A Test

Oh! You wanted to hear the outcome of that confrontation business.

Frankly, I overstated my "foolishness and obduracy" a bit, on the assumption that that would appeal to you most. I was merely attempting to keep you interested. Possibly my daily performances here are bringing out the showman in me.

That silly parrot interlude? Only the better to madden you with anticipation, my dears.

My mother, who taught French for decades at York University's Glendon College in Toronto, emailed: "O la la ce n'etait pas la bonne reaction! On ne gagne pas une bataille de cette facon avec un etudiant.... [L]e prof n'est pas plus puissant que l'etudiant, c'est une illusion." ("Oh my goodness my goodness that wasn't the right way to react. One doesn't win a fight with a student that way.... The prof is not more powerful than the student, it's an illusion.")

My mother once reported an instance of cheating to the Glendon authorities. It was one of those cases where plagiarism is obvious at a glance. Her report led to something like a trial, which would have been OK except the defendant wasn't the student but my mother -- despite the unmistakable evidence she had in hand. The student, who was black, appeared with her minister. There were suggestions of racism. In the end, my mother vowed never to report cheating again.

Just another manifestation of Western decadence.

But my mother's lesson doesn't apply to me, due to a fundamental difference in our circumstances: she was a sole breadwinner raising three kids, whereas I have no dependents and I do not need this job.

Did I say job? I almost forgot -- I've been a tourist all along here. I haven't even been receiving any salary. When I stop enjoying this thing, I'm outta here.

This should not pose a big problem for the school, since I'm a conscientious, hardworking (and patient!) teacher who's maybe even injecting the odd insight into his students. But that's only "should." A secretary's pique also should not have led to my termination from Ambac.

To recap, last Monday I cancelled two successive 1.5-hour lectures (morning and afternoon) when a solitary student defied my request that she leave the classroom.

I'd warned Jim, my Chinese part-time assistant, about the situation the preceding Friday. He has regular contact with the school administration. I told him I'd take care of it -- I didn't even name the student. I just wanted him available Monday morning in case she prevented the lecture from proceeding (exactly what ended up happening). Jim had then spoken to Z, a Chinese gentleman at this campus who has appeared to have some kind of authority over the students.

I'd never really thought about Z's role here. He seemed mainly in charge of lining the students up for morning exercises twice a week, and replenishing the supply of water bottles in the teacher's office. He also rousts any students studying in the classrooms at bedtime, though not very effectually. (Ten minutes after he's done the rounds, they're back in the classrooms again.)

He's always been pleasant enough with me, but he is disliked by most students I've heard comment about him. I've asked a few the reason, but with so many other puzzles I never pursued the inquiry much. I mentioned to one student once that it'd be wrong if students just looked down on him because he's poor. He laughed and asked: "You think he's poor? I think he's a rich man." (Shows how ever more keen my insight into things here is getting to be.)

Sunday night, Jim mentioned he'd talked to the girl.

Talked to her?! Hadn't I said I'd take care of it? I hadn't even named her.

Z had told him to, he said. He'd spoken to the classroom "monitor" (each class has a student so designated) to identify the girl.

This was all rather irritating, and I let Jim know it.

"But Z told me to."

What was this hold Z had over my assistant? There'd been an intimation of something like this before, when Jim was shuffling behind me to assist with something I'd asked for. He'd abruptly shot off like an arrow, with hardly a glance back to me, when Z's voice was heard summoning him from the floor below.

Monday morning before class, Z appeared to speak to me, the girl in tow. He doesn't speak a word of English, but he accosted a passing student to suggest we meet at noon to discuss the situation. I responded: "How about 7:00 PM?" We agreed and Z departed. The exchange had lasted about 10 seconds.

I was surprised a minute later to see the girl take her seat in the class. This led, as previously described, to the lesson's cancellation.

On cancelling the second class, that afternoon, I thought it time to mention the issue to Dean Meng directly. I dialled his cellphone.

"This is a very serious problem," he said.

Well, it had become a problem. The question was why? Just get the girl out of the room -- problem solved.

Mr. Meng personally came over to the campus that evening to deal with the matter. We met in the dean's office, down the hall from my room, with Z and Jim. The meeting actually got underway a bit before Mr. Meng's arrival, since he was late. I'd begun explaining the details to Z, via Jim -- a somewhat cumbersome process. Z was upset, it transpired, because he was convinced I had agreed to let the girl attend class pending our 7:00 PM meeting.

"It is not possible for him to be convinced," I said, pointing out Z's total lack of English. No suggestion of permitting the girl's attendance that day had been conveyed to me.

