A precious instance of student agency

21/07/2021 

 

Last week, we had our dreaded MYP Audit. Through two weeks’ worth of blood, sweat, and mostly, tears we did manage to put on a good enough show. But putting aside whether we get authorized or not, the main takeaway was the insight we got into the IB program from actual IB professionals. 

One of the main points was that the auditors didn’t really see instances of student agency in classrooms. Now, student agency is a main IB principle. IB is all about empowering students- I mean learners (my bad), encouraging them to take charge of their own learning and blazing their own differentiated trails through the jungle of their academic careers. 

Let’s be honest, generally the way we teach doesn’t leave a lot of room for students to take control. Because hey, they’re kids: they can’t control themselves, much alone a daunting curriculum and the delicate balance of ephemeral elements that make a class. Hence the obvious solution is to teach with an iron board-marker, the teacher ruling over their own micro fascist state.

But that’s not the IB way. We have to give into the chaos. 

Fast-forward a week. Friday. Year 8, Language & Literature. 

 “Guys. We have to do the play.”

Cue the crescendo of anguished tweens wailing in absolute defiance in the face of utter tyranny. To be fair, their anguish isn’t entirely without cause. This cursed adaptation of Poe had been in the works for months with many an infuriating hiatus derailing any shred of momentum that we had been able to rally. But hey, when the boss says jump…

“SIR, NO.”

“We will protest.”

“I’ll burn the school down.”

“Do we have to do the play? We can do anything else please!”

“Guys let's sit-in on the basketball court.”

“But they’ll take away our field trip!”

“You got a match?”

You get the gist. 

On this particular Friday, I wasn’t really vibing with this display of cutesy rebellion and angst. It was a stressful enough day with nihilistic highschoolers and painfully bureaucratic accountants. The cacophony was getting a bit too much and me, generally being a nice person, instead of making a memorable example of a poor soul in my righteous fury, simply said: 

“Y’all let me know when you’re ready to do this, I’ll be outside.”

And I walked out, emailing yet another document to complete the ritual and satiate the Accounting demon’s thirst for paperwork. 

Couple minutes pass, and someone does come to get me. 

I return to a class of sullen faces, the air heavy with dejection. Chairs are dragged to the center of the room to begin rehearsals, their actions teetering on the edge of insolence and borderline insubordination. This is supposed to be a whole class thing but we are a divided lot. The “too-cool-for-you” crowd keeps on doing their thing, and the “please-don’t-notice-mes” still stick to their corner. 

Rehearsal starts with many a bickering and monotonous delivery. And I’m just not having it today.

“You know what? Pick two people to be directors of this play. I’ll be outside.”

Second walkout in the same class? New personal best. 

Five-ish minutes later I walked back in, having concluded my blood pact to get a cheque approved (don't even ask)  and overall very much near tears over the multiple stabbing turns this Friday seemed to be taking.

But I am greeted with something honestly spectacular. 

Two students, A (new girl, just joined, god bless her) and IM stand at the helm. A very obedient crew of actors perform their lines with as much rusty passion as they can muster. The rest of the class dutifully fulfill their role of extras, adding that perfectly timed oomph.

Picking my jaw up, I ninja-move to the back to observe this miracle: true student agency in action. Learners taking charge of their learning, assigning roles, actually working towards an objective. They said it couldn’t be done, a myth! And yet here I stood, recording on my phone to quell the naysayers. 

Rumble in the Prehistoric Jungle - Thoughts on Far Cry Primal

I recently finished playing Far Cry Primal, the placeholder installment between Far Cry 4: Himalayan Hysterics and the upcoming Far Cry 5: Hear the Far-Right Cry.

This installment on its own however, was a surprisingly good game (7/10 on Steam, 8/10 on GameSpot). The land of Oros, the prehistoric valley providing the setting, is incredibly pretty. From unforgiving jagged snow peaks with roaming packs of sabretooth tigers (there's always more than one!) and horrifying mammoth graveyards, to boggy swamp marshlands with roaming packs of bloodthirsty wolves, to open plains and rivers with roaming packs of bears, rhinos, elk, jaguars, crocodiles, cave-lions, and *shudder* badgers. The theme of the game is indeed, that you will be killed by roaming packs quite a bit, until you either level-up or learn to run AWAY from the stampeding mammoth herd. (Don't run into the water though, that's where the real toothy-death lies).

You play as chief manimal, Takkar, of the Wenja tribe, who has come to Oros to make colonizing the hip occupation of the late 10,000 B.C. But since sustainable co-habitation hasn't been invented yet, the Wenja are going toe to toe with two other tribes seeking prime real-estate domination: the cannibalistic Udam, and the fire-loving/hating Izila.

