We are treating bullying as if it is a new phenomenon. The only thing new is the advancements in the weaponry used to attack our opponents. Take a look at all the technological advances such as computers which allow us to send e-mails, set up blogs and web journals where we can post pictures of our friends and enemies in promiscuous poses of which they are not even aware because of the advancements in the functions of the cell phone. Many times these things can be done in anonymity therefore this allows kids who would normally not do these things to be far more brazen. It just shows that many of us have a nasty streak that if uncontrolled can be extremely harmful or devastating to another individual. When we can distance ourselves like this we don't even have to see the immediate reaction of the person whom we are ridiculing so we are not as affected by it. It's a sobering thought to realize that any of us can be bullies if our identity is kept secret and we don't have to accept the consequences of our actions. Most of the people who do these things against others are not working alone but in groups of three or four together with one or two leaders and the rest as followers. To many of these kids what they are doing is just a game they play for their own amusement without thinking of the long range consequences to the person whom they are attacking. In most cases they don't even really know them. They only know what they have observed, such as the way the individual dresses, walks, talks and responds to issues in the classroom or in some other social setting, or maybe they only know what someone else told them. If they can label this person a "Geek" or "Different" from the group he or she becomes fodder for their game.
In my observations girls are far more adept at this type of tormenting than boys. Girls can be underhanded and much more verbally endowed than boys. Boys are out in the open and their actions inflict more physical than mental anguish. These people go home and sleep like babies while their victim is dying of mortification and anguish from the attacks on his identity or self esteem. ( By Golly, Molly, You're Right" presents this quite well.)
Reflecting back to my own school days, in a small village, I can remember a little boy in grade two that everyone laughed at because he seemed so silly. He was fat, wore glasses and was very shy. The typical sort of child that is made fun of. His name was David. David came to school late every morning and the teacher berated him in front of the class for being tardy. I can remember him crying with his head down and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of ill fitting pants. When he was asked why he was late he usually had some silly excuse such as, " I had to fill the pepper and salt shakers" or 'I couldn't find my shoes." The teacher allowed us to laugh at these outlandish replies. One day David didn't show up for school. He was found hanging in his basement. Was it suicide or was it an accident? Today with what I've experienced I would likely say suicide. I feel very sad upon reflection of David and the grief he must have experienced from his tormenters.
There was another boy who went to school with me and he was always in trouble for fighting, mouthing of at the teacher, or trying to look up the girls skirts. Fortunately we did not have to put up with him very often because when he wasn't truant he was usually suspended. He failed every year. At that time they didn't have special classes and everyone was treated the same way. If you didn't do the work you didn't pass the grade. Little did they care if you were sixteen in grade three because then you could legally leave school. We just thought of him as being a 'bad' boy.
As the years went by this fellow spent a considerably long stretch in prison for kidnapping and raping a very young girl. He kept her confined for a few months. If there had been help provided for him maybe he would have turned out differently. In many cases we can blame ourselves for how some of these disadvantaged people do turn out.
The worst case of bullying I ever experienced was by a boy in my school who was about twelve years old at the time. We will call him Ronnie. Ronnie came from a very dysfunctional background. It was claimed that he was the result of an incestuous relationship between a brother and sister. Others claimed his mother had an illicit relationship with her uncle. Ronnie was then raised by his grandmother who was very lacking in any love or compassion for this little boy in her care. She was a drunk as well as a woman of loose morals. I was too young to know whether Ronnie was mentally challenged but looking back on the genetics of the birth he may very well have been. Also since this family were bootleggers and drinking was a chief pastime Ronnie might have been effected at birth by fetal alcohol syndrome. The effects of alcohol on the fetus were not known at that time. When I close my eyes and picture his face he did have features that fit the description of this disease.
Ronnie had all the external characteristics of a child who would draw the attention of the bullies. He was quiet and slow, was dressed in baggy, worn clothing, stooped over looking at the ground when he walked and was academically doing poorly. He had a dogged look. He never liked to make eye contact but when he did he usually said something dirty or threatening especially if he was talking to one of the little girls or some boy much younger than himself. He always threatened to "fuck the little girls" or "kill the little boys." The older boys in the school teased him mercilessly. This gave him a reason to pick on the girls or the little boys in an attempt to compensate for how he was being treated. This was his way to release his frustrations.