On Mr. Meng's arrival, he asked me to explain the entire situation to him from the beginning, and I began over again.

Z says you agreed to permit the girl to attend, he said.

This was absurd. "Z speaks no English," I pointed out. "I assure you no such a thing was suggested to me."

There was talk of having someone fetch the girl who had acted as interpreter. (I didn't even remember her face, the exchange had been so fleeting.) In the West, seeking to question the interpreter in such a situation might involve embarrassment or offense, as it would suggest skepticism about someone's truthfulness. Not so here, I could see -- probably because misunderstandings are so pandemic. Still, this was so ludicrous. How could anyone imagine I'd consent to such an easy-to-understand proposition, then overturn it a minute later?

I continued my account for Mr. Meng. When I was finished, he asked if I would mind putting it down in writing. He would then get the girl's side of the story and ask her for a written account as well, in order to judge the matter.

This seemed a tad formal, but reasonable enough. No problem, I told him, I could give him something in a half hour or so.

After laying out the facts, my 1.5-page statement said: "In summary, we have a student expressing overt hostility publicly in the classroom. She has refused to obey the rules of the classroom, rejected my attempt to discuss the problem privately in order to resolve it, and refused to leave the room when instructed to, even though she knew this would produce two successive cancellations of the lesson for the entire class."

I followed up by invoking the concept of "losing face" (avoiding loss of face is a cardinal rule of Chinese society): "I count on your support, Mr. Meng, to be able to function as a teacher and preserve the students' respect. She has initiated a public conflict with me, and I am not willing to let her be seen by the other students to gain even a partial victory." This meant that a one-day suspension from my class was "essential," along with her commitment before returning to follow the rules and sit in the seat I designated, not with her friends.

The four of us met again after Mr. Meng had talked to the girl.

He'd spoken to her very severely, he told me -- extremely severely. The way he speaks to his son, he added, as if inviting me to exult in his sadism. He said he did not think she would sleep well that night.

"So. What would you like to do now," he asked me.

Well, I said, that's about it. I just want her to lose a day and then things should be pretty well back to normal.

"Is there any other option," he wondered.

There was a problem here. What could it be? I was getting no hint from Mr. Meng. It was a very serious matter for a student to miss a day, he said.

I didn't buy that for a second. Tell her to read a book in her room for three hours. What on earth was the big deal? It wasn't like it would be cripple her education; she'd be just as far ahead of the other students afterwards as before.

I also felt a twinge of skepticism about the ruthless whipping Mr. Meng had administered (in my absence). He'd inadvertently thrown the whole scenario into doubt with one little comment, uttered with a smile at the outset of our discussion:

"She's like you."

This could only mean one thing: headstrong. Something didn't quite fit if this trait was in evidence even as the victim was being terrorized.

Gentle Reader, before you hustle off in search of a calf to sacrifice to your Almighty with supplications for my perdition, ask yourself one thing: Did I ever ask for anything more than a one-day suspension? I inquired of Mr. Meng at one point, concerning the savage tongue-lashing he'd delivered: "Is this supposed to make me happy?"

But why were we having a party? A mischievous view of these proceedings might perceive similarities between the girl's public defiance and my own.

"Why don't we discuss this alone," I suggested to Mr. Meng, and we moved to my room.

"Why are you pushing me for this thing," I asked. "Why do you give a damn about the girl missing a day of class?" It didn't make any sense. It's not like I was demanding her eviction.

He described a Chinese parable about an emperor's top officials, who have to have stomachs big enough to accommodate many boats. I still haven't figured out his previous parable about the donkey, but this one he elaborated. As I understood it, it means that to advance to high positions, you have to have a large capacity to swallow unpleasant things. In time, you can transfer those boats back out to others, dispense favors, exercise the perquisites of power.

This seems quite true. But I don't think ambitious people open their mouths wide for every dirty old barge that drifts in their direction.

I'd announced in class that she has to miss a day, I stressed. Retreating from that would mean losing face. (If there was a magic formula, this had to be it.)

Don't think of it that way, he countered, adding that she'd already missed three hours.

Well, yes -- the entire class had missed three hours because of her.

This is not a school problem, I told him, it's a problem with a single recalcitrant student. This is routine business. Suspend her for a day.

Why did he give a shit about the girl? She wasn't the daughter of a Party boss or anyone else particularly terrifying -- at least, there'd been no suggestion of anything like that. We were talking about a very small penalty (indicating "small" with my fingers), a tiny penalty, nothing inappropriate.

He would not say. But when I reflected a bit, after he left, I figured it out. Can you?