Academia

I’m overwhelmed by anxiety. I feel like my body is under the same amount of stress as it is whilst enduring physical assault. My muscles and joints are stiff to the point of aching and my skin feels too tight on my bones. The blood and other viscous constituents of my body itch. My nervous system doesn’t know whether to gravitate towards the act of running or freeze, and stare at the wall until my concept of time dissolves.  

The cause of this reaction is so simple and seemingly insignificant in the scheme of my life events; it’s laughable. The mark I received on an assessment is unacceptable. I got a C. What’s worse is all sections of my submission have been marked as “some language errors with writing that is mostly professional”. The itching sensation of my blood transforms into a complete boil. The lack of care in providing any constructive criticism is so poor I find it offensive. The assessment is annotated with “this is ok” and “this is valid.” As I stare at the abbreviated word of “okay,” the feeling that I have made a mistake in investing thousands of dollars into the course settles in.  

My respect for lecturers is hard to come by. This trait of mine doesn’t come as a blatant irreverence for figures of authority but from academic trauma.  The earliest instance I can pinpoint was when a teacher yelled at me for glueing a handout in my A4 exercise book on “the wrong page.” I had accidentally skipped a sheet of paper due to glue from a previous handout causing the pages to stick together, inadvertently wasting paper as she made abundantly clear. She carried on as if I had...you know what, I can’t think of any scenario where it would be appropriate to yell at a child like that. It might be wrong of me to intellectualise a woman’s circumstances, but it’s what I do to make sense of events that are unclear to me at face value. She either had severe OCD or the husband she had recently wedded was giving her strife. A more forgiving explanation would be a contraction of Toxocara Canis, a parasite that can cause behavioural changes and may present mood swings, irritability and cognitive impairment. But maybe she was just a cunt. I think it’s important to note the life-stage I was in to provide additional context to the way this event may have impacted me. The previous year of my schooling focused on activities that helped with the development of motor skills, cognitive ability and social interactions. My favourite class was arts and crafts. I learned how to cut a straight line into a piece of paper, practiced drawing shapes and pursued colouring between the lines.  

I occasionally think of this teacher and hope she found a more suited job role for her emotional tolerance. I asked chatGBT what a good role for a woman who yells at children would be, it wasn’t a helpful search. Instead of employment recommendations it supplied me with information on aggressive behaviour not being appropriate in any professional setting and that if an individual struggles with controlling emotions, they should seek support. It’s distressing to think of how many people work with children who aren’t equipped to do so. 

Two years later, I found myself at the center of attention during circle time. The teacher had all the students sit on the floor while he read something to the class. I would often get in trouble for not paying attention or speaking to friends when the teacher was talking. He would routinely call me out and ask me to provide answers or repeat the last few words that trailed out of his mouth. I guess this form of singling me out had proven tiresome and so ineffective that he had to up the ante. He must have thought there was no better way to punish me than public humiliation. He chose to bring me up in front of the entire class, bend me over his knee so that the weight of my body rested on him, and with my feet no longer on the floor, he spanked me. I find myself questioning if he was a pedophile, although I don’t think this act nor the way he spent his time during recess and lunch reflect the behaviour of a well-adjusted adult. When other teachers had been assigned to keep watch over us and were on duty, he would liaise with students, preferring the company of seven and eight-year-olds over his peers. The thirty-something year old would make himself comfortable on the outdoor benches, eating food alongside grubby children who would tell him stories in hopes of impressing him. Maybe he was just a man who sought the admiration and approval of children, however, that seems unlikely.  

There are two categories in which a teacher can be charged relating to inappropriate conduct with students: indecent assault and common assault. Within my primary school years, I experienced both. I feel that any form of physical contact involving force would be outside a teacher’s jurisdiction but some sources on the matter are murky. Western Australia’s Criminal Code allows teachers to use “reasonable force” for the purpose of correction of a child. However, I do not think the Magistrates court would rule in favour of a teacher implementing spankings as an appropriate punishment for talking. I also think that being dragged out of the classroom by my ear was an excessive use of force. In this instance I was again misbehaving in class. I was sitting across from a boy who was teasing me for a crush I had. I responded accordingly. I made a paper plane and aimed it at his backside that was exposed when he bent down to collect a pencil he had dropped. Bullseye! He threatened to tell the teacher, so I repeated a sentiment the “snitches get stitches.” Being ten years old, I don’t think I was aware of the gravity of such a saying.  

Alas, my baseless threats served me no good because he taunted me right back, so I laid a hand on him. Rather, I pointed a few fingers in his direction and pinched him on the ear. The teacher witnessed this and proceeded to remove me from the classroom and with no time to spare. She was standing in as a substitute for the class, so I was acting out of line with what I thought I could get away with. A music teacher, assigned to cover the absence of a science or English teacher. She seemed to be overcompensating for a class she was not qualified to conduct. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was also acting above her power.  

There’s a lesser instance to add to my record; however it still seems fitting to include.  

I was punished again by a teacher, separate to all the individuals and events previously mentioned. I was caught talking when I shouldn't have been. Singled out and asked to stand from my seat, I obliged. My teacher began to verbally berate me and labeled me as a distraction. He sternly let me and everyone else know just how productive the friend I was whispering to was in the days that I was absent from class. Outlining the apparent undesirable traits I displayed in contrast with those of my friend. He marked me as the instigator, which I was. 

In the year that acted as a bridging course from primary school to high school, there were no less shady characters. One of which had a trail of rumours that followed him. Talk of him having sex within the four walls of his designated classroom circulated. He very quickly gathered a reputation among students, opting to cock his leg up and prop it on a student’s desk, always choosing to do so on one occupied by a female student. This stance was just as unnatural as it sounds, even with his height but it resulted in his bulging penis, tightly outlined by the pants he wore, being in direct eyeline of whichever poor student he imposed himself on. If that wasn’t bad enough, it was learned that he would often position himself in a way that gave him viewing access down students’ blouses. He would stand behind a chair to peek over a shoulder in a way that looked to anyone who was unsuspecting, as a teacher overseeing a student’s work.  

These experiences really prepared me for the world beyond the campus. One of which included my high-school teacher taking up the opportunity to be my dance partner. There was an odd number of students in class that day. It could have been organised to swap out partners, rotating periodically, allowing one individual to have a break and watch as the pairings danced. This was not an option that was given. I hate to add to the seedy sport teacher stereotype but as soon as he took me by hand, he started making comments about how well I could use my hips. A feature of my body I was new to, one that comes with puberty. 

Whenever I share these events in person, I’m always met with the same reaction: shock. I’m asked if I reported these instances, which draws focus to my mother. After parting ways with school, I brought up some of the earlier incidents I had experienced; her response was, “I remember you telling me about that,” as if there was nothing more to say on the matter.