David Gerrold - A Matter for Men

Whitlaw ran his class the same way. He didn't care how we felt either. "You don't get to vote," he used to say. "You already did when you put yourself in this class. You belong to me, body and mind, until I'm ready to turn you loose upon the world."

The class was a two-semester unit. Toward the end of the first semester, Whitlaw abruptly asked, "Does anyone here know why this is a required course?"

"If we don't take it, we don't graduate." That was one of the mindless lurches who usually roosted in the last row of seats. A couple of his buddies laughed.

Whitlaw eagle-eyed the hulk over the heads of the rest of us. He gave him a thorough half-second of examination and then said, "That isn't the answer I was looking for, but considering the source, I guess it's the best I could have expected. Anyone else?"

No. No one else.

"It'll be the first question on your final exam." he prompted. Someone groaned.

Whitlaw stumped back to his desk. I wondered if his limp were bothering him. He didn't look happy. He opened the loose-leaf binder he used as his source book and paged through it silently, until he found the page he was looking for. He studied it with a thoughtful frown. After a moment, he looked up again. "No takers?"

No. We'd gotten too smart for that.

"Too bad. All right-we'll try it this way then. How many of you think it's appropriate for a population to rebel against tyranny?"

A few hands went up immediately. Then a few more, tentatively, as if terrified that they were volunteering to be on the front lines. Then a few more. I raised my hand. Pretty soon almost everyone had. Whitlaw didn't wait to see if it would be unanimous. He pointed at one of the abstainers. "How about you? Don't you think so?"

"I think you have to define your terms. You're being too general. What tyranny? Which one?"

Whitlaw straightened and eyed the fellow with narrowed eyes. "Are you on the debate team? No? Well, you ought to consider it. You're doing everything but confronting the issue. So all right, I'll make it easy on you-" He closed his book.

"-Let's say this room is the nation of Myopia. I'm the government. You're the citizens. Now, you know governments are not free. So the first thing I'm going to do is collect taxes. I want one casey from each of you." He started striding down the aisles. "Give me a casey. No, I'm not joking. These are your taxes. Give me a casey. You too. Sorry, I don't accept checks or paper money. What? That's your lunch money? Gee, that's tough, but your government's needs come first."

"But that's not fair!"

Whitlaw stopped, his hand full of coins. "Who said that? Take him out and execute him for sedition!"

"Wait a minute! Don't I get a fair trial?"

"You just had one. Now shut up. You've been executed." Whitlaw kept collecting. "Sorry, I want exact change. You don't have it? Don't worry about it. In your case, I'll levy a four-casey surcharge. Consider it a penalty for paying your taxes with paper money. Thank you. Thank you-fifty, seventy-five, a casey, thank you. All right, I've got forty-eight caseys here. This'll buy me a good lunch. Everybody be sure to bring another casey tomorrow. I'll be collecting taxes every day from now on."

We looked at each other nervously. Who was going to be first to complain? Wasn't this illegal-a teacher taking money from his class?

A tentative hand. "Uh, sir ... your majesty?"

"Yes?"

"Uh, can I ask a question?"

"Mm, depends on the question."

"Can we ask what you're going to do with our money?"

"It's not your money anymore. It's mine."

"But it was ours to start with-"

"-and now it's mine. I'm the government." He slid open his desk drawer and dropped the coins loudly into it. "Eh? Your hand is still up?"

"Well, it just seems to me-to all of us-"

"To all of you?" Whitlaw looked at us with raised eyebrows. "Is this an insurrection that I see before me? I guess I'd better hire an army." He stumped to the back of the room, pointing at the huskiest boys in the class. "You, you and, ah, yes, you too. And you. Come up front. You're now in the army." He opened the drawer and scooped up coins. "Here are two caseys for each of you. Now, don't let any of this rabble near the royal palace."

The four boys looked uncertain. Whitlaw shoved them into position between himself and the class. "Now then-you were saying?"

"Mr. Whitlaw!" Janice MacNeil, a tall black girl, stood up. "All right! You've made your point. Now give everybody back their money-" Janice was in student government.

Whitlaw peered between the shoulders of two of his tallest "soldiers." He grinned. "Uh uh," he said. "This game is being played for keeps. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

Janice didn't fluster. She said, "I'll go to a higher authority." Whitlaw was still grinning. "There aren't any. This class is autonomous. See that plaque on the wall? That's the charter of the Federal Education System. You've been in this classroom nearly every day for eighteen weeks, and I'll bet you still haven't read it, have you? Too bad-because that's the contract you agreed to when you entered this classroom. I have total authority over you."

"Well, of course, I understand that!" she snapped. "But I'm talking about the real world now. You have to give us back our money!"

"You don't understand." Whitlaw grinned at her. "This is the real world. Right here. And I don't have to. I am empowered by the federal government to do whatever is necessary to fulfill the course requirements. And that includes taxes-if I so deem it necessary."

She folded her arms. "Well, we don't have to cooperate."

Whitlaw shrugged. "Fine. I'll have you arrested."

"What? You'll send me to the principal's office?"

"No, I mean arrested, as in read you your rights and throw you in the slammer, the lockup, the hoosegow, durance vile, the Bastille, the Tombs, the Tower of London, Devil's Island and Alcatraz-do I make myself clear?"

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. Look it up."

"But that's not fair!"

"So what? You already agreed to it, so what are you complaining about?" He tapped two of his troops. "Throw her out of here-and that other fellow too, the one we executed earlier. They're automatically flunked." Whitlaw's army didn't look happy about it, but they started down the aisle.

Janice looked genuinely scared, but she scooped up her books and clipboard and went.

"You'll wait next door until the period is over," Whitlaw said. "Anyone else want to question the authority of this government?"

No. Nobody else did.

"Good." Whitlaw sat down and put his feet up on his desk. "I'm flunking everyone who opens his mouth out of turn." He picked up a book and an apple, opened the book and started reading. Periodically, he would take a loud bite from his apple, audibly reminding us of his presence.

The army looked uncertain. "Should we sit down, sir?"

"Of course not. You're on duty."

The rest of us exchanged glances. What was the point of this? The fellow to whom Whitlaw had recommended joining the debate team leaned over and whispered to a friend, "He's daring us to try something."

"Well, you try. I don't want to get thrown out."

"But don't you see, if we all organize-"

Whitlaw stood up suddenly, glowering. "What's that? Sounds like subversion to me!" He stepped forward and grabbed the debater by his shirt, pulling him out of his seat. "I won't have that!" He dragged the boy out of the room.

In the brief moment that he was gone, there was bedlam. "The man's a loonie-"

"-This is crazy-"

"-Can't we do something?"

I stood up. "Listen! We outnumber him! We don't have to let him get away with this."

"Shut up, Jim! You're just gonna get us all in worse trouble!"

"Let him talk-"

"You got an idea, Jim?"