best himself.

"It's a small thing," Dave says. From across the room, the coach tosses the senior a pen.

This is a new speech, McGinnis reminds JJ. It needs to be different than the last one. The goal isn't to compare.

They will work through the speech together; the ebb and flow will be refined throughout the school year.

But they are still searching for the speech's center, its heart.

At one point, JJ explains a Sikh belief.

Each Sunday at temple, prayers close on a hopeful note. Sikhs say the same prayer in gurdwaras across the country — in Iowa and in Oak Creek, Wisconsin.

"Our faith must remain optimistic, that good times will prevail," JJ says, translating the prayer. "That's the driving force of our faith."

It's called chardhi kala — relentless optimism.

In the face of hardship, to persevere.

The bell rings. JJ walks down the hallway toward the auditorium, passing a trophy case.

Inside there's a picture of him, wearing a blue suit and red turban, smiling proudly as he holds the national speech trophy.

JJ's image reflects in the glass. He is wearing the same red turban.

It’s his lucky turban. The one he wore to his first day at Valley, and recently, when he was named homecoming king.

It's a turban, and faith, passed down from father to son. Underneath is JJ's uncut, knee-length hair.

What is Sikhism?

Sikhism is the fifth-largest religion in the world, with more than 25 million followers.

It originated out of the Punjab region of south Asia, including eastern Pakistan and northern India. Sikhs hold sacred the teachings of 10 gurus, starting with Guru Nanak in the 15th century.

In a Sikh temple, or gurdwara, participants recite and sing prayers from the Sikh scripture. A vegetarian meal is served for free, and people of all faiths and backgrounds are welcome to attend and eat.

An estimated 120 gurdwaras are located in the United States, serving about 500,000 Sikhs living in the country. While half of all Sikhs are thought to live in California, many live in other states, including Iowa.

About 99 percent of people seen wearing turbans in the United States are Sikhs, according to the Sikh Coalition.

But nearly half of Americans incorrectly believe that "Sikh" is a sect of Islam, according to the 2013 report commissioned by the Sikh American Legal Defense and Education Fund.

Source: The Sikh Coalition; Sikh American Legal Defense and Education Fund.