Throwing the second stone

A few days ago I posted a rather harsh article about bullying. You can find it here. In the article (and ensuing discussion) I told of how I had been bullied as a child. I argued that it is quite difficult to forgive and forget, and that bullying can leave scars decades later. I argued that bullies need to be dealt with severely – that we need to bully the bullies.

I still believe that.

Writing that article and engaging in the ensuing discussion has been generally positive and cathartic for me. But, it has also brought back some very old and very painful memories, and has made me think about some uncomfortable things. What follows is one of those uncomfortable things. It is partly a confession, but it has also given me some insights into bullying. It has also perhaps opened a way for me to really forgive those who tormented me in the past.

Here is the confession: I am ashamed to admit that on several occasions as a child I participated in the bullying of another child. I did this despite the fact that I myself had been a victim of bullying for many years. One would think, perhaps, that a victim of bullying would vow never to do the same thing to another human being. It didn’t work that way. Instead, I saw it as a reprieve. I was relieved that another kid was now the target because it pulled attention away from me and made my life easier, at least for a short while.

Two situations stand out in my memory. The first involved a kid I will call Mike. Mike transferred into my Catholic grade school in about 5th grade. By that time, most of us had been in school together for four or five years. Mike was most certainly the new kid – and he was also a different kid. He was the son of Italian immigrants. His father spoke with a heavy accent and sold suits at Sears. He came to school smelling of garlic. Now, these things may not seem that odd – but at my school they were VERY odd. The parish I attended was the same one Melinda Gates attends now. The only black kids at my school were the children of NBA star Lenny Wilkens. Parents had prestigious jobs – they most certainly did not work at Sears.

So, Mike had a big target painted on his forehead, and he was bullied from Day 1. I participated. It wasn’t because I had any reason to dislike Mike. I participated because I was a coward. I participated because it took some of the pressure off of me. Every taunt or kick or sucker punch thrown at Mike was one less thrown at me.

Years later, I would hear that Mike had been committed to a state mental institution. He was even briefly in the news after he escaped, threatening to murder his father and his psychiatrist. Did the bullying have anything to do with Mike’s mental illness? I have always wondered. It certainly could not have helped.

The second situation is worse than the first. Another new kid arrived at the school in 7th grade. I will call him Brian. I vividly remember the roll call on that first day of class – the teacher went down the row and had each of us stand and state our name. When it came to be Brian’s turn, he stood and gave his name – in a very very strange voice. It sounded a bit like a southern accent – but we were all northerners and really didn’t know what a southern accent sounded like. Besides, that wasn’t quite it. The voice had a strange quality – strained – not unlike that of a cat in heat being strangled. The class immediately erupted into laughter. I quietly cheered – this was obviously a really weird kid – weirder by far than I was. He would certainly take some of the pressure off of me!

As it turned out, Brian had cerebral palsy. I didn’t know the words “cerebral palsy” at the time, nor did any of my classmates. This was well before the days of mainstreaming, and none of us had really been near a physically handicapped child – and we certainly had never had a physically handicapped child in our classroom. Not that it would have mattered if we knew the words or not – because our teacher did absolutely nothing to prepare us for the experience. We were told nothing about Brian’s condition. It could have been a great teaching moment – a chance for us to experience diversity and to realize that a child with a physical handicap was no different from the rest of us. Instead, a handicapped child was plopped down in our midst with absolutely no explanation. Brian was a weird kid, and weird kids are meant to be tortured…. and I participated.

Sometime in the middle of the school year the teacher and school administration realized that Brian was being treated badly, and they attempted to intervene. The teacher gathered us all together and urged told us to stop teasing Brian. She proclaimed “Don’t you realize he is spastic!“

Could she have said anything worse? Didn’t she realize that to 7th graders in the early 1970s the word spastic was synonymous with weird? We had no idea that the term referred to an actual medical condition. To us, all the teacher was doing was confirming what we already knew! Brian was a really weird kid!

I think I feel more guilty about my treatment of Brian than I do about Mike because Brian was physically handicapped. Deep down I suspect I knew that – but it was an inconvenient fact and best ignored. I had no reason to hate or dislike Brian. In fact, he was a pretty nice guy. But, teasing Brian it took pressure off of me. If Brian was being tortured it meant that I was not.

Brian left the school after that year and transferred to public school. I did not keep up with him, but other friends related that he seemed to have an easier time at the public school than at the Catholic school. I have noticed this as well with my own children, who have attended both Catholic school and public school. There seems to be far less bullying in public schools. I am not sure why this is, or if the observation is even valid. It might be worth thinking about in a future blog.

My actions were not particularly noble, were they? I would love to be able to say that the experience of being bullied led me to stick up for Mike and Brian. Instead, I acted out of fear. I feared the bullies and I would do what I could to escape them – even if it meant engaging in despicable behavior. Believe me, I knew what I was doing was wrong.

So, there is my confession. I have made peace with my conscience, and I hope that Mike and Brian have forgiven me – if they even remember me. This has been a tough memory to relive, but in reliving it I have perhaps gained some important insights – insights into myself and insights into bullies.

I acted out of fear. I acted because I was afraid that the bullies would turn their attention back on me. I failed to stand up for others because I knew that by doing so I would put myself in harm’s way.

I acted out of fear. I wonder how many of my tormentors – the kids who bullied me – were likewise acting out of fear.

I will never know. But, understanding that fear and empathizing with that fear perhaps gives me an avenue to forgiveness.

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Tags: Bullying, Education, Law, National Affairs, observations, psychology, psychopathology, reflections, wordpress-political-blogs