Mehran

Over the past few days there has been a story in the news about a young boy named Alex Barton. Alex is five. He was recently diganosed with aspergerus (sometimes described as a milder form of autism).

One day, when he was in the vice-principle's office promising to stop disrupting the class (by crawling under tables, kicking tables, throwing crayons etc.) his teacher gathered the students to talk with them about Alex's (mis)behavior.

When Alex returned, his teacher, who had 12 years experience, made Alex walk to the front of the class, and asked him to listen to what the children didn't like about him. According to Alex, the children complained that he "eats paper, picks boogers … and bites his shoelaces," and the teacher herself said, "I hate you right now. I don't like you today." She then polled the class about whether to let Alex back in. Alex lost the class vote, 14-2, and spent the rest of the school day in the nurse's office. That night, Alex did not eat dinner and would not sleep in his own bed.

This story really struck me. In part for the obvious reason, the public shaming of a five year old. But also I can somewhat understand what it must have been like.

When I was eight, in grade three, there was a disruptive boy in our class, Mehran. Mehran was from an immigrant family which was less affluent then most of the upper-middle class white families whose children went to my elementary school.

One day, we all sat in a circle, while the student teacher, under the watchful eye of the regular teacher, had us all say what we didn't like about Mehran's behaviour. After a while he turned so he was still in the circle, but with his back to the group.

I remember coming home and telling my mother - and how outraged she was. I was eight. I didn't really understand why it wrong. I knew Mehran was disruptive, although his disruptions never bothered me. And I knew it made him sad that the group was saying bad things about him. But at eight, I didn't fully understand the abuse of power and violation of trust on the part of the teachers. I only wish that someone had understood. That someone had been able to speak out. To protect him. But we couldn't. We didn't understand. And neither did he. He couldn't protect himself. And the teachers, the ones in the room who were charged with the duty of care to protect him, were the one's responsible for this abuse.

After that day we had a jar on the teacher's desk. Everytime Mehran did something good the teacher would put a marble in the jar. When he did something bad a marble would come out. When the jar was full the class would get popcorn. So basically, the class of third graders was charged with monitoring the behaviour of one of it's members. Surveiling him to make sure he contributed to the greater good. Giving the rest of us a positive incentive, while further marginalizing one member of the group.

I left that school the next year, and from what I understand, Mehran didn't come back either. I have no idea what happened to him. I hope he is somewhere happy and thriving. And I don't know about the rest of my classmates, but I hope I remember the lesson of that day. The duty of the strong to protect the weak. And the strength to stand up for what is right - now that I have the critical skills to understand and a voice with which to speak.