07/05/2026
Bart
Bart was one of those many students that I encouraged to take part in the national English Language Olympiad over the course of my work as an English teacher for a high school that is still believed by many to be one of the best, if not the best high school in Poland.
And why did I do that? Partly because I was misguided and intellectually corrupted by the system myself, and partly because I believed then that it would be a valuable experience that would help them to learn how to cope with stress in exams and interviews, of which they would have many in the future. I was also convinced that it would give them the opportunity to see how good their English already was and boost their confidence and self-worth as a result. Another benefit seemed to be the social aspect, because it looked like a wonderful occasion for them to meet like-minded people from all over the country and form new friendships, which would very often affect their future careers and choices in life. And last but not least, I also succumbed to the ever-present and palpable pressure (coming obviously from the school I was working for) to ‘produce’ finalists and laureates of national Olympiads, which was and still is the only yardstick of teachers’ worth and success in this school.
Bright and intelligent as he was, Bart, the way I remember him, was a person who was an expert in the subtle art of not giving a f**k about things that not interested him, which in most cases meant school. At first glance he looked like in books and in front a computer screen the stereotypical nerdy inhabitant of the school’s classrooms, yards, and corridors . You know, a thin, anemic, acne-aged student with a stoop posture suggesting countless hours spent engrossed in books. On closer inspection, though, or if you got to know him better, he turned out to be the exact opposite. Bart was an affable, relaxed, and very gregarious young man who exuded humor, amiability, joy, and positivity all the way round him. There was also the aura of mission, genuine passion, and love about him whenever he had the chance to lead a conversation or discussion to topics connected to the two true and all-consuming passions of his life: poetry and theatre. Do not get me wrong, though. Bart was not focused on poetry and theatre only. His interests were broad and extended well beyond a single area or category. A true intellectual, his passions, curiosity, or pursuits were not limited by boundaries such as traditional academic disciplines.
With its compartmentalized approach to education, its teaching-to-a-test philosophy, and its sick obsession with competitions and Olympiads, the school bored him to death. It is no wonder then that he bunked off whenever he could, preferring instead to spend the time in the local theatre. Although he had to abide by the school’s rules and wear the characteristic uniform, whose main purpose was to crush any attempt at individuality in the bud, he always managed to preserve his uniqueness and stood out in the otherwise depressing sea of uniformity around him. With a top of artistically unkempt hair and seeming disregard for the tidiness of his school uniform he looked more like young Bayron or Slowacki than like a bookworm or a crazy scientist, which, by the way, was the stereotypical image of many of the students attending the school.
One of the most memorable student that I have ever worked with, a free spirit and a dedicated non-conformist, Bart was not a good fit for the school. Or should I rather say that this school was not a good fit for him. Run more like a Premier League exclusive football club than an inclusive education institution, its only objective was to be at the top of the “Premier League’ – the national ranking of the ‘supposedly best schools’ in Poland. The teachers were so preoccupied with this goal that they ignored and neglected their most important professional objective, which, above all else, should have been it to help students identify and attain their individual educational goals. The philosophy used by the school was simple, and as such very effective from their warped point of view: the finalist and laureates of academic competitions and Olympiads set the benchmark for others to follow and your worth as a student was not measured by your potential but achievements in those competitions only. A larger-than-life character with an incredible intellectual potential but giving no f**k about those competitions, Bart was perceived by the school as a dead loss, a position that deprived him of the attention, protection and privileges otherwise afforded to the compliant and ‘accomplished’ students.
Bart, anyway, did not seem to care, and spent more time on reading poetry and in the theatre than in the school. Clearly, he was on a collision course and sure enough his behaviour was soon deemed at odds with what the school expected and demanded from its students.
Wanting to pull him out of the swampy pit he was sinking into, one day I said to him, “Bart, I know you despise these competitions. But why don’t you take part in the English Language Olympiad? Your English is already so good. It would, of course, require some time and effort from you to prepare for it. But this competition favours people who are into literature and poetry. So, apart from having the chance to meet like-minded people it should also be fun. But let’s face the reality, getting the title of a laureate or finalist of this Olympiad would, in the eyes of the headmaster and the teachers elevate you to a new level, automatically making your school life not just more bearable but, thanks to the unattainable to ‘mere mortals’ status, easier, more enjoyable, and rewarding.”
It was not easy to persuade him, though. It took me a few months and lots of patience and persistence before he half-heartedly agreed to try his hand at it.
“You need to begin with something.” I thought.
