The Wave

School felt like wading through a sea of molasses—thick, suffocating, and endless. No matter how hard I pushed forward, I never gained momentum. Each step on that old linoleum floor took all I had, even the air was viscous, clinging to the back of my throat as I gulped it down.  

I had no respite from the doggedly insistent demand of it all, no friends, no comradery; not even when I got home could I breathe easy. To do half as well as my classmates, I spent my afternoons labouring away at the seemingly endless pile of homework that cast its shadow over my every movement. That was my life, day in and day out, utter drudgery for consistently mediocre results. Until one day, my History teacher, Mr Roberts, began the movement…

Mr Roberts was a jovial man passionate about his job and eager to nurture his students' sapling minds into vast trees of knowledge and thought. Although I never saw myself as one of the students he was trying to mould, I always enjoyed his class more than others.

In the weeks leading up to the beginning, we were covering the atrocities of the holocaust, for which Mr Roberts brought a survivor to talk about her experiences and the importance of studying history. I remember distinctly the words she left us with; "History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.". After her leaving, the most intelligent person in class, Sera Caldwell, posed a question, "How did a major part of the German populous fall for the propaganda and fearmongering of Hitler's Nazi party and then proceed to deny any knowledge of the evil that they beheld and even enabled?"

Day one: strength through discipline

On the first day, I walked into Mr Robert's classroom expecting his usual joking, light-hearted manner, but instead as everyone filed in talking about their new cars or the latest episode of 'Days of Our Lives' he just stood at the front of the class silent and stern his spine rebar and face marble, the polished shoes were seemingly bolted into the ground. If I could describe how he looked in two words, it would be "utterly immovable". As the class reached their seats, more and more of the others began to note his change. Some laughed nervously, some asked questions, but most fell silent. Basking in the silence, he turned on his heel and wrote on the board the first creed, "Strength Through Discipline."  

"Strength through discipline." Mr Roberts began, " means that life is a constant battle against mediocrity and excuses. The one thing that separates us from others is discipline. whether you're a footballer developing your skills or a ballerina perfecting your craft, only discipline will raise you to the highest order." Upon hearing those words, I felt that, for the first time, I wasn’t invisible. The weight that had pressed against my chest for years began to lighten, replaced by some foreign relief.  

My recognition was not short-lived; using me as an exemplary example as he drilled us on the new rules: Upon entering the class, commence proper seating position as soon as possible, zero waste: provide concise answers and no superfluous movement and address him as "Mr Roberts, Sir." at all times. My breath seemed to come easier. That constant weight finally lifted from my chest. I finally knew what was expected of me in a classroom.

The class, initially bewildered, began to adopt this new order, finding a strange satisfaction in the rigour and uniformity. By the end of the day, every student marched out, not one by one, but like a well-oiled machine, projecting a sense of grace, beauty, and delicate complexity, a stark contrast to the usual disorganised rush. I was terrified yet exhilarated when every step I took didn't dampen my soul but reassured it I was walking for the first time with direction and purpose.

Day two: strength through community

The second day dawned with a charged atmosphere as if the very walls of the classroom anticipated the unfolding of Mr Roberts' radical experiment. As I approached the school, each step echoed with the previous day's lessons and filling me with a renewed sense of purpose. Upon entering the classroom, the transformation was striking. Where chaos had reigned before; was now a meticulously aligned grid of desks and students sitting tall and alert, their eyes fixed forward. An unspoken anticipation hanging in the air waiting for Mr. Roberts’ arrival.

As he stepped in, a shadow of doubt and surprise scurried across his face, disappearing in an instant. Then, without uttering a word, he wrote another tenet on the board: "Strength Through Community." As he turned to face us, his gaze swept the classroom and began, "Yesterday, we mastered discipline. Today, we build on that with community. Together, we are stronger than the sum of our parts. Community isn’t just about support; it’s about uplifting each other, holding ourselves accountable, and working towards a shared vision."

Mr. Roberts then unveiled a series of collaborative activities; each designed to foster unity and synergy among us. We were divided into small groups, each tasked with a unique project that demanded individual contributions and collective effort. From intricate academic challenges to imaginative, creative presentations, these tasks compelled us to rely on one another’s strengths while compensating for weaknesses.

Immersed in our projects, I sensed a blossoming connection with my classmates that sharply contrasted my habitual solitude. Laughter and ideas flowed freely among us as we began anticipating one another’s needs and offering encouragement and constructive feedback. The energy in the room was palpable; it buzzed with a cooperative spirit, each voice rising in a chorus of shared ambition.

To deepen our sense of community, Mr. Roberts introduced a rhythmic class chant that reverberated throughout the room. He led us in an enthusiastic call-and-response, the sounds building in confidence with each repetition. "Strength through discipline, strength through community," we chanted in unison, the cadence weaving a tapestry of solidarity.

The day culminated in a reflective session where each group presented their accomplishments. The air was thick with anticipation and pride as applause erupted after each presentation, not solely for the quality of the work but for the evident teamwork that had been woven into every project. Mr Roberts nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in his usually stern demeanour gracing his face. "This," he said, gesturing broadly to encompass all of us in our united endeavour, "is the true strength of community."

