Trials and Tribulations of a Teacher: Episode 2: One More Time ... Why?

All right, then! So, let's pick up from where we left off last week, shall we?

After I realized that my job is probably utterly useless and hence my existence in this world is futile, because I imbue the young minds and souls of trusting impressionable students (the youth, the future of the community) with obsolete morals that do more harm than good. I need to pull myself together before I enter class and burst into tears, for an urge, to hold every single student in my arms and personally apologizing for the bleak future that lies ahead of him/her, was quickly creeping up on me. Being the nerd that I am, I decide to calm my poor nerves by playing the one game I got installed on my phone: Scrabble!

Before I start the game, I am intrigued by a Whatsapp message from a dear student of mine. I rarely receive texts that early in the morning. To cut a long story short, he was drawing my attention to a viral post that displays a photo taken from an Arabic Handwriting school textbook that says (and I translate) "Islam is my religion and any other religion is null and void."

I'll spare you the following scene, in which am jumping up and down like Donald Duck throwing a tantrum with steam blowing out of my ears and flaring nostrils. I rush over to the cubicle across from mine to verify the authenticity of the posted photo. Unfortunately, we teach Middle and High school departments and the Facebook post says it is taken from a junior one book. Therefore, I would have to run downstairs in the five remaining minutes before class, locate an Arabic teacher of the junior department and confront them with the photo.

“You know what , Cherry. Ignorance is bliss. What you don’t know won’t hurt you. “ I am freely talking to myself aloud, now. Why should I veil my insanity when all the world is in mayhem? Why would I need to keep my wits about me, when everyone else is obviously  losing theirs? I am going to stay put, gulp down the rest of my coffee ( I thought I would seek some comfort from the warm aromatic liquid, but of course it had gone cold by then and there was no time to make another one before first bell, so cold coffee it would be for me. Who am I fooling? Since when do teachers get the luxury of a hot cup of anything, anyways? I had long given up on that hope eons ago. Actually, I prefer my coffee cold now as it is the only taste my mouth had known for a couple of decades.) and prepare the bloody game, because it is not my students’ fault that we live in a bigoted world where people hold on to fossilized stereotypes that make no sense whatsoever. The bitterness of the cold liquid mixed with the bitterness of the knowledge that my whole raison d’etre (raising a generation who will be at peace with themselves and with the rest of the world and would grow up to be productive members of society) is built on an extinct premise washes down my throat and permeates my soul.  They say that before one dies, a slideshow of all the major events in one’s life flashes before one’s eyes. Well, I guess part of me died, then, because a slideshow of all the instances I broke into a tirade, in class, about why “Thou shalt not stereotype against thy brethren!” flashed right before my eyes. A huge chunk of my personal mission statement is to raise a generation that does not judge one another, that celebrates each other’s differences, that is broad minded enough to realize that the beauty of the human race lies in its diversity.

What is that book trying to teach six year olds? That they should condemn Christians, Jews, Buddhists, … everyone who holds a different faith to eternal damnation? That should look down upon believers of other faiths? Who entitled the author of that book to decide what should be acknowledged and allowed to exist and what should not? Who gave him a gavel or the keys to the gates of Heaven or the power of omniscience? How dare he warp the minds of those little kids into discriminating against anyone who is different from them!  That is why I don’t want to find out whether the post is authentic or it is the heinous work of a villainous mastermind with too much free time and excellent Photoshop skills. Let me able to pretend to linger onto the hope that this might not be true. I am in dire need of keeping all the energy from just sapping out of me and I would appreciate all the help I can get, even if it is self-deceptive or escapist. Just for the next few hours, until the lessons of the day are over, I will, for once in my life, choose to be the ostrich that buries its head in the sand.

The bell rings, I collect my material, and resolutely stand up. Then, I receive a blow that sends me reeling back into my chair.  

To Be Continued…