T

he Jakarta Police have detained for the last five days a Jakarat International School (JIS) teacher, NB, and teaching assistant, FT, as suspects in a rape case, based on no substantial evidence to formally charge them.

This shocking, utterly disturbing news has filled my mind the last few days and it sends a shiver down my spine every time a new story about JIS pops up in my email.

Today, as I prepare for the end of yet another summer break, my spirits are diminished. My usual pre-new school year enthusiasm is lying dormant. I feel upset, angry and frustrated that I will soon have to look into the innocent, searching eyes of my students filled with questions which I cannot answer. My end of the school day stories, according to which the world was always beautiful, seems to have been lost somewhere in a cloud of smoke, which is blackened and blurry with the dishonesty brought to our beautiful JIS community.

I clearly remember my first day at JIS with my timid demeanor. There stood this tall, smiling man with a face so gentle '€” the like of which I'€™d never seen before '€” offering me a ride back to the elementary school as I was trying to find my route back sweltering in the heat after an orientation.

As days turned into weeks at JIS , I realized it wasn'€™t just me who had seen this gentlest face of NB, (fondly known as Mr. B. by the kids); it was every teacher, every student, all of whom repeated stories of everyone'€™s favorite, Mr. B.

One morning at recess, as I walked around on duty, I saw a large group of children amicably playing cricket, being Indian. It was a sport I knew well and I eagerly went to play with them and maybe show them a trick or two. I saw one of my third graders, J, indulging in some foul play during the game and I instinctively ordered him to wait out.

Suddenly, the rest of the kids came up to me and in a very matter of fact way explained: '€œWe must teach J how to follow the rules right Ms. Mishra? But always remember, everyone plays or no one plays, that'€™s what Mr. B. has taught us!'€ I suddenly felt embarrassed and sheepishly agreed, like a teenager, with my head bowed.

Unfortunately, the '€œgrown-ups'€ whisper about these false stories at soirées, shrug at them, shake their heads at them but then move on with their lives because they have passively come to terms with the world being an unfair place, and nurtured an indifferent attitude as long as the rock doesn'€™t hit their own homes.

Devangana Mishra
Jakarta