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2011: Resolutions or Goals?

  • Posted on December 31, 2010 at 8:01 PM

I believe in progress.  I don’t mean I’m politically progressive, though I am depending on the definitions you use.  What I mean is that I believe that people—as individuals—are here to progress.  We grow, we change, we develop—and, if we’re lucky—we improve ourselves in the process.

I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions.  Relying on the New Year to reinforce commitments indicates to me that one’s commitment isn’t strong enough to face up to the challenges progress requires. 

Instead, I believe in goals.  Goals can be made during any point of the year.  I make goals, change them, and adapt them throughout the year.  And I work towards them.  I succeed.  I fail.  I grow.  I change.  I progress.  And I strive to improve.

Yet, despite my lack of belief in New Year’s resolutions, the change in year marks one of those times I re-evaluate my progress.  It’s not the only time, but it’s a pivotal time, because the New Year is potentially inspirational.  It’s a new start—one that relies solely on our perception, but a new start nonetheless.

One goal I have had is to write a nonfiction book tentatively entitled Neurodiversity at Work: A Manager’s Guide.  The purpose of this book is to prepare contemporary managers to cope with and capitalize on their neurologically diverse workforce.  Simply put, managers aren’t trained for this.  And I want to give managers a tool to improve their skills and awareness in this area.

Yet, I haven’t made much progress with this goal.  That’s got to change.  The New Year, with its fresh slate, is a good time to commit to that change.

So, I commit to you, my lovely readers, that I will post one book-specific post per month.  I commit to myself to follow up this book-specific post with book-specific work, related directly to completing the proposal for this book (a precursor to writing the book).

Another goal I have isn’t very well formulated.  I want to help my children grow and develop, but unlike many of my fellow parents of autistic kids, I usually don’t plan this.  Sure, there are IEPs and therapy goals.  There are even medical goals.  And while I contribute to the planning process and strive to achieve those goals, they are neither personal nor familial.  These commitments aren’t made from parent to child.

So, I also commit to you, my lovely readers, that I will post one progress report on each of my children each month.  I commit to myself to plan the kind of progress I want to work towards in that regard.  And I commit to my children to make my plans and my efforts wholly respectful, honoring the people they are and not simply enforcing “shoulds” and “coulds” on my children.

Now, I’d like to ask you:  Goals or resolutions?  What are yours?

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Christmas: A Series of Adjustments

  • Posted on December 27, 2010 at 3:19 PM

When our boys were diagnosed with autism, Mark and I braced ourselves for a lot of adjustments.  We needed to adjust the ways we addressed our boys’ behavioral problems.  We needed to adjust the ways we thought about these behaviors (challenges vs. problems, for example).  We needed to adjust the ways we thought about their futures and our future.  And we needed to adjust to our present, even as it changed on a daily basis or as it seemed not to change.

Holidays have required different adjustments.  In a way, our ability to cope with these recurring events has been less than I’d like.  Part of it is that they only occur once a year, so we don’t get as much practice as we get with some of the other things.  Part of it is that much of our lives revolve around coping.  Holidays require extra energy and extra effort.  Often, I just don’t have the “extra” to spare.  And part of it is that our boys are thrown off by these events, just as we are, perhaps more than we are, and so the cues I usually rely on get skewed.

This Christmas was no different, and yet it was different.  This Christmas we adjusted a little closer to what our boys needed.  But, we still haven’t figured out how to get that merry Christmas spirit pulsing through our lives.

On top of the usual festive difficulties, Ben was sick and so he wasn’t quite up to joining in the reindeer games…or much of anything else.

One adjustment we made somewhat successfully this year was the lack of a Christmas feast.  My boys don’t feast.  We’ve tried adding special things—their usual fare—just for them, but they still won’t be lured to the table.  Willy will sit down and try one or two things, just like he will for a regular meal, but he won’t feast.  It makes for a somber, disappointing mood, so I just didn’t do it.  Sure, we baked a ham—yummy stuff.  But, we didn’t make a bunch of fixings or make a big deal out of it.