I was optimistic, though, and believed that I would soon have him fully on board. I must confess now that my motive was not entirely pure then. Bart’s command of English was already of very high order, which could be mainly attributed not to my work but to the fact that his father (now retired) used to be a diplomat and Bart had spent a few years of his life in international schools abroad. With its primary objective to have as many laureates and finalists of National Olympiads as possible and secure the first place in the national ranking of high schools in Poland, the school could not afford to miss such an opportunity. No wonder then that try as you might you had no other option but to give in to the all-pervasive, non-verbal pressure coming at you from all possible directions. Going to work every day felt like descending in a submersible to the deepest part of the ocean with you thick skin and you mental toughness protecting me from the enormous pressure to deliver laureates and finalists of competitions and Olympiads exerted upon you the moment you entered the building.
The school stage of the competition was not a problem for Bart as it was just a grammar and vocab test, and to qualify to the next stage you just needed to get a result above the boarder line, which year in year out, stood at 50%. It might seem as not much, mind you, but in reality, only the best few ones managed to make the cut – you needed to have a very advanced level of competence in the language to have any chance. It was fine to be just merely above the boarder line, though, as this test did not correlate (which was weird) in any way to the next stages of the competition. Consequently, it was common that students with a very high score in the school stage did not qualify to the final and those who had barely made the cut became laureates of the Olympiad. Bart’s result was just above the boarder line – a good prognostic for the next part of the contest.
The regional stage, which was to take place in Poznan, did pose a problem, though. Apart from a written test (insane grammar and vocabulary tasks beyond the grasp of an average native speaker), it included a spoken part that required extensive knowledge of British and American, culture, literature, history, and geography, none of which, apart from poetry and theatre, was Bart’s forte. Another vertical rock to climb was the requirement that students had to read six books from a pre-set list of English and American literature, most of which were ancient classic masterpieces that, I was more than sure, had not even a thin sliver of magnetism about them; nothing that could hold him in thrall; nothing that I could use to persuade him to read even one of them. You might think that I was naïve and that it was a waste of time and effort to invest in him. But I was being driven but some kind of sixth sense, my teacher’s instinct, and my experience, which were telling me that Bart was probably the only one student then who not only had the chance to reach the finals but to get one of the top places as well.
An unusual case requires an unconventional approach. I told Bart about the requirements concerning the spoken part, lent him some materials and books, but otherwise, apart from showing him some clever tricks how to deal with the written part’s insane tasks, left him to his own devices, knowing that any outside pressure would only result in exactly the opposite of what I intended. I instinctively knew that in order to seduce him and have him fully committed to this venture I needed to introduce something that would appeal to his rebellious nature, something that would allow him not only to flout social norms, but even to break some laws - even if only psychological or illusory ones and give him the kicks of defying the system.
A few day before we were supposed to depart to Poznan for the regional stage of the Olympiad, such an opportunity arose. I took Bart aside and said, “Bart, have you read any of the books I gave to you?”
“No, I’m so sorry. I’ve been really busy recently. You know school and other things. I haven’t had the time. I’m really sorry that I’m such a disappointment.”
Playing my part as naturally as I could, I feigned indifference and lack of concern and said,
“That’s okay. Don’t worry. Just dress up as a poet for the spoken part of this stage of the competition. Forget about the school uniform. Look like Byron, Shelley, or Keats. This is your chance and your real-life acting role to play.”
Bart was entirely captivated by the idea and liked it very much from the word go. And this is exactly what he looked like for the spoken stage of the competition in Poznan. Clad in a long black overcoat over a dark grey waistcoat, and a loose white flowing shirt with an open collar, with black fitting trousers, lace-up leather boots, and a woolen black scarf wrapped loosely around his neck complementing his appearance, he looked and acted like a Romantic poet who had just time-travelled from the early 19th century. Exuding air of elegance, confidence, and nonchalance about himself, he looked entirely out of place among the other ordinary-looking, stressed-out candidates awaiting their spoken exams. Some of them viewed him with suspicion and envy, others with disdain, but Jan, being just himself and seemingly enjoying whatever sort of attention he was getting, didn’t give a f**k.
With each new student mangled and spewed out by the examination machine we learned more about the examiner. Which one was nice and friendly and which was nasty, rude, and even brutal. From all the interviews so far, It was also possible to figure out their overall examining strategy and what sort of questions to expect. Unsurprisingly, they were very detailed and completely random. For instance, “ The legacy of the 18th century economist Thomas Robert Malthus and the relevance of his arguments in the contemporary world. Discuss.” or “Name the oldest Scottish universities and summarize their histories.” or “Which of Arthur Miller’s plays can be linked with Marline Monroe and why?” or “Which English writer set all his major novel in Wessex? Why?” or “What’s Cape Cod and where in America is it located? Tell us what you know about it.”
.
From this you got the impression that the academics- each one of them being an expert in a narrow field of study, say English literature, US history, or British geography - expected the high school students – to have a very thorough and detailed knowledge of everything. No wonder then that getting 10 points (the top score for the spoken part) was always perceived differently by the examiners, whose model of reality created by their brains assumed a particular student to have performed brilliantly and have an outstandingly detailed knowledge, and by the student themselves, for whom the reality was different, and who assumed they knew very little but were merely lucky.
