A poetic sigh

by Marlon Viloria

The image is a poem written by my 8-year old nephew that won him a poetry competition at his school, which also formed the basis of this essay. Yes I got that right, an 8 years old kid with a budding creativity in English literature, beating his peers fairly and squarely. In addition to this developing skill, his good grasp of mathematics is also now evident, as well as a promising pianist in the making. In a manner of speaking, he has an all-round ability in academic and extra curricular activities, including sports and if I may also add, keen interest in playing electronic games like Xbox, Nintendo, etc. just like any other kid (or adult) who enjoys such kind of entertainment too.

Which has got me into thinking whether such rosy or privileged upbringing has its advantageous effect to a growing and developing child, or if it still boils down to individual ability, or both. That is, where the real value of good education that nurtures and hones a child’s development and learning process in a consistent manner is of paramount importance. More strikingly perhaps is the system or process, albeit elitism on the face of the have-nots like myself, whereby securing a child’s place in a reputable school, regardless of what price to pay could be taken into account too. After all, investing in one’s child education is always a good investment, so they say. To put it bluntly: the more expensive and exclusive a school is, the better education a child gets. Rephrasing that from a different perspective although it seemed condescending again to the likes of me; the richer and privileged a parent is, the brighter a future a child can expect. If that is so then indeed, life will always be unfair…in any shape or form.

Sussex House, where my nephew currently goes, is an exclusive all-boys school charging exorbitant tuition fees of more than 15 thousand pounds a year per child, or around 23 thousand American dollars in today’s forex rate. The majority of pupils, apparently, are of aristocratic and powerful background from within continental Europe and elsewhere bearing fancy titles like Earl, Viscount, etc or from the super rich community, whether “old or new money” or not, whose children then progress naturally into joining an even more exclusive school, Eton, which is arguably the most famous boys’ school in the world with a history of excellence since its founding year in 1440. Unfortunately, my nephew does not come from such background but has the privilege of rubbing shoulders with the elites, and joining them in their exclusive clubs and institutions that will hopefully help him in later life.

Here is my personal view on this whole brouhaha as a keen observer of socio-economic developments. My own perspective of this underlying social divide is grey but nevertheless, it has to be expressed in an opinionated fashion, giving rise to an“educated” analysis. So I hope! The elites’ segregation from the rest of the community has struck me of its effect on society as a whole. Such as the realisation of how the rich and powerful will always remain rich and powerful; how such monopolies of power and wealth are protected from the peeping and hungry eyes of the working class whose ambition to penetrate and join their ranks remains unrealistic, pathetic even, despite the occasional rise or exceptional success of some members of the common population. Such group of upper class elites are undoubtedly owners or main shareholders of those already well-established blue-chip companies that have become household brands, or descendants of politically powerful and wealthy ancestors, or even with close relations or connections to monarchies and other influential families. They belong to a closely guarded network, which guarantees the safeguard of their social standings and seamless handover to their younger and future generations. It’s old school, nothing new of course. So what is the fuss all about?

Ironically, the working class group where I and most people belong willingly accept the existence of upper class and hardly look closer as to why such divisions exist. It has become socially acceptable within the framework of life’s convoluted machinations, going as far back as biblical times, that such dominating class rule the world, even adored by the common man for their exquisite tastes and style, not to mention their display of elegance and sparkles, because they are properly educated, speak with eloquence, authority and the right accent, conduct themselves in a refined and balanced manner and have that steely character when it matters most.

In contrast and in line with historical expectations, the working class’ psyche, ingrained at cellular level, aspire to do better, work hard and hope to achieve and experience how it is like to live within that comforts and trappings, or at least even just a small portion of it, which could then be perceived as “doing well or successful” by his peers, but readily snubbed by the old guards whose prejudices verge on the mentality that “the man is just a wolf covered in sheep’s fur, therefore he does not belong to the flock”. Or, one can easily create a mental image of a black sheep standing outside the perimeter of a well-secured flock of white sheep wanting to join in but alas, it lacks the proper credentials to do so…keeping aside any racial connotations, I must emphasise if you please. The working class black sheep might have equaled or even surpassed a white sheep in terms of material wealth but his name and background disqualify him from joining such club! So the adage that “if you can’t beat them, join them” is a false premise but merely a self-glorifying attitude towards a dead-end situation. One can roll his dice over and over but the jury is still out, thus getting eleven or snake eyes do not really matter that much.

Going back to my nephew’s poem, it was derived from a story he read and liked. A myth about a long-lived bird called Phoenix that seemed synonymous to the story of Jesus who died but was reborn. For a kid, it was perhaps a powerful story worth expressing in poetic verses, thereby immortalising it in his memory for the rest of his life. For me personally, but in a rather unbecoming and selfish attitude, it felt good that he had beaten those children of the lesser gods.

Well, one is entitled to take pleasure in any way or form too, however shallow or pathetic it may be. I fully intend to reserve that right.

 My family and my nephew