What
We Talk About
When We Talk About Bullying
5/11/12
For those who haven’t
seen it, Bully is that documentary
everyone is talking about that focuses on
the miserable school lives of (mainly) five adolescents: a lesbian girl
living
in the Bible Belt, an African-American girl who gets stuck in juvie
after
bringing a gun to school to confront her tormentors, a dorky guy
everyone calls
“Fish-face,” plus posthumous tales of two more boys who have,
lamentably,
already committed suicide due (presumably) to the problems they faced
at
school. It’s
powerful stuff, and there’s
no excuse for how any of these kids are treated.
But I think there’s a big problem with how
bullying is constructed in the film, and it’s a problem I’d already
been
noticing, and continue to notice, in the discourse on bullying in our
society.
The stuff the lesbian
girl has to deal with is by far the
most inexcusable treatment the film presents.
Serious threats are taped up in her locker. Someone tries to run her
over with a car. Even
her teachers call her a “faggot.”
What she has to deal with goes beyond
bullying—as many adults are complicit in the abuse as other kids. And that’s exactly why her
story belongs in a
documentary about homophobia, not bullying.
As for the girl with the gun, all we know is
that somebody did something
and she ended up bringing a gun on the bus in response.
We get zero information about how she was
treated before the incident, or by whom.
The cases of the two boys
who committed suicide are, for
obvious reasons, hard to read. We
know
they got picked on, and pretty badly, but we don’t know why. The film, however,
somewhat strongly implies
that they were gay. It
doesn’t put this
in any concrete terms, but it does stack the deck, combining
voice-overs about
the kids being called “fag” and not liking sports with what seem to be
the most
feminine-looking pictures of the boys that the producers could find. Obviously, this is
impossible to judge. Every
unpopular kid gets called “fag” at that
age, both the actually gay and non-gay alike.
What is it worth to look at a picture of an
eleven-year old and say
“yeah, he looks kinda gay to me?”
And
what does it say about the people concerned with this issue that we
apparently have
to convince ourselves a boy was gay in order to view his suicide as a
tragedy?
Alex, the most prominent
bullying victim in the film, is
presumably straight. The
documentary
even makes this clear by inserting a scene towards the end of him
awkwardly and
adorably mumbling about some girls he thinks are cute.
But Bully
is also careful to “mark” Alex in other ways—a seemingly unnecessary
explanation of the fact that he was born prematurely, complete with
pictures of
him hooked up to machinery as a tiny newborn, is inserted very early on. In other words, the film
takes pains to
categorize Alex not merely as dorky, but semi-disabled.
Why mention all this?
Well, as glad as I am that the issue of
bullying is finally getting
attention, what Bully and all the
other recent coverage has made clear to me is this: due to the
lingering
influence of identity politics, the sympathetic Left in this country is
still
uncomfortable admitting that there can be such a thing as a straight
male
victim, at least one who hasn’t been biologically recategorized.
Don’t get me
wrong—bullying of gay kids is terrible, as is
homophobia in general, and it needs to stop.
But so does bullying of non-gay kids.
I may be making too much of this, but I don’t
think so. There is
only one principal victim in Bully
presented as a heterosexual male,
and the film feels compelled to apologize for his inclusion by painting
him as
physically handicapped, even though he isn’t.
An eyebrow-raising scene near the end shows us
Alex’s mom blaming Alex’s
problems on the fact that his dad is too hard to talk to, that he never
cries in front of his
son, as the camera
leadingly focuses on an empty beer can the dad has set down. There’s no implication
whatsoever that Alex’s
dad is an alcoholic, or even drinks too much or that often. But everybody knows what a
beer can
symbolizes. Get it,
folks? Masculinity
itself is the problem. The
solution
to bullying is that straight men need to
cry more.
Except that it’s not,
because that’s stupid. Most
of the recent focus on bullying has taken
the form of addressing bullying against gay kids, either to the
exclusion of
other forms of bullying, as in the “It Gets Better” campaign, or
privileged
over it, as in Bully. I love and support the “It
Gets Better”
campaign, but it’s about a specific type of bullying, not bullying
itself. Bullying
itself is not primarily a gay
issue. It can’t be,
simply because of
math. Even taking
the most liberal (in
the mathematical sense) estimate of gays constituting 10% of the
population,
that doesn’t put enough gay kids in a given school for them to comprise
the
majority of bullying victims. Way
more
kids get bullied than that. Yes,
the
majority of bullies are straight males.
But the majority of bullying victims are also
straight males. This,
in a nutshell, is why identity politics
is not the solution to every problem.
And I’m not saying this
to cry “liberal agenda” or some
nonsense. I’m
saying it because I don’t
want any bullying victims to get pushed to the sidelines. I don’t want a repeat of
the discourse on
teen self-esteem in the 90s, where everybody focused on depressed girls
and
either ignored or flat-out denied the existence of depressed boys. The way I saw it, all
depressed kids needed help, not
just the girls. And
like self-esteem, bullying is—and must be
treated as—an individual problem, not a group problem.