This is a case where we have a person who is both a victim and a bully. Ronnie was always threatening to kill someone. One day Ronnie trapped a child up in the bushes on top of a rockcliffe and tried to bash him over the head with a rock. He was unsuccessful in this attempt. The little boy outwitted him and headed for home. Another day Ronnie brought a hunting knife to school with him and was waiting for the right opportunity to kill someone, anyone. He hid it down in the long grass, at the edge of the schoolyard, by the fence, waiting for the right time and the best opportunity. This was reported to the authorities by one of the older boys that Ronnie had made the mistake of bragging to. There was a time that he brought his uncle's gun to school and hid it down by the roadside. He again bragged about what he was going to do to someone and again was reported. I don't recall whether he had any ammunition or whether he even knew anything about guns. There were never any consequences to any of his actions. He was always trying to impress the very people who were his tormentors. Somehow I think he was trying to seek approval or acceptance from the older kids mainly because he feared them. He wanted desperately to belong and to have friends like the others. He was always rejected and spent most of his time alone.
One warm October day, shortly after the beginning of school, Ronnie attacked a six year old boy, who had just started grade one, throwing him over the overhead bridge down onto the railway tracks below. He had a wheelbarrow waiting there that contained a rope and a shovel. He wheeled him down the tracks to the creek where he brutally murdered him by bashing his head against a rock, then propping him up in the creek and throwing stones at him. Ronnie appeared in the village after he committed this heinous crime and bragged to one of the older boys about "just killing a guy." He went home covered with blood and his grandmother cleaned him up and put him to bed. She washed all of his clothes and hung them on the clothesline before the police came. When the police interviewed her later she said, "Ronnie often cuts up live cats. I just thought that's what the blood was from. I wasn't tryin' to hide nothin'." At that time she was suspect at trying to cover up Ronnie's crime.
We had an incompetant sheriff in our village who always said, "Stop picking on Ronnie. Leave him alone. This talk is just fantasy. He's like all little boys who make up stories. It's just pretend. " Ronnie was likely crying out for help and no one was listening. There was no one to love him, or listen to him,or say something kind when he needed some support. Even the schools then did not meet the needs of the 'special students'. Look what he had to do to get our attention. If I could view this same situation today I would likely see that Ronnie was a very sick young boy and not capable of controlling his feelings without help and maybe not even then.
When Ronnie's court case was going on in the Town Hall I remember him sitting in between two policeman and I never saw him look happier than he did at that moment. Even though I was only about ten years old I remember them getting him an ice cream cone and making sure he was well looked after. They seemed to feel sorry for him. Maybe they realized that he wasn't really responsible for his actions. Someone said, at the time, that Ronnie had a criminal mind way beyond his years.
Bullying in some shape or other has been with us since the birth of man. There was competition between tribes for food, territory and mates which often resulted in violence and death. There have always been wars which are the highest form of bullying because it is a quest for control or power over land and their peoples and is obtained regardless of the deaths of many. Entertainment existed in the Roman days of Gladiators fighting to the death in front of royalty and high ranking priests for their amusement. The Christian Crusades that were fought in the name of religion were very violent. Look at our young Muslim boys bribed by their fanatical leaders to commit suicide and take as many Christians and Jews with them as possible. Regardless of how civilized a society becomes we can't seem to overcome the quest for power and control over others by any available means. The competitive spirit of man never wanes and if this is true can we ever phase out bullying?
Look what happened in Montreal this week. What a tragedy for both sides! What happened to Kimveer Gill to turn him from a quiet boy into a killer. He said he had forgotten how to smile and his one desire was to turn the world into a graveyard. He felt that the weapons he had amassed would, in the end, be the great equalizer. I am assuming he meant the great equalizer to be the death of his tormentors.
Stop and reflect on what he liked the best in his young life; freshly dug graves; weapons of all kinds; the cold and the dark; he wanted the sky to be always grey; he loved to walk in the rain without an umbrella.
Stop and reflect on what he disliked or hated; that he was part of the human race; jocks and"preps"; society for applauding jocks and "preps"; his peers; his teachers; his family members; authority figures; everything in mainstream society.
