The Way the Cookie Crumbles

with personal apologies to John Locke, E.D. Hirsch, & Paulo Freire beyond the grave

Chelsea Shang

It’s a pleasant day at the Grill—or so you hope, at least, after the end of your 2-hour nighttime seminar. Tired and yearning for the familiarity of that one very comfortable set of armchairs you’ve come to love, you head to the counter with a well-practiced order playing on your lips. Then you sit, and your body folds easily into the cushion. You close your eyes. It’s going to be fine once you get yourself one of those divine big cookies, you tell yourself. It always is. Except when you do open your eyes, you don’t see the empty seats that you’ve come to expect. What you do find are three impressively anachronisticlooking men, each intermittently unhinging their mouths and causing gratuitous amounts of noise pollution. To be a little more fair, one of them appears to at least be trying to control his anger. The other two, however, have definitely erupted into a full-scale verbal brawl. You give a quick scan of the room, hoping that maybe someone will help you kick them out of the Grill and by extension give you back your seat—they are being pretty disruptive, after all. Much to your chagrin, however, no one so much as gives them a glance. You are beyond stunned. How is it that no one in the Grill seems to notice this but you? This can’t possibly be a figment of your imagination. You barely have one. “ —inconceivable,” one of the men says loudly, breaking through your thoughts as he slams a hand down and stands. Even though you’re greatly annoyed, it’s hard to ignore how impressive his beard is. “You do not realize how flawed your plan is! Your ‘general curriculum’ fails to account for the inequality of the teacher-student dynamic—you don’t even know it, but you are clearly complacent with the oppression of your students—” “Complacent?” another man echoes angrily, standing up as well. “Oppression?” He is the youngest and most lively-looking one of the lot, although that’s not saying much considering each is at least in their 70s. “There already exist many different methods of teaching, Freire, and it is not the way educators educate that is the problem! It is the content of our curricula that must be changed to be more holistic—the literacy of the future generations depend on this—” “Blah, literacy,” Freire spits. “Literacy is important, yes, but if your esteemed educators have all bought into the banking model, literacy is of no matter! Depositing information into your students as if their only function is to act as an echo chamber...you are risking their critical consciousness! Your focus on—” He makes a face. “—literacy—is dehumanizing them! I expect you are happy, Hirsch, that you are creating a generation of passive, lifeless, unproductive citizens—” The other man, Hirsch, looks like he’s struggling to keep his composure. Thankfully, the last of the bunch, the only one who had given any kind of attempt at controlling his anger, intervenes instead. “Do refrain from these personal attacks, good sir!” he declares. His fashion, you note, is impressively out of date. “We are all gentlemen—do not forget our virtues and good sense. I would like to believe that none of us are of ill breeding.” Freire rounds on him. “You again! Locke, was it?” Locke? You squint at the man again. “You and your ill-breeding nonsense, trying to deceive our students into becoming demure little sheep—you may as well confess that you are content in maintaining the status quo!” Locke looks outraged. “An absurd accusation! I am not encouraging that our students halt in the process of critical thinking! I merely believe that any

rational gentleman with true good breeding should, by all means possible, avoid giving others cause to feel uneasy in their presence—students included.” He folds his arms across his chest, scowling. “I withdraw my statement. You absolutely are of ill-breeding, sir.” Freire growls before he sits back down and cracks his knuckles. Dread and awe pool in your gut. By now, you’ve realized that it is the John Locke. You are so shell-shocked you almost fail to register that your number’s been called. You do, though, and take a bite out of your cookie, hoping it’ll shock your brain back into reality or something. Unfortunately, nothing happens. Locke takes a deep breath. “Now, gentlemen, let us resume this dialogue in a less inflammatory style. I propose a traditional vote. All in favor of an education of good-breeding, so that our students harbor the necessary virtues and wisdom?” He raises his hand. Freire and Hirsch stare at him together in silence. Locke lowers his hand. “You cannot seriously want an education of ill-breeding, can you?” “Of course not,” Hirsch grumbles. “I simply believe that it would be better to expose our children to a wide variety of subjects first. Increased literacy comes not through improved style or language but through increasing an individual’s familiarity with the subject, and I theorize that utilizing a general curriculum would greatly assist with boosting our students’ ability to comprehend what they read.” There’s a moment of silence. Then Freire stands up and catastrophe breaks loose again. “I cannot agree with this!” Freire announces. “It is simply preposterous to believe that anything less than a problem-posing method would solve the problems of the educational system. I refuse to acknowledge all other opinions. Only lesser men would fail to understand that an active exchange of knowledge between teacher and pupil is the ideal way to learn.” He turns around, propping open the back door of the Grill. You cringe at the burst of cold air. “I believe our discussion is at an end.” The other two scowl, then stride out from opposite directions. One of them pushes past you, and a small weight leaves your hand. A second later, all of them are gone. A student employee calls out an order; a haggard-looking peer stumbles over to accept their coffee. As if nothing happened. You blink. Well, all right. You suppose that if no one else is going to acknowledge that three long-dead men had just invaded the Grill and opened free forum on unresolved educational debates, you won’t either. Stranger things have happened on this campus. Besides, you’ve got more important things to do, like try not to cry about the readings you still have to do. Sinking back into your armchair, you prop open your laptop, eyes glazing over as you digest insurmountable masses of information about the Three Kingdoms. At some point, the words start to blend together, like a particularly homogenous yogurtless Grill smoothie. Small comfort that you’ve at least got food from the Grill to tide you over. Absentmindedly, you take a bite out of your cookie—

… … they stole your goddamn cookie.