Private Property

We marched.

I would much rather have done literally anything else. However, I had been entrusted a box so stupidly heavy that it was making my arms burn, and it was obvious no one else could carry it. What would they do without my help? Everyone had their hands full, and this box contained some important stuff…

Despite what you'll hear about me, I've always been a nice guy. Often to a fault.

It was probably that part of me that kept my legs moving, mingled with some type of morbid curiosity. Why were these people doing this? What motivated exam-laden Japanese high schoolers to join a communist club? I was growing more interested in the other members' motivations—Asako I had written off as insane.

I noticed everyone had donned their own masks for the journey. They weren't politicians' faces (thank god), but instead crimson, open-mouthed theatre masks with tiny yellow hammer-and-sickle insignia taped to the left cheek.

Hitomi's was slightly adjusted to accommodate her glasses. "What are you looking at?" she snapped, noticing my gaze.

"Nothing," I said flatly.

"I still don't want you here, Watanabe."

"Yeah, well, that makes two of us…"

We might have bickered further, but we arrived at the school library.

The atmosphere changed as soon as we were inside. It was an impressive building inundated with looming bookshelves that stretched way up to the ceiling. Here and there were long, dark tables intended for work and study. The space was strictly regulated—only certain year groups were allowed inside at certain times, unless you got an official permission slip from a teacher. After school, it was restricted to all but those in a special study group.

"Isn’t this a bit risky?" I asked our president in a hushed whisper, struggling to get my box through the glass doors. "They've got some important exams coming up. We shouldn't interrupt them, right?"

Asako chuckled. She was leading our small group, setting a difficult pace as she clacked along, making a beeline for the table with the most people. "You're right, comrade. We don't merely interrupt. We take over."

"Wait, we're in a whole-ass library here—"

Before I could stop her, Asako arrived at her target table. It was long and busy—packed with about ten students tapping away at laptops or furrowing their brows at thick textbooks.

Asako clapped her hands. "Ahem." 

No reaction from the students. 

She clapped again. "Ahem."

"They're ignoring you," I said, embarrassed for being associated with her, copping an annoyed glare from Hitomi. "Come on, let's go somewhere else… They're going to see your face…"

"I don't give up that easily. Comrade, pass the megaphone."

"Don't be ridiculous—"

"Hand it over."

"You can't just—"

She took the megaphone from the box and stepped onto the table.

"HEAR ME NOW, STUDENTS OF MORITOMO HIGH SCHOOL. I AM ASAKO ASUNUMA OF THE COMMUNIST CLUB. I SEE YOU ARE HURTING. I SEE YOU ARE TIRED. IT IS PAINFUL TO BE MERE COGS IN THE FACTORY THAT IS THIS COUNTRY'S EDUCATION SYSTEM. IT IS EXHAUSTING TO BE REDUCED TO ACADEMIC RESULTS THAT WILL AT WORST DRIVE YOU MAD AND AT BEST TRANSFORM YOU INTO ABUSED, EXPLOITED SALARYMEN AT THE WHIMS OF CORPORATE OVERLORDS. I CAN SEE IN YOUR EYES THAT MANY HAVE GIVEN UP HOPE. MANY HAVE RESIGNED THEMSELVES TO THEIR PLIGHT. BUT BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY THERE IS ANOTHER WAY."

Her voice was deafening. Amplified by the megaphone, it damn near shook the building, causing the poor group of students to groan and abandon their table, hands clamped over their ears. Papers scattered. I stumbled backwards, ears ringing.

"FOR TOO LONG THIS CORRUPT INSTITUTION HAS OUTLAWED CRITICAL THOUGHT, FORCING UPON US AN ULTRA-NATIONALIST REVISIONIST HISTORY. AT THE NEWLY FORMED COMMUNIST CLUB, WE SEEK TO RECTIFY THE LACK OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROVIDE THE TOOLS TO OVERTHROW OUR BOURGEOIS OVERLORDS HERE AND ACROSS THE GLOBE…"

She kept going, so loud that I barely noticed as something passed over my line of sight. I blinked repeatedly. "Eh?"

"Psst. Watanabe, it's me!" Etsu stood on her tiptoes, dangling a paper bag in front of my eyes. "Put this on!"

"Pardon?"

"Put it on! Your head!"

"…Put it on? My head?"

"It’s for your own safety!"

"A paper bag is for my own safety?"

"Ideally we’d have a mask for you too, but we don’t yet… I poked holes for you to see through, so it’s all good!" Seeing my reluctance, she huffed. "We don’t want to be identified, yeah? That’s why we’re all dressed up."

"In ridiculous outfits?"

"Well, um, we got a bit carried away… But I’m being serious here! If a teacher sees you, you might even get expelled. I don’t know if you know this, but in this country, political campaigning by minors is kinda-sorta illegal. So…"

"Oh."

"Yup."

"When you put it like that…"

I slid the paper bag over my head. Etsu did a good job cutting the eye holes, so I could still see quite clearly as Asako preached to the masses. She had accrued quite an audience. They were, expectedly, quite irritated.

"We don’t care!" one shouted.

"Shut up!" said another.

"What is wrong with her face?" came a particular loud holler.

"Seriously, why does she wear that thing?" (That one might have been me.)

Our president was not deterred by the ugly reception. In fact, she seemed emboldened.

"YES. THIS IS GOOD!" She finally lowered the megaphone. "So you people can feel something, hmm? You’re angry. I'm angry too! And with that feeling, we can begin revolutionising. Our biggest enemy is apathy."

"Leave us alone!" a student complained. "You're on our damn table!"

"Your table?" Asako smirked. "Is that what you think? This table belongs to the exact same entity that brainwashes you on a daily basis. It belongs to Moritomo High School. Your parents pay exorbitant funds for you to access a piece of wood that could be torn away at any time, because it is not yours. It is a flimsy illusion of public property reserved for the partway privileged; and even then you are limited by the whims of those with greater power, allowed only to sit here only at certain times. Make no mistake, comrades. This is private property. A fundamentally evil thing."

She ran a stiletto boot across the furnished wood, sweeping a stack of books onto the floor in the process.

“Of course, I can see the appeal! A smooth, simple, stellar example of woodwork, quite useful for your purposes. It was constructed by carpenters who cannot afford to send their children here and must instead select a poorer school that likely has worse tables. Does that sound fair? It is not! It is not fair that the labourer who worked on this piece of furniture does not get to make use of it themselves. It is unfair that there are so few people allowed to use it at any given time. It is unfair that it is hidden away in this hallowed building when most of us are left without, working tirelessly for something that is not available to us. You must agree that there is so much wrong with this table. And, oh, I have not even begun to explain what poor developing country we have plundered to gain access to this piece of lovely foreign timber, not to mention the pages of your so-called learning material, or especially the precious metals inside those laptops—"

A book flew through the air, colliding with Asako’s face with an emphatic thwack. She gasped, teetered, and fell from her platform, a chorus of cheers erupting in her wake.