Of course, when we went down to Illinois to celebrate Christmas with the extended family, Alex went on something of a hunger strike.  (Ben stayed at home with my mom—too sick to go.)  Alex didn’t eat dinner.  He ate (I think) his cold grilled cheese sandwich (from dinner) for breakfast, but refused all the breakfast foods.  And, during the Christmas party (lunch), he only ate sugar cookies.  It’s not that he wasn’t hungry, but he was so out of sorts he wasn’t willing to try much.  Even things he liked in other settings.  And we really don’t know how to make that better for him.

Another adjustment we made was not to make the big rush to Christmas morning.  The anticipation of morning presents affects Willy, but only when the morning comes.  None of our kids wake up early in anticipation.  None of them want to be woken up just because one of their brothers is up and ready for presents (almost always Willy).  And this year, Ben didn’t even want to open his presents.

So, it feels like Christmas is lacking something in our house.  Mark and I lack the energy to make a big deal out of it.  Our boys lack the interest to make a big deal out of it.  And so, while Christmas was held, Christmas was not celebrated by my family.  And, once again—like holiday after holiday, year after year before—it feels like something was missing.  And we still don’t know how to adjust to fill in the missing pieces.

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Child beTween Adult

  • Posted on December 21, 2010 at 10:42 PM

Willy turns twelve today.  He’s at the edge of childhood, embarking on that uncomfortable period of adjustment into adulthood.  From about ten to twelve, we call the “tweens.”  Willy’s at the older edge of this, yet he’s just starting to catch up socially and emotionally to what it means to be a ‘tween.  He’s pressing forward, resisting being seen as a child, but not ready to be an adult.  Yet, even as he presses forward, wanting to do more and more of what his peers do, his childish nature lingers on.  Later than his peers, he’s now a ‘tween to the core.

Symbolically, whether he realizes it or not, Willy has asserted his ‘tween-y-ness.  For a long, long time, he’s been my “Silly Willy.”  It was never intended to be derogatory.  He’s silly, and he’s my Willy, and it rhymes and it’s fun.  For most of his young life, he loved being called “Silly Willy.”  Now, suddenly it seems, that’s too childish of a nickname for him. 

I have been forbidden to call him “Silly Willy,” or even “silly” any more.  I respect that.  I try to remember, but years of habit are hard to erase.  When I forget, he reminds me good-naturedly, but adamantly. 

This, of course, has required a change of ritual.  Ever since he became sufficiently skilled in verbal exchanges, I’ve been asking him: “Who is the silliest Willy in the house?”  To which he enthusiastically responded, “I am!”  Now, I ask him: “Who is the smartest, sweetest Willy in the house?”  He likes the change.  It’s still filled with love and closeness, but it’s more grown-up.  Though—I see it on the horizon—I know the day will come when “sweet” is forbidden as well.

Children change.  It’s in their nature.  And so we adjust.  As parents, we have to struggle to keep up with their rush to grow up.  I’m trying.  But, I admit, I have doubts.

I remember the ‘tween and early teen years as intensely uncomfortable.  Part of that is just the way things are for all kids.  Part of that, for me at least, was being misunderstood and misunderstanding in return.  I scorned the childish ways of my peers, and for that I was often seen as being “mature for my age.”  Nobody suspected that I scorned those childish ways more from a lack of understanding than a lack of appreciation.  My vocabulary and scholastic abilities contributed.  I did well in school and spoke like an adult, so often I was seen as mature.  The side-effect, of course, was that my social and emotional delays weren’t recognized, nor did I get any of the assistance I needed.  I squeaked through adolescence in the shadows, and still feel more comfortable when I go unnoticed.

But Willy is not growing in the shadows.  Willy is in the bright light, having fun and enjoying life.  For that I am very grateful.  But I also know he’s somewhat on the edge of things.  He’s able to co-exist academically with his typically developing peers, with the help of some modifications.  But he still isn’t able to keep up with their social and emotional development.  He’s growing and changing, but he’s also just a few steps behind.  And that puts him at the edge of things.

