Forest Lessons, No 6

An anarch's chronicle of public education.

This week I broke up my first fight. Seems like the kind of thing a teacher should mark in his career. Before I get to that, you should know in this piece I’ll be discussing my own thoughts on masculinity and it’s place in school and wider society. With the American election coming up this week, I’ll touch on that too. Hopefully how I do so will be interesting enough to warrant veering into politics in the first place.

Strapped in? Alright.

I don’t want to oversell this particular fight. It could’ve gone very bad, but it didn’t because there was a man in the classroom. That man used his voice, his authority, and it compelled involuntary obedience. Here’s how it went down.

The bell rang and I entered my classroom. I heard the obvious sounds of commotion to my left. Turning my head, I saw a body on the floor. My first thought was someone fell out of their chair, but the air in the room felt wrong. I glanced at the faces of my students, circling in the ancient ritual they didn’t realize they knew, and stepped forward.

Two young men were on the floor. The one winning was on his back, attempting to keep his adversary in a sloppy submission hold with arm around the neck and legs pinning the loser’s legs. The losing one had a face of panic, unable to fight back effectively. I interrupted them with a hand motion beckoning them upward.

“Whoa! OK, you two. Knock it off. Get up. Let’s go.”

The winners grip slackened. The loser was surprised. I didn’t wait. After a beat, I leaned into it and roared fire.

“The fuck did I just say?”

They scrambled to their feet, eyes wider than they previously thought possible. I continued.

“You! Over there. You! Come outside. Not a word.”

They obliged.

“Stand outside the room. Stay in the window where I can see you. You, over there. Stand still.”

I stepped over to my phone and calmly called the front office.

“Hi there. This is Mr. [redacted]. There’s been a fight. Would you please send a dean to my room?”

I briefly spoke to each young man, making sure they were calm. Within a couple minutes the first dean (a former Marine) was sprinting into view. 30 seconds later, his compatriot joined us. I briefly explained what happened, and they took it from there.

When I stepped back into my classroom the students were rightly abuzz with energy. I smiled and asked how everyone was doing and calmly explained the heightened sense they were experiencing was adrenaline coursing through their bodies. I told them to relax, ride it out, and that class would resume in a few minutes.

The period went better than average. I’d be lying if I didn’t think perhaps the whole experience was useful to focusing their attention. Fight or flight tends to do that, after all. In any case, that’s the story. There isn’t that much more to tell. I don’t think it’s a particularly interesting fight. The novelty of the subject comes from the fact it’s my first experience with it. My theatre colleague (let’s call him Bill, also former Army), has broken up 16 fights in his time. He’s over a decade younger than me. One involved a gang banger who, having actually shown up that day, was clearly just there to carry out a hit on a rival gang member. We swap stories all the time. There’s a reason we’re partners in the troupe.

Upon reflection I was first very proud of myself for handling it with words alone. If I couldn’t get control of the situation, I was ready to press the panic button on the teacher ID card strapped to my belt buckle. Beyond that, I would’ve dove in without hesitation. Find out time. It’s interesting to realize how quickly I gamed out the situation. From the moment I walked in to when the young men were totally separated probably lasted less than a minute. The answer to this isn’t that complicated. These are good kids who made a mistake. Trash talk got out of hand and when I entered the picture they figured that out real quick. Frankly, that’s a credit to them.

So what now?

One’s out on suspension till Monday. The other will be a little while longer. The assistant principal will keep me posted and agrees that I should speak with them privately upon their return. They should know it was a mistake but forgiven, that they should learn from it, and that it was good they didn’t press the issue once I’d stepped in. Young men are young men. Frankly, I’m glad to see it but if they don’t learn how to harness that righteous fury someday they’ll be in trouble. What are men like the two in my story going to do ten years from now when they run into each other at a bar? Throw hands over dumb shit they said in high school? That’ll be in the real world where the consequences will be much more dire than a stern talking to and suspension from school. I have an opportunity to nudge them in the right way. I’ll be damned if I waste it.

Speaking of which, let’s talk about the Nika Revolt. If you’re unfamiliar, it was the greatest crisis of Byzantine emperor Justinian I. Like a classroom rivalry the Hippodrome, Constantinople’s legendary chariot racetrack, had gotten out of hand leading to an unacceptable amount of mayhem and murder. Leaders of the Demes, a sort of combination sports and community booster club, were sentenced to hang from the neck until dead. According to the histories, the ropes failed on two of the seven men and they were able to escape to a nearby church. One was a leader of the Blues, one a leader of the Greens, which were major racing factions.

