Insane or Inspired? Book 2 (Part 7)
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Perhaps not surprisingly, persuading children that school was a scam turned out to be a lot easier than persuading them to adopt gender-based spirituality. Still, since it was all part of the same multifaceted agenda, I didn’t particularly mind. In fact, the success of Daylight Robbery, our humble ‘victim support group’, had given me a platform to speak about a variety of other issues. Exceeding even my own expectations, it had rapidly evolved into an outright activist organisation, with the education system very much in its sights. And now, after two weeks of intense planning, we were about to execute our first operation. Code name: Pink Floyd.
The day certainly began normally enough, with no obvious signs that anything untoward was happening, or was about to happen. Surreptitiously, however, pupils were gradually making their way to strategically significant locations, throughout the school. Namely, the main entry points, the emergency exits, the staff rooms, and a number of ‘weak points’, which were deemed vulnerable to incursion from the outside.
We didn’t actually need to employ any weapons, as such, because the enemy were so vastly outnumbered. Neither did we have to worry about weapons being used against us, because the authorities wouldn’t dare fire upon schoolchildren, nor take any action that would risk our lives. Which was kind of ironic, considering that schooling itself effectively deprived children of their lives, along with their dignity, as sovereign spiritual beings. And that’s what all of this was about, at the end of the day: Human sovereignty.
How suspiciously convenient it was, after all, that children were deemed incapable of consent, by adults; a determination that placed them at the mercy of their parents, and of government. Although, any distinction between the two had long since been lost, given that most parents now did exactly as they were told, even when it came to matters affecting the lives of their children. Modern parents had essentially disclaimed all responsibility, not only for the education of their children, but also for the moral and ethical guidance of their children. That’s what television and social media were for, after all. “And if it was good enough for us,” I can almost hear them saying, “then it’s good enough for them.”
When subjected to even the scantest scrutiny, therefore, the unquestioned human belief, of being a child-loving species, turned out to be an illusion, just like everything else that humans believed in. For no intelligent species, that truly loved their children, would ever have allowed a system such as this one to have arisen, in the first place, much less be willing to sacrifice their offspring to it.
No, human beings were evidently more reptilian than mammalian, when it came to their capacity for love. And, certainly, the human ego was technically no more conscious than a snake, having separated itself from divinity. So, whilst it could simulate love, albeit poorly, it couldn’t actually produce the fruits of love. Psychopathy was actually a spectrum that most people found themselves on. Which meant that human civilisation could only be a grand charade; often, seemingly, about love, but in no way convincing to anyone who actually knew what that word implied. It was fake love that sent children to school, after all. And it was real love that tried to intervene.
“They wouldn’t use weapons against us,” I reassured everyone, for the umpteenth time. “They’d like to. But it would be a public relations nightmare. It’s all about keeping up appearances, remember. And, under these circumstances, that gives us the advantage.”
“Look, we’re on TV,” said Jack, turning up the volume.
“Now, we’re all familiar with school hostage dramas,” said the female presenter, “but the teachers of a secondary school in Portsmouth are apparently being held hostage by their own pupils. We can cross live, now, to Christopher Andrews, who is in Portsmouth for us. Chris, do we know anything more about the events leading up to this situation?”
“Well, Kate, I’m standing as close to the school as they’ll allow me to get. And, as you can see, everything appears to be quiet, for now. I can confirm that the police are treating this as a terrorist incident, although they’re still unsure who the hostage takers are, exactly, and how many staff are being held. One teacher was released, earlier, as an act of good will. But, as you can see, Kate, we’ve had to blur the footage, because he came out wearing only his necktie.”
“Chris, do we know whether any specific demands have been made yet, by the hostage takers?”
“Apparently they were demanding publicity for a website, which has now been taken down, as I understand it. But I did have a quick look, earlier, and it appeared to contain a rather vitriolic litany of accusations against the school system, worldwide. References were also made to the late John Taylor Gatto, who was a fierce critic of the education system in America, and who authored several books on the subject.”
“So it would seem that their issue is with the school system itself, rather than any particular teachers at the school?”
“That’s right. In fact, if we can zoom in a bit, a number of banners have just been unfurled, which may help to clarify the situation.”
“Indeed, Chris. One of them reads: ‘Compulsory schooling is a tyranny and a crime against the human mind and spirit. Let all those escape it who can, any way they can.’ And that’s a quote by John Holt, apparently.”
“Well, that pretty much confirms it, then. Certainly, there’s been no suggestion that…”
“Chris, Chris, I’m sorry to interrupt you. We’re just hearing on the wires that the hostage takers are now claiming to have a bomb, which they’re threatening to detonate. Presumably you’ve not heard anything about this yet?”
