Strange, isn’t it?  I suspect what keeps the whole system from falling apart is that “Pokémon Trainer,” aside from being a sport, is also a perfectly legitimate occupation.  Pokémon are integral to many aspects of their society and you can find Pokémon workers in almost any major sector; without their powers, several industries would have to be reinvented from the ground up.  Given this kind of reliance on Pokémon, I think perhaps the benefits of having a large class of readily available specialists in dealing with Pokémon might outweigh the need for universal high-school education.  I doubt all or even most kids become full-time trainers; in fact I suspect that most Pokémon trainers come from families with a history of working closely with Pokémon (Ash’s father was a powerful trainer, Gary’s grandfather is a researcher, Misty’s sisters are all trainers, Brock’s parents are both trainers, May and Max are the children of a Gym Leader, and so on and so forth).  Hundreds of years ago, these people would have been a wealthy aristocracy who were responsible for creating this Pokémon-centric society in the first place, made up of the people who had enough land and money to support large numbers of Pokémon who were trained solely for combat.  Today anyone can enter this class, though people with the family traditions are more likely to do so.

As a symbol, you mean?  Hmm.  Well, for humans it seems to be hugely important; they splatter Pokéball logos all over the place.  A Pokéball is the symbol of the Pokémon League, for heaven’s sake.  As the tool of a Pokémon trainer, it represents the foundation of the partnership between humans and Pokémon that sustains many important aspects of their society.  For many people, it doubtless has another meaning: security, and the subordination of nature to humanity.  This is something you could take in a number of directions, and different people would probably view it in very different ways – the rank and file of Team Plasma, for instance, would probably view Pokéballs much as we view shackles, as symbols of slavery.  The fact is, for humans, partnerships with Pokémon lead to almost infinite possibilities, and the ways in which people react to the image of a Pokéball logo would be similarly varied.

For Pokémon, the image is likely to be just as complex, and largely dependent on their personal experience of humanity.  Some Pokémon who have suffered at human hands would, like Team Plasma, view Pokéballs as tools of slavery and cruelty.  I suspect Pikachu has something like this in his past – consciously, he knows that Ash’s Pokéballs aren’t harmful in and of themselves, so he’s okay with Ash’s other Pokémon climbing in, but the idea of using one himself triggers bad memories and irrational fear, making the very idea unthinkable.  For other Pokémon, a Pokéball is a place of security for when they’re tired or injured.  For still others, the beginning of a dramatic change in their lives, something that changes their fate forever – whether for good or ill.

In short, the image of a Pokéball encapsulates everything you believe about trainers and Pokémon, whatever that may be.  It’s an incredibly powerful symbol but, much like the swastika (for thousands of years a symbol of good fortune, but for much of the last century the dark signature of a regime of hatred and oppression), it doesn’t necessarily mean the same thing to everyone.