He’s old enough to want to grow up faster, but young enough to enjoy being a child.  He’s old enough to want more responsibility and independence, but not mature enough to handle as much of it as he wants.  He’s my “medium boy.”  No longer little, but not quite a big kid either.

But there’s still that question:  How much of the responsibility and independence he wants can he really handle?  If I had thought that we wouldn’t face this so much with Willy as we do with Brandon, I was wrong.  And perhaps I did think that.  Brandon has always tried to grow up faster than he could.  Willy never did, or so I thought.  More so, I realize that Willy was doing it in his own way, with his own lack of understanding.  He was always a step behind, and reaching for things he thought were “grown-up,” while those things really represented the still-childish nature of his peers.  So, I do hold him back.  I try to help him understand.  But, then, there are times when he’s so clever and so helpful and so, well, mature, and then I have to wonder if I’m holding him back too much.

I wonder how this will unfold—this thing we call growing up.  I wonder if we’re prepared.  I wonder if parents are ever really prepared to see their children become the adults they will be.  And then, I let go.  We can only do the best we can.  And, for as long as I can, I’m going to balance trust and caution—trust that Willy may be able to do more than he’s credited with, and caution that we give him enough room to grow without so much room he’s lost in it.  Besides, I know whoever Willy becomes, he’ll be great!

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Proof: Ben Can Read!

  • Posted on December 19, 2010 at 3:28 AM

Some things you just know.  I know Ben can read.  But…knowing that really doesn’t do much good, does it?

One of Ben’s therapists—the one who comes most often—also knows Ben can read.  But…knowing that really doesn’t do much good either?

Taking a leap of faith, but needing proof, the lead therapist (or whatever her title is—still can’t keep it straight), set up a test.  On a white board, she wrote out a paragraph that Ben should have been able to read, if he could read.

The paragraph was full of relatively short, common words.  Words like “Ben” and “boy” and other familiar things.

And Ben read it.  I didn’t hear him.  He wouldn’t do it for me.  But he read it with two witnesses who were just gushing over his accomplishment.

Some words he didn’t know.  He didn’t just read “swim,” for example.  He had to sound it out.  And he did!  He sounded it out.  And once he sounded it out, he was comfortable with the word and, I’m guessing, was able to associate it with the activity he knows and loves (i.e., swimming).

Proving Ben can read took time and a bit of forethought.  Watching Ben read books that he very well might have memorized isn’t enough.  Watching Ben labor over books and then tell himself the story in the middle of the night isn’t enough.  Watching Ben read books we’ve never showed him, but he might have memorized in a different venue, isn’t enough.  Writing a whole new paragraph and watching Ben read it aloud proves Ben can read.

But this is also something of a “splinter skill,” at least in his ability to prove he can do it.  (Whether or not his ability to actually read varies is unknown.)  Sometimes he can read aloud.  If he’s calm enough to sit still…  If he’s able to understand the direction that requests he read aloud…  If he has interest in the “game” we’re playing by requesting that he read aloud…  Then, Ben can read and he will prove it by reading aloud to us.

Thinking about this, though, I have to wonder.  I mean, I knew Ben could read.  I know Alex can read.  But that skill isn’t attributed to Alex, because Alex can’t prove it.  He can’t verbalize it.  He can’t read aloud.

So, why is it the default position of schools/therapists/etcetera to assume inability until the ability is proven in a typical manner?  This question is two-fold.  Why the assumption of inability?  And, why can our means of attaining proof not be as creative as our means of teaching or meeting sensory needs?

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The Warmth of Home

  • Posted on December 13, 2010 at 4:16 PM

After the storm came through the Midwest, the older boys started hoping that school would be canceled.  It takes a lot for Janesville to cancel school, and we weren’t getting any more snow this morning, so I didn’t really expect it.  But this morning I checked before I woke the boys up, and I’m glad I did.

