A few weeks ago, after the massacre in New Zealand, after I was done curling up in a foetal ball and bawled my eyes out at the stupidity that reins the world, I was involved in a brawl at school.
A couple of boys had barged into the building to fight with some students. I will spare you the rest of the story and suffice with saying “it wasn’t nice”
Later that day I called a friend and I told him that I was worried. Worried about these boys who are my students’ ages, my sons’ ages. Worried about my students that come from everywhere, young people beaming with a thirst for knowledge but who might get seen as disposable, because they don’t look mainstream. Worried.
Worried because this is the world that “our” forefathers left “us.”
This person I called, was immediately offended and said “my parents have not done anything! Do not go there!”
I sighed and explained that I was being metaphorical. That all of us live in a world left by our forefathers as an inheritance and that it behooves us to leave our children something better.
He didn’t respond, so I charged on. Like I said, I was depressed and in an expressive mood. If he didn’t want to hear me rant, he should not have answered his phone!
I told him that it is (partly) to blame on politicians’ fear mongering. That I could not believe my senses when a right-wing party had won the elections. A party that openly expresses the belief that I am inferior.
“They are the ones who foster the impression that these young people are disposable monsters, which makes them give so little fucks about their own lives and safety that they would sneak into a building to fight, without knowing how they would get out. I blame this on politics!” I said, propelling myself into anger.
He responded: “so what is the answer then? Sylvana Simons?”
I realized then that I had been speaking my mind to the wrong person.
So I hung up.