The predator in the classroom

–A blog I did not feel like writing, but one I knew I had to write….-

-TRIGGER WARNING- (bullying of a minor by teacher with sexual undertone)

A true personal story about one teacher who did not deserve my silence then, so now I speak. For myself, now that I have finally found the voice the fourteen/fifteen year old me did not have ❤️

A little background first: When I was in secondary school, I think the second or third year (fourteen and later in the year fifteen years old) one of the compulsory subjects was Dutch literature. Our teacher R.A was a published author, something I only found out later. Unknown and not famous to us but he had published novels. He must have been around 50 years old.

I have no memories of his classes before this all started. My very first one is that we received an assignment to write an essay with arguments to support a political case. Quite a heavy subject for that age, but I had always loved writing and we were free to choose any topic. I put a lot of effort in it, did my research and was satisfied with the result.

I wondered if I should have picked a different, easier topic to write about and I cannot even remember why I chose it, but it does not matter for what I wish to convey.

When we received our grades, mine was rather low compared to my past successes and what other pupils had scored. I showed my parents as they asked about it and I remember my mother wanted to know his reasoning for the low score and how I could have improved it (as he had not mentioned that. He just did not agree with my perspective) I would much rather have left it at that (…) I had never questioned a grade before and would have been happier to make less waves, but they were adamant to pursue it.

After what they thought would be a friendly chat with the teacher (part of it happened in a hallway with the headmaster, I am not sure why, but it was the only time when I was present and where I had wished for an invisibility cloak) they concluded that his personal opinion about my essay’s topic possibly clouded his judgement from details I never found out.

Something that should not have mattered at all in his professional capacity, did. I used articles from the library and some personal, documented facts about what happened to an ancestor of mine. How is a fourteen year old supposed to have well-formed, mature opinions to write about?

My parents then decided to go a step further and asked for a second opinion. Their request was accepted by the school. My work was assessed for a second time, now by a literature teacher who did not know me. This time, the same essay, received a much higher grade (one I had expected in the first place, taking previous writings into account)

The whole situation caused me a lot of embarrassment and anxiety, now worrying how I was to continue classes with this same teacher, but I hoped we could forget about it all. The essay was how it started, but I could not have predicted what would follow.

I was fourteen. A shy, quiet, introvert girl who would sit at the front desks in each classroom, doing her work. Up to that point in time it was as if the teacher had not noticed me, but after the essay, everything was different. It was as if a spotlight was suddenly pointed at me.

Sitting at one of the front desks of the classroom, R.A started to make very frequent eye contact with me. At first I tried to ignore it, but soon I realised it was very intentional. There was no denying it, no matter how hard I tried by diving into the books in front of me. You could feel the stare. Every single class, it was like I had suddenly become his favourite pet, but in the sense of a deranged person’s animal that he first lovingly strokes and then violently chokes. He would stare and smile and there was this feeling of dread the entire time.

He had a preference for certain authors and would always read excerpts from their novels . His favourite parts were the vulgar ones (…) that would cause a stir in the group.

One time, I vividly remember, he was reading one such passage, were the author mentioned the genitals of a cow (I cannot remember the context but I remember the word well) and when uttering the word(s) describing the genitals in detail (!) he looked at me with intent as if addressing only me and formed the words so deliberately with his lips and tongue, while holding his gaze on me. The embarassment was indescribable for me. I would quickly look away. He was only doing this with me, not with the other pupils/students.

Reading this graphic content would have the teenage boys howl, which would encourage him to emphasise it even more (!) There was no literary reason whatsoever to talk about such things or this particular novel in such detail nor to choose this vulgar book, except a predator’s fantasy at work.

At other times , while teaching, he would randomly address me and make rhymes with my surname, loudly spelling it out. He would be looking straight at me while doing this. Every single time. The others saw and heard it. No one even said anything to me about this, although this teacher was disliked by most and went by nasty nicknames.

I literally have no memory of talking about this with schoolmates. Difficult to imagine it was never discussed as it would have been impossible not to have noticed (and we talked about all teachers at length as you do) I have no memory of who sat next to me and what their reaction was, if any. Although my memory is foggy on this part, I must have been worried about the work I yet had to do in his class (would future written work be judged in a biased way or not) and other pupils could not have been blind to his manipulative ways and must have feared him too.

There is more and it gets worse. At other times, during class, and this is something I recall vividly to this day, he would walk around and suddenly sit down on my small desk, his back turned towards my face: his behind/bum…. just a few inches or less from my face (!) while he was lecturing. A very unpleasant, highly embarassing and awkward situation: it had to be seen to be understood how very inappropriate AND intentional it was. He did not do this with any other pupil/student. Another humiliation ritual. Sometimes he would stand next to my desk, an inch away from my arm, uncomfortably long…

My fourteen year old self did not have the capacity to (loudly) object to this unacceptable behaviour. I was frozen, dissociated, scared. I am not describing a leaning position here, I mean fully sitting his bum on my desk, so close to me that there was no escape. Meant to humiliate and degrade me, obviously. The embarrassment was a full body experience. Why did I not complain to the headmaster? (the one who understood our request regarding essay-gate) It was not his word against mine: I had thirty witnesses after all. It never crossed my mind. If it had happened in this day and age it would have been recorded on a phone by someone.