School wasn’t canceled.  We weren’t expecting more snow.  And, for Wisconsin, we really didn’t get that much.  We only got a few inches of rainy ice and a few inches of snow.  We certainly didn’t get the collapse-the-roof-of-the-Metrodome type of storm other areas got.  But, after seeing that many school districts were either canceling or delaying school (mostly due to rural routes that aren’t plowed as quickly as the city routes), I also checked the weather. 

This morning we had a severe weather warning due to the extreme cold in the area.  Because of wind chill and the remnants of the storm system, the outside conditions put vulnerable people at risk for hypothermia and frostbite.

Now, it’s not like I honestly expected that my boys might get frostbite during the short walk from the house to the bus and from the bus to the school.  Nor did I expect the schools to keep them outside waiting until school started.  The boys could have gone to school.  Considering the snow, it was safe enough for them.  However, I kept the boys home. 

A key factor in the warning was to “dress warm” and wear “hats and gloves.”  Most winter days this isn’t a problem.  The boys have all gotten over their sensory issues with hats and gloves, so they’ll actually wear them.  We have hats, gloves, warm coats, snow pants, and snow boots for each of the boys.  I can bundle them all up nice and warm and send them out the door.

But then there are those sensory issues again.  They’ll wear all of their warm stuff.  But, they also chew on their gloves and they chew on the upper part of their coat—you know the part of the collar that goes up over the mouth and maybe as far as the nose, the part with the zipper.  Most of the time, considering the relatively small amount of time they spend outside, this is just a risk of chafing.  Ben’s little face gets red and chapped.  So does Willy’s and Alex’s, though not quite as bad as Ben’s does.  Little fingers get cold wearing those saliva-wet gloves.

Of course, today there was that warning.  Temperatures, with wind chill, well below zero.  Risk of hypothermia and frostbite.  The boys hadn’t had many absences, so I figured it was a good time to keep them home.  Let them stay out of the cold and keep all their little noses, fingers, and chins warm and dry.

Sometimes in the hustle and bustle of keeping up with the boys, it’s easy to forget all the little things we do differently.  There are so many big differences that sometimes these little differences don’t seem important.  But, then a day like this comes along right after a weekend of tears and frustration.  And I realize I have to make choices on my children’s behalf all the time.  Sometimes it’s minor, like keeping them home from school on a bitterly cold day.  Other times it’s a much bigger decision.  But all I can do is the best I can for my kids…and take the consequences as they come.  Whether it involves monitoring medication and side effects or helping Willy catch up with his classmates because he missed a day of school, this is my life.  As hard as it is sometimes, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

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Out of (Self-)Control

  • Posted on December 11, 2010 at 11:51 PM

Yesterday was Alex’s eleventh birthday.  At first, I was going to write a post reminiscing on how Alex used to be so sweet and happy and calm; and I was going to compare that to how worried I was about his escalating aggression and lack of self-control.  But, yesterday went so well.  He was excited and hyper, but he was happy and having a great time.  I decided not to write that post.

Today.  Today, Alex fell off a chair.  It wasn’t a big fall, and he wasn’t badly hurt.  He landed on his side, and it was clear to me that he struck the side of his face when he landed.  The skin was extra white and a little puffy.  I tried to help him, but helping him became a wrestling match.  He was hurt and wanted to lash out.  He needed to lash out.  And that’s the way things have been lately.  When things go wrong, Alex’s frustration and anxiety shoot through the proverbial roof, and he melts down almost immediately, except instead of melting down he lashes out:  biting, pinching, hitting, and kicking whoever he can reach.

We’ve tried everything we know to do.  We’ve tried everything the school staff knows to do.  We’ve sought outside advice.  But none of it has worked.  Alex’s aggressive behaviors are getting worse.  He’s ability to concentrate on his work and self-regulate is getting worse.  He’s out of his own control.  It’s not just that he’s out of my control or the school’s control; he’s out of his own control.  And we’ve tried everything short of medicine to alleviate his distress.