Scoring 10 points on the interview was the only surefire way of qualifying to the finals of the competition. It was multiplied by 10, which meant you could get maximum 100 points for the spoken part. On the other hand, the result for the written part, although probably a more objective one, was not so important. It was notoriously so dauntingly difficult, almost like deciphering an ancient script, that few students got more than 50 points out of 120, with the majority having scores in the range of between 30 to 40 points. If you got 10 points for the spoken part and someone got, say 4, which was not rare, you automatically had a 60 point advantage over the other student. This, of course, eliminated any edge the student could have had after the written part of the competition and meant you could be almost 100% sure of being one of the 55 lucky ones qualifying to the national finals.
“Bart, it’s your turn now,” I said. “Remember your passion is your strength. The only chance of success depends on how much you will be in control of the situation, not them. Imagine you are an actor who wants to enthrall, captivate and enchant the audience. The first impression you create on entering the room, and then the first one or two minutes of the interview matter a lot. If you manage to fascinate them, and I know you can, it will have a deep psychological effect on the examiners and will allow you to be in control of the way the exam proceeds. Cast your spell on them. Enchant them. Do your magic and you will be able to steer the exam in the direction you see fit. I know you can do it. Go! I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for you.”
And so, in he went. Before the door closed behind him, I had managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of him entering the room and the rection of the examiners. They were stunned, to say the least, definitely not accustomed to such a level of informality and fascinated by the intensity of his true passion.
“Hi!” he said with a nonchalant flourish, pausing on the threshold, and allowing the examiners to notice him. His melancholy eyes travelled upward, then forward, then settled at the academics sitting behind the table covered by a velvet cloth, as if searching for anything romantic or natural in there.
“I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts.” He quoted Wordsworth, apparently wanting the examiners to be awed with wonder and realize that this was a unique and fated moment, not an ordinary or casual one.
“Let’s talk about poetry,” he added with such passion that it left me stunned with awe and admiration as the door closed with a thud in front of my face.
And the rest is history.
Beaming with joy and self-satisfaction Jan reemerged from the examining room merely twelve minutes later. He told me that he had just talked about poetry and theatre and that they had not asked him any questions about the set books, history, or geography. By the end of the day, I learned that his score for the spoken part was 10 and that he had qualified to the finals. In the finals, for which he was supposed to have read eight books, he used the same tricks and without bothering to read even one of them scored 10 points again in the spoken exam and as a result won the title of a laureate of the fifth place in the national finals of the English language Olympiad for secondary school students in Poland.
“But wait. It’s unfair. Why you, a teacher, would have allowed something this unfair and dishonest to happen?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.’ I would answer, “because this competition (like many other similar academic contests, in which thousands of Polish elementary and high school students compete every year) is probably the best example of one of the many cognitive fallacies that we have in our heads - the illusion of validity (first discovered by Daniel Kahneman) . This is the fallacy that, for instance, makes us believe that the grades we receive at school for tests and exams give us reliable information about our true academic value, tell us a lot about our capabilities, skills, knowledge, and help others not only to evaluate our suitability for a course, training, or career but our future performance as well, whereas he sad truth is that they have no value whatsoever”
This competition is also a perfect example of another fallacy - the fallacy of objectivity and competence. The examiners, after all, are academic teachers who by default should be paragons of virtue, truth, objectivity, fairness, and competence. But the truth is that they cannot be entirely truthful, objective, fair and competent simply because they are also human beings burdened with the same imperfections and fallacies as all the other human beings on this planet. It is small wonder then that it is also possible to fool them into believing that something is white even if it is black. And this bias comes from our evolutionarily ingrained need for order and simplicity; from our unconscious desire to believe that there are always some competent people out there who are in control and who know what they are doing.
But whether we like it or not, or no matter how much we would want things to be this way, the dismal truth is that their assessments of situations, their decisions, and their guesses are affected by the afore- mentioned biases, and emotions rather than by a thorough analysis of facts and information. In other words, they run on automatic pilots, using their lizard brains rather than their thinking brains. And why? Simply because, no matter how clever they are, they are not robots or AI and their human brains will not allow them, in situations like a 15-minute interview, to analyze in real time all the input date coming into their heads. If one candidate gets 9 points for a speaking test and another gets 10 points, or if one student gets a 5 in an English class at school and another just a 4, does the numerical difference mean that one is objectively better than the other?
If you think so, as do many students, parents, and teachers, you are misguided and deluded But maybe this story about Bart - a true case in point- will help you to see it for what it is - a common and pernicious fallacy.
