In the current atmosphere of our society, the phrase “Words Matter” has appeared frequently. The insensitive and racist remarks by Trump have become all too common and, apparently to many, acceptable. Hurtful words and name calling are reprehensible. Each and every one of us should be angry and intercede when we are exposed to such incidences. As for Trump, we need to get him out of the Oval Office, expeditiously, before he does any more damage.
I wrote a piece in 2010 when I was a trustee of a nonprofit called The Center for Preventing Hate. This organization had trained staff to go into schools to work with teachers and a group of students, teaching them how to respond, what to do when confronted with bullying and name calling. They were taught how to intervene and were educated of the danger to certain students acting out in this manner. The executive director of this organization was Steve Wessler, a former Assistant Attorney General of Maine. Steve and his family had had personal anti-Semitic experiences, one of which was finding a burning cross on their lawn.
My piece, “Words As Weapons” was written after accompanying Steve to a local school in Maine to address this subject to the entire student body.
A man from Bangor was sitting beside me in the gymnasium, waiting for Steve to begin, while all the 300 plus students filed in to sit at long tables. “It was only one boy trying to get attention. I know these kids. There isn’t any discrimination in the school or community,” the man said to me.
The impetus for this occasion was an article that had appeared in a Bangor newspaper about a high school white supremist group trying to solicit new members. I recounted Steve Wessler’s discourse in my article. An excerpt follows:
Steve takes a deep breath. “I want to tell you a story, a true story, that happened near here. Some of you may have heard about it. A young man, named Charlie Howard, attended elementary schools and graduated from high school in the Bangor area.” Steve’s voice turns somber. “Charlie stood out, different from the other kids. He was not included in games or groups. He was taunted and teased throughout his schooling. Charlie remained alone and didn’t respond to the kids who mocked him.” Steve pauses and looks around the room, locking eyes with some of the students.
“Three high school boys started to pick on Charlie regularly, calling him hurtful and ugly names. Other students who observed these verbal attacks stood by, some doing nothing, some simply ignoring the scene—some laughed. No one said stop it. No one reported these incidents to the administration or police.”
Steve switched the mic from one hand to the other, again looking straight into the faces of the students. “So the three boys, construing this lack of intervention as an acceptance, took the action up a notch. They became physical, shoving him around. Still no one interfered. Then they beat him up after school. They boasted about it. Still no one spoke up.” Steve then moved closer to one of the tables and looked around at each student.
Stepping back, he focused on the entire group. “One day the three boys were driving across the Kenduskeag Bridge and saw him walking. Charlie recognized the car and started running. But they jumped out of the car and caught him and started beating him. One grabbed Charlie’s foot. Another grabbed his other foot. The third boy grabbed Charlie’s wrists. And they started swinging him.” Steve paused to compose himself, lowered his head for a couple seconds, and whispered, “Charlie, until this point had never said a word. Then he said only three words. I…can’t…swim. And they swung him over the railing.”
Silence dropped on all of us like a gavel. In this gymnasium, which usually resonates with the roar of cheering and yelling, over 300 high school students sat, motionless, hands gripping chair bottoms, teeth biting lips, faces laced with emotion.
I fought back the swelling of tears and expelled a sustained breath. No one moved. No one whispered. No one fidgeted in his chair. No one shuffled her feet.
Steve’s voice broke the silence. “How many of you are aware of any weapons brought into this school?” he asked. Many hands rose. “What kind of weapons?” Steve probed further. I glanced across the room at the faces of faculty and two police officers. I detected slight uneasiness and discomfort. Postures shifted.
Then a few students called out: “Pocketknives…Pencils...” Steve responded softly and slowly, “Yes, but does anyone know what particular word I’m thinking of?” A hand shot up. “Words!” Steve’s face changed. “How many of you have heard someone use a derogatory word referring to another person’s race or religion or sexuality?” Many hands appeared. “How many of you know someone who has turned to drugs or alcohol?” Many hands. “How many of you know someone who has cut themselves or talked of suicide?” More hands. “And how many of you know someone who actually did kill themselves?” Five hands rose slowly. Steve stepped back, dropped his head, and lowered the mic for a few seconds, Then in a nearly inaudible whisper, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” I glanced at my neighbor and saw him drop his head and shake it gently back and forth, his hands clasped and dropped between his knees.
Steve told another story with a contrasting positive conclusion. Five ninth graders, walking on a road, courageously spoke up, defying a car-full of older boys that drove by, hurling hateful racist words at one of them who was Black. Instead of an incident turning to violence, the car sped off.
My admiration for Steve’s work increased as he coaxed students to come forward to share any stories or incidents they had witnessed. Twenty-five to thirty courageous young men and women, one by one, walked to Steve, took the mic and told of hateful, hurtful scenes. Some spoke of defending the victim. A few of the students related they had been victims themselves and how much the derogatory words hurt and affected them. A couple of students cited Facebook being used for hateful name-calling and bullying of individuals.
As I sat and listened, I couldn’t help but wonder if we as a society have learned anything in the twenty-six years since the tragic death of Charlie Howard. Though Steve and his staff had made a significant impact with their work in the ten years since the inception of The Center for Preventing Hate, the recession, high unemployment and insecurities have fueled fear and anxieties. The Center had experienced a 300% increase in requests for help in Maine schools and communities.
Steve, in a recent speech had told the Rotary Club of South Portland and Cape Elizabeth, “How our younger generation responds to hate and violence will be how our society responds to these issues in ten, fifteen or twenty years,”
When Steve was Assistant Attorney General, in every hate crime he investigated, there was one common denominator: “It doesn’t start with a knife and it doesn’t start with a threat of violence. There always is a prior history of escalation from the routine use of degrading language which no one has challenged or interrupted.”
Steve and his group worked in the schools to get across to students and teachers that change doesn’t happen by a rule or speech; it happens by “…one person doing something that takes courage: standing up and reaching out to somebody else.”
It’s hard to tell if there was a lasting or even any impact on those students, teachers and parents. We still hear of many incidents. The hate is building now because, I think, of Trump’s rhetoric. Racism and homophobia are rampant. According to the Southern Poverty Law Center, in a 2018 tracking study, there are 1020 Hate Groups across the United States of America. 5 are in Maine: Act for America (Anti-Muslim), The Daily Stormer (Neo-Nazi), New Albion (White Nationalist), Atomwaffen Division (Neo-Nazi), National Right (White Nationalist). Interesting to note, 0 in New Mexico, 0 in New Hampshire. The most was 83 in California.
Thinking and writing about this subject elicits a memory from my childhood. In grade school, I befriended a boy named Clayton. He was bigger and older than the rest of the class because he had been held back for several grades. The other kids called him stupid. Even some of the teachers called him “mentally retarded.”
I sensed that whatever was wrong with Clayton, he couldn’t do anything about it and that saddened me. I tried to protect him. When the kids would taunt and call him names I told him, “Don’t pay them any mind, Clayton.” I couldn’t bear the other kids teasing him. I yelled back at them to stop.
If I saw him having lunch alone, I would join him at his empty lunch table. I helped him with his schoolwork, which pleased the teachers since it meant they didn’t have to spend a lot of extra time with him. Eventually, the kids stopped teasing and picking on him.
Hate has no place in the world, not in Maine, not in our schools, not in our churches, not in our community. Each of us has to speak out when we hear words hurled as weapons. We must stop the incident before it escalates into a tragedy.