How Rural Areas Rely on Bullies to Keep Decent People Marginalized and Afraid

In grade school, I was one of the few kids who learned how to push back

I knew the bully was going to come for me that day, but he wouldn’t risk the attack until we were in the stairwell or on the street. I knew he’d gather up his minions and chase me. I’d seen him do it to other people. They were like a pack of monsters. They liked to throw kids up against a fence and pound them to oblivion.

The backpack would go flying.

The lunch box would go flying.

The kid would start to bleed.

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Those that didn’t get a piece of the actual body would have to content themselves with the kid’s possessions. They’d rip the backpack to pieces. They’d scatter the books. They’d kick the lunchbox to break it open. The thermos would roll into the street.

We all feared this.

Fear was the point.

Poor kids were most likely to be the targets. They were already outside the protections of our community, so these attacks would completely destroy them. The poor kids were already on the fringes. Americans equate poverty with sinfulness.

Observers would think, “He’s getting what he deserves.”

When a mother managed to get together enough money to purchase a lunch box for her child, he carried it with pride. That lunch box became a symbol that he was a human being, not a thing.

Then the pack came licking its lips. “You might look like a human now, but you’re not fooling us! We know what you are. We know what you’ll always be! We’re going to strip away these trappings of humanity and leave you bleeding and blubbering in the street. Then everyone will see you as you are. And you know what? Nobody’s going to do a damn thing about it!”

The bullies were right. Nobody ever did do a damn thing about it. They were allowed to rampage and rip us to shreds. They were like the Morlocks from H.G. Wells’s The Time Machine. They were the savage ones allowed to gobble up kids as an example to the rest.

Stay in line!

God bless the USA.

My bully’s name was Justin. He looked like the stereotypical bully. He wore a leather jacket with a jean jacket vest every single day. It didn’t matter how hot or cold it was. He never used his locker. He never carried any books.

He wore the same clothing and the churlish expression. No matter what anyone said or did to him, he replied with contempt and snark. He looked very much like the men we elect to political office.

“Excuse me Justin, I need to get past you.”

“Why the hell you gotta bother me? Why can’t you go around?” Then he’d snort and add some sort of insult. “Moron. Idiot. Loser. Freak.”

But on that day, I’d had enough of him and I’d resolved to do something. It didn’t matter what, defiance was the victory.

I don’t know what got into me. Sometimes I get this righteous energy and it makes me tremble with excitement and fury and… I don’t know what.

I turn over my autonomy to the force of crackling energy. I figure it’s the universe telling me what to do. The universe knows better.

Justin had been sitting in the back belching and laughing and making idiotic remarks. I’d been sitting in the front actually attempting to learn because I wanted to get out of this hell hole of a rural town someday. I wanted to make something of myself. I aspired to be more than a classroom bully who mocked the whole world to make himself feel bigger than he was or would ever be.

So, early on in the class, I decided to put an end to Justin’s noise. I politely raised my hand. The teacher called on me, but instead of asking her a question, I turned to look at Justin and said, “Ms. Michelson, I just wanted to mention that a couple of the kids in this class think they’re funny, but the truth is nobody wants to hear from them so they need to keep their mouths shut.”

Sometimes an event happens that creates a ripple. Nobody wants to acknowledge it, but everybody knows. Such a moment occurs when you take the air out of a bully. You need to defy bullies publicly. Bullies only thrive within a bubble of fear, but if you puncture that bubble, you can almost feel the strength leaking out of them.

This was during the 1980s when all the boys fantasized about being some muscle bound action hero. I didn’t have those illusions. I wore glasses. I didn’t wear fashionable clothing. I was in the group of kids who could have his Star Wars lunchbox destroyed and then I’d be transformed into the sacrificial “other” by the rampaging Morlocks.

I had no illusions, I knew I was vulnerable.

But the pain of sitting there and taking it from an ignorant lout like Justin just wasn’t acceptable.

After my remark, Ms. Michelson stood there blinking. What I’d said hadn’t related to the lesson at all. Normally you’d get in trouble for such an interruption. But I knew I wouldn’t get in trouble from her. I wasn’t worried about that.

Once I finished speaking, I put my pencil to my paper and looked at her intently. My body language said, “I’m ready to take notes. I’m ready to learn. Please continue.”

The other kids were thinking, “That kid just signed his death warrant.”

Justin was so angry he’d finally shut up. The classroom was as quiet as it had ever been. It was quieter actually. There was nothing but crackling, energy. It might have stayed like that for a while, but my friend Grady let out a muted, one syllable grunt of approval.

The noise brought Ms. Michelson out of her stupor. “Yes, well, moving on…”

The class continued and I took my notes. Justin seethed. I watched the clock. This was the last class of the day and I knew they’d be after me. I’d planned this. I was ready to go directly from the class to the bus. The bus driver wouldn’t let Justin or his minions on the bus. I was certain of that because I’d seen it play out before. Kids were always getting chased by gangs to the bus.

Sometimes they didn’t make it and they were thrown into the chain link fence in plain view of all the kids who had already managed to take their seats. We’d look through the drop down windows and watched our classmates get pummeled.

Every so often a bus driver would go out and put an end to it, but only when it got to the point where inaction might make them an accessory to murder. For the most part, they were content to let the kids, “Sort it out for themselves.”

“Boys will be boys.”

That’s the prevailing attitude in the good old USA.

