In the Real World

by Nōnen Títi

  Over the week our small movement grows by one or two people at the time because Mariette makes it a point to do interviews. Charlotte and Paul are at the head of the delegation committee, which consists of all the class reps, so now we have two organizers in every year level and with that, the guarantee of a majority response.

  On Wednesday Miss Coven agrees for the two party leaders to make posters and a speech so they’ll be ready for voting on Friday. Our biggest problem is how to tell the entire student body – close to four hundred people – where to put their vote without alarming teachers and parents. Mariette, messy as she may be at home, is thoroughly in control and all of us obey her instructions. Pat makes an e-mail list, Fred copies and prints ballot papers and I write an article for our first student paper, which Josh prints. Kathleen and Charlotte collate the information and voting papers and the rest makes sure they’re distributed on Thursday after school.

  Tomorrow our little revolution will be launched. It’s the right thing to do and even though the idea unnerves me a bit, I feel proud to be in the front line.

  MARIETTE

  Mr Fokker accepts my essay and starts reading it. It’s in fact another story featuring Little Lamb. I feel totally stupid just standing here while he reads. “Shouldn’t we go to the assembly?”

  “No,” he answers without looking up.

  “Can I go ahead?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Would you feel insulted if I said I don’t trust you?” He still isn’t looking at me.

  “I have to say yes to that or you’ll start thinking I had something to do with last week.”

  “Mmm,” he replies, which still doesn’t tell me if I can go.

  “Look if something was meant to happen at the assembly, it wouldn’t make a difference if we’re there or not, so we might as well be there.”

  “Insulting people is not something to be proud of,” he says.

  “I’m not insulting anyone!” Not anyone who doesn’t deserve it, anyhow.

  He looks up then. “It so happens Miss Coven was in here not ten minutes ago after having walked out of your group yet again because you were contemptuous.”

  “I was not. I didn’t use any bad language. All I did was refuse to vote and comment on her registering everybody.”

  “How did you comment?”

  I try to describe what happened last period without having to repeat the exact words I used.

  “Did you call her dumb?” he insists.

  “No, I said people who believed this to be democratic were dumb. I know for sure I made it a general comment.”

  “But the implication was that, since she clearly believes it is, she is dumb?”

  “But it’s wrong, isn’t it? She was trying to force me to vote with the threat of being marked as un-cooperative because she knows that would get me kicked out. Not that I care, like, but it’s wrong.”

  “Why is it wrong?”

  “Because you can’t force people to give their opinion. Because the rules say students have the right to a legitimate voice – a right is not an obligation so withholding a vote should also be a right.”

  “Sit down a minute, Mariette.”

  I do what he says before remembering I wanted to get out of here.

  “Miss Coven is doing her job as a teacher. In this case she’s using an enactment to explain the democratic elective system of the society, not the school.”

  “I understand that, but we’re not exactly six-year-olds who need that explained, are we? What we need is to discuss it. We need the right to our opinion, which the prospectus claims we have. My opinion is that we have no legitimate voice, which is what we are trying to vote for today. This is about freedom and rights, not dictating students to vote at the risk of punishment.”

  “However, that is the way the democratic system outside of the school works,” he replies, teasingly patient.

  “Which is exactly my point. It’s wrong. If she wants to teach us how the system works, she shouldn’t use the word ‘democratic’.”

  “Where in the description of democracy does it say that this voice of the people has to be voluntary?” he asks.

  I hate it when people out-talk me. “Probably nowhere, but they all shout about liberty. Putting people in detention for not using their voice isn’t exactly very free.”

  “How about you write your next essay for me on this subject and I’ll come to the assembly with you now to see the damage you people have done?”

  “We didn’t do any damage,” I tell him, trying to sound indignant, but something still bothers me. “Why didn’t she go to PM, anyway? Why did she come to you?”

  “I’ve found that quite a few teachers seem to think I have some influence over you ever since your place in the assembly has changed.”

  Something about that makes me blush and we walk up in silence. The doors to the gym are already closed. Only Mick is left outside with the ballot box. He gives me a signal that all went well.

  “You see, all we did-”

  “I don’t want any explanations,” Mr Fokker interrupts me. “I will neither encourage nor discourage you. I shall be an independent observer. I assume you have enough brains between the two of you to understand the risk you’re taking. That’s all I’ll say about it.”

  There’s no disturbance in the assembly today, but a hint of excitement remains among the students.

  On Saturday we meet at Pat’s house for a vote count. Along with the usual six of us, Charlotte, Paul and Josh come too. This makes it still very much a year ten happening. The result of the vote surprises me: Almost eighty percent of students support Paul’s proposal to be represented in the school’s parent-teacher council with a vote equal to that of the adults and a say about school rules and curriculum issues as well.

  Barely sixty percent voted for Charlotte’s point, which was to be allowed to wear our own clothes, providing they aren’t offensive to anyone either in content or design – meaning that t-shirts can’t have slogans or logos and most body parts have to be covered. Now Charlotte attacks me for making her “lose the election”, saying this is the reason.