I hate the idea of drugging my child.  There is such an ugly history of using chemical restraints to induce external control on individuals with psychological or developmental differences.  It’s an ugly, ugly history and I want no part of it.  I don’t want to force my child to take drugs so he can be manageable.  And that is what I see.  I don’t think of it as medicine, but as a chemical restraint, an attempt to make him manageable.  And I don’t want any part of it.

But today….  What if Alex had been seriously hurt?  What if he needed to go to the emergency room?  Considering the trouble I had examining him after his fall I know we would have needed physical restraints to hold him.  If he had a neck or head injury, he could have done himself serious damage, just struggling to lash out.  If he needed emergency care, they would have drugged him just so they could treat him.  It wouldn’t be something that’s right for him.  It wouldn’t be something given to him in monitored doses.  It would have been chemical restraints given in an emergency situation so he could be treated for his injuries.

I don’t know that the medication that’s been recommended will prevent that need.  I don’t know what it will do, and the doctors aren’t really sure either.  It’s an attempt.  It’s an experiment.  And I hate that, too.

But, if it works, it will help reduce the aggression and the anxiety, it will help him stay calm and self-regulated, it will help him learn and communicate.  It may make a big, big difference in his quality of life.  And that would be wonderful

And if it doesn’t work, we can stop it.  Try something else.

But I still don’t like it.  I find the very idea repugnant.  But we’re out of options.  If the situation continues as it is, it’s just going to get worse.  Alex doesn’t need to get much bigger before he’s truly dangerous to himself and others.  And that’s not Alex—it’s not the sweet, happy person Alex could be.

After yesterday and today, and all the many days in the past, it’s becoming clearer and clearer that Alex is probably bi-polar like his father.  And as rough as that is, that’s not what’s bothering me.  As rough as the behaviors are, they’re not what’s bothering me.  And it’s not just the need for medication, either.

Even knowing there is no answer, I want to know why.  Why is Alex the one who has to go through all of this?  Willy and Ben are autistic.  They’re just autistic, but being autistic is enough of a challenge in this world.  Alex is autistic, with (formerly) bad tonsils and bad adenoids, bad eyes, hernias, nutritional deficiencies and resistance to the special diet that would address those deficiencies, and now probable manic-depression.  Why are Willy and Ben basically healthy and well-adjusted?  Why is Alex not?  Why does Alex have to deal with all of these complications?

It’s not that I wish Willy and Ben were more sick.  Of course not.  But why does Alex have to go through so much?

Recently I read a post by Sarah on PlanetJosh.  And I can relate to that.  I want to scream at the top of my lungs—to nobody in particular, to the universe at large—LEAVE MY SON ALONE!!!

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Bullying (Part 13): Final Entry

  • Posted on December 6, 2010 at 11:08 PM

This bullying series started with definitions, then I moved on to bullying at the children’s level, including the differences in bullying for boys and girls. I also devoted a post to thoughts for the bullies, who may be victims of abuse and bullying themselves.  Finally, I asked why children bully before I moved onto bullying in the adult world.  I touched on bullying people who are perceived as different and what we can do about it.  I also discussed power, its misuse, and status.

Through these posts, I hope I established that bullying, as well as the attitudes and beliefs that make it possible, pervade our culture.  While some nations, like the U.S., seem to embrace bullying more readily, we are not alone in our dependence on bullying to support our social structure.

As autism is a state of being that pervades how the individual thinks and interacts, bullying is a state of doing that pervades how human society thinks and interacts.  While autism is reviled against, because this state of being doesn’t fit social norms, bullying is embraced, because these behaviors do fit social norms.

When autism is treated as a developmental disorder, we are told that “normal” people are socially competent and that autistic people are socially incompetent.  But “normal” social competence often relies on insincerity, bullying, and manipulation.  Social insincerity, bullying and manipulation are accepted social norms—however, they are also destructive tools used to force power dynamics between individuals, groups, organizations, and nations.

