The Path to Normalization
Damn, every time I opened my mouth, the bullshit just flowed out on its own. I quietly studied the ink scholar's expression. I could feel the sidelong glances from the people seated at the tables. Students or not, they were probably just superficial know-it-alls from some local academy. No helping it. Guess I'd have to give a real lecture. Here goes!
"Nothing changes a person's heart as easily as a full belly and a warm back."
"Workers can't afford that!"
"Right, they can't. Not if someone's keeping it that way."
I nodded, pretending to sympathize. But really, I was just sneering inside. No matter how full-bellied and cozy people get, their thinking doesn't stray far from the basics.
"So who controls that? Who keeps the workers from rising up?"
"Obviously, the nobles ruling this era and the ones hogging all the power. And thus!"
"No. Wrong. It's you. You, right here in front of me!"
I pointed straight at the ink scholar. A utopia handed out without empathy or real thought is worthless. A world where everyone eats well and lives well? Someone out there won't stand for it. And in a world full of those someones, utopia means nothing.
"You're the problem—you who think you're better than workers while preaching guidance and enlightenment!"
"Th-this isn't debate, it's an attack!"
"Fine, let me ask: How can you teach when you don't even know a worker's life?"
"The proper meaning the working class should—"
"Where's that meaning coming from? What matters to them is eating and surviving, not abstractions."
"No! The working class—"
"If you're not even thinking about solving these basics and just charge ahead, that's classic ink scholar bullshit."
It was full of holes, sure, but I had a feeling these students' thoughts wouldn't stretch far. It was all about empathy.
"The workers' spiritual awakening will—"
"Physical health matters more than spiritual awakening if you want to achieve anything."
"The spirit must come first—"
"Where's a guy with no time to learn, who might starve tomorrow, supposed to find room for spiritual fulfillment?"
By now, the student was thoroughly deflated. I'd barely said a few words, but they clearly weren't from his notebook. What I pointed out was simple—deceptively so—but basically unsolvable for him. Forced divisions, forced unity. Yet the meaning inside was plain enough for anyone. Especially ink scholars. The thing they needed to get.
"If you really care about them, think from their perspective. Not just repeating the intellectuals' line."
"Then what's your solution? Something world-changing?"
"Simple. Normalize it."
Normalization! Normalization of everything! The world working laborers dream of isn't some fantasy. At least a life where you live like a human. A life that covers the basics. How many have died because that's out of reach? But we can't ignore what those deaths achieved.
"Pay more to those in dangerous jobs, take better care of the injured and sick."
"Th-that's..."
"And make the rotten factory owners and nobles follow the law."
"That's the same utopia I described!"
"Sure. But mine's more realistic than your theory."
"It's not realistic!"
"Make workers follow laws made by workers, and make your precious classes follow them too. That's what turns it real."
The student started flipping through his notebook again. North, east, west, the emperor leading the empire—they'd just followed those laws so far. Even if there were citizen assemblies, their laws were distant from real people. Once you serve the emperor and nobles, you can't escape it.
"So smash it and think anew."
"What do you think of society as it is?"
"It's stuck that way because we've adapted too well to the frame."
"That's why we theorists are needed—to break it!"
"Theorists alone won't cut it. You need someone to gather the workers' voices!"
He was totally hooked on my sophistry. I'd acknowledged theorists' importance, but they're just people living inside the system too. No escaping that. But the one gathering workers' voices? Has to be a worker. Only then can theory and labor unite!
"See? Now we have a realistic path forward, right?"
"Th-that can't be the theorist's role..."
"Of course you ink scholars are needed. But workers need laws and norms to protect them. Ones that let them live without slaving 14 hours a day."
"For example?"
"Eight hours a day. Mandatory education. And the right for kids not to crawl into soot-black chimneys."
In this world, these were absurd ideas. Eight-hour days? Nobles and factory owners would scoff. Mandatory education? Plenty think the current schools suffice. Banning child labor? Normal where I came from, but here, most would call it insanity. The student stopped checking his notebook and started staring at me sideways.
"Th-that's impossible. Factories would stop, people would starve..."
"See? It's already like that. Put workers first, not factories. If people think and don't starve, your utopia might actually come."
Ink scholars weren't there to parrot nobles. Their thoughts mattered. But the ink scholars of this world often knew jack shit. Normalization—toward a modern society—was what we needed.
"In fancy terms: To balance asymmetric power properly, solve it with time."
"..."
"Study more, ink scholar. Don't explain class struggle in big words. Feel it."
That was worth my silver coin. The student closed his notebook and stepped down. Eyes turned to me. Ha! Was I the jewel in the rice sack now? The awl poking out of the pocket?
I went back to my seat. My pocket still had the bet coppers intact, plus that silver coin.
"Impressive as always, teacher."
"Anyone'd think you knew me."
"Looking forward to more of this."
"I'll think about it."
I lost track of how many sausages I scarfed. A few others spoke after me, but it just sounded like ink scholar excuses. I didn't go back up. Obviously—one silver coin covered my gig!
Some guys looked expectant, but no way! You don't show off what you're good at too much.
"You sure can talk, huh?"
"Right? Teacher Max, where'd you study?"
Heading back to the underground hideout, I gave no answer. I wanted to drive them crazy, make 'em die of curiosity. They'd never believe the truth anyway. I'd said factory school, but who buys that?
"Learned in a dream. A dream."
"What kind of dream? I wanna learn too."
"Figure it out yourself! Aish, only weird questions."
Ask something else. Not weird shit like the ink scholar. Especially you, Starlina.
"Nothing you're curious about, Starlina? C'mon?"
"You'd tell me if I asked?"
"Depends on what."
"You'd tell me most things, right?"
"Sure, most. Not curious about my type?"
Starlina recoiled in disgust. Why? She looked like she had a ton of questions. She strode ahead fast. I panted after her.
Back at the hideout, the interrupted intros continued.
"Anyway, welcome to Iskra, Teacher Max."
"Forgot your name. The boss paying seven coppers!"
"Hahaha, I'm Fredrik. And it's exactly six coppers."
"Aw, then I keep the silver I won."
One silver coin meant no worries about food or smokes for a while. Heh heh...
"So, what's next?"
"Help clean up here first?"
"Pass."
"Then it's not six coppers..."
"Fine! Fine!"
I quietly started clearing. Being in a secret society like this, maybe I need a cool nickname. Bond or something. Sounds badass.
"Next, tidy over here..."
"What, so much to do?!"
"Hahaha! That's what too much cleaning gets you."
Sheesh, really. No choice. Anyway, today's haul was solid: one silver and four coppers! I'm gonna be rich.