Stormy Times

Today there was a massive thunderstorm in Montluçon which played itself out over the course of the late afternoon. Of course, as in any primary school, distracting children from thunder and lightning proved to be difficult.

My last class of the day, with the oldest pupils, was replaced by the class elections. Unlike the half-arsed efforts at pupil democracy I have been used to, this was a very serious affair - pupils voted anonymously in a real-life ballot box for the positions of ball-boy, mediator, gate-closer, textbook distribution official, treasurer(!?) and secretary. Why one class of eleven year-olds needs so many elected officials is beyond me, but the words "French" and "bureaucracy" come to mind...

I arrived for the counting of the votes. Each pupil took a turn to read aloud the contents of one ballot paper, with another peering over their shoulder in an adjudicatory role. As the teacher added tally marks beside the names on the blackboard, the tension in the class grew. Raucous chatter faded to hushed whispers; heated arguments were conducted in hissed asides between candidates. One little guy - a sensitive chap named Réda - began to sob profusely when it became clear that he had not received enough votes to attain the title of "gate-closer" (or as they are known in politically-correct parlance, "Portal Operative").

In the end, the results were announced and the pupils prepared to leave for the day. Tomorrow would be their first day under the new regime. Réda, having come third out of three candidates, was appointed "Gate-Closer's Assistant's Substitute," which seemed to make him happy.

Democracy's a cruel mistress, but it's the least worst one we've found. Speaking of mistresses, I give the new ball-boy a week before a personal scandal is splashed across the school newsletter. This is France, after all.