Not so long ago, bullying made the news in the U.S., because the victims of bullies were dying.  Leaders—politicians, celebrities, parents, teachers, social rights groups, and bloggers—called for the bullying to stop.  While I agree with the message, it seems hollow upon further reflection.  The U.S. is a nation that has a well-earned reputation as a bully in the international community.  American businesses and politic groups thrive on bullying.  Even our social rights groups use bullying tactics to make their points.  Bullying may not be all we do, but we do it extensively.  We rely on it.  And…we teach it to our kids as an effective means to get our way.

This is normal.  This is social competence.  This is the way for things to be.  This is what we rely on at the individual, group, and national level to make our social systems work.  And, yet, it is autistics we call dysfunctional.

Bullying isn’t something we have to tolerate.  We do not have to sit back and let these behaviors grow more accepted.  We do not have to accept this social norm.

But in order to fight bullying, we have to see it for what it is.  Bullying behaviors are not “boys being boys.”  It is not simply a natural behavior engaged in by the immature, and it certainly isn’t something our children outgrow.  Bullying is a learned behavior, a social tool used to enforce social structures.  It is pervasive. 

To fight it, we have to fight the attitudes and beliefs that make it possible.  We have to fight these attitudes and beliefs where they live and thrive.  We have to fight them in ourselves, in our groups, and in our governments.  We have to fight them in our homes, our schools, and our places of work.  We have to fight them in our systems—educational systems, health care systems, economic systems, and government systems.  We have to fight these attitudes and beliefs amongst our friends and our families.

Bullying may be normal, but it is not good, it is not right, and it is not acceptable.  And we don’t have to accept it.  We do have a choice.  And I choose not to bully.  I choose to teach my children not to bully.  I choose to encourage others not to bully.  There are other tools that can be used—tools that respect the rights and personhood of others.  I choose those tools.  I choose to teach the use of those tools to my children.

And, if only in a small way, I will make the world a better place by doing so.

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Bullying (Part 12): Bullying Reinforces Status

  • Posted on November 30, 2010 at 11:03 AM

In my last three posts, I discussed power as it relates to bullying.  A parallel phenomenon is bullying to reinforce status.  

In the United States, status is far from irrelevant.  We don’t live in an aristocracy, where Lords and Ladies that stay Lords and Ladies no matter what.  We don’t live in a caste system, where we are expected to fill whatever function we were born into.  But we do have classes.

In the United States, status and power are intertwined.  Unlike these strict societies, where power is wielded based on status, here power can be acquired from the lowest and lost by the highest.  As the power exchanges hands, so does status. 

In a movie I watched a while back—The Skulls starring Joshua Jackson—there was the following brief discussion:

“Is America really a class society?  Or is it the meritocracy we’re taught it is since we were in kindergarten?  Mr. McNamara?”

“Well, actually, I believe that it’s both, sir.”

“How can it be both?”

“It’s been my experience…that merit is rewarded with wealth, and with wealth comes class.”

For a long time, that observation struck me as something of a truism.  Yet, even as the movie unfolds, it demonstrated some examples of the severe abuses of power that may be used to reinforce this notion of status, and how wealth is used as a lure to suck in those with merit.

Apply that to life.  Apply that to the experiences of those who do not brush sleeves with that kind of power.  Apply that to those who hope that the degree of corruption described in that movie is only fiction.  Apply that to life, and you’ll see that status is far more complicated in the United States than is described by this movie.

According to Wikipedia, caste is described as: “an elaborate and complex social system that combines elements of occupation, endogamy, culture, social class, tribe affiliation and political power.”  Thinking about our own culture, I do wonder if it’s really so different.  The main difference seems to be the ability for those with merit (or those who lack it) to change their situation.  In the socio-political sense, this is a big, big difference.  However, for those who lack the opportunity to change their situation, the end-result is the same.

