Touihri Rabeb, Eötvös Loránd University
Boxed
Tinta regada
1 de enero de 2025
“We are the solution, not the problem.” That’s what Tris Prior from the movie Insurgent (2015) realized. The film is set in a post-apocalyptic experiment where people are categorized into factions. However, some don’t comply with any of the categories, and these people are labeled a threat to the social system as an obstacle to peace. But it turns out that those who transcend these factions are called “divergents,” individuals who embody more than one aspect of the system.
In Tunisia, like elsewhere worldwide, we also face a type of categorization early in life, specifically in high school. In our first year, we must choose a specialty: literary studies, economics, sports, IT, or sciences. At that time, I was confused; everyone asked me what I would choose, and honestly, I leaned towards studying sciences. Physics and experimental sciences were passions I enjoyed learning, but I also enjoyed Arabic, English, history, and geography. I’d often head to the library, collect books, return home, and read them as fast as possible!
So, like any confused teenager, I sought advice from my teachers. My Arabic teacher insisted that I study “Lettres,” equivalent to studying “humanities.” At the same time, my math teacher advised me to choose science as I was one of his favorite students. I’ll never forget the day my math teacher praised me in front of my classmates: I was 16 years old, and his words still resonated: “She looks 16, but she has the mind of a 30-year-old.” I think I was a quiet, shy person compared to other teenagers, which was probably why he said that.
Still, I was torn. Choosing a major felt like choosing an identity. So, I also asked my English teacher, but her answer was unexpected. “You’ll achieve success in whatever you choose,” she said. It was a sentence deep in meaning, but now that I’m reflecting on my past, I feel she knew exactly what she was saying. Like in the first movie of the sequel, Divergent (2014), where factions categorize people, it felt like the system was forcing me to define my future within a set of rigid options.
This categorization makes you think that if you’re good at languages, for example, it means you’re not good at sciences, and vice versa. Or at least that’s the prevailing way of thinking among students, intentionally or unintentionally. An exciting topic that I never thought about before till I started writing this paragraph. Why don’t we have awareness meetings to show the value of all majors? Why must we always consider which field will make us part of the elite or which will guarantee us a good job? Should we chase something we love or choose something safer, even if it boxes us in?
To feed your curiosity, I did choose Sciences as a major for a year, and then I switched to Math as a specialty in my second year of high school. (Well, my geography teacher did this, not me!) At that time, I needed to choose a sub-major again. I was hesitant about whether to study Experimental Sciences or Math. I chose the former and submitted a request. However, my geography teacher submitted another one for me, because he was determined I would join the other top students. I don’t resent him for that! On the contrary, he was very supportive and believed that I was smart. While I liked math, I didn’t love it.
Physics was my true passion.
My baccalaureate, or fourth year of high school, was very challenging: I lost weight, struggled with anxiety, and couldn’t focus on my studies. I was feeling so anxious about the future. The pressure to score well on the national exam was immense, and I dreamed of studying medicine or physics. But life had other plans. Unfortunately, I passed the exam, but with a score that left many doors closed. I got a “pass.” It wasn’t enough to pursue my dreams, and I cried for days. Students celebrate their success no matter their scores, but not in my case. With limited options and my father’s wish for me to study in my hometown, I decided to choose English as a major because everything else was unreachable––whether because of scores or distance. Since my hometown was small and marginalized, we did not have a big campus but a small one.
Why so much focus on scores? Because, sadly, grades and scores do categorize us! They limit our abilities even though we think we can do more! If you want to study a specific major, your score determines whether it’s even an option. This is the harsh reality in many educational systems. Even in the job market, achievements on paper outweigh untapped potential. If you apply for a job, you must discuss your achievements.
Everything is a hierarchy––boxes within boxes: you must prove that you belong somewhere, but the reality is, sometimes, you don’t know where you belong, and you keep thinking about alternative paths; what if I was a different person with a different path in life somewhere else?
My path, much like life itself, wasn’t linear. For cardiologists, if the heart monitor shows a linear line. It would mean you’re dead! If you look at a heartbeat, you’ll notice it’s caused by the contraction and relaxation of the heart muscle, which makes it look like a series of ups and downs. That’s what makes life.
Switching from numbers to alphabets––leaving the certainty of searching for the unknown X in mathematics to dealing with the ambiguity of language and literature––was a strange transition. In math, there is a right answer. In humanities, you interpret, explore, and sometimes find multiple answers and interpretations. It was a paradigm shift, a shift in thinking, but perhaps, that’s what humanities do: they change the way we see the world.
As someone interested in finding X, I did not just copy-paste the information provided by my teachers. Unfortunately, some teachers would prefer students to write down in exams whatever they offered them in class, and luckily, I had many others who appreciated going the extra-mile. I was always eager to add something new or at least different from what other students knew. Well, now that I am saying it out loud, I was like this even before delving into humanities: I was addicted to documentaries and understanding the world’s history and geography. Seeing the world through a screen without leaving my location was impressive. I was unaware of this part of my personality because I was focused on what was on the surface or simply because I was unaware that this reflected a part of who I am. Now I do.
Re-watching the Divergent sequel made me realize how deeply its message resonated with me. Existential questions started popping up in my mind. From my perspective, the first movie, Divergent (2014), symbolizes the journey of discovering who we are. The second, Insurgent (2015), explores fear–-fear of truth and the uncertainty of what our future holds. The third, Allegiant (2016), speaks about embracing who we are, including our flaws. This reminds me of Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey (Initiation-Adventure-Return), where each movie of the sequel consequently represents a stage of that journey.
Nevertheless, one can also talk about Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs embedded through Tris Prior’s journey throughout the sequel, from survival to self-actualization. It’s incredible how much we can learn from films and decipher meanings in different ways and through various lenses. I’ve always admired movies for this.
At some point in the movie, anyone who fails to complete the evaluation tests for factions becomes “factionless;” a group depicted as outcasts. This is literally how factionless was represented in the sequel. Does factionless mean divergent? Not really. According to the narrative, divergent means that a person belongs to multiple factions, whereas factionless do not belong to any faction. They are excluded entirely. So, did factionless mean that this category does not belong anywhere? I think they belong like any human being, but a failed system denied them the opportunity to do so. Again, this is the same ‘box within a box’ metaphor where categorization plays an important role.
We often forget about these “invisible” people, just as society overlooks anyone who doesn’t fit neatly into its predefined boxes. Most of us comply with the rules and rarely question the world around us. But is that really living?
If you think about identity like boxes, it has an internal logic: you find a category of prototypical people that perfectly fits the characteristics of the desired giant box (the national group), other categories of clusters of people who share similar characteristics (ethnic groups), but still, they are fighting and struggling to prove they belong to the giant box, and you have a third cluster of people who are rejected by the system, and they are marginalized by society (marginalized groups). This reminds me of undocumented immigrants and the struggle they face. Imagine if an undocumented immigrant dies or gets killed; no one will ever notice. The system won’t be impacted because that person is not in the system. Or imagine someone who lost their identification cards in a certain way and was not identified. A John Doe or Jane Doe would be the name put in the system. He/she would also belong to a list of missing or unidentified people. There is always a list or a category to belong to. No matter what.
Only some people are aware of these boxes or pay attention to them. Most people live peacefully, complying with social rules without questioning the world around them.
What does this form of life mean? If life is a series of boxes and categories, open spaces with new possibilities are outside. Is there a way to escape the system? Should we try? Maybe, instead, the question is how we can reshape it, so everywhere can resemble the outside.
