Greece

Greece

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Bullying: the Sole Blemish to a Serenity of Knowledge


As the bell rings on a frigid and dry Tuesday morning at Princess Margaret Secondary School, students from all backgrounds merge into groups. The populace is mostly a homogeneous mixture of Caucasians but there are a few Aboriginal, Asian, East Indian, and African Canadians. They head towards their respective classes in a blissful state, ready to learn a new lesson, all the while unaware of bullying present at their school. This institution is located within an arid climate, situated in the town of Penticton, BC about five hours from Vancouver. As this proverbial non-bullying school heads into session, the hallways are empty. However, only moments before, the corridors were filled with students loitering, chatting, and just enjoying the serendipitous atmosphere of the school.

Unfortunately, not everyone has the same experience at this center of learning. Jimmy Towns was asked about the matter of bullying responding that "[he doesn't] think that people realize what goes on in this school. People just walk around and look at their friends, nodding to them only noticing a select few. One of [his] buddies doesn't have that luxury." According to Towns, people are indeed being picked on. In this example, a bus ride was described on the way home from school. Towns described the victim as acting nonchalantly to avoid getting attention while his abuser spewed an array of vulgar and offensive comments in hushed tones. This type of bullying is not always evident but verbal bullying can be one of the most hurtful and harmful.

Although there is an absence of concrete evidence towards other forms of bullying, it is apparent in the way that some of the less fortunate students, that don't fall under the popular clique, meekly abscond from some of the larger members of the student populace. "There have been fights. People just beat each other. It can get pretty crazy" reported George Mallard when asked about physical bullying. He stated that he himself had been involved in a few fights and seen the result of such occurrences. Physical bullying is not a big problem at this school but there are a few discrepancies in an otherwise physically safe environment. When surveyed, most students admitted to enjoying a safe environment where teachers are responsible and caring towards the safety of those enrolled at Princess Margaret.


This school is putting a strong emphasis on an anti-bullying policy towards all aspects of segregation and exclusion. Quite recently, an anti-bullying "Pink Day" was conducted at the school. Also, this past semester, a "Be the Change" workshop was held in an effort to create a school with a connected atmosphere and eradicate bullying. Lacy Johnston claimed that "it was a great experience. [The students] really bonded with everybody. People told each other things they had never told anybody before to people they had never even talked to or even acknowledged." Those grade ten and twelve students that attended this workshop are looked upon as forerunners for a series of workshops designed to include the entire school in such an experience.

Unfortunately, on that same survey, people also testified to being a bystander when someone was being harassed. Instead of considering going for help and rectifying the situation, they are satisfied in watching the events take place. Although there are some people who will take a stand, there is a plethora of people who will not and that has been an ongoing problem. In order to solve this predicament, the students need to pledge to themselves that they will take a stand against bullying and not be a bystander. Through various presentations, students have already been made aware of the consequences of such actions. They have only to agree to act on these impulses and not suppress them for fear of embarrassment. They have only to think of what their actions will do in the future. They have only to stand up and help.

Although bullying is a rare event in this school due to the emphasis placed on it, rare instances do occur and as a result students have to make a vow that they will help comrades in distress and stand together to fight this threat.

Dusk is imminent as the lion stalks its prey. A wildebeest stands in the long grass of the Savannah. As the lion approaches the wildebeest, it sees something strange. From the distance, more wildebeests trot towards their compatriot. The group of wildebeests huddle together eyeing the lion cautiously. The lion tries to frighten the group by feigning an attack in order to separate the herd but to no avail. The wildebeests stay together and the lion turns its back towards the herd, retreating into the African sunset.

Monday, February 7, 2011

I am

I am. What am I that makes me what I am? Is it what I am? Or is it what I am not?

I am a swordsman. Knighted copiously, I have slayed two hundred dragons. I have conversed with Sun Tzu before he proposed his "Art of War". The icy hand of sickness and death has never touched me. Always alert, I never cease to combat the enemy.

I am not a tyrant ruler who dictates to his loyal subjects. I am not a descendant of Hitler or Genghis Khan and I am not a liar. Einstein said that "the most incomprehensible thing about the universe is that it is comprehensible." I do not comprehend that. I do not take baths on Thursdays and I do not believe in death.

Paris has seen me. Seoul has seen me. Ouagadougou has seen me. Moscow could have but wasn't looking. I brought life to the Sphinx of Giza and I told the Mayans how to construct the Chitzen Itza. I don't enter my basement after 12:34am but I do ensconce myself in a light azure armchair in front of a fire. I am the eight-thousand and first terracotta warrior.

I like to blow bubbles into a glass of water and I have done this for 4 hours 32 minutes and 26 seconds. Teaching penguins how to fly is one of my favourite pastimes. It invigorates me. People might wonder how Santa delivers gifts to the populace of the world. He doesn't. I do.

I have earned the most prestigious prize ever. I grew the largest pumpkin in Western Ohio. I have won a Nobel Peace Prize. I performed the caesarean section that gave life to Julius Caesar and then killed him 55 years later with my compatriot, Brutus. "Et tu, Brute? et Erik?" was the last words I heard from him. I am the rays of sun that light up the day and the cold blanket that covers the night. I resurrected Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi just to talk. I am the sole reason for the Big Bang and I had breakfast this morning.

I am a king, I am a deity, I am a prophet, I am the messiah, I am King Kong, I am a tyrannosaurus but I am not a university graduate.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Escape?

The light begins to flood into the world that is my home. Faint images of some distant memory begin to creep into my subconscious thinking and the world becomes a living reality once again. I feel the firm grasp of freedom around me and I am hoisted from my prison. A myriad of images simultaneously reach me and I see for the first time in almost half a year, the outside world. A compilation of foreign sound reaches my ears and the grip around me becomes moistened and slippery. Thoughts of desperation reach my mind but this is good. This is the faint hope that may prove to be my exodus. As the last foreign words escape the mouth of the invigilator, I am lowered to solid ground and swept across it, accomplishing a combination of scratching sounds and ink lines. As I look down at the massive white expanse with black on it, I am dumbfounded as to how these seemingly random marks of ink are meaningful to my captor. I look up and around and see that many of my kin have the same affliction as I, bound to move across the white void and create ink or lead lines and scratching sounds. My eyes lock with those of a HB pencil and her sad gaze wanders to fall on mine. We look at each other, each remembering days when we were not tied to such bonds with our captors and think what could possibly be done to liberate ourselves from such tyranny. Two hours pass in this monotonous task of scratching the white sheet and making ink lines but finally a hope of some salvation glimmers through the silent room. A pen's eyes light up with delight as the grasp of the monstrous captor releases her grip on the pen as it falls to the desktop. The captor gets up and leaves this assembly line of exams, elated at the fact that she will never have to write another school exam. I return my gaze to the paper and a shock trembles my very soul. As I concentrate more on the grasp that has held me captive for the past two hours, I realize that the moist, sweaty and firm grip around me is loosening. Is this the moment of my salvation? Has all my life in captivity been devoted to this small shimmer of hope? Indeed it has. My captor relinquishes his grip on me and I tumble to the ground, knowing that I am now free and the liberty bestowed upon me has allowed me to choose my own path. Thoughts of joy course through me and just as I feel that my captor is gone for good and I am free, I realize I don't have legs. I can't move and am bound for perpetual servitude in the control of my captors. Destined to be trapped in a vortex of swirling hand movements, I am now a permanent part of my captor's culture, portraying emotion and ideas through forced labour. What a cruel end for a pen!