In the Real World

by Nōnen Títi

  After a debate about being pawns for the textile industry, Mariette and Fred leave together, even though Fred has a green shirt in his bag that he uses to pretend for his parents.

  “They’ve set it up so we’ll be in trouble no matter what we do,” Kathleen concludes.

  “Why do we need this class?” Charlotte asks the new careers teacher. “This class is meant to help you find the best course and subject choices for your abilities.”

  “Like yours is playing footy, but here you are,” Mick tells her. “It’s very simple after all. If you don’t have a heart you become a lawyer, if you don’t have a brain you’ll be a good politician, if you don’t have social skills you fit the profile for a surgeon, and without integrity you can still be a school principal.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  Mick ignores the teacher’s order to sit down. “I just want to know how many people in this class are going to sit back and be kicked again just because PW Morality’s pride got hurt because he didn’t get his picture in the paper last term.”

  “That has nothing to do with it,” the teacher says.

  “It has everything to do with it, and if you can’t see that you’re blind. Now who is willing to stand up with us?”

  Kathleen stands up, as does Charlotte, next Pat and I, and then one by one the rest, including Paul.

  “You want to go report it and cancel this class? You could get us all expelled and then they won’t need you anymore and you can have a permanent vacation like Justine,” Mick says to the teacher in a somewhat threatening manner.

  “You won’t get anywhere with aggression,” she answers, but she backs off. The two periods go by with us filling out an aptitude test she quickly conjured up.

  “She’ll go straight to PWM,” Charlotte says to me.

  “Maybe.”

  “Would you like to come out for a weekend with me? My parents have a vacation home up in the mountains and since you’re living with your aunt and uncle… well, that can’t be much fun. My parents would be happy to have a guest.”

  “I can’t, Charlotte. My dad is coming to visit us this weekend.”

  “Maybe next week then.”

  “Maybe.” I don’t want to turn her down, seeing she’s being so friendly, but I’m looking forward to going back to the literature meetings, which I’d prefer to visiting her parents even if Dad and Nikos weren’t there.

  During recess we all take a spot around the school fence and sit on top of it. It isn’t very comfortable, but we’re not leaving the premises nor are we assembling in a large group. We explain our reasons to everybody who wants to listen and they pass the message on, so by the end lots of other students follow our example and the fence isn’t visible anymore and it breaks in some places. The yard duty teachers walk around giving warnings and the SDF paper sells out.

  Mariette and Fred come back at the start of lunchtime. They’re in green school shirts and carry a bag full of printer labels, all with the words As immaculate as the Immaculate Conception.

  “They said no slogans,” Josh says.

  “They said not carry any; we’ll be wearing them. Besides, these support the school’s purpose.”

  “You stink,” Kathleen says, wrinkling her nose.

  “Right on. Did you think Mary smelled so nice after her non-intercourse?”

  “What is it?”

  “Ammonia with vinegar, which is a colour retainer, though it’ll wear the material thin rather fast. Here, have some.”

  I can see Mariette is totally indulging herself in this deception. So many people are interested in the stickers that Pat remarks that we should have charged for them. The idea seems to bring back memories of last term and before lunch is over several bottles of mildew remover and window cleaner appear. Then Charlotte reports that the police came to the milk bar and took the names of the students who were there. Between Kathleen and Charlotte they soon decide that this is an invitation for a prank and the rest of lunchtime is spent discussing the details.

  Our next class is science. Mariette and Fred linger at the door. “There are more than five people in the room already. We can’t possibly come in or we’d be breaking the rules,” Fred says when the teacher urges him to hurry.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Then she turns and sniffs and looks at all the students who have handed around the window cleaner along with the bag of labels. “Don’t you see you’ll only get in more trouble?”

  “How? We’re not breaking any rules,” Mariette scorns.

  “The new rules also say to obey the teacher and I’m telling you to come in. If anyone complains you can blame me.”

  Within minutes of closing the door the smell fills the room. It makes my eyes water. “You know, I can’t do this. It’s making me sick,” the teacher says and walks out, shutting the door behind her.

  “Open a window, for God’s sakes,” Charlotte orders her friends. “Couldn’t you have used perfume?”

  “No, they’d tell us that’s forbidden. They can’t say we’re not allowed to clean our clothes,” Fred answers.

  “More than five minutes without a teacher and we can go,” Charlotte announces and starts packing up, only to discover that the teacher locked the door when she left.

  “She could be liable for endangering lives in the event of a fire,” Mick says, and lights a match.

  “Are you out of your mind? These fumes will make it explode!” Kathleen shouts at him and kills the flame.

  Pat suggests that we can all climb out of the window. That isn’t as easy as it seems for some people, since the windows don’t open very far. To our surprise it’s Peter who comes up with a solution and we all help him lift the glass out of the frame and go home early.

  “Don’t go too fast, Mariette. You’ll never get through the term if you start this aggressively.”

  “He was wrong, Jerome. He’s a backstabbing bastard.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that he can kick you out.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not stupid.”

