How Powerless Resistance Reminds Bullies that the Universe Is a Witness
Reflections on the fleeting moments of terror that changed my perspective on reality
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As much as I've felt powerless in my lifetime, there have always been moments when I've stood up against injustice. Looking back on my life, there were times when I couldn't perceive a viable path of resistance. In those times I'd lay low and await an opportunity. It's important to remember that prudence isn't a sign of capitulation. Instead, it means you have the courage to ensure you're able to place your burning ember of justice where it's most likely to explode into a flame.
Most of the days of my school years were spent cowering in terror from brutal men who were drunk on their power. But I discovered you could startle them with unpredictable behavior.
These brutish teachers always picked a few students to torment. They targeted the weak and the vulnerable. They set their sights on children from broken homes. They saved their cruelty for kids who came to school in threadbare clothes.
The shame of rural American education is that kids fall into cliques.
You might think that's human nature.
You're wrong.
I spent 10 years teaching in high school and middle school in Peru. I taught in public schools and private schools. The kids were different in many ways, but no matter where I went in the country, I never discovered any cliques.
Instead, the children treated each other with consistent compassion. I'm sure that somebody who grew up within that system would contend that there were divisions. However, I never saw anything as radical as what I experienced in rural Wisconsin.
Somebody once shared an obituary they read from a small town. After 80 years, a man was still considered an “outsider” in a community, because he moved there when he was less than a year old. That anecdote represents the true depths of bigotry that have shackled the advancement of our empathy. It represents 80 wasted years of life living among people that will never accept you as one of their own.
In contrast, on my first day in Peru, I felt more accepted than I ever had been in the land of my birth. They took me in like a long lost son and welcomed me on the basis of our shared humanity.
Why can't the United States learn that basic practice of common decency?
Growing up, not all the teachers were bullies. But you didn't have to worry about the good ones. Their classrooms provided refuge. The good teachers tended our wounds like medical personnel attending to an unconscious body. I barely remember them.
We don't give them enough credit. They were the ones who carried us when our strength failed.
Good people don't seek praise. Good people don't demand that you thank them.
Decency is its own reward.
Every school year settled into a routine. The bullies would pick the kids they could get away with abusing, and the rest of us tried to stay out of the line of fire. We helped when we could. It got so that the bullies, and I'm talking about the bad teachers, began to forget the other kids were even there.
Camouflage in plain sight.
As the witnesses faded from their perception, the bullies become ever more emboldened. I saw teachers throw kids down stairs, or steal their lunches, or clench their hands into fists and advance. Eventually they did something that triggered an instinctive response that made it impossible to look away.
“This will not stand!”
As a public school kid in a rural town, I remember often thinking that I was about to die.
You have a limited concept of death when you're a child. It was nothing more than fear and instinct. Adults will often laugh away the comments of a kid who thinks his life is in danger, but if those words are said then the feeling is real.
Even if there really isn't that much risk of death, it seems real to you. It takes courage to accept that as a possible outcome and react anyway.
I'd always be in the throes of inner turmoil between survival and doing what was right. But at extreme moments, justice would win out and I would stand and say, “No!”
When a bully teacher has gotten used to seeing you as a passive, non-entity, it shocks them to encounter resistance. They allow themselves to become drunk on their ability to abuse with impunity. They take and they take and they take. Resistance, when it comes, hits them like a bucket of water.
“No! You can't do this. It's wrong. I'll tell. I'll make sure the whole world knows. You won't get away with it. There will be consequences.”
Then you stand and tremble with fury and terror, and it comes out like a color nobody has ever seen before.
The bullies stand there blinking. Some looked at me and their eyes hardened, before they caught themselves and became aware of the witnesses. If I could rouse myself, so could others.
They might have squashed me on the first day. But I didn't stand up until later in the year. I'd had time to prove myself. I hadn't gotten into trouble. I'd had good grades. There was a record that indicated I wasn't somebody who could just disappear.
“Stop treading on the marginalized!”
You could see the thoughts going through the bully's mind. Then they'd retreat. There would be the awkward silence of uncertainty in the classroom. This wasn't the type of thing that people would comment on later. It was outside of what we were indoctrinated to acknowledge.
There are things we don't recognize. Like how the Pope will never be a woman. You aren't allowed to be critical. Nobody says anything.
Growing up in a rural area, you're trained to accept that some things happen and you must never speak of them again. “It will be our little secret.”
“If you tell your parents, I'll kill them.”
Even the wildest kids said nothing. These infrequent moments came and went like an impossible shadow dancing across a field in the middle of a summer's day.
It just didn't happen.
Once you discover the blind spots, you free yourself of consequences. You come into power. You're invisible. You're a force.
There's a form of powerless resistance that allows you to stand up and remind your tormentor the universe bears witness and has the power to respond. As a child, you can speak with the voice of an adult. You can accept death as preferable to doing nothing.
“No! Stop it! This isn't right!”
And the echo of your words will resonate in the inactive conscience of the beast. He'll be stunned. I've seen it. But you only gain this power if you are willing to die.
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Wa-ow!! I am consistently amazed by the things you reveal and the bravery you share/shared. How did you even know that about waiting till you’d established a record? You were born for this moment! Thank you.
Great post and a reminder to keep our power and face them down. I had an incident in middle school. A girl wanted to fight me. Not really in my DNA, but instead of being the aggressor, she tried to trigger me into that role. I flatly stated I refuse to fight and just looked at her. She then slapped my cheek. I blandly said I would not fight her and asked if that action made her feel better and more powerful. She just stared, turned, and walked away. End of that episode. Bullies bully, but staring them down weakens their aggression.