As we exited the classroom, we did so not as isolated individuals but as a unified collective. We moved together, a harmonious extension of one another, bound by a newfound camaraderie that promised to redefine our school experience. For the first time, I felt the weight of loneliness lift; I was part of something greater, and the exhilaration that came with it was both overwhelming and liberating.

Day three: The Wave

The sun rose on the third day, smiling down and brushing on my shoulders as I walked to school. My feet punched the ground with a powerful cadence. Each footfall was filled with the authority of discipline. The rhythmic march echoed in perfect sync with my classmates. They emerged from their homes one by one, falling in line without hesitation. We moved as one, a silent force that seemed to command the air around us. As our number grew, so did the sound from punching to pounding to pummelling until we reached school. The sound commanded the usual morning clamour to a halt as passersby stood stunned, their gormless faces peering around at the spectacle as our unity pervaded.

Entering the class with the precision of years of experience, we sat rigid, our attention hanging on the anticipation of the day’s history lesson. The Mr Roberts of just a few days prior was forgotten as he stood again at the front of the class and began talking.

“We are ‘The Wave’; the values we embody culminate into this singular symbol of might. We use the small amount of energy to stay disciplined in each moment, which compounds over time. Then, the amalgamation of our community effort amplifies the effect, with each individual working in the same direction. The energy building and building and building until we are ready to release our power upon the world.”

He then proceeded to outline the five rules of ‘The Wave, ’ writing them out on the blackboard as he went:

2-      Discipline: Maintain outward displays of discipline at all times.

3-      Community: Work together to achieve the objectives assigned.

4-      Action: Take initiative to further The Wave’s goals.

5-      Pride: Salute fellow members, hand open to the sky and pressed to the chest.

6-      Adherence: Follow all rules and obey leadership without question.

We were then all given a blank membership card and, with it, a task. Some were assigned the task of creating a flag that embodied the essence of the movement. Everyone was told to recruit new members to expand the cause. Only a select few, myself included, were chosen to perform the task of weeding out members of the class who weren’t following the rules of ‘The Wave’. So, the mission began.

The address

Over the next few weeks, The Wave consumed our school. What had started as a single class transformed into something far greater than we could have anticipated? The original thirty members in Mr Roberts’ class became five hundred, then more until nearly the entire school was swept into its embrace. Once filled with idle chatter and disorganised movements, the corridors now operated with military precision. Students marched in unison, greeted each other with the official salute, and followed the rules of The Wave with unwavering dedication. Being part of something bigger than myself, something with purpose and order, was exhilarating. For the first time, I wasn’t just another struggling student—I was important. I had a role to play.

But as The Wave grew, so did the resistance. Fights erupted between members of The Wave and those who refused to join. The cafeteria, the hallways, and even the library—once my place of refuge—became battlegrounds where loyalty was tested. We—the devoted members—called them "the opposition," enemies of progress, obstacles to a better future.

I blamed Sera Caldwell. She had been the first to question The Wave, voice concern, and try to dismantle what we were building. She called it dangerous. She called it brainwashing. I called her a coward. She tried whispering in the shadows to warn others, but Mr Roberts silenced her before she could do any real damage. When she refused to fall in line, he threatened to drop her grade, and, just like that, she became another obedient student. But I never trusted her after that.

Eventually, Mr Roberts informed us that we weren’t the first branch of ‘The Wave’ nor would we be the last. Many other chapters existed not just in neighbouring towns but across the country. We were no longer just a class, no longer just a school—we were a movement. And our movement was about to reach its defining moment.

Mr Roberts announced that our great leader—the newest candidate for the presidency—had taken notice of our efforts across the country and that he would give a national broadcast outlining his plan for the ‘Third wave’, the final wave of the set, the biggest and most destructive. We would go on to gather in the school’s auditorium for the address from the leader. Who would unite all branches of The Wave under one banner, the ‘Third Wave’.

Excitement surged through the school like an electric current. The auditorium was packed. Hundreds of us sat in perfect rows, our posture straight, in a sea of white shirts and black wave-embossed armbands. The Wave banners hung high above us, fluttering like the crest of an unstoppable tide.

Mr Roberts stood at the front. Five minutes before the address was meant to begin, he began the creed: "Strength through discipline, Strength through community. " We chanted again and again, starting more subdued and building up! Up! Up! Until we roared with one voice, one breath, an ocean. The drum of our hands slammed against our chest in unison as we saluted at an increasing rate, the noise overwhelming until…

Silence—silence except for the whir of the projector as it cast its chemical glow across the hall. The faces illuminated were stern and patient, ready to be commanded. Then, with a flicker and a flash, staring back at us was not the face of a candidate.

But the face of Adolf Hitler.

His speeches—the same ones we had studied in class—were played before us. The words were foreign, but their message was unmistakable.

I looked around. The banners. The salute. The uniformity. The blind obedience.

"This," Mr. Roberts said, his voice like a knife through the silence, "is what we have become."

A sickness settled in my stomach.

We had believed ourselves different. Smarter. Wiser. But we had fallen—just as they had.

And like them, we would all deny it in years to come.

We would refuse to acknowledge our complicity.

Because The Wave was never about discipline, community, or Strength.

It was about control.

And with that, The Wave was over.