  On Wednesday morning she leaves in track pants and jumper, but I don’t feel comfortable with the uniform prank. It turns out that the others all did. Kathleen, Fred and the majority of the year tens are waiting at the bus stop, all in track suits. We avoid the milk bar because a police car is parked there.

  When the first bell goes they all start undressing en masse, to great hilarity of the other students. Under their casual clothing everyone is dressed in too many bits of uniform; pants under skirts, shorts over them and PE clothes over the regular ones. Fred even has his sister’s dress on. I watch with Peter, who is also in uniform. I get the impression that he considers everybody in the class a bit childish. More and more kids come running up to follow the parade around the grounds.

  English is first. Mr Shriver sits on his desk and waits until we’re all seated. “To what do we owe this provocation?”

  The incident at the milk bar is explained to him.

  “For once, can’t you kids just do what everybody else does – laugh about silly rules and get on with it?”

  “Those rules are insulting,” Mariette says.

  “And for every protest even more insulting rules are made; haven’t you learned that yet?”

  “It’s wrong.”

  “In your opinion, Mariette, but not in the opinion of others; not in that of Mr Moralis.”

  “Since when has he got the brains to have an opinion?”

  “That will do. No more comments like that or you can spend the day in my room, recess and lunch included.”

  To my relief, Mariette doesn’t push it.

  The next period I have maths. This teacher is cool and totally ignores the strange clothing and the stickers other teachers are wasting their time telling students off for. Not only are students wearing them, but at recess I find the slogans have been written with permanent marker in the toilets and other places that aren’t immediately visible. We’re not
carrying them, so they can’t say anything.

  Like the maths teacher, Mr Fokker also ignores the provocations. He starts his class without waiting for everybody to sit down after lunch.

  “History… History is made not by the actions of men, but by the words they use. Today the majority of people pride themselves on assets they know as words: justice, democracy, equality, liberty, brotherhood, progress, civil rights, moral values and information – words that have brought about revolutions, like revolutions have brought us those words.

  “The word ‘democracy’, for example, is over two thousand years old. It stands directly opposite ‘autocracy’, which means alone rule. This, however, and despite general belief, does not mean tyranny or despotism, as arbitrary rule by a usually intolerant ruler. The correct word is ‘absolutism’, meaning one has the power to influence – the last word with regard matters of state. This then could just as well refer to tribal chiefs.

  “Democracy is the making of decisions that concern the state by the people who make up that state; by the people, for the people. Democracy, in the days the word was invented in the small city-state of Athens, became a form of constitution because of a popular revolution which put power in the hands of the victorious mob. They had no idea what to do with it, so they called back from exile a well-respected citizen and asked him to be their leader. He thought it only fair, in that case, that they all have a say in the making of the rules.

  “Of course, Athens had a population of a hundred and fifty thousand, of which only the adult, male, proper citizens could vote. Nowadays we’re trying to use the democratic vote in countries that count millions of voters; a slight oversight, I guess.

  “Another important episode in democratic history is the French Revolution. It generally takes an enormous amount of oppression from a ruler before the people will revolt and the French people at the end of the eighteenth century had more than enough reason to stand up in an effort to improve their lives. Their organizers were clever and well prepared. They came up with some brilliant new ideas, like a new calendar, and they revived the idea of democracy. Their big slogan, the one that still motivates people today: ‘liberté, egalité, fraternité’ – ‘liberty, equality, fraternity’, or ‘brotherhood’; all people free and equal, democracy for all and thus all people to have a vote, though that still didn’t involve women. Did that work?

  “It did for a while, but six years later a little man called Napoleon Bonaparte took over. Nevertheless the ideas stuck and have since been used in all democracies. In some places they last longer than in others. At the moment they are what the western world believes to be right. In fact, every one of you has been told to believe them more than once, in school, on TV or at home – the people should have a voice.

  “But what is this voice of the people? Is it their concern about issues or is it the vote they have during elections? Is it the number announced in the result, the percentage for a win; is that a voice? Is the voice of the people that of their individual concerns or those of the group as a whole? In that case you could argue that a majority vote is a measure of the size of the entity called ‘the people’. This entity is singular. It’s like the creature we call the Portuguese Man of War, a jellyfish that’s made up of a multitude of separately breathing and motile parts, but that share one mind. Any that stray are cut loose and eaten.

  “You all learned that justice and freedom are basic rights for all people, that people have to be fair and honest and just and that this is possible. You all know that every person who belongs to a western democratic society has the right to decide over their own life and has the duty to defend that right with that same life for their country.

  “So rights then exist and need defending? The Declaration of Human Rights says that all people have them, those rights. Do they? Or do they have the words? Can people be free if they share the planet with seven billion others? Can all people be equal if there isn’t enough food to go around? Can all people be brothers if they keep refusing to acknowledge each others’ values, beliefs and personalities?