Apart from being probably the best pet simulator ("Tigers, Lions and Bears, oh my!" edition) that I have ever played, Primal captures the villains in a very interesting way. That is, they don't feel like villains.

"Who's my engine of death and destruction, who? It's you, yes you <3"

The Far Cry franchise historically has had very strong baddies, always more interesting than the very vanilla protagonists. The now iconic Far Cry 3: Drugs, Drugs, Drugs! villain, Vaas, exuded an evil aura with his calculated brutality and his interest in tumblresque philosophy. He also had a mohawk. However, the posited villains of Primal: the hulking Udam cheif Ull, and the Izila matriarch and god-queen Batari, are not out to sell drugs and corrupt the youth through questionable hairstyles.

Why.

Just like the protagonist's tribe, they also came to Oros escaping harsh conditions with dreams of settling down in a neighborhood where death by fauna wasn't as statistically rampant. The Udam, arriving in the north of Oros, suffer from a migraine epidemic, and chronic toxic flatulence (maybe from all the people eating).  The Izila seem to have been settled in Oros quite some time before the Wenja came, with organized religion, agriculture, battle-armor and a female leader (insert current political allegory here).

Sure, they are both out to cook and eat you (literally), but I can't really hold it against them. The tribes practice cruelty like its an art-form, but it doesn't necessarily feel evil. They are cruel because Oros itself is cruel and merciless. Go too north and you freeze to death, or die by toxic farts. Anywhere else and you get mauled, or drown, or fall down a cliff, or get food poisoning, or a cave-bear decides to invite you to dinner, followed by a badger putting you permanently to sleep. Danger and death roam free and wild in Oros, and it is those qualities that the residents inhabit to survive.

Ull, although a lover of bashing brains, is also a single-dad. Juggling parent-hood and leading a tribe of sick people-eaters definitely has its unique challenges and stresses (perhaps leading to more people-eating).

He has his father's lust for human flesh.

Batari, on the Izila side of things, is always getting her fashion-choices questioned, and not having her policies taken seriously (probably until she pushes the opposition into a pit of fire). It's not easy running a cultish flame flinging tribe of men, whose own houses are quite flammable.

Those eyes are aflame, with the bodies of her enemies.

As the protagonist, Takkar is no shining example of humanity either. Leaving a trail of corpses, both man and animal alike, in his bloody wake, he is no stranger to harnessing the cruel savagery of nature itself. Unleashing his menagerie of wild beasts on unsuspecting victims is Takkar's modus operandi. So is the Udam-signature brain bashing, the Izila-signature burning-you-alive, and Takkar's very own having-an-owl-bomb-drugs-on-you. So apart from the rampant murder, Takkar may be accused of cultural appropriation to boot.

The Far Cry protagonists have almost always been blank slates, into which the player may fill their own personality and character through their playstyle. It has been the villains who bring the flavor. The "villains" of Primal are as much a part of the landscape as the trees or the leopards. Because the most primal of human nature has always been about this: survival.

Image Credits: 
http://estookin.deviantart.com/art/DELIRIUM-Vaas-Montenegro-Far-Cry-3-453214055
https://assets.vg247.com/current//2015/12/far_cry_primal_Screen_Pet_Wolf_BeastMaster_Reveal_151204_5AM_CET-Copy.jpg
http://www.joshobrouwers.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/batari.jpg 

Current State Of Mind - 3/15/16

If you are hoping to find guidance, or direction in life, then please for the love of gawd backspace outta here! This is a canvas for the disjointed, undecided, and totally confused thoughts that have taken up too much residence in the prime headspace of my Craniumtown.

I have no clue what to do with my life. No, that’s not exactly true: I have too many ideas of what to do with my life, but no concept of prioritising, and plagued with indecision, which leaves me akin to a fat penguin, floundering on ice.

FLAP FLAP FLAP.

I think the problem comes from the fact that I’m too easily swayed. I talk to my family and develop a picture of a future with a traditional degree, stable 9-5 job, wearing ties, summer getaways. Exposed to my friends for too long, and I’m coming up with blueprints for our newest food sensation (Kabab Biryani, patent pending). Having an extended chai break with colleagues, and I’m either committing myself completely to work from that moment forth or thinking of immediately handing in my resignation and doing “what I really want” to do.

Trouble is, I don’t know what I want to do. Being the soon-to-be twenty-three old that I am, I am expected to have it all figured out: career; priorities, both professional and personal; long term goals etc etc. But I don’t, and that’s the fact. I’m rather defiant in my indecisiveness. Because that’s just it, I do want to do all those things. I want to be good at the job I’m in, get the degree my parents want, I also want to write, and cook, and travel, and get a phD! But I am told I can’t do all of that, and need to pick one path. And honestly, with age or maturity, or my increasing jadedness towards life, I’m coming to terms with that.

