A man stood, walked down the hall and everyone’s mouth was agape. His strides matched that of a cat- poised, powerful and poignant. One step, two steps -a snail would have bested him to the podium. Out of his silk, black, pin-striped suit came a meticulously folded piece of paper- the work of his underpaid secretary, no doubt. Tick-tok- the clock screamed. If the whole word could have been fitted in a stadium, it would have been the mirror image of the room on that fateful day. He was only a stride from the podium – cameramen, littered throughout the scene, leaned forward adjusting their lenses while compatriots both young and old craned their bodies slightly forward. They, also, who had spectacles adjusted them. The paper was unfolded and you could almost see the men at the back jump out of their seat and head to the front of the audience, like little excited schoolboys.
“Education is the key”, pounded through hordes of ears.
“But how can that be?” he continued.
Kings had come and kings had passed. In all years of mankind there never has been an era quite like this one- dangerously tantalizing. On the streets most people assembled in groups of no more than three, where characters often wore long, dark overcoats and dipped their hats as they leaned in, making sure the words only land in their ears. No questions were ever asked out loud.
“A boy is sent to school. ” caused everyone’s cardiograph to turn into a straight line- they knew what was next.
Viscous, venomous characters like him only dwelled in the minds,souls and imaginations of storytellers. There were few storytellers.
“In chemistry he is taught how to make gun powder. In physics he is taught to curve metal. Then in mathematics he is taught how to calculate the distance a bullet can and will travel at the sudden impulse of the trigger. What is to stop him from firing? Education is the key-the key to death.”- with that it was like he pulled the string out of a hand grenade.
Jaws in the audience dropped to the floor, reporters scribbled furiously while mothers held their hands over their children’s ears.
That was the start of the war – a brutal raging war against education.
Lives would be lost like smoke in the wind, the bereaved would cry until their voice went hoarse but the dead would sing the same unforgiving song, “Education is the key- the key to death.”