The Academic Matrix

I vividly remember the day I broke out of the academic matrix, coming to the full realization that the whole system was mad. My business studies teacher handed back an essay with 15 / 20 scrawled in the top right corner. I'd never received a mark that low! Something was seriously wrong.

Now, it's important to note that I loved my teacher. She was my number one fan. I would sit in her lessons on my laptop, running my eBay store while everyone else learned about business from the textbook. Her only condition was that I had to perform well in the exams.

I approached her desk after class and asked why I got such a low mark.

"You didn't answer the question properly," she said.

"Yes, I did," I countered. "I've read every business book in the local library. I've been running my own business for the past year. I drew on personal experience and a variety of perspectives to write a nuanced answer to the question."

"Nikki," she sighed, "it was a really good answer, but that's not how this works. I have to mark you using the same criteria as the state exam markers will, and they simply cannot give you marks for that answer. When you see an exam question, you need to identify the part of the syllabus it is referring to. Then you need to talk about all the dot points in that area of the syllabus. All the information is in the textbook. If you don't mention a point from the syllabus, I can't give you marks. If you mention a point that's not on the syllabus, I can't give you marks. That's just how this works."

I was dumbfounded. Stunned. I knew the system was fucked up, but it was strange having a teacher spell it out for me so clearly.

"My mistake," I said. "I'll be a better drone next time."

I stopped caring about school after that. We needed to take at least ten units of classes to graduate. Most of the other high performers signed up for at least thirteen units, even though only ten of them would count towards their final state ranking. They also chose 'smart people' subjects that were highly competitive and challenging.

I took a different approach. I did the bare minimum number of units. I also chose easy subjects that I could quickly rote learn — the kind of subjects that the high performers weren't supposed to touch. I then spent my final year of school painting in the art room during all of my free periods, or running my business in the school library. If I had the afternoon off, I'd go back to the boarding house and bake cupcakes for the other boarders.

After my state ranking was released (the newspapers publish the top marks), a man rang me up. He asked if I could lecture students at other schools, teaching them how to do well in the state exams. I told him I had 'unconventional methods.' He said that sounded great. He offered me a hundred dollars per hour.

I rocked up at the first gig and opened my presentation. A large graph displayed on the projector screen.

I pointed to the graph as an ocean of seventeen-year-old boys looked up at me. "On the X-axis, we have effort. On the Y-axis, we have your final HSC mark. As you can see, you get diminishing returns for all the extra work you put in and all the stress you endure. So unless you need a top rank to get into a competitive university course like law or medicine, I probably wouldn't bother collecting those redundant, incremental marks. Instead, spend some time optimizing for happiness: enjoying your friends and pursuing some hobbies or passion projects."

I then proceeded to lay out a strategy for getting maximum marks with minimal effort. My brother's friend came up to him after the lecture and said, "Hamish, your sister just gave us a talk on how to bludge your way through the HSC. It was awesome!"

Needless to say, I was never invited to another school again. I think I was supposed to give some kind of inspiring speech, telling kids to "work hard" and "reach their potential" or some bullshit like that. It was almost as if the academic institutions were under the illusion that they were actually educating kids, not indoctrinating them. Schools should teach children to navigate the chaos of the world. Instead, our education system praises a very narrow definition of intelligence — one that I was privileged enough to be born with (imagine if schools selectively praised kids based on a different immutable characteristic, like skin color). It then stamps the creativity out of children and turns them into orderly sheep. There is so much vibrant, diverse talent in this world, but we lock it away when we tell kids they're stupid unless they conform to a narrow ideal.