Kimveer was a walking time bomb with his obsession with guns and death, feelings of ongoing rejection which may have been past experiences with bullying or he may not have been accepted socially because of his Gothic interests which tend to make others uneasy or fearful. The fact that Kimveer drank 'Jack Daniels' would also add to his mood swings and aggressive behaviour. He didn't mention how much he drank but he did mention he drank in the morning which is not a time that most people have their first drink of the day unless they are addicted. He may have felt it gave him the courage he required to face the day and also to carry out his macabre plan. Alcohol gives people a false sense security. It allows them to do things they would never have the nerve to do sober.
It appears from his blog that he may have experienced a romantic rejection of some kind. This can be extremely devastating for a young man with a fragile persona. Kimveer stated in his blog that he had met a like minded woman through VampireFreaks.com. Something seemed to happen between them that spoiled the relationship. The expression he used in his blog "Where is my Juliet?" conjures up feelings of sadness for a lost love. He stated "They make you fall in love with them and then they run away."
This young man seemed to have experienced a lot of rejection and perhaps right at a critical period in his life. Kimveer joined the military and wasn't there very long until he was released by mutual agreement and a claim that he was not suited for the military. What was the real reason for his dismisal?
There was a chilling prophecy in Kimveer's online journal that makes you realize how depressed this young man felt and what a surreal world he had finally found himself in.
"It will be a quiet and peaceful morning. A light drizzle will be starting up. The clouds will be grey, so grey. Just the way I like it. Disembowled bodies litter the streets. Some have been decapitated, others hung of bridges and overpasses. Yet others still lie burning....They have paid this day, they truly have paid."
This is truly a horrible visual image. Perhaps much like many of the visuals he was presented with in the violent video games he played so often in his escape from reality. He said in his blog..."Life is like a video game. You gotta die sometime."
Just thinking of the torment and the sadness exhibited by this lonley , rejected, unhappy young person who lived in a world without laughter, sunshine, color or love, makes me want to cry. How can someone reach the age of twenty-five and leave this world in such a violent manner without someone, somewhere being conscious of what was going on in his life. Where were all the educators then with their bullying programs? Where were the parents? What were the bystanders doing? There are always bystanders and they see and are often very aware of whats happening. Hopefully we will gain insight from what has happened here and be more alert to the need of helping children in the formative years who are being subjected to bullying by other students. Kimveer is a result of the inadequacy of our system.
The students who were injured, and Anastasia who died in this sensless slaughter are also the victims of the failure of our system to seriously attack this growing problem. This never should have happened to this beautiful, bright and talented 'Princess'. Her father described her as a "Bottle of champagne, filled to the rim, ready to explode and always the centre of attention." Pink was her favorite color and friends she had many. In a heart beat Anastasia was taken from her world of sunshineand everything pink into the dreary, dark, rainy, Gothic domain of Kimveer. Anastasia is a victim of Kimveer and Kimveer is our victim. These two people were direct opposites in all ways and it just happened that on that dull, rainy day their paths crossed and fate interveened leading to the death of Anastasia and the critical injuries of several other young, innocent victims.
He was drowning in his own hatred. The bystanders heard the faint cries for help but turned away. He was floundering as he surfaced one more time, gasping for breathe and crying out in a feeble voice. He sank into the darkness of his soul like a stone. His head exploded in pain as his finger pulled the trigger. Silence. At last he was ready for the thing he loved the most...A freshly dug grave. Rest in peace Kimveer! I hope in death you find what evaded you in life.
Let's hope that somehow, in the future, we can apply the knowledge we have gained from these sensless actions and prevent the unecessary destruction of the lives of so many innocent young people. We must also make the young boys and girls in our care realize the damage that is being done to others when they torment , tease, taunt and reject someone when playing their silly little games. One of these tormented individuals may someday seek revenge just as Kimveer did or he might turn his agony inwardly and end his own life. Even the poor soul who does neither of these things but grows up and appears to be enjoying a full life has been scarred forever. The teaching of empathy to the very young is the best thing we can do to help change this cycle of violence.
We must make sure that our differences don't mean more than our common humanity.
From the strawberry season in June until the raspberries, blackberries and blueberries of August we were busy collecting these fruits, to become part of our special treats, for the winter pantry or root cellar when the snow covered the ground and the temperatures dropped below zero.
