Lately there's been a peculiar interest in the power of shame, or of "shaming," an activity which, especially on social media, has morphed into a virtual past-time. The easily acquired power to exclude another from a perceived group irresistibly draws mean-spirted and otherwise inarticulate individuals into a kind of feeding frenzy of power theft, not so much to advance an idea (sometimes legitimate) but to devastate a very real human being. The difference here is significant: destroying a person is not supporting a cause. It's just a nasty way to pass time. And while, for some, it may seem to take the general shape and appearance of vigorous public discourse, there's really nothing substantial or even especially clever about the playground politics of shaming. But that's in the adult world.
Pulling back the camera from the modern arenas of TikTok and Twitter and refocusing on the literal playground, or the classroom, shame can be seen in its "traditional," and I want almost to say natural, environment. It's here that parents need to take notice. For anyone, but especially for boys and men, the experience of shaming (which I define here as any word or action designed to target an individual for exclusion from his rightful group), trumps every other aversive force. It's deeply wounding. Consequently, the victim will do practically anything to avoid the emotion. And his reaction may do considerable harm, to others possibly, but certainly to himself. The playground lacks the escape mechanism of a professionally worded, usually insincere, and always vacuous public confession.
Problematically, the victim here is often his own passive worst enemy, not because he purposefully engages in what we might erroneously but do frequent classify as "shameful" behavior, but because he is different. While the other boys play soccer, he sits on the sideline and devours a book. While others sit at lunch boasting about their latest digital triumph, he waits silently for the topic of spiders or distant planets to arise (they don't). While others wear one brand of sneakers, he wears another. But by some means, however inconsequential to the adult eye, he unknowingly assumes the posture of "otherness" in the eyes of his peers. In effect, though not by intention, he excludes himself. This creates a kind of feedback loop in which the victim may even double down on whatever perceived "offense" he has committed.
Groups can't form without some sense of exclusivity. There has to be a space outside the group for there to be a space inside. We are the boys, and they (the girls) are not. We are the cool kids, but just us--everyone else is uncool. We are the sporty active kids who play tag at recess--everyone else is wasting time. This isn't necessarily bad. For most, this exclusion is inconsequential. The girls, for example (most of them), have little interest in being considered an insider among the boys. Many children are unimpressed by one pod of self-appointed "cool kids" as they have satisfying groups of their own. This is an important distinction. Not everybody naturally belongs to every group. But where there is the reasonable perception that one does, exclusion hurts.
Perhaps it's helpful for us as adults to remember that shamers are often only precariously "inside" the group, struggling to define themselves there, or to consolidate their place, so that the energy behind shaming relies upon their sense of inadequacy. But our primary empathy rightly lies with the victim. So what can we do for him? A good first move is to examine ourselves. Many well intentioned adults engage unknowingly in shaming behavior all the time, attempting, if effect by shame, to motivate the children in our care to more effective or appropriate behavior. This rarely works out, and at essence it's no different than the playground politics we abhor. Our proper (and achievable) task is to shame-proof our children, to empower them.
...to be continued.
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