A Call for Compassion for Bullies
"Practice what you preach." How often do we hear that expression, as if any of us are ever hypocrites on purpose. Most of us try our best to live up to the standards we expect from others, and when we fail, it's usually nothing more than an honest error. As Catholics in the education system, our objective is to use discipline with intelligence, and compassion. But sometimes, the system undermines us. Only when we're willing to take a fresh look at an antiquated paradigm can we change the behavior that can inadvertently turn our schools into dangerous places.
When we think of safety, most of us envision metal detectors, security guards and emergency evacuation drills. Safety however isn't only physical. Unless we consider the emotional and psychological safety of students, we're lying to ourselves that we're doing a good job protecting our kids. It is not the gun or the knife that cause injury or death. It is the rage that builds inside a child's heart that inspires the use of these that is the true cause. After all, a fulfilled, well-adjusted student is not tempted to hurt others. The lonely, misunderstood or neglected adolescent can often be tempted. I know, because I was one of those students.
I remember back in 8th grade a "clique" dictated the social and cultural trends of my school. If they liked you, you were in. If they didn't, you sat by yourself at lunch, walked to class alone, and came home from school with spitballs in your hair…or worse. One afternoon, I saw them throwing dirt at his eyes of another student with severe Downs Syndrome. The incident remains vivid in my mind because Roger, the victim, despite how his eyes must have stung and burned, was smiling because he was so excited that the "cool crowd," was finally paying attention to him.
I immediately jumped in and demanded that everyone leave Roger alone. His attackers called me "retard lover," "priss," and a dozen other epitaphs, before finally walking away. All day long, I kept asking myself, how could those kids be so cruel? Roger was so innocent and undeserving.
Later that afternoon I was waiting for my mom to pick me up at school. There had been a blizzard and the ground was covered in a deep layer of snow. Suddenly, I heard footsteps. I turned and watched in horror as the same group of kids who had attacked Roger started in on me. The ringleader was Jerry, the captain of the wrestling team. He and three of his friends threw me onto the ground, and forced open my jaw. The rest gathered handfuls of snow. Then, everyone began shoving fistfuls of snow down my shirt, in my ears, and deep down my throat. They were laughing so hard they couldn't hear me choking. Finally, Jerry said to his best friend, "Hey dude, I think she's gagging." With that, they high-fived each other, and ran off.
When my mom pulled up, she found me curled in a ball under the bushes. The next day my parents dragged me to the principal's office. The principal interviewed me, then Jerry and his friends. He gave them all detention except for Jerry, who received a one-week at home suspension. I felt vindicated until the day Jerry returned to school. He ambushed me by the bus stop and pushed me into moving traffic. For twenty-five years, I wondered why he hated me so much and though I'm ashamed to admit it, secretly wished life would teach him a hard lesson in compassion. Little did I know that it would be me who would be taught that lesson one extraordinary night only a few short months ago.
I was having dinner in my hometown when Jerry's best friend Jim walked in. I hadn't seen him in twenty years. He commented how strange it was bumping into me, as his mom had just finished reading my book. "Remember that crazy snowball fight we had in eighth grade?" he reminisced. Jim then went on to relate that later that night his mom invited Jerry and all six boys over for spaghetti. They ran into the living room to catch something on TV, and when they returned to the table, all six plates were empty and Jerry was standing there, a sheepish grin on his face, with tomato sauce dripping down his shirt.
"At the time, mom didn't make anything of it and thought Jerry was being a smart aleck as usual," recalled Jimmy. "But after she read your book, she started thinking about that day, and it suddenly occurred to her, 'Oh my God, he wasn't acting up, that poor kid was hungry. He had seven siblings and there wasn't enough food at home. How could I have been so insensitive?'"
God gave me a gift that night. All those years I believed Jerry hated me. He never did. He was just so hungry and angry that he needed to take his frustrations out, and who better to target than the outcast who got him punished? I don't blame Jerry. I blame the principal. Why? Victims aren't the only ones who need compassion and understanding. Bullies need love and support just as much as those they abuse. Traditional punishment doesn't work. It makes an angry kid angrier. And if you make an angry kid angrier, all he'll do is take it out on the outcast. He won't take it out on his cool friends or the popular students because that's too much of a social risk.
By punishing Jerry with an at-home suspension, the principal sentenced him to a week of hunger — because at school he could at least share food with his friends.
What should the principal have done? Rather than hastily suspending Jerry he should have enlisted curiosity to determine the root of the problem. In a non-threatening manner, he should have used the following approach with him:
- First tell him: We are so proud of having you as a student in this school. What's going on? Something must really be bothering you to have made you behave this way.
- Then he should have sat back and listened.
- Chances are, Jerry would have told him he was hungry. If he didn't the principal should have followed up with siblings, coaches, and friends asking: "Is there anything wrong with Jerry, or do you notice anything that might explain his behavior?
- Once he determined the root cause of Jerry's anger, he should have then taken steps to alleviate the situation that was causing it. In this case, he could have asked the PTA to discreetly assist the family.
- After the cause of the situation was taken care of, Jerry should have been told, "I understand you were hungry. I can't imagine how awful that must have been. (Remember, always acknowledge the child's pain, always validate their suffering.) But it still doesn't excuse what you did to Jodee. This episode began because you were angry at Jodee for defending a student with Downs. So, for the next month, you're going to give up your study hall, and volunteer in the Special Ed Department to work with the Downs students, so you can learn firsthand why Jodee loves these special students.
Every act of discipline must provide an opportunity for the student to discover their own compassion. As educators, it's our job to create those opportunities.
A child pulls the legs off of a frog. You can tell him it's bad to do that, but that's not enough. Kids need to learn why it's bad. What should you do? Take the child to an animal shelter for a day. Create the opportunity for the child to discover his own compassion, by seeing for himself the pain that had been inflicted on animals by acts of cruelty; and affording them the joy and reward of doing a good thing — volunteering for an afternoon or a day helping the veterinarians.
Another example: Instruct the student to do one kind act each day for another student for one week. Then they should write a paragraph describing the lesson that they learned by giving, and the joy the other person experienced because of their effort. The recipient should sign the paragraph before it is turned in to the teacher.
Get curious, because the bully is bleeding too. Find out what's wrong — bullying is a symptom, not a disease. Every child, no matter how much they may misbehave, has goodness inside them. The more you blindly punish, the more you bury that goodness. Bury it too far, and the child will never know the empathy, kindness and compassion that lives within them.
By Jodee Blanco
January 2005
Author of The New York Times Bestselling memoir, Please Stop Laughing at Me