  “Words, like phrases, are empty if not acted upon. Just like the f-word you people are so keen on using today has lost all meaning. What remains is a string of letters – and you may interrupt me if you know what those four letters originally stood for – used to emphasize emotion in speech. The meaning is in the moment, in the intention and in the person. So democracy is indeed just that; the people’s rule. The question is, is that the right way for a country to be ruled? Is that really what the people want? What happened to Athens after Perikles died and to Rome after Augustus?

  “You see, people often remember their school days as the best of times. They remember pranks pulled, angry teachers and being together. It’s being kids under authority that people like, the soldiers in the platoon, where the rules are clear and made by others. And you all know this. Let’s take an example close to home: As long as there are policemen writing traffic tickets, people don’t think they have to slow down until they see one. The objective becomes getting away with speeding unnoticed. The more rules and the more police there are, the more challenging speeding becomes. Then, if they get into trouble for breaking the rules, they refer to their democratic rights – their right to freedom.

  “What you need to understand is that abstract words can’t be owned. Entire civilizations have perished because the people believed they could make demands based on rights they never really had, and when they didn’t get what they wanted they turned against their leader and tried to force their own ideals. But since everyone had different views, fights broke out within the population until there was nowhere to go but down. From the chaos a new leader would then emerge; an autocrat, an absolute ruler, because the people were desperate for one. The first autocrat can be quite lenient, but as the position is handed down to his successors, often his sons, the rule tends to become more and more dictatorial and history repeats itself as the first voices that protest this misuse of power are uttered once again.

  “You all know what happens to those first voices. You all know of one specific example from western history. Regardless of whether you’re religious or not, you all know the story of a group of young and ambitious men who wanted to make life better for their people. They had the masses behind them in big demonstrations and they were promised by the local authorities that they would be listened to. You all know what happened. I want you to think about where you would have been in all that, had you lived then. Would you have been one of the idealists, one of their followers or one of their opponents? And what about when the tides turned?”

  Mr Fokker jumps down from his desk and writes the names of these idealists, followers and opponents on the board, telling us that he expects an essay on this by our next class and to use the time between now and the end of class.

  Our last period is civics in the main building, also with Mr Fokker, and we walk up with him.

  “So did he fire her?” Mariette asks after having mentioned Miss Coven.

  Mr Fokker speeds up and refuses to even look at her.

  Mariette winks at Charlotte. “I’ll take that as a yes. I guess it’s dangerous business to give information away if you work for a tyrant.”

  He stops so suddenly that she literally crashes into him. “Just don’t you forget that every push against a tyrant increases, not decreases, his power,” he says, leaving Mariette both silent and crimson, neither of which happen very often.

  Once in class he hands everybody a copy of the UN’s Declaration of Human Rights from 1948, as well as one of the Declaration of the Rights of Man, written in France in 1789, and a paper on constitutionalism. Most people start reading, but soon give up and start whispering. Each paper lists a number of rights all people ought to have. Mick mentioned the main ones already, but suddenly I get the idea of writing an article for the school paper. I could compare these points to those in the new prospectus. I tell Josh about it after class.

  “Sure, I’ll save you a space. Two th
ousand words max. Get it to me tomorrow afternoon.”

  That wasn’t quite the plan, but I’m happy to be able to contribute like this so I write it that evening. I email it to Josh and print the whole thing twice, once to keep for myself and once for Mr Fokker, who assigned us an essay on the topic. I also write the SDF article I promised and send it to Josh for printing.

  Fred and Mariette have also been printing and on Thursday there are new slogans: Hypocrisy: morality that prides itself.

  Just like the last few days, we discuss ideas for ways to ridicule the new rules, including the uniforms. “Isn’t it suspicious that there’s no mention about the length of the girls’ skirts or keeping the boys’ pants from hanging down halfway their butts?” Mariette asks while we’re putting the paints out in the art room. “Maybe we should make it harder for PM to lust after those features. Paint the body parts the wrong colour,” she suggests and lifts a green paintbrush up, threatening Lindsey’s bare legs.

  Lindsey screams and backs away, knocking over a pot of blue paint in the process and it splatters all over her socks and shoes. Angry, she takes her paintbrush and flicks it in Mariette’s direction several times, so that my cousin looks like she’s got measles and her shirt along with it. Kathleen takes that as an invitation for a dance and starts swinging her yellow brush around so that not only all our shirts but also the walls and floor get covered. A few others join her.

  I get an image of tonight’s parent-information meeting for students going into year eleven. “Maybe we should all attend in our uniform tonight,” I suggest to Charlotte, who thinks it’s a great idea and tells the rest of the class. That sets off a series of predictions and proposals, including painted teachers. “We should string a bucket above PM’s head,” Mick says.

  “Maybe PM should advise the parents to buy some more shirts. They’re only forty dollars a piece for the logo; the rest you can buy for ten in any save mart,” Fred says.

  “Maybe we should paint the logo,” Kathleen suggests and puts action to her words using Fred’s shirt.