What is "Non Violence"?

I participate in a Nonviolent Communication study group once a month (based on the work of Marshall Rosenberg), and our November meeting was this past Saturday. There was a woman there who was joining our group for the first time, and one of her first questions was how exactly, in the context of NVC, do we define "violence"?

Good question.

Dr. Rosenberg says this on the subject, on pages 2 - 3 of Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life:

...the term nonviolence [is used] as Gandhi used it - to refer to our natural state of compassion when violence has subsided from the heart. While we may not consider the way we talk to be "violent," words often lead to hurt or pain, whether for others or for ourselves.

The definition of the word "violence" is as follows: swift and intense force; rough or injurious physical force, action, or treatment; an unjust or unwarranted exertion of force or power, as against rights or laws; rough or immoderate vehemence, as of feeling or language; damage through distortion or unwarranted alteration.

That's some pretty heavy stuff - there's probably a whole month's worth of blogging in there! For today, I'm going to think about the last one, which is "damage through distortion or unwarranted alteration."

In NVC, at least to my mind, it's all about communicating with other people in an empathetic, non-judgemental way. Judgement can be violence. Clearly, we all make judgements about good and bad - that's how we decide what we do and do not want to do in every facet of our lives. To judge is human. What I'm talking about is when our judgements limit our willingness to meet others where they are, when it causes us to formulate ideas about them based on minimal information. In other words, when our judgements distort our ability to be compassionate, that is violence.

My grandmother used to tell me that "sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me." As an adult, I see how that simply is not true. Not only can words hurt my feelings, labels - names - that people give me can hurt my ability to form relationships, to be treated fairly, even to make a living. Yet, even (or maybe especially) among the most loving, conscious people I know, violence in the form of judgement runs rampant. Those who have committed themselves to living compassionately still have a difficult time with the idea of interacting with individuals whose actions they disapprove of - maybe even despise - with an open and loving heart.

This whole idea has me thinking a lot about Alice Miller's classic book, For Your Own Good: Hidden Cruelty in Child-Rearing and the Roots of Violence, which I read many years ago. Yet even after all these years, one idea in particular from her work sticks out in my mind:

I have no doubt that behind every crime a personal tragedy lies hidden
(177).

Every "crime" - against fellow human or against humanity, against the Earth or any of her inhabitants whether animal, vegetable or mineral - has a personal tragedy behind it. A perpetrator who was treated with violence in any number of ways cannot be judged guilty for her disconnection with the Other. And, as Miller so eloquently and thoroughly points out, almost all of us in Western, industrialized cultures have been treated violently throughout our upbringings. All we can do now is try to solve the problem by breaking the cycle of violence, and empowering our children to find the connection and compassion which is their birthright.

Skin Deep?

The Anti-Racist Parent again - ah, I love that blog!

The latest post (with content, there's a super cute photo there too!) is about non-white Barbies and whether they actually help or hurt the anti-racist parent cause. The author looks at how many of these dolls are either Caucasian Barbies made dark-skinned, with the same featues as the Barbie feminists love to hate, or if they are perpetuating racial stereotypes in an almost cartoonish fashion.

I find it difficult to comment on these types of things, because I really have no understanding or experience of what it is like to be discriminated against because of my race or ethnicity. I have some experience with sexism, but I really don't think that's comparable. My husband and I have nothing but Caucasian blood on either side of our family tree as far as the eye can see - we're about as un-diverse as you can get. We have the look of the perfect postcard family, especially my kids who fit right in with the cultural idea of what is attractive. My daughter is three years old, tall and thin, with olive skin, big hazel eyes and perfectly chiseled features. My son is six months, and is often described as a "Gerber baby" - chubby cheeks, big blue eyes, long eyelashes, platinum blond hair, and a smiley disposition.

As I read the article and comments that were discussing the experience of constantly being told that we aren't "pretty" because of dark skin, curly hair, a non-Barbie-ish figure or whatever, I kept finding myself thinking about the children on the other side of the coin. When someone comments to me about how pretty or cute my kids are I find myself a little put off. Of course, I'm only human and love that my kids are getting positive attention, but I also find the implications of these comments to be more than a little distasteful.

When I was a kid, I was definitely not pretty or cute. I had dark stringy hair that was usually in knots, freckles, and buck teeth. I was into everything and was usually dressed in utilitarian, rather than attractive, clothing. I was very serious and didn't have much in common with other kids, but adults usually didn't know quite what to make of me either so I was usually pretty lonely. My sister, on the other hand, had huge blue eyes, blond ringlets, and a sparkling personality. She loved to dance around and wear twirly pink dresses. People were constantly commenting how pretty and adorable she was - while they totally ignored me. They never said anything negative to or about me, but the rejection was stinging.