I’m really not happy about that.

Couple days back, I came across this article by a writer for the economist. In it he was comparing the working styles, and priorities of his generation and his father’s. I related heavily to it considering that the writer (Accountant Dad, Economist-Writer Son) was pretty much me from an alternate universe, with a few minor tweaks.

He talked about how his dad worked till retirement (just like my Pa) and that the financial reward from his job was his main priority. For the writer however, he wanted emotional satisfaction as well as financial gain, something which baffled his dad. And it’s true, my generation is very much focused on finding not just a job but something which has meaning, makes them feel important, that they are making something, or bringing about some change. That they matter.

I was fully on board with the writer, as he extolled the virtues of letting his work dominate his life, because it made him feel good and alive, he got to interact with interesting smart people, got to tackle challenging problems, live in a capital of the world, socialise with high brass, the lot. I thought that this is the good life that I want, this is what I’m working towards, and that society will appreciate me for it.

I shared this article with my fiancé-to-be, and she saw it in a different, and honestly mind-blowing way. She said that she saw it as an addict justifying his addiction.

I gave it another read, and I saw it as clear as day. The writer tried really hard to be unbiased and it showed: he wasn’t just preaching the virtues of his life-style, he was balancing it out with what he was losing as well. Every facet of life was dominated by his professional occupation. Everything from relationships, to moving to London from North Carolina to be closer to the Economists HQ, social goals, late working hours, were all motivated by and related to his career.

This made me think, when does hard work become workaholism?

For me workaholism would be slaving away day after day at a job that I don’t like or appreciate, where I feel I’m not making a change and that it’s ultimately pointless in the grand scheme of things. However, I would consider working day and night on my own business or project as dedicated hard work.

It’s all based on perception. Long working hours are the norm today, and society appreciates how work-oriented you are. It is considered a sign of having your priorities in order. We want our actions and choices to be justified by others, and what better justification is there than “everybody is doing it”. If you go against popular opinion, you are derided and punished because you call into question everybody else’s choices as well. And people are generally averse to introspection.

I asked my dad if he thought he was a workaholic, and he said yes. He thought about work most of the time, and it weighed on him. I asked him if he would have taken a lower paying job to get better hours and spend more time with his family or on himself. He said yes he probably would have but also that he gets plenty of time now.

He pulls a 9am to 7pm on average, and works at least another day most weekends.

I’m not saying at all that my father is an unhappy man, or that I’m judging him for his life. It’s this very life that has allowed me to live in utter luxury, which in retrospect may be the reason behind my predicament.

My father’s goal was financial gain, and he worked extremely hard for it. He provided for his siblings, and his family, to the extent that by the grace of god and the universe, we have never wanted for anything.

I’ve never been hungry, or cold, or faced even a shadow of poverty. My father did, and he worked his life to change that.

Maybe that’s why I don’t have the amount of motivation he does, I have never needed to struggle, and everything was given to me, so I don’t know what it is like to strive for something greater. It seems paradoxical, as most popular motivation theorists say that if your physical needs are met, you have the potential to work even better and accomplish even more. Yet I define my life with the same mentality of financial gain being the only worthy objective, and working being the only noble pursuit.

My father said that retirement scared him because he wouldn’t know what to do with all the time. I’m afraid of all my time being eaten up by things I don’t want to do. But I’m scared of taking action and changing my life around, because of the reaction of others, and how I would be perceived as a failure, or a quitter, as somebody who is deluded and doesn’t have their priorities in order. Financial considerations are also a factor, considering the social lessons of wanting more, more and more are ingrained in me from birth.

Wanting more is equated with surviving, maintaining the current standard of life. The only improvement to this situation is assumed to be more of everything. More possessions, more friends, more respect. We are terrified of the assumed alternatives, that we would lose all that we have acquired.

We don’t explore the full potential of our futures because again, we are scared of failing. Sticking to the straight and narrow, to perceptions and life-styles that are seen to be working is the safe thing to do. Sylvia Plath said it best when she described life as a branching fig tree, with each fig representing a path that she could take. But picking one fig meant losing all the others. Plagued by indecision, she waited at the foot of the tree, until all the figs fell off the tree, dead.

Being undecided is okay. Being inactive isn’t an option. I’m taking steps to get out of the slump I’m in right now, giving myself a platform from which to do something I want to do, when I figure it out. I don’t have to conform to the rules if I don’t want to. I have to be aware of that means though. Maybe I won’t have the same material assets that my counter-parts do, not the same level of social acceptance they would enjoy.

But I think, I would be happier.

And isn’t that what everything’s all about?