This is a good example of one way I see the flotilla's efforts.
"The first thing you need to know about the Gaza flotilla disaster is that the intention of the activists on board the ships was to break the Israeli blockade. Delivering the embargoed goods was incidental.I could debate this one for a long time - and have. Publicly, on sites like facebook, and in emails with my family, and phone calls with friends. I'm getting tired. But I've also been trying to figure out why this particular incident hit me so hard. Here is an excerpt from a letter I wrote to a friend today:
In other words, the activists were like the civil rights demonstrators who sat down at segregated lunch counters throughout the South and refused to leave until they were served. Their goal was not really to get breakfast. It was to end segregation."
"So, for the last few months at work, there's been one cottage that's consistently out of control. I haven't been on a single shift there that's gone according to plan or schedule, and in a therapeutic group home where the consistent schedule is part of the therapy, part of what helps kids feel safe, that's not okay.
At this cottage, I don't get to make many decisions. I arrive, and am told the plan: begin the shift very restrictive, very low privileges, make all the kids' decisions for them and tell them what is happening. If they can handle it, the plan is to relax a little, introduce more choice, more freedom, more privileges. We never get past the restriction. Feeling so cornered, denied space and freedom of movement, gives the kids little choice but to blow out. And then we go into riot mode.
But we've also tried wiping the slate clean, assuming full privileges, taking kids outside to play, erasing consequences for yesterday's misbehavior. That doesn't work either. Without knowing where the limits are, kids push and test until they find them. And sometimes we escape riot mode, but it's almost never fun.
The thing that works the best is separating the kids - sending one or two unstable kids over to another cottage, trading them for calmer kids. We'll take some outside to run around, and give some kids privileges like one-on-one time with staff, to affirm the good, safe choices they've made.
But we don't have enough staff to disperse like that. If even one kid blows out, the whole plan gets thrown off. You need two staff to do a restraint, so if I'm leading a group of three while playing outside, and someone inside needs to be restrained, I have to bring all my kids inside with me in order to help out. Not so good.
Having to go into riot mode means somewhere, we didn't do our jobs. We didn't manage the environment well enough, didn't keep it safe and calm.
We tell the kids: you have choices. You have control. You can do it! Your time-out starts whenever you choose to sit calmly. They look at me like I'm nuts, ask me the same thing I used to ask my parents, "What do you mean I have a choice? You're the one who tells me when to sit and when to get up! You tell me when to eat, when to sleep. I can't even go to the bathroom without your permission! You have the control here, not me!"
I don't have an answer for them. But when we restrict the kids to keep them safe, and they feel pressured to the point of hitting someone, or trying to jump out a window, it begins a chain reaction of not-choices. I have no choice but to hold them, or help them get into the de-escalation room. It's my job. They have no choice but to fight. It's instinct. I have no choice but to consequence them. It's the therapeutic program.
Even if I did a bad job managing the environment, which led to their outburst, we still hold them accountable for their actions. Because our job is to teach self-control, to curb dangerous impulsiveness, to teach them to handle their feelings of fear, frustration, grief and anger in safe ways that don't hurt themselves or others.
When I hear about Gaza, I think about this chain reaction. When people are restricted and oppressed, to the point of firing homemade rockets over a wall, and the Israeli army says "We have no choice. They chose to fire rockets, and we now have to go in and kill the ones who fired them. We have to impose blockades to keep our people safe. We have to be restrictive. If we allow for freedom of movement, freedom of trade, won't they just test the limits until they find them?"
I want to believe that the Gazans won't. But I see too clearly every day what happens between a traumatized people, and those charged with keeping things "safe." We devolve into a series of not-choices on all sides.
