Well guys, this has been a month of big news and stolen spotlights. The world hadn’t slut-shamed Brock Turner enough when a gay-basher rained bullets on its catharsis. It hadn’t verbally flogged Omar Mateen enough when an unidentified gunman rained more bullets on its catharsis. And it hadn’t quite finished throwing a tantrum to drown out the sound of silence left behind by the loss of a great voice when the Brits got jealous and stole the spotlight one final time (let’s hope) this month. The only thing that could make this all better was if Donald Trump burnt all his hair whilst crimping them in the bathroom, but then again, it really wouldn’t (insert sad face emoji).
Growing up, the Brits were a big part of my life. In fact, British pop music was my introduction to like, music in general. I honestly would not have been so cool had it not been for the lyrical musings of S Club 7, Sugababes, Westlife and Blue. I learned to speak the British way, spell the British way and drive the British way, but most importantly, I got to study the British way my whole life. I mean, the Brits taught me how to memorise words I didn’t quite understand better than any Hafiz could (by God I swear I can still recite Page 63 of my commerce book from start to finish). You know what’s funny though? I did everything the British way but always dreamed of going to America for my undergrad. I got 9 A’s in my O’Levels (yup!). The Brits literally led me to the mouth of the other dragon.
The Brexit vote has been widely seen as an unfortunate case of the old imposing prejudices on a younger generation
It was the fall of 2004 and The Hooligans - a gang of bullying and vicious eighth graders - had struck again. They had adopted that name after a teacher had caught them playing cards in a classroom during break time, and had spread word in the staff room that a bunch of disrespectful hooligans had started gambling. I was one of them.
This time was different. It was harsher. A member of the gang had planted an ink bottle atop a slightly ajar classroom door, and the Science teacher had been traumatised and discoloured for a week thereafter. All the other eighth-graders had witnessed the event. They had been bullied by these same miscreants many times before. Regardless, no one said a word. Frustrated at their inability to get a single confession, the teachers decided that proof wasn’t necessary. It was time for punishment. It was time for a vote.
“Show of hands”, cried the Science teacher, “how many of you feel that the girls responsible for this act should be suspended?”
No one raised their hand.
“Do all of you think that the perpetrators should be set free?”
Everyone - the religious girls, the weird girls, the nerds and the debaters - voted yes.
If today-me made decisions for young-me, the latter would feel like a British teen who got Brexited
***
You know, we all suspected America would screw up our image of democracy but I sorta had a feeling that the Brits wouldn’t stand for coming in second place. I know I’m not a social analyst or a political analyst, or even a real psychoanalyst, per se, but I never got a sense of democracy from growing up under the British wing. I guess that’s why I always wanted to go to America - it always seemed like a freer place. Why would I spend my college years committing things to memory when I could write essays and take a whole lot less stress? Like obv. Now, I’m not saying America is better or anything. I honestly feel that I would’ve travelled more and made more money had I gone to study in the UK - but that’s just it, isn’t it? I’m getting older (ugh!) and I’m starting to wish that someone had just forced me into making a more practical decision. If the today-me were to make decisions for the young-me, the young-me would feel like a British teenager who just got Brexited (is that a word yet?). Like, how would you feel if a bunch of old people could have a say in the way you lead your life (if they don’t already)? Or if Kalu or the larki or your ‘waxing wali’ Shugufta could decide your future? Or if a bunch of Multani feudal lords actually started to care about voting? Democracy is the best system out there, I agree (hand to heart). But it totally ignores the gross brutality of human experience. Like, how do we even move past that?
That afternoon, after the vote had been cast and the administration left speechless, the religious girls and the nerds had a chat over Diet Coke and samosas.
“I didn’t say anything because everyone would think I was a teacher’s pet”, one of the girls said, finally addressing the bulimic elephant in the room.
“I didn’t say anything because it’s wrong to tattletale.”
“I didn’t say anything because those girls would make my life hell!”
“I didn’t say anything because I believe in sovereignty of the classroom. After all, they are true-born Grammarians, not Conventarians.”