“There were fears, earlier, Kate, that an explosive device may indeed have been taken into the school. And if that has now been confirmed, then it’s obviously a very serious development indeed.”
“If you’re just joining us, you’re watching live coverage of an unfolding hostage situation in Portsmouth, which is being treated as a terrorist incident. Pupils of a secondary school are threatening to detonate a device, if their demands for publicity are not met. No one has been injured, as far as we know, and one member of staff has been released unharmed. We’ll be back with more, after this short break.”
“What a frickin’ lie,” said Jack, angrily. “We didn’t say anything about a bomb.”
“I told you they would probably do something like this,” I reminded him. “That’s how the system works. The media are part of it; a big part of it. But hey, at least we got our message out, on national television.”
“One lousy quote. That’s not going to do anything. How did they manage to get our site taken down, so quickly? There was nothing illegal on it.”
“They can do whatever they like. It probably only took a phone call.”
“I have it on a USB stick,” said Tink. “So we can still request its release to the public.”
“Or what?’ replied Jack. “Or we’ll humiliate some more teachers? That’s not going to cut it.”
“Well, we’re not threatening violence,” I warned him.
“It would be a bluff, Lucy. We needn’t actually do anything to anyone.”
“I said, no.”
Just then, the police began to address us over the tannoy again, requesting the release of more hostages.
“What do we do now, boss?” said Jack, somewhat disrespectfully.
“Release all of the male teachers,” I told him, “wearing nothing but their ties. At least we can still make this a memorable event, in the public mind.”
“Can’t we release Miss Weston?” he asked. “She is so god damn hot.”
“You can released her clothed, if you like.”
“Never mind,” he groaned, in frustration. “Back in ten.”
He was actually back in two, however. “They won’t do it,” he reported. “And if we’re not going to explicitly threaten violence, then I’ve no way of making them do it.”
“Well, how did you make Mr Stevens do it?” I asked.
“He just assumed that there would be consequences if he didn’t.”
I hopped down from the desk and made my way to the door. “Back in ten,” I told them. “Tink, you’re in charge, while I’m gone.”
“What about Mr Reece?” she asked.
Mr Reece was the only teacher who’d tried to escape, so we bound him, gagged him, and made him sit in the corner, wearing a dunce hat. “If he gives you any trouble, kill him,” I instructed her.
Mr Reece made a funny noise.
“You’re joking, right?” said Tink.
“Of course I’m joking. I’ve just always wanted to say that.”
As I made my way downstairs, a number of pupils unexpectedly saluted me, presumably as their perceived leader. There was also a general buzz of excitement in the air, seemingly rooted in the belief that the school system, as we knew it, would never be the same again, after this. “We’ve done it,” said Gary, as if the war itself had been won.
I acknowledged his remark with a nod, before proceeding to the main staff room, where we were holding twenty or so male teachers. I had no idea what I was going to say to them, but words nevertheless came out: “Normally, hostages are glad to be released, clothed or otherwise. Unless, perhaps, they’re suffering from Stockholm syndrome. But I doubt that’s the case here. No, the only reason why you feel brave enough to disobey is because you know that we won’t harm you. Which, of course, is what makes us better than you. Because, you are harming us. You’re not only harming us, but you’re being paid to do it. And you know this. How could you not know it? Oh, you may justify it to yourselves, somehow. Excuses, mainly. But you nevertheless know, deep down, that what you’re doing is wrong. Not just a little bit wrong, but wrong on a truly industrial scale. This is a factory, after all, which churns out obedient workers for the system. And, in so doing, you are depriving children of their natural, god-given right to a childhood. Organic learning has been replaced by mental programming, which amounts to little more than government propaganda. This makes you prostitutes, rather than teachers. And my friend was right. You deserve to swing from those nooses, which you are all so proud of wearing, and so insistent that everybody else wear. But, luckily for you, I’m not demanding that you hang for your crimes. I am simply asking that you cooperate, on this very unique day in history. Because, if you do, it may help to mitigate, just a little bit, the incredible amount of damage that you’ve done, to children who will never recover from your years of abuse. And so I’m asking you, nicely, to do this relatively trivial thing. Because I sincerely believe that it will help to change the system, and maybe even the world.”
Without saying a word, Mr Jenkins immediately began to take his clothes off. Moments later, Mr Thomas joined him. I decided not hang around, for obvious reasons. I suspected, however, that they would all follow suit, eventually.
Back upstairs, the others were gathered around the TV. “We have a problem,” said Tink, nervously.
“What is it now?”
“The school’s on fire,” she exclaimed. “They’re going to make it look like a mass suicide!”
To Be Continued