  “You didn’t lose the election at all; it was only a fake to cover up our real goal. You and Paul will form a coalition and we’ll push both points,” Jerome tells her.

  “Honest? Do you think my speech was okay?”

  “It was fine,” Jerome promises.

  Kathleen gives me a poke and grins and suddenly I see what she’s been telling me for weeks – Charlotte, the popularity queen, is making every effort to be noticed by Jerome. “Why did you think she’s tolerating you being in control and that she’s willing to play along?” Kathleen asks.

  The next discussion is about presenting the results of this illegal election, which nonetheless came up with a clear student opinion –something that a school claiming to allow a legitimate voice and mutual respect can’t deny.

  “Somebody will have to go in the hot seat,” Kathleen says.

  “I should do that, since I’m already failing the year anyway.”

  “Do we involve Miss Coven or go directly?” Fred wants to know.

  “We’ll announce it at the next assembly. I just love the idea of PM turning all colours,” Kathleen says.

  “No, no. No more assemblies. They’ll be alert. Never make the mistake of using the same place or event twice,” Mick tells her.

  We decide on Monday lunchtime on the oval behind the gym to avoid leaving too much time for gossip and rumour. “We’ll keep a copy and publish the whole thing in our paper and if they refuse we’ll threaten to make it public,” Mick says. He has some ideas about how to do that. He gets support from Josh, who knows a friend of a friend that works for the local paper.

  On the way home Kathleen complains about this. “You’re favouring Mick’s opinion over ours. I thought I was your friend.”

  “I’m not favouring Mick. It’s just that practical jokes aren’t going to help our cause right no
w. I love your enthusiasm but we can’t afford to do anything hurtful. First we need to secure our place.”

  Kathleen isn’t happy with that and leaves the bus without saying goodbye. I like Mick. As quiet as he always was, he knows exactly which strings to pull. Besides, he also considers this a very serious idea while most others still see it as a good prank or a bit of relief from boredom.

  On Sunday Jerome talks to his dad again. Uncle Charl still isn’t allowed out, which makes me incredibly angry inside and I think it’s depressing Jerome. He doesn’t sleep very much. Sometimes I hear him taking a shower in the middle of the night or see that his light is on until two in the morning. On Sunday night Grandpa Will calls and asks if I have seen a letter that day in the barn.

  “A letter? No.”

  Next I talk to Granannie and tell her I’m worried about Jerome.

  “Are you two fighting?” she asks.

  “No, between us it’s okay.”

  “How about school?”

  “School’s definitely interesting at the moment and Jerome enjoys it too. It’s his dad, Granannie. He needs a visit. Can’t you tell those patronizing doctors to stop interfering?”

  “Sweetheart, we called them, remember?”

  “Does that give them the right to lock a person up indefinitely?”

  “No, but Charl doesn’t think he’s ready yet.”

  “Maybe he should consider that his kids are ready to see him.”

  “Okay, Mariette, I hear what you’re saying. You just watch that you don’t say this to Jerome. He doesn’t need your stirring.”

  “I know, that’s why I’m telling you.”

  She tells me to keep calling her and to get Jerome on the phone right now, so I do that.

  Later on he knocks on my door. “Did you tell her I’m depressed?”

  “I told her I was worried.”

  “You know, Mariette, maybe I’m still capable of deciding for myself whether I’m okay or not. You’re doing the same thing you accuse those doctors of.” His light blue eyes seem to shine brighter.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I just worry he won’t get over it this time. He’s afraid of being alone. Nikos was always there,” he says.

  Pleased with his sudden willingness to share, I carry on asking. “So can’t you call him? You must still have a number or something. Maybe he doesn’t know your dad is in hospital.”

  Jerome is doubtful. What if his dad doesn’t want to see Nikos anymore, or worse, what if Nikos doesn’t want to see him? “I’d be interfering.”

  “Shit, Jerome, anything that could help him right now. Besides, I don’t think they don’t want to see each other.”

  “You wouldn’t know.”

  No, he’s right about that, but I know anyway. “Do you still write poems?” I ask and then suggest he use his poetry to send the message to both Nikos and Uncle Charl. That wouldn’t be interfering.

  “Maybe, but poems aren’t written for a purpose, Mariette. They grow inside me until they reach the paper and then for months every word could be changed for a better one.”

  “Could I read some?”

  “I thought you already did.”

  He knows that? Bue! “Do you want to come in?” I gesture to the bed, which is the only place that is not cluttered.

  He lets go of the door handle and walks in. “There’s one you could read, though. It’s about that night. I… uh…”

  “That night” is its name. We’ll refer to it like that forever. He’s playing with his fingers and a brief flush travels over his face.

  “I’m just not sure what you’d think of it. It’s kind of personal,” he says after a silence.

  “So far, Jerome, I’ve got a lot more reason to worry about what you think of me.”

  “It’s just that I never share what I write.”

