It was a regular Monday morning at the American School of Antananarivo. The sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the classroom as Mr. K handed out a new assignment. The class was buzzing with excitement, ready for the challenge of the day. But an incident that had occurred at the end of the previous week had set the topic of the first class session.
“Alright, class,” Mr. K began, his glasses perched at the end of his nose, “today we are going to discuss something I call a Classmate’s Dilemma. It’s a tricky problem, but I know you can handle it.”
Everyone looked at each other with puzzled expressions. “What’s a Classmate’s Dilemma?” asked Sacha, the class clown, always ready with a joke.
“Good question, Sacha,” Mr. K smiled. “Let me explain with a story.”
The students leaned in as he began.
“Imagine two friends, Alex and Dan, who were caught for something they didn’t even do—just a mix-up, really. But the teachers thought they had sneaked cookies from the lunchroom, and they were put in separate rooms to figure out what happened. They could either confess or stay silent.
“If Alex stayed quiet and Dan confessed, Alex would get in big trouble—two weeks of recess detention. But Dan would get off with just one day of detention, for telling the truth. If both stayed quiet, they would each get one day of detention, because the teachers couldn’t prove much. But if both confessed, they’d each get a week of detention, for admitting to taking the cookies.
“Each person had to decide without knowing what the other would do.
“Now, here’s the trick: If both of them thought the other would confess and tried to avoid getting the worst punishment, they’d both end up worse off. But if they trusted each other and stayed silent, they’d get off lightly.”
Mr. K paused and looked around the room. “Now, I want you to think about this. You’re Alex, and your best friend, Dan, is in the other room. What would you do? Would you trust them, or would you confess?”
After hearing the story, the students were divided. Mr. K handed out slips of paper with the instructions: “Choose whether to confess or stay silent. Write your choice, and then we’ll see what happens.”
The room filled with whispers as the students debated. Some, like Sacha, said they’d confess right away to avoid the worst punishment.
“I’m not going to risk a whole week of detention. If Dan confesses, I’m doomed,” Sacha said.
But others, like Alicia and Dedek, thought maybe they should trust their friend. “I think Dan would stay quiet, so I’ll stay quiet too. That way, we both get off easy,” Alicia said.
“Yeah,” Dedek agreed. “But if Dan confesses, I’m in trouble, so maybe I should confess first?”
They couldn’t decide, and as the bell rang for recess, the students had to make their choices. Each wrote down their answers on their slips of paper, folded them up, and handed them to Mr. K.
Mr. K read the results aloud after recess. There were mixed answers. Some students had confessed, while others had stayed silent.
“Let’s see,” Mr. K said, “Sacha and Alicia both confessed. So, they each get a week of detention.”
The class gasped. They couldn’t believe it.
“But, Dedek and Ava stayed silent,” Mr. K continued. “So they only get one day of detention each. That’s much better!”
A few students were surprised that trusting each other worked out better. Some looked at each other, realizing that maybe, just maybe, they could have avoided the trouble if they had trusted their friends more.
In the end, Mr. K explained the lesson. “In a situation like this, sometimes it’s better to trust people and work together. But it’s always hard to know what someone else will do. That’s the problem or dilemma.”
As the bell rang and everyone packed up to go home, the students couldn’t stop talking about the game. Sacha shrugged. “Well, I learned something. Trusting people is tough, but it might be worth it next time.”
Alicia smiled at Dedek. “Next time, we’ll stay quiet together, right?”
“Deal,” Dedek agreed.
And so, the fourth graders learned a lesson about trust, choices, and the tricky nature of decisions—though they probably wouldn’t be sneaking cookies again anytime soon.
© 1985, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.