The question is this: who really has the power to change things? Is it me, and my coworkers? Our administrative bosses? The psychologists who design the therapeutic program? The Israelis? The kids? The Palestinians? We say: things would be so much easier, so much safer and better for everyone if they could cooperate. But they are sick kids. Sick with PTSD, sick with traumatic histories and mental illness. Sometimes they *can't* stay safe, no matter how hard they try. The environment is too overwhelming. There's not enough space for them to move. My coworker once asked me, "Have you ever stepped into one of the kids' rooms when they're not there and closed the door? The energy is terrifying. All that screaming, all that terror - it's seeped into the walls. You can feel it."
Do we leave them a choice that also allows for dignity and humanity?
I see what happens to the kids who are cooperative and compliant amidst the chaos: they slip through the cracks. We give them rewards for good behavior, smile, high-five them, and run to deal with the next crisis. They're given no more real freedom than the kids we're holding on the floor.
This is what I mean when I say I don't know what to do about Gaza."
I don't have an answer for them. But when we restrict the kids to keep them safe, and they feel pressured to the point of hitting someone, or trying to jump out a window, it begins a chain reaction of not-choices. I have no choice but to hold them, or help them get into the de-escalation room. It's my job. They have no choice but to fight. It's instinct. I have no choice but to consequence them. It's the therapeutic program.
Even if I did a bad job managing the environment, which led to their outburst, we still hold them accountable for their actions. Because our job is to teach self-control, to curb dangerous impulsiveness, to teach them to handle their feelings of fear, frustration, grief and anger in safe ways that don't hurt themselves or others.
When I hear about Gaza, I think about this chain reaction. When people are restricted and oppressed, to the point of firing homemade rockets over a wall, and the Israeli army says "We have no choice. They chose to fire rockets, and we now have to go in and kill the ones who fired them. We have to impose blockades to keep our people safe. We have to be restrictive. If we allow for freedom of movement, freedom of trade, won't they just test the limits until they find them?"
I want to believe that the Gazans won't. But I see too clearly every day what happens between a traumatized people, and those charged with keeping things "safe." We devolve into a series of not-choices on all sides.
The question is this: who really has the power to change things? Is it me, and my coworkers? Our administrative bosses? The psychologists who design the therapeutic program? The Israelis? The kids? The Palestinians? We say: things would be so much easier, so much safer and better for everyone if they could cooperate. But they are sick kids. Sick with PTSD, sick with traumatic histories and mental illness. Sometimes they *can't* stay safe, no matter how hard they try. The environment is too overwhelming. There's not enough space for them to move. My coworker once asked me, "Have you ever stepped into one of the kids' rooms when they're not there and closed the door? The energy is terrifying. All that screaming, all that terror - it's seeped into the walls. You can feel it."
Do we leave them a choice that also allows for dignity and humanity?
I see what happens to the kids who are cooperative and compliant amidst the chaos: they slip through the cracks. We give them rewards for good behavior, smile, high-five them, and run to deal with the next crisis. They're given no more real freedom than the kids we're holding on the floor.
This is what I mean when I say I don't know what to do about Gaza."
5 comments:
This is the best analysis of the situation that I ever have seen. Congratulations! Now what???
LYP
This is an excellent parallel. If someone could solve the dilemmas posed.... well I guess the Nobel Peace Prize would be well earned. It's clear why you've been in such turmoil since this event.
The parallel between the Palestinians and the children is clear. But where do the "activists" fit in?
LYVLM
hi, i've just come across your blog and i'm really interested in what you're writing, as someone who works in domestic violence and is trying to draw parallels between my work and wider political oppression. i don't have time to read much today but i'll be back, and you might be interested in what i've been writing too.
but Gazans aren't children. they may be treated as children, but that's part of the problem. they're not emotionally disturbed children. they don't need or want to be kept "safe." they want to be treated with dignity and it strikes me as more than a little patronizing to create such a parallel.
See, yes - this is one of the fundamental problems of my analysis, if you can call it that. Mostly what this is, though, is an explanation of why I've been especially triggered by the flotilla stuff. It has less to do with the analogy, and more to do with the feelings of being trapped in a crap cycle. Yes?
Post a Comment