These succulent berries didn't cost you anything except a few scraped knees as you crawled along close to the ground picking the strawberries and slapping frantically at the mosquitoes, or wandering through fields of tall canes to pick the raspberries, which resulted in bloody scratches all over your legs and arms. Your head,sore and swollen from the bites of the deerflies and horseflies that seemed attracted by your sweat and the realization that you couldn't swat them with your hands full. Usually the strawberries were right next to the railway tracks that were covered with large pieces of gravel, chunks of coal and cinders, making it extremely hard to walk on without going over on an ankle. Keep alert for the train whistle and make sure you get of f the tracks even though the trains in those days didn't travel very fast . The one coming out from Kingston called the 'KICK AND PUSH' stopped at every rock cut and farmhouse to drop people off so you really weren't in any grave danger. You could hear the whistles, the clanging and the huffing and puffing of the steam engine as it crawled toward its destination. The only place I was afraid of getting trapped, when the train was coming, was crossing the railway bridge that spanned the water because there was no where to go except over the side. It was hard to run across because the gaps between the ties were big enough to catch your foot in or possibly, as a kid, your whole leg.
We loved the fruits of all this hard labor even if we didn't appreciate the labor itself. The preserves, the jellies, the jams, the fresh, homemade berry pies and the strawberry shortcake to die for, made from fresh, hot biscuits were all worth the agony as the painful memories, of berry picking, started to subside. The scrapes healed, the scratches faded, and the size of our heads returned to normal. Same time next year! Ouch!!
Looking back I have a great deal of admiration for my mother who worked hard to put food on the table for her family on a very limited budget. You didn't say "No thank you, I don't think berry picking is my thing today." (There were certainly times when I felt like saying this.) It was just understood that you would help as part of the family and I think that each of us knew the importance of our contribution even though we sometimes resented the imposition. This is a value that has been lost over the years. In the end you felt a strong sense of belonging and self worth. If berry picking taught me anything it was the true meaning of the phrase-"You don't get something for nothing", or "No pain, no gain."
This has really been an adventure. Technology can be frustrating for those of us who didn't grow up with it. As a teacher I can remember all the duplicating machines we experienced. They chewed up the paper and spit it out, sprayed black powder and oozed purple ink. When working with them you almost required coveralls. You stood holding your breathe hoping to at least get a class set of something before the machine went squirrely on you.
I was never as badly off as my mother though. I remember her coming home after a long day of teaching in a one room school house, getting supper and helping us with our homework while she proceeded to prepare her classes for the next day. First of all she would take a piece of white paper and draw horizontal lines lightly on it as a guide. Taking a pencil with purple or indelible lead she would print out her test slowly and carefully. Now, just think about it! She needs several copies! She takes out her handy portable duplicator, called a hectograph, that consisted of a shallow, wooden, rectangular box a little bigger than the paper. Then she produces a jar of a jelly like substance out of her bag and heats it on the stove until it melts. Lord only knows what kind of a toxic mess that was. Toxic had a different definition in those days. She then poured this jelly like substance into the box and let it cool. After it became firm, about the consistency of jello when you have only added one cup of water instead of the two requested, she placed the master copy of her work carefully on the surface of this jelly, pressing down gently until all the words adhered to the pad. She then carefully lifted this sheet from the surface of the goo, so as not to smear the ink. Now she was ready to go. One page after the other she presses gently onto the surface of the pad, carefully producing how ever many copies she required. She would set them aside carefully until they dried. If they were placed one on top of the other they would stick together. Just upload a mental picture of the kitchen while she worked. Oops, I forgot! She can only do forty and then she must start all over again, melting the jelly, letting it cool, transferring her original copy to the pad, place one sheet after the other and so on it goes until she changes to a new subject that requires a new stencil. There are no technical screw ups here, only human errors. I 'm sure there were times when she must have fallen asleep face down in this goop. I know I would.
Come to think of it the problems I am encountering are nothing compared to the ones my mother had for I can do it all with one finger never leaving my chair. So what if you make a few errors. Life is full of corrections and a series of revisions and we will likely never get it right but we will come closer by trying.
So when you enter my site to see me and talk to me you may find it will never be the same from one day to the next. If we are ever satisfied with our first efforts our growth has been stunted through the fear that this new fandangled machine can instill. Stand up to it. Don't let it bully you! Remember it's only a tool manufactured for your use. Oh my God it crashed!! I've just lost everything!
My next door neighbor Andrew Lovesey is a real computer whiz. Without him I would never have been able to cope. If you live in Ottawa and need a Web Site maybe he would build you one or help you overcome your problems.
