You Will Be...Simulated?

In Mr. Leonard’s class we divided the kids into the social classes that existed at the time of the French Revolution (1789). So as the kids were walking through the door we handed them sheets of paper with instructions describing who they were and what was expected of them.

Five students became Clergy members; four were Lords. We had a Louis XVI and a Marie Antoinette (both of whom would—literally—lose their heads soon after the cry of Revolution). One kid was made Controller General, aka the Tax Collector. The rest of the students were Peasants.

Each of the four Lords had a chair to sit in, while his lowly peasants sat on the floor around him. The clergy were given nice, cushy seats against the back wall. The King and Queen sat in their “thrones” at the head of the class.

Mr. Leonard instructed the Peasants to cut a blank sheet of paper into twenty small squares, on which they were to draw a symbol for wheat. The process took about fifteen minutes and was filled with groans of disgust and misery.

“How come the Lords don’t have to do anything?”

“What’s wheat good for anyway?”

“Don’t you know what bread is?”

“Yeah, so.”

“Well that’s wheat.”

“Why do we have to do this?” one kid asked me, looking as though he’d just swallowed a smelly fart.

“Why, is it annoying to you?” I responded with a question.

“Yeah,” he groaned.

“Well, now you know what it was like to be a peasant.”

Once the peasants had finished drawing and cutting, they were ordered to hand over all their work to the Lord. Mr. Leonard then instructed the Controller General to collect 50% of all the food pieces.

“What d’you mean?” the kid asked.

“Go and take 50% of all the wheat squares from each Lord and give it to the King and Queen.”

“Is that like ten?” the kid asked.

“50%,” Mr. Leonard repeated, a look of uncertainty etched across his face. “You know...half of everything they have.”

Still looking confused, the Controller General ambled over and stood apprehensively in front of the Lord, who was meticulously counting his food squares. I walked over to assist.

“Do you understand what 50% means?” I asked the Controller General in a hushed tone.

He shook his head.

Oh boy. “Just take half of everything he’s got.” We’ll save the math lesson for another day. That is, if I don’t hang myself first.