It is not about a powerful group and a
powerless group. Some
individuals are
assholes, and those individuals bully other individuals of all stripes.
The scene in Bully
that churned my gut the most—by a wide margin—concerned a boy named
Cole, who
had just physically defended himself against a bully.
We don’t see the fight, but we do see a
female school administrator make the two boys (insincerely) shake hands
and
then condescendingly lecture Cole as if he had been complicit in his
own
bullying. When this
happens to a girl,
we call it “blaming the victim.” When
it
happens to a boy, we call it “school policy.”
This is never addressed
in the film, but in my old
school—and from what I can tell, in most high schools—there is a
standing
policy that everyone who was involved in a fight gets in the same
amount of
trouble. The school
does not even want
to hear “who started it,” as if who
started it is some sort of juvenile or outdated concern that kids need
to learn
to get over (whereas, in adult law, “who started it” is appropriately
treated
as the central concern). The
unwritten—but always observed—corollary to this policy is “as long as
everyone
in the fight was male.” If
a boy attacks
a girl and the girl fights back, the girl does not get in trouble,
obviously. And this
is as it should be. All
I’m saying is, when a bunch of guys beat
up another guy, the guy they beat up should not be punished alongside
them for
his failure to be a girl.
By extension, this ties
into why it is such a shaky strategy
for the discourse on bullying to be framed around gay kids: at that
age, most
gay kids aren’t yet officially gay.
They
may be closeted, or they may not yet even fully know themselves that
they are
gay. Once everyone
is an adult, the Left
can weed out the gay guys during any discourse about gender and power
before
they start yelling: “oh, we don’t mean you, gay guys — please go stand
over
there and enjoy some punch and cookies while we yell at the straight
men.” But if we’re
talking about a junior high
school, it’s not so simple. A
certain
percentage of bullied boys will be identifying as gay in another five
or ten
years, but when we talk about bullying, we are necessarily talking
about
kids. How do you
apply Queer Theory to
people too young to have conveniently separated out into gay and
straight?
At my old school, the
administrator in charge of doling out
punishment after fights was a woman.
At
every school in Bully, this is also
the case. I do not
know whether this is
by design, but it seems likely. Male
faculty, after all, might be blinded by their gender into caring about
juvenile
things like “who started it.” A
female
administrator, on the other hand, is much more likely to see the
incident
through the “appropriate” lens of “they are all boys, and boys like
fighting, so
therefore they all agreed to fight and should get in the same amount of
trouble.”
But this idea of
“agreeing to fight” is poppycock.
The romantic notion of two adolescent boys
challenging each other and meeting by the flagpole at three o’clock,
backed by
audiences of their respective friends who are there to ensure that the
rules
are observed, in some modern version of a 19th
Century duel, happens
far more often in the movies than in real life.
Some secondary-school fights are organized
this way, but those are
almost always instances of a disagreement between two popular kids. Just as with the
historical dueling we
compare it to, formality is the prerogative of the upper classes. An aristocrat who had been
slighted by a
commoner wouldn’t have challenged the commoner to a duel—he would have
killed
him where he stood. Likewise,
the formal
agreement to fight at an appointed time is a courtesy extended only to
boys
above a certain level of popularity.
If you think this essay
should make something like a
specific recommendation about how to lessen the problem of bullying,
here’s a
good one: end the sexist “everyone gets in the same amount of trouble”
policy. And while
we’re at it, don’t put
female faculty in charge of punishments after male fights. I’m sorry, but they just
don’t get it. (A
fact hilariously memorialized in the
classic Simpsons episode about
bullying, where Marge unhelpfully tells Bart “Anyone who beats you up
because
of a shirt isn’t your friend,” then goes away actually believing she’s
solved
something. I
realize, of course, that
this is a scripted line put in the mouth of a female character by a
male writer
– but it is put there to exorcise the memories of all-too-real
ineptitude on
the parts of many female authority figures when it comes to effectively
policing violence among juvenile males.
It is no stretch to assume that a TV comedy
writer was a nerd as a kid,
and that this line is a faithful crystallization of how useless it was
whenever
an adult woman tried to get involved with his persecution. It certainly rings true
with my own memories,
which is why I laugh so hard at it.)
If a girl were being
teased in the girls’ locker room about
getting her period or whatever, there is no way in hell anybody would
even
dream of letting a male faculty member handle that, and with good
reason. I think the
boys deserve the same
courtesy. A male
teacher can look at a
bunch of boys after a fight and tell who the bullies were and who the
victims
were. In many
cases, all a female
teacher sees is a bunch of boys. This
is
intolerably unfair to the victims.
Curiously, however, there
is very little physical violence
shown or even hinted at in Bully. We see the aftermath of
Cole’s fight (then
never see Cole again, as if the film felt he “didn’t work” for some
reason), and
see Alex get deadarmed and so forth on the bus, but on the whole the
focus is
on teasing and name-calling, not violence—possibly because a primary
focus on
violence would have excluded the girls.
