Not Just Another Brick In The Wall

The coffee in my mug, personalized with a photo of a class from 2018, was already cold, and I stared out the classroom window with a melancholy that didn't feel like my own. It was one of those exhausting days where all you want is to go home, lie down, and sleep. But I knew that was a mere illusion; the moment I stepped through the door, I’d have to endure my wife’s shouting about some useless topic she pretended to care about, just so she wouldn't have to face the fact that our son had passed away two years ago.
At least here, at school, my reality was raw and unfiltered. The day had been bad for reasons I preferred to write rather than speak—perhaps out of fear that by exposing my true opinions on the educational system, I’d end up in the headlines the next day as part of some tragic news story. The dictatorship era was behind us, but some things simply are what they are, and me, a history teacher at a low-income school, wasn't going to be the one to change the system. I wished I could spend more of my time reading, but the more I studied, the more disappointed I became.
The bell echoed through the hallways, and I adjusted myself in my chair, knowing my break had come to an end. It was the senior class, and I knew it would be a tense lesson simply because the entire class was against me. Last week, I had given my opinion on a certain subject, which was obviously unethical of me, but I couldn't help it. I’m human; I make mistakes, and sometimes I don’t know how to bite my tongue when I should. They’re just kids, after all, and they don’t know half of what they should at this point in their education. I watched them walk in one by one, with hostile expressions and books tucked under their arms. After one of them defended a warped idea, I had sent him to the principal's office, because, well everyone has their own view and I like to hear each one, to me, education happens in moments of debate, provided your kid isn't attacking another in the classroom. I knew the mistake started with me, but either way, everything had spiraled. Now the parents were furious, and petitions had already been signed. Either I kept my mouth shut, or the parents would pull their children out of the school. And I don’t think anyone wanted that.
I said good morning to them and began the lecture on the Cold War. It was a freezing morning, and the students were shivering, yet simultaneously interested in what I was saying in a way I had never seen before. I could feel it in my bones that they were analyzing me, waiting for the slightest slip-up so they could stone me and throw me into a bonfire.
"But what about the millions who died of hunger or in forced labor camps in the Socialist bloc?" one student asked, his tone obviously disdainful and not truly curious.
"That is imperialist propaganda that people consume without filtering. What they call 'authoritarianism,' I call the State's self-defense against the sabotage of capital. Funny how no one counts the dead caused by capitalism in Africa or Latin America, right?" I said, biting my tongue to keep from saying more. A few students let out muffled snickers and began to stand up. The student who had questioned me was the last to remain, locking eyes with me.
"It’s pretty funny you’d talk about State self-defense and freedom of thought. If we were in the regime you defend so much, I wouldn't have the right to disagree with you without being arrested or 're-educated.' But here, I have the right not to waste my time listening to an ideological monologue instead of a History class. Let's go read in the library, everyone."
"Yeah, go read. It’ll do you good," I replied dryly, watching him leave. I threw the book I was holding onto the desk, completely frustrated.
I looked at the photo of my son on my desk and realized that perhaps I had lost the passion for teaching. The problem was in me, not the students. The system was still s*** and prevented me from teaching the correct facts, but there were still dedicated, curious students who wanted to learn, and it’s for them that we should fight for a quality education. School is necessary for so many reasons,to socialize, to debate, to talk. But nothing should ever feel so heavy that my students would rather be in the library than in my classroom.