child to automatically believe everything they profess. The lesson: authority figures are exempt from evidential and logical standards; a “good citizen” takes the words of authority at face value and without question.
This system trains the child to tolerate daily confinement in a place he would prefer to avoid. Such training resigns him to his future as an obedient worker, wherein he will endure hours of tedium and follow the orders of his corporate superiors without complaint. Most significantly, his eventual position in the workplace will thrust him into the producing class – rather, the exploited class. He will then serve his key function as a human: paying taxes.
The State reaps other benefits from compulsory education. The numerous arbitrary rules of school prepare the child for the legal leviathan of the adult world. The grading system compels him to pursue a letter on a page, a precursor to his workplace paycheck, which trivializes learning. Formal schooling consists of authority figures who chastise the child, stifle him, and ultimately define him – applying standards alien to him. The confiscation of his time precludes him from entering the marketplace and competing for jobs. The current workforce is consequently a reliable advocate of this system.
From this environment the child emerges an ideal citizen-serf. He accepts without question whatever his rulers tell him. Defiance never crosses his mind. He has unconditional love for the Regime. Such is the outcome in ninety-nine out of a hundred cases. The lone dissident out of that sample is nothing that evaporation cannot rectify.
My disdain for government education nearly matched his. So I bristled when the Ministry of Miscommunication and Misdirection mandated that my department’s employees deliver a Regime-touting speech to a classroom of children. I had latitude in choosing which class to address. I made the appropriate arrangements with Cranston.
A week prior to the event, I received a packet of papers containing my speech. A double-underlined sentence blazed across the front page in cautionary red: YOU MUST COMMUNICATE THE ENTIRETY OF THIS CONTENT TO THE AUDIENCE WITH NO SUBTRACTIONS OR ADDITIONS. The document overflowed with patriotic mumbo jumbo, historical distortions, praise of voting, etc. One segment read: “Each one of us has a sacred duty to protect and preserve the Permanent Regime. Our great nation enjoys its freedom only because so many brave men and women sacrificed on the battlefield. Each of you has an opportunity for that honor. Your country needs you.” I cringed at the jingoistic sales pitch. I wished I had the balls to tell my higher-ups at Triple-M to go fuck themselves. But I could not afford to lose my job. Nor did I want the government to suspect me a potential trouble source.
On an autumn Tuesday I went to Cranston’s classroom. Thirty little desks faced a blackboard. Pictures of past and present Regime “heroes” littered the walls.
I handed Cranston my speech. He scanned it for a couple minutes. Tearing the pages in half, he said, “I won’t allow this horseshit in my classroom.”
I gasped. “Cranston, I have my orders. I must say what I’ve been given. I can’t …”
“Sorry. We can call this thing off for all I care. No one gets to subject my kids to that kind of demented boilerplate. You can stay and do it my way – or leave.”
“Well, I’m already here. I sure as hell don’t want to go to some other class. I’d rather get this over with.”
“Then do whatever you’ve got to do. Make your speech.”
“What would I say?” I asked.
“Whatever you want. Just don’t tell them to pay their taxes and vote. No propaganda. Aside from that, just improvise something.”
“What about the cameras in here? They’ll expose me as insubordinate.”
“Don’t worry about the cameras,” he said. “I disabled them.”
“How could you do that?”
“Easy. I grabbed a stool, took it over to each
This system trains the child to tolerate daily confinement in a place he would prefer to avoid. Such training resigns him to his future as an obedient worker, wherein he will endure hours of tedium and follow the orders of his corporate superiors without complaint. Most significantly, his eventual position in the workplace will thrust him into the producing class – rather, the exploited class. He will then serve his key function as a human: paying taxes.
The State reaps other benefits from compulsory education. The numerous arbitrary rules of school prepare the child for the legal leviathan of the adult world. The grading system compels him to pursue a letter on a page, a precursor to his workplace paycheck, which trivializes learning. Formal schooling consists of authority figures who chastise the child, stifle him, and ultimately define him – applying standards alien to him. The confiscation of his time precludes him from entering the marketplace and competing for jobs. The current workforce is consequently a reliable advocate of this system.
From this environment the child emerges an ideal citizen-serf. He accepts without question whatever his rulers tell him. Defiance never crosses his mind. He has unconditional love for the Regime. Such is the outcome in ninety-nine out of a hundred cases. The lone dissident out of that sample is nothing that evaporation cannot rectify.
My disdain for government education nearly matched his. So I bristled when the Ministry of Miscommunication and Misdirection mandated that my department’s employees deliver a Regime-touting speech to a classroom of children. I had latitude in choosing which class to address. I made the appropriate arrangements with Cranston.
A week prior to the event, I received a packet of papers containing my speech. A double-underlined sentence blazed across the front page in cautionary red: YOU MUST COMMUNICATE THE ENTIRETY OF THIS CONTENT TO THE AUDIENCE WITH NO SUBTRACTIONS OR ADDITIONS. The document overflowed with patriotic mumbo jumbo, historical distortions, praise of voting, etc. One segment read: “Each one of us has a sacred duty to protect and preserve the Permanent Regime. Our great nation enjoys its freedom only because so many brave men and women sacrificed on the battlefield. Each of you has an opportunity for that honor. Your country needs you.” I cringed at the jingoistic sales pitch. I wished I had the balls to tell my higher-ups at Triple-M to go fuck themselves. But I could not afford to lose my job. Nor did I want the government to suspect me a potential trouble source.
On an autumn Tuesday I went to Cranston’s classroom. Thirty little desks faced a blackboard. Pictures of past and present Regime “heroes” littered the walls.
I handed Cranston my speech. He scanned it for a couple minutes. Tearing the pages in half, he said, “I won’t allow this horseshit in my classroom.”
I gasped. “Cranston, I have my orders. I must say what I’ve been given. I can’t …”
“Sorry. We can call this thing off for all I care. No one gets to subject my kids to that kind of demented boilerplate. You can stay and do it my way – or leave.”
“Well, I’m already here. I sure as hell don’t want to go to some other class. I’d rather get this over with.”
“Then do whatever you’ve got to do. Make your speech.”
“What would I say?” I asked.
“Whatever you want. Just don’t tell them to pay their taxes and vote. No propaganda. Aside from that, just improvise something.”
“What about the cameras in here? They’ll expose me as insubordinate.”
“Don’t worry about the cameras,” he said. “I disabled them.”
“How could you do that?”
“Easy. I grabbed a stool, took it over to each
Similar Books