During the next races at the Hippodrome the crowd implored Justinian to spare the men. He agreed. The crowd’s demands didn’t stop. They eventually called for the heads of two high ranking officials, Tribonian and John the Cappadocian. At this stage, Justinian realized something was up. The crowds were getting played by adversaries in his government. The following calls for a new emperor confirmed his suspicions. Soon after, the iconic chant began.

“NIKA! NIKA! NIKA!”

This is a very old word that means not just victory but conquest. Days later Justinian would find himself barred in his palace and a huge part of the largest city in the world in flames. As he pondered the age old choice of fight or flight his beloved wife Theodora settled the issue in what I consider one of history’s greatest speeches.

My lords, the present occasion is too serious to allow me to follow the convention that a woman should not speak in a man’s council.  Those whose interests are threatened by extreme danger should think only of the wisest course of action, not of conventions.

In my opinion, flight is not the right course, even if it should bring us to safety.  It is impossible for a person, having been born into this world, not to die; but for one who has reigned it is intolerable to be a fugitive. May I never be deprived of this purple robe, and may I never see the day when those who meet me do not call me empress. 

If you wish to save yourself, my lord, there is no difficulty.  We are rich; over there is the sea, and yonder are the ships.  Yet reflect for a moment whether, when you have once escaped to a place of security, you would not gladly exchange such safety for death.  As for me, I agree with the adage that the royal purple is the noblest shroud.

To those familiar with the story, Justinian’s response should still chill the blood.

Bring me Belisarius, Mundus, and Narses.

Narses would slip into the Hippodrome and bribe the leaders of the Demes. After they left the crowd did not disperse and so the emperor’s final judgement cut loose. Belisarius and Mundus led their personal legions into the chaotic arena and without mercy slaughtered 30,000 people. The revolt was crushed, but Constantinople was devastated with a quarter of the city burned including the main church and baths.

It was a very bad week. I bring up the story to point out that whatever led to this tragedy, the wheels had been set in motion long before Justinian gave his fateful orders. Had he chosen flight, the final results very likely would’ve been worse. What’s important to understand is the place of masculine, forceful leadership in a time of crisis.

Many of my readers are Americans and perhaps will take issue with me siding with an autocrat like Justinian in a matter like this. Fair enough, but hear me out. The mob is incapable of acting as men should: with discipline, control, and courage. They are the raging emotions of the immature student, blinded by hurt feelings and wounded pride. These are easily manipulated by those who would turn such rage to their own advantage. Doubt me? Observe the behavior of the Demes leaders once they had coin in hand. They’ll walk out on you rather than face the sword’s judgement by your side. They are disciples of Judas to the letter.

Keep this in mind over the next weeks and month. Tensions will be high. Some may call for blood. Don’t listen to them. Men don’t react, they respond. If action is required, as it may be at some stage, it must be thoughtful, measured, and effective. Remember Theodora’s wisdom: it is the fate of all who see the sun to die. Our responsibility is to make what we do until then count for something; which is the future our children inherit. Our duty demands nothing less because of one ultimate promise: our redemption by their hand.

The Hagia Sophia justifies the horror of that very bad week. Built with the healing of Constantinople in mind, this magnificent structure is one of the most holy demonstrations of humanity’s complicated potential I’ve ever known. Breaking new ground in innovative construction techniques, begun by the uncle and perfected by the nephew, it stood as the pinnacle of architecture for hundreds of years. Countless millions have been inspired - for good and ill - by its magnificence. Want to experience a sliver of what it might be like to enter heaven? Well, there it is waiting for you in Istanbul.

But in truth, you don’t really have to go that far. You can find it at home, with your friends and family. Your children. At your schools. At my school. Find it where you are, not where you aren’t, and if it isn’t where you are? Fix it yourself.

At the end of this week I asked all my students whether the Hagia Sophia was worth the pain and suffering of the Nika Revolt. There was no right or wrong answer, I simply wanted them to think about it. If they did, I promised I would tell them my answer:

“I hope so.”

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Thanks for reading this week’s edition of Forest Lessons. I hope you liked it. If you want, kindly consider sharing my work with your friends and family. Public education is a mess. I won’t fix that, but I can at least make it count where I can. Want to help me do that? Consider a paid subscription to The Partisan. My work here will always be free, but your consideration helps me do more in the real world.

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