So when people who don't know my kids at all comment positively on their appearance, I am brought back to that moment. Sure, they're easy on the eyes, but I don't want people to notice them only for that reason. Likewise, I feel for the kids who, for whatever reason, don't draw the same attention and whose inner gifts go unnoticed because of that. The implication that is made when people notice my children's appearance is that there are other kids who aren't beautiful, which simply is not true. All kids are amazing, beautiful miracles and should be acknowledged as such. I don't want other kids to ever feel that they are less important because they don't fit the description of beauty that is commonly accepted in the time or place they inhabit, but neither do I want my own children to feel more important because they do.

Of course, we could get into the argument against praise of any kind here, but I won't. I just hope that if you ever run into us on the street, you'll notice some other things about my kids - my daughter is sensitive, enthusiastic (maddeningly so!), and notices detail to the degree that some might call her anal, and my son is easygoing, observant and really attached to routine. And they're really cute - but I can say that, I'm their mother!

How old is old enough?

I follow only a select few blogs on a daily basis. One of them is the Anti-Racist Parent, where bloggers examine race and ethnicity issues and how to deal with them as a parent. This is something that is interesting to me - when I was pregnant with my daughter and we decided to move to northwestern New Jersey from a suburb of Newark and New York City, the thing that most concerned me was that we were leaving an incredibly rich and diverse community to live in an incredibly homogeneous and conservative one. We decided that the slower pace, the quieter surroundings, the friendlier neighbors and the ongoing contact with the natural world was worth the sacrifice. Recently, when we were at a local farm and my three-year-old daughter said "Mom, look at all the little black kids!" when she noticed a group of inner-city youth who were visiting as a field trip....well, suffice it to say, I wasn't so sure we had made the right decision.

Clearly, I need to try harder when it comes to exposing my kids to diversity of all kinds. The question becomes, how do we do this? The Anti-Racist Parent has some great ideas, such as binging our children to professionals (doctors, for example) who aren't all white and male, and bringing dolls and books into the home that portray diversity in terms of color, ethnicity, religion, sexuality, and family structure. But the question remains, how do we bring real-life diversity into our lives if it isn't a part of our communities? I don't want to feel like I'm taking my kids on a "Diversity Field Trip" - and I doubt other people would appreciate being "Asian/Black/Latino/Gay/Lesbian/Transgender/Person With a Handicap Exhibit A".

A recent post on ARP got me thinking about this whole thing again. The writer was talking about some images her five-year-old daughter had seen on the the television coverage of the RNC - video of Muslim men with machine guns. The girl asked her mom (the author) why people who looked like her Muslim friend wanted to "kill America". The writer examined, in depth, what an appropriate response to that question would be - in the end, the answer is simply "I don't know". But one commenter seemed to feel that she should have delved more deeply into the issues, saying that she would have taken her three-year-old further, perhaps discussinfg the function of armies and war.

Let me just say this: YIKES!

On a couple of levels, five (never mind three!!!) is not the appropriate age to introduce these issues to children, at least in my humble opinion. Firstly, children are very egocentric until they reach the age of six (give or take). American Muslims versus Muslims in the Middle East doesn't mean anything to them. All they have to go on is what they, themselves, know from personal experience - a Muslim friend or the guys who attend the mosque two blocks away. A child's only concern in that moment is whether or not her friend's dad is going to show up at her house tomorrow toting an Uzi - so I think the author's response was perfectly appropriate. Assure the child that the Muslims they personally know do not want to kill America, and then wait to see where the child takes the conversation. If she's satisfied with the answer, then stop. There will be plenty of time for a more in-depth discussion later.

But, more importantly, by introducing these issues too early we may be actually doing harm. As David Sobel says in his book Beyond Ecophobia: Reclaiming the Heart in Nature Education:

If we prematurely ask children to deal with problems beyond their understanding and control, prematurely recruit them to solve the mammoth problems of an adult world, then I think we cut them off from the possible sources of their strength.

And later:

Tragedies are big, complex problems beyond the geographical and conceptual scope
of young children.

By exposing our youngsters to issues that are too big too early, we run the risk of having them become apathetic, which is definitely not what we want. Remember how hopeless we, as adults, often feel when faced with the issues of environmental degradation, human rights violations, unhealthy cultural messages and mores, or cruelty to non-humans. Then imagine how much more hopeless our children might feel when introduced to these very same issues! One of the main elements of Humane Education and Humane Parenting is to provide positive choices. But for young children, positive choices are extremely limited, if not non-existent. Therefore, I believe it is best to hold off until children are older and more well-equipped, both intellectually and emotionally, to comprehend these issues in a meaningful way.