I was outspoken in my essay, but silent about his treatment and I now know why.

This went on until the next schoolyear when I got another teacher. Then, at once, I was liberated. Freed of the staring and sitting on my desk, the loudly spelling and mentioning my name in class, in front of my peers, while smiling at me, over and over again, making my surname rhyme when asking for my opinion on random things, usually of a sexual nature. Possibly other things I have forgotten. It left me terribly embarrassed and humiliated.

I told my parents about my grade that time, but never mentioned what happened after it…..Never. I don’t remember if I even considered telling them. I might have dreaded another confrontation. I thought I had put it behind me once I had another teacher (a completely different experience with a good teacher who was also a good human being) and graduated the year after, until one day, many years later,

I heard something on tv…..

I wasn’t paying attention and doing chores, when, out of the blue, I hear the teacher’s name mentioned. The way a famous (male) Dutch author (bestseller writer) was describing him, quite heated, had my full attention:

“R.A? He is such an arrogant, stuck up literature teacher!”

That was the first time I heard his name after many years and on tv! It was live or I would have listened to that comment a few times. What did he just say? Around the same time, my mother brought me the newest book written by this teacher. We had both never read his work and she found it on sale. I was quite curious actually and did not know what I was about to read. But what followed was not really a surprise.

The novel was about a 32 year old literature teacher who starts a relationship (sexual) with his 17 year old (or 19, cannot remember, but could have in reality been a 15 year old and masked as older as this seems to be a pattern with him….) pupil/student who wears a hijab. He describes in detail how she would “only take off the hijab during their sexual intercourse.” I don’t know how this was received in the media nor if his other novels had similar themes as I did not want to read any of his other works.

The story made me sick to the stomach. They say that authors often write about themselves in their characters and if so, this one was too obvious. In his real life, I found out, the teacher himself was married to an ex-pupil…… (..I was not surprised.. years later I found out we had a mutual friend with his wife. This friend described once that they would come for dinner at her house and that she enjoyed his company and how polite, smart and charming he was……Classic!)

I recognised him in every single word he wrote from the male character’s point of view. His provocative speeches, the bullying, mocking, misogyny, entitlement, perverted and predatory behaviour. His sudden change in attitude, mannerisms, narcissism, the sudden exaggerated focused attention and comments that put me on the spot in front of all pupils. How he tried to degrade me, punish me and how it was visibly turning him on.

I dreaded going to his classes and seriously must have been dissociated to make it through them. Feeling like the centre of unwanted attention for an hour or two, felt like an eternity. I just wanted to mind my own business , learn something and feel safe in that class. None of that was possible because of him.

I started thinking how many pupils he must have treated in the same way over the years or worse. I was one of the first to get out the classroom each time, so I never was alone with him and I had parents who were very involved and he was certainly very aware of that. He was clever and very manipulative. His sense of entitlement was through the roof. He was careful and careless at the same time; never alone with me, but verbally harassed me in front of all my peers, with that constant sexual undertone, both subtle, openly and shameless. He was a classic pervert and narcissist and it was a turn on for him.

Now….let’s not ignore the massive elephant in the room. I was fourteen, not even fifteen yet at the time; this was a P e d o p h i l e. Loud and clear.

He was very unattractive (physically and character wise) and what could have been if he had been very good-looking? (Although as a figure of authority, which a teacher is, physical attractiveness does not even matter and girls are manipulated and seduced by the ugliest of predators due to their position of authority….)

I have waited to write about if for years; being reminded of it is, decades later, still really triggering.

If this was today, the chance of me speaking up would be much higher than my fourteen year old self ever could, although we never know in a situation like that. I have had many a daydream where he would sit down on my desk as usual, just to land on my opened, very sharp, pointy compass. Where my thirty witnesses did support me, loudly through the hallways and where he was fired, leaving the school with his disgusting books.

R.A., well….I heard he has long passed away since. Even if he had not, I would not have wanted to meet and confront him. I have met others, later in life, who sang from the same song sheet. One cannot communicate nor reason with a narcissist and he was more than that.

This is for the fourteen year old me. ❤️ This is for all the girls who are or have been in similar situations and, sadly, more dangerous ones. Where the teacher was the predator instead of your support, as should have been. It was never ever your fault that you were too frozen to speak up❤️ I wish you healing, your strength to come back to you, peace and safety and to be fully free from that evil. May all predators face their deeds forever.

Mikica