CONFLICT & RESOLUTION
W ho, one asks, should have the right to dictate the decibel levels in the Wodehouse Library? Many young library-users would argue that the draconian laws of this absolutist establishment are far too stringent. Under this totalitarian regime students are forced to speak in hushed whispers, huddled in the dark corners of the non- fiction shelves, in constant fear of being ejected from their lunchtime sanctum sanctorum. Should we ask the opinion of those bashful Year Nines, just beginning their careers as North Face model wannabes, who pierce the library’s rarefied air with their high-pitched voices? No: the real power to oppose does not lie with them, but with the rowdy rabble of the years above. Having graduated from mute mumblings, this more mature clientele has acquired a rebellious streak that strains against the harsh ‘no speaking’ policy of the library. Congregating around tables, under the guise of researching their Biology prep, they exchange tales of their weekend conquests, blind to the warning glances directed their way from the bibliophile basilisks. Eventually, as the tale reaches its climax, the librarians move in: a skilled taskforce that swiftly dispatches the giggling group, often chastising a lone straggler who dared break bread in their haven. Incidents such as this have become commonplace. The students almost always believe the actions of their adversaries to be unjust; the following lunchtime a similar scene will ensue. Viewed from the other side, the situation is nothing short of a nightmare. One simple favour is asked, but is never granted. What can the librarians do? They cannot allow the library to fall into dishonour. Though some may be fierce, with gazes that could open oysters, they exercise their gimlet eyes for the greater good: to establish tranquillity for those actually attempting to work or — whisper it — read. The students must resolve, or at least try to resolve, their differences with the establishment, in order for peace to develop between the two warring factions. But the odds of such an occurrence are infinitesimally small. What is the resolution? Can there be a resolution? I believe so. However, given the obstinacy and belligerence of the student body, a moderate form of control will never work. It is my view that a technique slightly more niche, more incisive, must be deployed. And so I put to you my modest proposal. The sewing shut of students’ mouths as their tender feet cross the threshold of the library must be admitted to be the only sensible solution. First and foremost, it will achieve silence in the library (save perhaps a stray sob and gurgle every now and again). Thus, the main
cause of so many disputations will be solved in a simple and effective manner. Secondly, be in no doubt: a higher rank in the league tables will surely follow. Thirdly, it will result in a sewing Renaissance. This noble art-form, long unseen in the industrious bowers of the Barry Buildings, will bloom and flourish, furnishing students with essential skills as they weave their way towards their golden futures. Students will be able to suture themselves with a free sewing kit provided at the entrance to the library, an expense that a modest rise in school fees will surely enable. The process will help to tame the students as well; their insurrectional natures will be calmed and the school will be able to churn out more conformist and conservative characters. Before objections are raised, let me reassure you: the litigious enthusiasm of any unreasonable parent will be quashed, for the thread will be soluble, therefore leaving minimal scarring; straws will be provided to keep the students on the right side of hydration; drop-in clinics for sign language will be made available on Friday lunchtimes. If the school were to follow this suggestion, all of the aforementioned benefits would ensue, and all previous problems posed by librarians and students alike would be solved. I hope that the decision-makers will be able to see the plausibility of my idea, and will commit to promoting and implementing it for future prosperity. Unfortunately, I believe that my modest proposal will take at least two years to implement, by which point I will have left this fine establishment.
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