This is an issue I have seen discussed quite a lot recently. Articles in both Mothering magazine and Brain, Child magazine have addressed them in recent months. Obviously different children are different, and reach maturity at different ages. Certainly, there are perspectives on this topic that are different from mine, and I encourage parents to think long and hard about them before your child asks you The Question, whatever that question might be for him or her, and for you. But, when you're thinking about Your Answer, I hope that you'll consider your child's needs and readiness in addition to your own agenda with respect to the issue at hand. I don't use agenda in the pejorative sense here - we all have them, and we should have them - but we need to be aware of what they are and who they serve in the moment.

I'm back!

I've been absent from this blog for awhile because I was busy welcoming this little person into the world. My son, Harrison Herbert Francis DiNorcia ("Harry") was born on Saturday May 10, 2008 at 9:10 pm. However, just because I haven't been blogging doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about Humane Parenting - quite the contrary! I look forward to sharing more thoughts, insights and issues to ponder soon!

The Season of Giving

A few months ago my husband, daughter and I went to Florida (okay, okay, Disney World) for vacation. In the rush to get out the door and to the airport, we forgot to bring my daughter's baby doll. Halfway to the airport, she noticed Baby's absence and began to cry, asking if we could go home and get her - which, of course, we couldn't.

(At this point, the feminist in me always feels compelled to comment on the baby doll, so please excuse the diversion. When my daughter was born, I vowed that she would never play with dolls - as they say, never say never. She had trucks and trains and blocks, but no dolls, because I did not want to force her into any sort of gender-stereotyped play. When she was just over a year old, we were at a friend's birthday party, and when Bess found her stash of dolls - well, the girl was in heaven. She wanted to hold them, feed them - with a bottle, which I thought was odd because she never had a bottle and no one we know uses bottles - diaper them, rock them, put them to sleep, wake them up, carry them around, put them in a stroller and go for a walk, put them in the pool....you get the idea. What could I do? We got her a baby doll, and then another arrived at our house, and then another, and they are by far her favorite toys.

Since then, I have discussed this with some other feminist friends who have different but comforting perspectives on the issue. One told me that all young children play with dolls because they imitate what they see around them - namely, us taking care of them. It isn't that girls are encouraged to play with dolls, it's that boys are encouraged not to play with dolls. My wisest friend and role model, Valerie, had a more thought-provoking and challenging perspective: as parents, it is not our job to make our kids what we think they should be, but to help them become the best them that they can be. So if my daughter chooses, with no pressure from me, to be a pink-wearing twirly girl, then it is my job - distasteful as I may sometimes find it - to encourage her to be the best, most confident, powerful pink wearing twirly-girl she can be. What a lovely thought, no? After all, there are worse things that she could be than a kind, considerate, and nurturing person. Right?

Okay, thanks for the indulgence, now back to the story.....)

So, where were we? Oh, that's right, forgot the baby doll, weeping child...so, of course my first instinct was to say, "That's okay Bess, don't worry. As soon as we get to the airport we will find you a brand new baby doll that you can bring on vacation." Luckily, something stopped me from saying that, for which I am eternally grateful, because it gave me the opportunity to learn a valuable lesson. What I said instead was, "I'm sorry that we forgot your baby doll at home, but she'll be waiting there for us when we get home. I'm sure you'll be looking forward to seeing her." Though she cried for awhile, by the time we took off she had made her sippy cup into a baby, wrapped it up in a tissue blanket, laid it on a pillow for a nap, and was happily anticipating a trip to see Mickey. (My Disney guilt will have to be a topic for a later post, but in my defense, let me say that it is all my husband's idea and he plans our vacations.)

In the most recent issue of my most favorite magazine, Brain, Child, they published a debate titled "Is there such a thing as too many toys?" A timely topic at this time of year, to be sure. The woman arguing the "No" position said that kids need as many toys as possible so they have as many props as possible to help them construct complex fantasies and storylines in their play. The woman arguing the "Yes" position said that fewer toys force children to use their imaginations more, and that she has concerns about the global, environmental impact of all that stuff.