***

I grew up in a middle-income household.  We weren’t rich, but we didn’t lack for basic necessities like food, health care, housing, or clothes.  We often lived in school systems where I interacted with children that were either significantly poorer than we were or significantly richer than we were.  Some of the “rich kids” made fun of me, because I couldn’t afford to shop at the mall for my clothes.  Mostly, though, I was judged by my teachers, professionals, and peers based on who I was and what I did.

Then, I became an adult.  I married very young (18), and neither my husband nor I knew how to support ourselves or our growing family.  We relied on state aid for medical care, and for some nutritional needs (WIC, when the boys were young).  As a student, I was intelligent (if a bit naïve and overly idealistic), studious, and, well, “gifted.”  I was one of those who could be regarded as having merit, or having the potential for merit.  As an adult, I was poor white trash, too stupid and too ignorant to understand the dumbed-down legalese that was pushed in front of my face whenever my family had a need we weren’t able to meet.  Of course, nothing about me really changed.  I was still who I was.  But because my circumstances changed, my status changed; because my status changed, how I was perceived changed.

The difference in how I was treated was shocking.

As an adult, struggling to deal with the realities of a society that revolved around status, I have been bullied by those whose status was oh-so-superior to mine.  From doctors to social workers, from administrators to council members (i.e. local government), and from all sorts of people in between.  My status meant I didn’t matter.  Now, don’t get me wrong, the system is designed to provide for people like me, for families like mine.  But, who I am, what I think, what I know, what I’ve experienced—none of that matters.

Of course, now that I have a graduated Summa Cum Laude from Herzing University with a degree in Business Administration, now that I have been admitted as a graduate student at National-Louis University, now that I have started my own business, things are changing.  Once again, I am among those with merit, or at least the potential for merit.  My status is heightened.  My self—the essence that is me—is unchanged.

Yet, once again, the difference in how I am treated is shocking.

***

We live in a society where people with differences—particularly, but not exclusively, people with disabilities—have status points deducted from them just for those differences.  For people who are perceived as having merit, this is another challenge to overcome—an unfair challenge, but only a challenge.  For people who are perceived as not having merit, this can mean something entirely different.  It can mean a forfeiture of basic human rights.  It can mean a life-time of oppression—always being at the bottom with no way up.  It can even mean forced imprisonment for the crime of being unvalued.

We live in a society with class.  We live in a society where merit (as perceived by that society) can be rewarded with wealth for those who seek wealth.  We live in a society where wealth elevates class.  We live in a society where contributions made to society by those who forego the pursuit of wealth also elevate class.  But we also live in a society where the people who have neither wealth, nor class, nor merit (as perceived by that society), have no opportunity to elevate their class, and where some of those are treated their whole lives as if they as are something “less than.”  Less than worthy.  Less than right.  Less than human.

Systemic bullying enforces this social regime.  It isn’t bred into our bones.  It’s learned.  We learn it every day, since they day we first became aware.  Perhaps, before even that—at least, before our society recognizes awareness.  Bullying is built into the fabric of our culture.  We rely on it to keep people in their places.  Only those who can rise above it can advance.  Separating the wheat from the chaff.  And those who are left behind—the many who are left behind—know not this “land of opportunity” that is supposed to be so much better than all that came before.

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Bullying (Part 11): Addressing the Misuse of Power

  • Posted on November 22, 2010 at 2:46 PM

Social hierarchies exist within governments, within businesses, within non-profit organization, and within our social groups.  Avoidance of these situations is not possible.  But that does not mean we have to tolerate bullying behaviors within these abstract “environments.”

The reasons bullying occurs vary, but inadequate leadership skills are often involved.  Some bully consciously; others do so subconsciously.  Both types of bullying may occur from the same individual, even towards to the same victim.