Right up to the point where the innocent kid starts bringing a piece of pipe to school to protect himself. Suddenly that’s, “Crossing the line,” even if you only use the weapon in self-defense.

“No weapons.”

How about, “No beatings?”

You said that and the teachers look at you like you’re being unreasonable. “How can we not have the beatings? How can we not have the Morlocks?”

The tension in the classroom grew. I even caught Ms. Michelson making furtive glances between me and Justin. I knew I couldn’t hope for her to step in, but it was enough that she wasn’t going to directly oppose me.

Help is too much to hope for.

The best you can expect is for people not to make themselves into obstacles.

I had all my things ready. I watched the clock, and when the bell rang, I got up and left. I’d planned this too. I didn’t run, but I walked quickly and deliberately. I wasn’t going to lollygag getting my stuff ready. I’d brought my stuff with me so I didn’t have to stop at my locker.

If I moved directly and quickly towards my bus, I would be okay. If Justin and his minions caught me in the hallway, they’d beat the crap out of me. They preferred to catch me by the chain link fence where there would be the added humiliation of having everybody see.

Our school had two stairwells. There was one to the immediate left of Ms. Michelson’s room. The other was down the hall to the right. The school took up a whole city block, and my bus was one of the first at the other end.

I knew that the hall quickly became crowded with kids, that meant it would be faster to cross the playground than stay inside the building. The problem was that the playground was wide open, and Justin and his minions were faster than me.

I didn’t want them running. I wanted them standing around stupidly looking for me. I needed subterfuge. I needed cover. I knew that if I slipped out of the classroom and went down the hall quickly enough, I could get through before all the kids had poured out of their classrooms. Then, when I exited the building, it would be a short walk to my bus.

“Walk,” I admonished myself. “Don’t run, they’ll be looking for somebody who is running.”

The bell rang and I moved. Ms. Michelson’s eyes flashed in a kind of panic and then she moved into the space I’d just vacated. Good, maybe that would give me a second. Out the door, turning to the right. Kids were pouring out of the rooms and slamming into the walls. I could see a pathway through the center, but it was closing fast. I didn’t want to get caught in the press of humanity. I didn’t run, but my strides were long and deliberate.

The stairway loomed just ahead when the overflow of students finally consumed the remaining space. I found myself having to push through the final steps.

“Hey, what gives?” somebody said.

“Sorry, I have a doctor’s appointment,” I replied. I didn’t, but all I needed was a second of confusion. The last ten steps were slow, but I finally broke through and started down the stairs. Now I succumbed to the adrenaline. The stairwell scared me. I preferred to be caught against the fence than caught here. At least the bus drivers would prevent the bullies from killing me. I knew my classmates would just walk by.

Around and down, around and down, one floor, two floors, then three. I saw the light of the outside world. I saw the buses in the distance. A few kids were exiting already. They’d been the ones from classrooms at the far end of the hallway. I merged with a group and hunkered down.

Outside I peered across the playground. Justin and three of his buddies were standing at the far door, they were looking around, but not moving. That was good. My heart beat rapidly, but I kept my pace slow. If they didn’t see me, I could make it to the bus.

But then one was pointing, and a moment later they all started running. I ran too. The bus was ahead. I’d have to zig-zag between two of them, but I liked my chances.

The smell of exhaust hung in the air and left me momentarily dizzy. Would they be waiting at the bus? No, not possible, Justin didn’t know which bus I took. I came around the bumper, sprinted the last few yards, and clambered inside.

Safe?

I crouched low in a seat hoping that Justin hadn’t seen me. Then, out the window, I saw him. He was outside, looking this way and that like a fool. He was enraged. He directed his brutish buddies to search this way and that. He came to stand right outside my window, and for a flickering moment, he looked dejected and frustrated.

I watched.

Then, as if sensing eyes were upon him, he turned to my window. I dropped down, cursing myself, another surge of adrenaline sent my heart racing. Had he seen me? Or had it been too dark inside? I tried to remember what it looked like to gaze into the window of a bus from the outside. All you could see was shadow.

Right?

Right?

Other kids, completely oblivious to the ongoing drama, piled onto the bus. They didn’t care. Justin and his gang was always chasing somebody at this time of day. That was the routine. A couple of the kids gave me strange looks because I was huddling below the window.

“What are you doing down there?”

“I dropped something.”

In any population, there are always one or two astute kids who recognize what’s going on. They’re the chaotic ones who might call out, “Hey Justin! I think I found the guy you’re looking for!” They do this not because they dislike you, they’re just delighted in watching the events unfold. As clever as that type of kid is at reading a situation, they’re usually among the worst students.

I tended to make friends with kids like that. I knew them to be the most dangerous.

Nobody said anything. I kept my back to the window. Eventually the bus started to move. As we made our way down the street, I looked back to see what might be happening.

Justin was pummeling one of his minions. Somebody had to be held accountable. That’s the problem with aligning yourself with a bully, you don’t prevent your downfall, you just delay it.

A few of the kids passively commented, some of them even cheered, but Justin and his ilk were of the sacrificial class, they’d just deluded themselves into thinking they were the protagonists.

I remained on the fringes, but I’d kept my Star Wars lunch box intact for one more day at least. I’d also put a chink in the armor. I’d tested the bully and found him vulnerable. Even if they managed to throw me against the wall at a later date, I’d remember this truth.

They were frauds. They could be defied. They could be beaten.

Bullies live in terror of this understanding because once the truth has been exposed they wither up and die.

No one weeps for them.

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