I remember coming away from this debate feeling oddly ambivalent, as if neither one of these writers had really captured my feelings on the subject. On the one hand, I could see the point that more toys could, theoretically, offer more opportunities for different types of play, for creativity. But I think my sympathy with this point of view went much deeper than a simply being persuaded by the strength of her argument. I grew up pretty poor. We always had food on the table, clothes on our backs, and a roof over our heads, but we didn't have much else. I rarely had the latest and greatest toys (with the exception of a Cabbage Patch Kid - remember those? - that my mom saved up for months to buy), and it always made me feel different, left out, deprived if you will. Even though I am committed to minimizing our family's consumption, I could not help but look under the tree this year and feel that there wasn't enough. But that was my own stuff bubbling to the surface, and had nothing to do with Bess - she got the two or three toys she wanted, and was happy. It is not until we meet up with the larger culture that we start to have a sense of quantity with respect to toys.

However, even though I really believe - when I look past my unhealed childhood wounds - that the answer to the question, "Can we have too many toys?" is a resounding "YES!", I still felt that the argument on that side of the issue was lacking something. I think that children get distracted by too many toys and don't really know what to play with, what to do, where to go when they're surrounded by too much stuff. I'd rather see my daughter figure out a hundred ways to use a play scarf than for her to have a separate apparatus for each possible function. I believe that it is better to spend our money on a few, versatile and high-quality toys than a ton of plastic crap that is going to break soon anyway. I believe that children need to develop an aesthetic sense and should be surrounded by beautiful things, not garishly bright mono-textured plastic toys of every imaginable shape, size and sound. And, of course, I am not in any way naive to the environmental and human rights impact of these abundant toys, including the pollution generated to make them, the toxins they contain, the fact that they will be here taking up landfill space (or floating in the ocean?) until the end of time, the amount of energy needed to manufacture and ship them from China, and the fact that the people who make them are likely not treated particularly well.

But there's something else, something that I couldn't quite put my finger on....and then I remembered the sippy cup doll. I think what sticks in my craw is that we are so quick to allow our children to become attached to STUFF. I realize that children are inclined to attach to a comfort item (a blankie, a baby doll, in my sister's case a slipper) to help them get through difficult transitions (going away from home, starting school, the arrival of a new sibling). However, wouldn't it be so much better if they could become attached to PEOPLE who help them through these transitions instead of a piece of plastic manufactured halfway around the world? Sure, my daughter would have liked to have the comfort of her baby doll as she dealt with the stress of going away from home, getting on an airplane, living in a new room for a week, not having any of her familiar sights and sounds to count on (contrary to my husband's opinion, I firmly believe that vacation is stressful for young children, not relaxing). But she didn't need that thing, because she had us to count on to help her through.

How odd that my first inclination was to meet her attachment to stuff with a promise to buy her more stuff! It is so much easier, as parents, when our kids find their comfort in things, not people. It frees us from the obligation to actually be there and sit with their difficult, powerful, ugly and uncontrolled feelings as they work them through. It is so much easier, or at least less unpleasant, if our children curl up with their blankie and the TV when they're feeling sad, or play smash-em-up cars when they're angry, instead of coming to us and expecting us to sit calmly with them while they cry, scream, rage, yell, or say hurtful things. But the truth is, that's what they really need.

Perhaps, in this season of giving, the whole focus on stuff - more stuff, less stuff, who has stuff, who doesn't have stuff - what we should really be focusing on is giving our selves to our children, our spouses, our friends, our communities, and...well, ourselves. It's been quite some time since I've been to church, but I seem to recall from those days of Sunday School so long ago that the story of Christmas is one of personal sacrifice. I'm not sure I believe that Jesus is the one true God, but for sure he is a great prophet and a shining example of what it means to love and to give. According to the story the Bible tells, a lot of people had to find ways to work through a lot of complicated issues - unwed motherhood, ostracism, friendship and betrayal, death by crucifixion - in order to fulfill their commitment to save humankind from damnation. Okay, so none of us has anything nearly that heavy resting on our shoulders, but certainly one of the messages this story has to teach us is that we need to work through our own baggage so that we can be free to act with courage and love towards others.

Somewhere along the line, we began to associate Christmas with giving stuff. Even when people talk about "putting Christ back in Christmas" and "remembering the reason for the season", they are often referring to charitable giving in lieu of gift giving. Obviously, I am all for philanthropy, but maybe we should also take some time to consider the notion that we need to focus on giving ourselves as well, or instead. Rather than thinking so much about what our kids do and do not have, we should examine this preoccupation with stuff in and of itself. My New Year's Resolution is to think less in terms of stuff - namely, why isn't it ever where it belongs in my house? - and worry more about time. The mess (unfortunately) isn't going anywhere, but my daughter sure is. She's older and more grown up every day, so I've decided that my commitment to her needs to be that I will stop sweating the small stuff and work through my own control issues so that I can give her what she really needs - my time, attention, and support in becoming a pink-wearing twirly girl who loves her baby dolls.