As a teenager in secondary school but already a protestor of the war, there was no choice but the run out of school. Literally run; chased by teachers and staff.
The first attempt (with a band of 3-4 dozen others) was to run into next door school’s field and get a bus from main road. Unsuccessful as we got cornered at all sides. Final attempt was after being rounded up, being lead inside by teachers.
Myself, sister, and two others did what we should have done first: simply run out the front exit, towards the snickets and suburbs of the quieter part of town.
Ultimately it worked. Teachers with running shoes and cars couldn’t catch us nor find us on the twisted and circuitous route we took towards the town centre. Once there I stripped the uniform and sported a t-shirt written ‘Don’t whack Iraq” on the front.
Needless to say, got weeks worth of detentions in lieu of being expelled (thanks to the plea of my supportive father. However, the disdain of the teachers and they’re own form of oppression against students taking part in protest (there were other occasions) has left me riddled ever since.