The issue of girls being
bullied brings up another matter
that the film—and the nationwide discourse on bullying—would seemingly
rather
not deal with. Namely,
the fact that
girls who get bullied are mainly bullied by other girls. In the stories of the male
victims in Bully, we hear about or
even see footage
of their specific tormentors; in the stories of the female victims, we
don’t. The upshot
of the latter is that the audience
is free to imagine male bullies (and in the case of the Black girl,
bullies who
are white instead of also Black).
But it
just isn’t that simple. Rachel
Ehmke,
the 13-year-old Minnesota girl who hanged herself last month, was
harassed by
kids who called her a “prostitute” and wrote “slut” on her locker—but
those
kids weren’t boys; they were other girls.
And Rachel wasn’t “different” or “marked” in
any traditional P.C. “victim”
sense—she was a skinny, pretty blonde.
It is a grossly unhelpful
oversimplification for adults to
be addressing the problem of bullying by trying to paint the politics
of junior
high as a microcosm of the politics of the adult world.
The two worlds just aren’t the same. Not even close. Well-meaning Liberals are
going into this
debate with an adult bias, looking for victim narratives that make
sense to
them in their own political terms.
That’s
forgivable, of course, but it’s the wrong tack here.
If we as adults want to do something about
bullying, then the first thing we need to do is respect the kid world
enough to
treat it on its own terms, not as a stand-in for our own. Eighth grade is not about
Liberals vs.
Conservatives—eighth-graders don’t even know what Liberals and
Conservatives
are.
It’s a natural reaction
to examine a new paradigm and want
to understand it in terms of your old one—to talk about how it should be working instead of how it does
work. Physicists’
first reaction to the
quantum world was to go “Stupid quantum mechanics!
Be more like gravity!”
Eventually, of course, they had to admit that
it wasn’t and construct a totally different model.
Unlike the power narratives we hear about in
college and subsequently apply to adult society, middle school isn’t
“traditionally
masculine straight men vs. everyone else.”
It’s not the 99 Percent vs. the 1 Percent, or
Christians vs.
Non-Christians. In
the kid world, the
ugly can drive the attractive to suicide, and the poor frequently beat
up the
rich. The extent to
which adult Liberals
are willing to acknowledge this marks the difference between whether
they want
to help kids or use kids. I
hate bullies
and I hate Conservatives, but those words are not always synonyms.
A curious irony, given
the title, is the fact that there are
hardly any bullies in Bully. Their presence, with one
or two exceptions,
is implied, but not shown. All
we see
are the victims. This
isn’t a suspense
technique, like not showing the shark for the first half of Jaws, so much as a push towards
introspection
– we are supposed to conclude that we are all
the bullies, and that sort of thing.
But
this too is problematic. The
construction of bullying in Bully
is
an inverted pyramid – there are certain designated victim kids who get
picked
on by everyone else. This is sometimes the case
in broader reality,
but rarely.
More usually, it is the
bullies themselves, rather than the
victims, who have defined identities as such.
There are a handful of psychos, everyone knows
who they are, and a
victim is whoever happens to be unlucky enough to be in the bathroom
when one
of those guys walks in (with exemptions for kids above a certain level
of
popularity). We can
intuit easily enough
why Bully made this choice: it
would
be a far less sympathetic project to focus on five adolescent psychos
and make
the audience clamor for them to be dragged out into the street and
horsewhipped. But
nevertheless, not doing this
constructs an inaccurate
depiction of real-life bullying dynamics.
It is easier to pity than to punish, but the
fact remains: ask people to
reflect on bullying in their high schools, and the reflection will take
the
form of “wow, everyone shouldn’t have been so cruel to poor so-and-so”
far less
often than “wow, so-and-so was a lunatic and should have been thrown in
prison.”
This is another example
of the bullying discourse foisting adult
politics onto the kid world. In
adult
politics, the victims are the ones with identities—they belong to this
group or
that group. But
once again, the kid
world mostly doesn’t work that way.
Yes,
kids can and do get bullied for being gay, or handicapped, or whatever. But these cases don’t
account for the
majority of bullying incidents—just the ones that adults find it
easiest and most
useful to discuss.
I feel like this is
important to say, because it looks to me
like the current discourse is aiming to frame bullying as a
Gender-Studies
Issue. For people
who aren’t in
academia, what “Gender-Studies Issue” means in plain English is
“something that
women and gay men are in charge of talking about.”
And though this is an appropriate assignment
for a lot of issues, I don’t think it is for bullying.
As a straight man who was bullied as much as
or more than anyone else I have ever met, I think it’s fair for me to
ask: why
should feminists be in charge of talking about my experience? Especially since, as I
outlined above, at
many schools the fact that women are the ones “in charge of” talking
about bullying
is a huge part of the problem.
At the end of the day,
I’m not upset that it is specifically
bullying of gay kids that is finally drawing attention to bullying, and
I’m
pretty sure the straight male victims in today’s schools aren’t upset
about it
either. Getting
rescued from a burning
building because you happened to be standing next to the person that
everyone really wanted to rescue is
better than
not being rescued at all. But
still, it
kind of makes you wonder why nobody thought you’d have been worth
saving if
you’d been the only one there.
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