  “I don’t either. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

  On Monday morning the others tell us about the progress they’ve made. Paul has contacted an ex-student who made it pretty good in the state’s basketball league and who’s willing to give his support for the student paper. When Josh heard that he immediately called the local paper and they’ve already arranged to do an interview with this guy at our school and so repeat the message for the community. That’s the stuff we need. Charlotte has done some drawings of fashion that would be non-offensive and therefore suitable for schools without being an insult to people’s individuality or sense of taste and without fuelling the school uniform industry.

  Jerome has written an article for the school paper. He’s naturally diplomatic so that he’s the perfect person to make our point without offending people.

  Pat is now our channel to the school captains and other year reps, but she also has a fair amount of connections outside of school, so our quest for student rights is being passed on to other schools.

  Fred has set up a website on which we’ll discuss all our actions and give others the chance to leave criticism and questions.

  Mick and I sit down together during the first two periods to prepare the exact wording of our presentation. This will be the official announcement of student protest and from now on we’ll have to be very careful. We’re only three weeks in and almost three quarters of the students have asked to be on our e-mail list and as they contribute a bit of money for printing the paper, that makes them members. Kathleen is in charge of that, but I don’t see her until after recess.

  All of us, except Josh and the school captains, have English right before lunch. I ask Kathleen if she’s feeling left out. “I don’t want you to feel like that. I need you.”

  “Are you in love with him?” she asks.

  I promise her I’m not, but then wonder if she wouldn’t have thought that a more acceptable answer. During the rest of that class, and since I’m still refusing to participate, I work on the essay for Mr Fokker. That isn’t as easy as it seemed at first. I start with a question Should stupid rules be obeyed?

  First I have to define the word ‘stupid’. Mr Shriver’s big classroom dictionary, which has a faded cloth cover and looks as if it’s been used forever defines “stupid” as:

  1. marked by or resulting from unreasoned thinking or acting

  2. lacking intelligence or reason

  3. lacking in understanding or common sense

  I write this down, but I’ll have to clarify, so I find that “unreasoned” means “not founded on reason”, which is in turn defined as “using the faculty of reason” also known as “thinking” and which thus doesn’t help me one little bit.

  “Thinking”, according to the dictionary, is “the action of using one’s mind to produce thoughts” …Duh!

  “Intelligence is the ability to learn or understand or to deal with new or trying situations” (try finding dictionary definitions); this is also known as “a skilled use of reason or an act of understanding”.

  Dare I go on?

  Having “understanding” (as opposed to lacking it), the good book says, means “to have the power of comprehension”, where “comprehension” and “understanding” are synonyms that both mean “to have a clear and complete idea of”.

  And “common sense” is the “unreflective opinions of ordinary men”, where “unreflective” means “unthoughtful”, while “ordinary” has a million meanings, but in men it comes down to poor or inferior and opinions are subjective in the first place.

  So much for the dictionary.

  So the question is, who made the rule? Did they think the rule was stupid? Probably not or they wouldn’t have made it. But don’t you make a rule so others will obey it? If it was common sense you wouldn’t need the rule since people would do it anyway, in which case every rule could be classed as stupid. So why obey rules if they’re stupid?

  Because otherwise you get a detention. Does that make it right to have rules? Does that make obeying them right?

  I look up “detention” and find it’s like a prison sentence for committing a crime. But do
n’t people have to be proven guilty before being detained?

  I write all these thoughts down as I think them, as if I’m writing Mr Fokker a letter. I quote the dictionary explanations literally. My paper now overflows with text and can’t in any way be considered an essay. Of course, I have until Friday to revise it.

  “A law”, the big book says, is “a binding custom or practice of a community; a rule of conduct formally recognised or enforced by a controlling authority”.

  This is clear, finally. The school writes the code of conduct in its prospectus; therefore everybody who disobeys it is breaking the law, which would make it a crime and the person a criminal. But what if the rule said you’d have to kill your younger sibling?

  I dive deeper into the dictionary.

  “Offence, sin, vice, crime and scandal all mean a transgression of law”.

  “offence applies to any law, rule or code” (so it is an offence not to kill my younger sister if the school prospectus says I must)

  “sin implies an offence against moral law”

  “vice applies to a habit or practice that degrades or corrupts”

  “crime implies a serious offence, punishable by the law of the state” - In that case not killing my younger sibling would make me a criminal. Bummer, Miranda!

  “scandal applies to an offence that outrages the public conscience”

  Next I find that “corrupt” and “degrade” both refer to “a lowering in moral character” and that “moral conduct is conformity to the ideals of right human conduct and considered a virtue”.

  Wow! Now this is interesting. Kathleen was right after all. I circle the definition and my last remark and elbow her so she can read it. She laughs then, finally.

  So who decides what ‘right human conduct’ is in the first place? Apparently the guy who decided that killing your younger sibling is okay. After all, the world is overpopulated. How different is it from throwing some Christians into an arena full of lions or some black Africans onto a boat bound for America? So if it is right to do this to relieve the population problem, that would be the ideal to conform to, in other words, moral conduct and a virtue.