Jeff's Blog

Within every group of people-- be it a school classroom, an ethnic minority, a sorority or fraternity, a place of employment, a church, a charitable organization, a social network, or even the LGBT community—there is internal discrimination. There are popular people, trend-setters, leaders, organizers, spokespersons—the elite of the group; and there are also the outcasts.

The band member who has acne. The overweight coworker. The nerdy, socially inept classmate. The gay boy with no fashion sense. The kid on the playground who stutters. The volunteer who has a heart of gold but an embarrassingly low IQ. The girl with out-of-control hair and an annoying nasally voice. The scary-smart geek that everyone thinks is a know-it-all.

We’re above all that, aren’t we? We all know things like this are superficial, meaningless. We don’t judge others on the basis of the type of car they drive or the brand of clothes they wear. We don’t tell mean jokes about other people’s hairstyles or label the shy and insecure as “social retards”. We don’t complain, even to ourselves, about how annoying and whiny that person with low self-esteem is. We don’t generalize and paint with a broad brush those among us who have not traveled or who don’t own their own home or who just are not cultured.

Sadly, we do all of these things. It is particularly comforting to know that within our group there is someone beneath us. There is someone that has a little less right to be here than we do. We feel better about ourselves because we have a few more material things. We’ve accomplished more, have more life experience, and therefore we know more. We’re a little bit smarter than they are. We might not be perfect looking ourselves but at least we don’t look like that. At least we don’t buy our clothes from that store or drive that kind of car or live in that neighborhood. We may not be exactly cosmopolitan, but at least we’ve traveled outside of our own state or region or country. And therefore, we’re a little more worldly.

This is how we live our lives, not just in the classroom or on the playground, but as adults. Then we get on Facebook and Twitter and we bemoan the tragic deaths of these precious young kids who took their own lives because they were bullied. We wear our purple and slap on our bumper stickers, maybe even donate a little cash to the Trevor Project. Yet every single time we make that mental calculation that we’re a tiny bit better than that other person in our group, or we complain about how annoying or pathetic or embarrassing that group member is who just doesn’t quite fit in, we ourselves become the bullies.

It’s a form of elitism. Snobbery. It’s an unspoken social ranking. The best looking, most personable, most confident—these are the ones among us who rise quickly to the top. The remainder fights with each other, competing to stay off the bottom. And if we can put someone else down, then we ensure that they remain below us on that social ladder. We might not win the popularity contest ourselves, but we sure as hell didn’t come in last.

Maybe the best way to eliminate bullying in our schools is to first eliminate it in our lives. Instead of telling cruel jokes behind the back of our dorky coworker, we could have lunch with him. Instead of scoffing at the hideous dress our team member is wearing, we could strike up a conversation with her about a shared interest. Instead of feeling so proud of ourselves for having a better car or nicer clothes than our neighbors, maybe we could make an effort to get to know them. Maybe if we all try to do things like this our kids will learn that all these things that we say don't really matter, won’t really matter.

Bullying is a big problem. I think we all recognize that much at least. But do we realize how often it is not merely an “us versus them” dynamic? Many times it is “us versus us”.

Within every group of people-- be it a school classroom, an ethnic minority, a sorority or fraternity, a place of employment, a church, a charitable organization, a social network, or even the LGBT community—there is internal discrimination. There are popular people, trend-setters, leaders, organizers, spokespersons—the elite of the group; and there are also the outcasts.

The band member who has acne. The overweight coworker. The nerdy, socially inept classmate. The gay boy with no fashion sense. The kid on the playground who stutters. The volunteer who has a heart of gold but an embarrassingly low IQ. The girl with out-of-control hair and an annoying nasally voice. The scary-smart geek that everyone thinks is a know-it-all.

We’re above all that, aren’t we? We all know things like this are superficial, meaningless. We don’t judge others on the basis of the type of car they drive or the brand of clothes they wear. We don’t tell mean jokes about other people’s hairstyles or label the shy and insecure as “social retards”. We don’t complain, even to ourselves, about how annoying and whiny that person with low self-esteem is. We don’t generalize and paint with a broad brush those among us who have not traveled or who don’t own their own home or who just are not cultured.

Sadly, we do all of these things. It is particularly comforting to know that within our group there is someone beneath us. There is someone that has a little less right to be here than we do. We feel better about ourselves because we have a few more material things. We’ve accomplished more, have more life experience, and therefore we know more. We’re a little bit smarter than they are. We might not be perfect looking ourselves but at least we don’t look like that. At least we don’t buy our clothes from that store or drive that kind of car or live in that neighborhood. We may not be exactly cosmopolitan, but at least we’ve traveled outside of our own state or region or country. And therefore, we’re a little more worldly.

This is how we live our lives, not just in the classroom or on the playground, but as adults. Then we get on Facebook and Twitter and we bemoan the tragic deaths of these precious young kids who took their own lives because they were bullied. We wear our purple and slap on our bumper stickers, maybe even donate a little cash to the Trevor Project. Yet every single time we make that mental calculation that we’re a tiny bit better than that other person in our group, or we complain about how annoying or pathetic or embarrassing that group member is who just doesn’t quite fit in, we ourselves become the bullies.

It’s a form of elitism. Snobbery. It’s an unspoken social ranking. The best looking, most personable, most confident—these are the ones among us who rise quickly to the top. The remainder fights with each other, competing to stay off the bottom. And if we can put someone else down, then we ensure that they remain below us on that social ladder. We might not win the popularity contest ourselves, but we sure as hell didn’t come in last.

Maybe the best way to eliminate bullying in our schools is to first eliminate it in our lives. Instead of telling cruel jokes behind the back of our dorky coworker, we could have lunch with him. Instead of scoffing at the hideous dress our team member is wearing, we could strike up a conversation with her about a shared interest. Instead of feeling so proud of ourselves for having a better car or nicer clothes than our neighbors, maybe we could make an effort to get to know them. Maybe if we all try to do things like this our kids will learn that all these things that we say don't really matter, won’t really matter.

Bullying is a big problem. I think we all recognize that much at least. But do we realize how often it is not merely an “us versus them” dynamic? Many times it is “us versus us”.