To interpret HiStory

The next day, 9:15 am

After a night of exploration of the campus by various means from the new freshmen, the new day had dawned, finding the freshmen of Raven’s class seated in anticipation for the eclectic man’s lecture. Just like the previous day, however, it seemed that he was running late, and this time, the students were far less forgiving.

“Is this going to be an everyday thing out of this guy?” a random male asked, a slur apparent in his voice, which was probably due to the hangover he was suffering from, a result of him overindulging in the kickoff fraternity parties that had been rampant the night prior.

“Shut your mouth,” Riley said, to the general surprise of the class, notably his fellow Sovrumano. “He’ll be here when he gets here. Gives you time enough to take care of the alcohol on your breath; you stink dude.” He made a show of wrinkling his nose, drawing a host of laughs from the class at the expense of the now bitter freshman.

“Ha, ha,” the kid said mirthfully. “Very funny. Almost as funny as it was seeing you bitched by our professor yesterday!”  

The kid didn’t get the chance to say anything more, as in a mere instant, Riley had gotten up from his chair and crossed the room, in one motion grabbing the boy by the neck and slamming him against the wall next to him. “Say that one more time,” Riley said menacingly, not caring that the boy was clutching at his unbreakable grip around his neck in a futile attempt to get air into his lungs. “Please; make my day.”

“Let him go,” a different voice thundered, as another man, unrecognizable to most of the class, walked in. “Now.” Riley turned his head to try and argue with the man, but for the second time in two days, he was stunned upon recognizing the identity of the blonde haired man. Seeing that he was trumped, in more ways than one, he reluctantly let the freshman fall from his grip before returning to his seat. “Alright, now that that’s taken care of, why don’t we get on with the show here.”

Ashley suddenly raised her hand to speak. “With all due respect,” she said, ever so slightly nodding her head at the man. “Where is our professor?”

Justinian grinned; it seemed Raven was right on the money when it came to a few of the freshmen in his class, noticing the near imperceptible looks of recognition on the faces of the Sovrumano teens present. “Your professor has been called away to a convention, spur of the moment. In his absence, I will be handling the day to day lectures in this classroom. Don’t worry; I’m just as capable of teaching here as your professor.”

‘No kidding,’ Riley thought as he listened to Justinian. ‘Is this open season for Exemplars here?’

“My name is Justinian Considine,” Justinian said, introducing himself to the class. “I’m a graduate of Yale, with a degree in political science that I made use of in a twenty three year period of service in the United States Air Force as a Judge Advocate General, reaching the rank of Colonel before my retirement. After that, I’ve been somewhat of a world traveler, trying to build my own philosophy of the world. Now,” he said, turning the focus of the subject off of him to the lecture he had in mind for that day. “Today we will be talking about the platform of history itself, and how to learn from it despite the many branching avenues that make up our historic timeline. To do that, you must first accept one cold, hard fact; history itself is nothing more than a giant mystery. We as budding historians have to learn how to sort through the knowledge we call fact from the propaganda that has been recorded in our tomes of knowledge as a way to mislead us.”

“Professor?” Jeet asked, calling the attention of the classroom to himself. “What do you mean when you say ‘mislead’, especially when we’re talking about history?”

Justinian had to hide his amusement at the loaded question from Jeet. ‘I see what Roman meant about these teenagers pressing the issue,’ he thought. He already knew Riley had recognized him, and it was becoming clear to him that the rest of the Sovrumano freshmen had as well, judging by the intent stares of said freshen as the waited for him to answer Jeet’s question. “Well,” Justinian began with a pointed stare at the kid. “A great example is our own American Revolution. One of the key things you have to remember about history, especially when you take into account war, is that history is written by the victors. Another thing you have to take into account is the source of the information you’re trying to critique; depending on that, whatever knowledge you’re trying to learn about can be biased.”

“And how does the Revolution factor into this discussion?” Selena asked curiously. Being Santana’s twin sister, she was more privy to what was real and what wasn’t in history. Having a brother who worked for an organization intent on the preservation and rediscovery of knowledge was definitely beneficial to a history major.

“Sharp, aren’t we?” Justinian said with a nod in her direction. “Think about it this way; in America, we learn about the Revolution from whose point of view?” The question had the effect of silencing any doubts the freshmen might have had about Justinian’s qualifications. “I see you all are catching on here,” he said. “Now, just because we learn from the point of view of our country, does that mean that it’s right? Let’s not forget the opinion of the British; while we have our patriotic beliefs on the war, the Great American Patriots were nothing more than a bunch of traitors to the then-most powerful empire in the world.”

“I got you,” Jordan said with a nod. “Two completely different viewpoints on the same subject, in this case the Patriots. Just like the differing view with them, other facts about the Revolution have a different side to their story.”

“The same goes for the vast expanse of history itself,” Justinian said, an ominous tone in his voice that brought a still hush to the class. “Let me tell you kids something about your professor and myself; we look at history from a critical point of view, one that examines everything, regardless of the origin of said ‘facts’.” He laughed to himself, thinking of the words Raven himself once used to describe that point of view. “Knowledge is power. Do you realize, I mean truly, realize where you are at right now; what you kids of this next generation are trying to achieve in being here? Majors of Political sciences, histories of all different subjects, and philosophies of some of the brightest and most influential minds of the ages, all here in this institution of knowledge?”

Justinian took to walking around the classroom, weaving in between the desks and students, just so he could make sure they were listening to his lecture. There was no need, as the freshmen had become entrapped by his deep voice as he spoke with the poise of an eloquent speaker, but the action made it all the more interesting to them. It seemed as if he were speaking not just to them, but to that inner consciousness that could understand without bias or prejudices; like he was speaking directly to the soul.

“What you learn here, is powerful,” Justinian said, balling up a fist and punching into his other palm to emphasize his point. “Not in a direct translation, but more passive. This knowledge helps you advance yourselves in the world, to take hold of whatever dreams you have and make them reality. In a way, that itself is power, and as seekers of knowledge, it is our responsibility to learn how to properly interpret history, how to learn without being bound by the restraint of an institution. Think of it this way; how many wars, how much bloodshed in history could have been avoided if we learned to judge from a perspective without bias. Answer that, and you’ll truly appreciate how powerful knowledge is, and can be.”

As the rest of class stayed silent, analyzing the content of Justinian’s statements, the five Sovrumano teens flashed each other knowing glances. ‘This is gonna be interesting,’ Ashley thought. ‘Exemplar Raven’s smart, but this Exemplar seems like he lives for history itself.’ She smirked to herself as she looked over the notes she had jotted down; it wasn’t every day you got to hear a lecture from an Exemplar, much less two in as many days. ‘Might as well enjoy it.’