By EE Reagan
The system of re-education was first tested by esteemed nobel winning educator Dr. Hassan Muthur at MIT’s annual innovations expo as part of a larger themed speaking series ‘Technology as Education’. (A topic en vogue since the collapse of government funded learning centers across Europe and west Asia). The concept of re-education was as simple as the implementation was complex: Teach adults how to live simply, free of the biases and stubbornness brought on by life’s hardships and experiences. Dr. Muthur argued that people are extremely adept at identifying and storing in their memories, patterns of actions and behaviours of others. However people are very poor at remembering the fine details about the patterns they’ve experienced. For example, one might make an astute observation about the taste of a fruit, but then subconsciously assign that memory to fruits that person has never tasted, or to fruits they had tasted but only sparingly, and forgotten the true taste years ago. Human memory is fallible, and this inherent fallibility and the mind’s longing to fit things into patterned groups has caused humanity to become a biased, prejudiced, and sometimes bigoted race that was desperately incapable of overcoming its own cravings for order over all else, at the expense of those who do not fit into the collective brain-trusted patterns of normalcy.
This pronouncement came as no surprise to those gathered within the old stately auditorium. This was the siren call of the new-age philosophes, those information age experts on all things useful and judged worthy of being expertly in. The old guard were dying, and their archaic ways with them. These thinkers would reshape culture and society to better reflect the temperament of a new age of human civilization. Times were changing rapidly.
Dr. Muthur did not waver in his speech’s delivery, as he gripped the podium and stated enthusiastically the role of the Educators in the new age. “We must rid ourselves of our biases! There is no inherent discrimination, only what we have been taught. It’s time to relearn how to be human…” His voice trailed off expertly as his calculatingly tilted neck arched, just so, and he let his eyes drift up with the rhythm of his voice. The awestruck group below eagerly watched for any sign of a directive, any inkling of a call to action.
It was time.
Dr. Muthur quickly pressed the ‘HM’ pin on his lapel, and a blue light crackled from behind the window curtains. A succession of blinding blasts of light followed. Someone screamed. Static filled the air as concussive shockwaves rocked the building, drowning out all human wailing and craven fearful screaming. A rushing wind swept through the room and Dr. Muthur held tight to his pulpit as disregarded paper and unrestrained articles of clothing took flight, into the air. A tornado of debris formed in the center of the auditorium.
“Esteemed colleagues!” Dr. Muthur’s voice boomed through the auditorium speakers, the call to action now everywhere, and nowhere, as wind roared, and concussions boomed in response. “We will be the first to experience this new education!” He strained his voice against the wind and blasts from outside. “We will lead the way! We will show them how!”
The crowd of scientific thinkers, thinking writers, and pundits, huddled on the floor. If they could have dug themselves under the floor many of them would already have done it (fingernails be damned).
With a last terrific BOOM and blinding white flash of light, the room disappeared into a torrent of wind, the roof was gone and the tornado now enveloped the entire building. Dr. Muthur gasped, hands raised into the air, barely keeping his footing.
And then it was over.
The old stately (demolished) auditorium was gone, and in it’s place was a sterile cleanroom-like environment. Bright white lights had receded to reveal bright white walls. A row of windows overlooking a beautifully manicured, dark green football pitch (with children playing) adorned one wall. On the opposite wall a large blackboard sat, well used. Light streaking through the windows illuminated the chalk dust in the air.
The children got up, out from under their desks, and began retaking their seats. Some of the children looked around confused, as if searching for something that was no longer there. Most of them noticed, upon seeing the other children seated again, name cards placed neatly at the front edge of each desk, and sat down at the desk assigned to them.
The drill was over. It was time to get back to school.
Some boys and girls in the back of the classroom began to snicker at one boy who had yet to take seat.
“Please take your seat Hassan,” the woman in the front of the class said. She was a kind looking woman, but exuded an air of authority as she motioned towards the only remaining empty desk. The boy looked puzzled, and for another moment did nothing, then with his gaze firmly transfixed on the children playing outside on the pitch, sat back down into the desk with the name card ‘Hassan Muthur.’ He raised his hand high into the air.
“Yes Hassan?” The kind looking woman asked, beginning to become genuinely concerned.
“What year is it?”
“Oh,” the woman nervously chuckled, “The year?” Then as if forgetting her nervousness she shook her head playfully, her reddish-brown hair listing side-to-side, and raised her hand, her finger indicated the calendar next to the blackboard. “2125,” she said, and she winked at the boy knowingly.
“2125,” Hassan breathed to himself, working hard to put it all together.
“Yes, and enough about the year,” the kind looking woman said, “let’s get back to re-education. Class, open your textbooks to chapter 3, ‘The Great War’.” She began flipping through a notebook and stopped with a tap. “Uh huh,” she quipped, “Hassan, please begin reading section one: Precursors to the War and Societal Impact on the forming of Re-education.”
Dr. Hassan Muthur straightened himself up and pulled the book close, very close, to his face. He could smell the book. It smelled good he thought. The girls and boys in the back of the class snickered again as Hassan cleared his throat. “Silence class!” declared the woman in the front of the room, and there was silence. The children on the pitch continued to laugh, and scream, and a warm breeze blew through one of the open windows. It smelled of cut grass and flowers.
“Ms. Teacher?” Dr. Muthur asked.
“Yes?” The teacher replied without looking up.
“Can we have class outside?” Someone in the back of the classroom dropped the note they were passing onto the floor.
The teacher looked up. “Well,” she started, “I don’t know. You’ll all just get distracted…” she mused.
“NO WE WON’T!” The chorus rang out. “Please!,” and “Oh Ms. Teacher, Please!,” and “We’ll be good I promise!,” were the contracts that were made then and there.
The teacher couldn’t hold it in any longer, and a sly grin crossed her face as she playfully tossed her hair over her shoulder, “Oh alright,” she said, and then over the clamor of the sliding chairs and falling pencils and books, “Get into line. Alphabetical order… and no pushing!”
The children laughed and skipped as they filed out of the classroom. “Nice going!” a girl behind Hassan exclaimed while patting him on the shoulder, genuinely elated. It was one of the children from the back of the class that had been mocking Hassan only a minute before. She was smiling ear to ear as she asked, “Want to play football?”
Hassan smiled back, “Yeah sure.”