Those who bully consciously can often justify their bullying behaviors, either for the sake of self-interest or for the sake of the group.  Addressing this choice involves addressing the justification for bullying.  When is bullying justified?  Is it ever justified?  There are many management and leadership strategies that can be used instead of bullying.  How do we teach those strategies?  What do we do when someone lacks the skill to use those strategies effectively?  Asking these questions, answering them, and equipping those in leadership positions to utilize non-bullying strategies would be an effective means to discourage bullying.  Consequences for relying on bullying to enforce authority would discourage bullying further.

For those who bully subconsciously—meaning they do not recognize their behavior as bullying—the best strategy would be to make them aware of their own bullying behaviors, and then equip them with alternative strategies.

Individuals can do these things on their own by assessing their own behavior and the behavior of those they look to as leaders.  Groups can do these things for their own group, and share the strategies they develop with other groups.  But, the ideal is to address this as a society.  This is, unfortunately, unlikely.  Many countries resort to bullying in their government, in their business, and in their social groups.  It goes in the toolbox because it works, and alternative strategies require more skill and more effort.

Power is not going to go away any time soon.  The corruption of power is not going to go away any time soon.  Perhaps it is my faith in God, or perhaps it is my lack of faith in man, but I don’t think we’ll ever progress to a point where power isn’t misused.  Perhaps it is my faith in God, or perhaps it is my faith in individuals, but I do think fighting the good fight, staying vigilant, and calling for change has a purpose.  We may never attain the ideal, but that isn’t a reason not to try.

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Bullying (Part 10): Power in Hierarchies

  • Posted on November 20, 2010 at 6:17 PM

As I suggested in my last post, I believe power is a necessary social force that is prone to corruption.  Bullying is one form of this corruption.

Bullying for the sake of power is a form of bullying to which we are all susceptible.  The only way to avoid it completely, if that’s even possible, would be to become so powerful that you were too entrenched to be bullied.  Of course, to get that kind of entrenched power you’d be part of the problem, not part of the solution.

To say we are all susceptible does not mean we all experience it, or that we all experience it to the same degree.  It means a life well-lived, a person well-liked, and a situation secured by socially acceptable means cannot protect one from this form of bullying.  You can do everything “right” and still be bullied.

For those of us who do not or cannot do everything “right,” by which I mean we cannot or do not adhere to social standards, this form of bullying seems to be even more common.  I suspect this has more to do with lack of power than targeting differences.  Simply put, we’re lower on “the pecking order,” and therefore have more people with the power to bully us.  I say this because those who are different but have their own power base are not subject to as much of this kind of bullying; furthermore, as I have gained a larger power base, I have been subjected to less of this kind of bullying.

Pecking orders, or social hierarchies, can be established in just about any social system.  They are often systemized in organizations.  In the management of organizations, this systemization acts as structure—assuming the competence of members, bullying is unnecessary.  Commands filter through the hierarchal structure, and those commands are carried out based on the authority of those issuing the commands.  However, not all members of the structure are competent.  Thus, bullying occurs.  When the authority of the individual is not sufficient to earn obedience, the manager may resort to bullying to get things done.  Lack of management skills or lack of competence in exercising one’s role in a particular position is often the culprit.  Instead of improving his or her management style, the manager relies on bullying the employees under him or her to get the results he or she desires.  In the short term, this can work.  So, bullying goes in the toolbox.  In the long term, it creates a toxic environment that damages the manager, the employees, and the organization.

Social hierarchies also happen outside organizations and in more informal organizations.  You see the childhood version of this in cliques at school.  One of the boys or girls in the clique is in the top position, as tenuous as that is, and leads the others.  Bullying behaviors are often used to maintain such a position.  These behaviors also can continue into the adult world, depending on the social situations you choose to involve yourself in.  It can happen in families as well.

Bullying for the sake of power—either to gain more power or to secure the power one has—can be found in any such social hierarchy, and all of us are touched by these hierarchies.  Addressing this dynamic depends less on where it occurs, or even why, but depends more on how it occurs, from the bullies’ perspectives, which I will cover in more detail in my next post.

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