Healing is a Two-Way Street

Alan had cooties, Julie was too bossy, Mike stuttered and was slow and clumsy, and Debbie was perpetually disheveled and wearing obviously homemade clothes. Required to bring cupcakes, Valentines, and other offerings for everyone in the class, the rest of us grade-schoolers dutifully handed out treasures to these classmates along with our "real" friends, but on the playground, in backyards, and during those all-important walks home from school, we were selective in our companions, sometime brutally so. Alan, Julie, Mike, and Debbie rarely were included, and never graciously.

One day, after discovering an uncle's old army shirt and a 48-star US flag in my grandmother's attic, I marched off to school with both in tow and quickly enlisted the entire fifth grade in The United States Children's Army . . . except Alan, of course, whose cooties afforded him the schoolyard equivalent of 4-F status. Proudly sporting the roster of new soldiers' names on a piece of cardboard hanging from my neck on a string, I shrieked and ran away as Alan chased after me, pen in hand, in hot pursuit of his opportunity to "enlist." I probably proclaimed his cooties for all the world to hear, and relished the embrace of my fellow cootie-phobes in our righteous little clique. I don't remember, but Julie, Mike, and Debbie may have been permitted to enlist. If so, they were relegated to KP or some other lowly and inconspicuous role, if that army game ever even reached the point of actually being played.

With his runny nose, curly hair, and rather odd demeanor, Alan remained a perpetual outsider. I lost track of Julie and Mike, but Debbie met with adult success and proved one of our most outgoing and inclusive classmates at reunions years later.

In the wake of the recent suicide of a talented music student whose homosexual exploits had been secretly streamed on the internet by his roommate, bullying, intolerance, and what to do about them have been the stuff of regular front-page stories. Experts and celebrities have come forward in a steady stream, broadcasting messages of inclusion, acceptance, and self esteem for those who are bullied, and offering guidance and support for standing up for oneself in the face of such harassment. Parents and teachers are being told what steps to take to protect children, and school systems, governing bodies of religious organizations, and secular government all are considering how to bring a halt to such torment. But only one perspective, and one set of needs, seems to be being considered: That of the victim of bullying behavior.

If, instead of suiciding, the music student had returned to his room, pulled out a gun, and shot his offending roommate, I suspect public sympathy suddenly would have been for the shooting victim, with undercurrents suggesting that gays are somewhat unstable, after all, and not really "normal." The bullying behavior would be forgotten, or excused, in light of the greater offense committed by its victim. Someone probably would point out that a virile straight male would be proud to have his sexual exploits streamed for all the world to see, although there would be sympathy on behalf of his girlfriend. And some would demand capital punishment for a cold-blooded assault.

Same video streamed in the same circumstances, two different possible responses, two very different public outcries. It seems that we are reacting to a response, rather than understanding the complexities of a two-person occurrence and considering the tools that we give young people as they learn to navigate sometimes perilous social waters.

Of course teachers cannot have students publicly bringing gifts and treats for some classmates while others look on left out. But the "Valentines for everyone" rule serves primarily to make the adults more comfortable, while giving a cursory nod to courtesy in the children's direction. It does not help children learn how to select friends and how to interact politely and with respect towards those not so chosen.

As adults we know full well that we do not choose to become personal friends with every one of our neighbors, every one of our coworkers, every other congregant in our houses of worship, or every other fellow member of our clubs, committees, continuing education classes, and organizations. Otherwise, obvious mismatches aside, our personal networks would be so large that we would be unable to be a genuine friend to anyone. As adults we know how to discourage unwanted overtures politely, how to issue invitations to those we choose for friends without offending those not chosen, and generally how to navigate social waters so that boundaries are maintained and relationships cultivated with an eye to genuine compatibility and mutual interest rather than broad-sweeping all-inclusiveness. And it's a good thing, too. I really don't care to join the young mothers' group, or the seniors' card game, or the holiday dinner with a co-worker's forty closest relatives, none of whom I know or am likely ever to see again. I am not offended when the mothers, the seniors, and the co-worker don't invite me, and if I were to stumble across them in passing and decline a perfunctory invitation issued on the spot, I feel sure they would be neither surprised nor distressed. This is a basic life skill. Most adults have it, but how do children learn it? "Valentines for everyone in the class" doesn't teach it, even if parity is preserved.

Add the insecurities and self-consciousness of adolescence, and the essential coming-of-age developmental task of learning who one is and differentiating one's identify from others, and the potential for hurtful choices mushrooms. One way of defining who one is is to distinguish oneself from who and what one is not. And in an effort, deliberate or otherwise, to surmount insecurity and self-doubt it can be all to easy to define what one is not as being lesser or inferior to who and what one is. So, if in the course of defining myself I choose particular music, TV shows, and characteristics, then those who share those tastes and characteristics are "like me" and therefore "good," whereas those who are different are inferior. Bullying may stem from trying to look bigger and more powerful by making the "different," "inferior" victim seem smaller and helpless.

Until children, and adults who never learned as children, learn rules and strategies for social intercourse that allow them to navigate difficult situations with ease and grace, and until they develop the confidence and self assurance to know who they are and that "different" not only is not inferior, but actually is a good thing because it creates contrast in the interpersonal landscape that highlights everyone's "specialness," and that one way of being special in no way diminishes another, until then, bullying and other forms of harassment will be with us.

And, if we demonize the bullies, the fragility and insecurity that underly their behavior will increase, creating an even greater inner tension and turmoil that in some way will be expressed. If bullying is thwarted in this way, other forms of violence are likely to replace it.

Relentless, cruel bullying that causes distress, sometimes to the point of suicide, is unacceptable. But those who choose this behavior are themselves distressed souls, or very ignorant ones at best. We are well advised to approach all parties, not just the victims, with uncompromising firmness . . . and compassion.

Alan, if you're reading this, please accept my apology for my cruelty towards you in my role of recruiter for the USCA. I knew how it felt to be excluded, and drawing and flaunting the line that kept you out automatically defined me as "in." I never considered how you felt, and no one ever taught me how to recruit for the Special Forces without demeaning those whose contributions would be made in other ways. I wish someone had; we'd all have been so much the better for it.

And Julie, Mike, and Debbie, the same to you, for myriad playground and backyard offenses over the years, their specifics long forgotten, at least by me, and I hope by you, too. While I may not have been a bully, I was not kind and considerate, and this diminished all of us. The gift of these antics may be that they were just mean enough to allow me to peer over to the other side and sense something of the distress that may prompt bullies to do what they do, and to remind everyone that

Healing is a two-way street.