And so when they asked what happened, I just let them know that most bullying is about power and someone trying to feel better about him or herself by making you feel bad about yourself. Which is essentially what happened. Except that having someone lay out so clearly how much they hate you is rather shocking. Especially if you yourself hadn't given that person much particular thought- nothing negative, nothing positive- they never really hit your radar because you just don't know each other that well.
Watching this grown man throw his hand up in the air, flop it at the wrist and pounce around my classroom (I am way too self conscious to ever walk like that -not sure where his impersonation stemmed from) and raise his voice an octave (I've always thought I had a rather deep, almost masculine voice and have tried only on occasion to go for "smoky" realizing I can probably never achieve "sweet") watching him, I was stunned to realize he had apparently given me some thought. This obviously wasn't the first time he'd ridiculed me. As a friend suggested later, the most reasonable thing to do would have been to look at him and laugh. Seriously? But my own inner 8 year old came out in response and I told him I didn't have to take him insulting me and making fun of me (or I am telling mom!)
Ever at the mercy of my new and raging hormones, tears threatened to spill and I had all I could do to blink them back in time for the morning bell. Welcome to a new day.
It didn't help that the previous evening had ended in a similar fashion (minus the dramatic posturing.) We are two people who have very different philosophies about our approach to education and human interaction in general. We were trying to work together to organize an event for teachers to present to students. We'd done most of the communicating by email and had only a few minor details left to work out. The ironing out ended up a wrinkled mess as we agreed to disagree and called an abrupt end to our meeting. Slightly steaming, just short of hostile.
The point in question was hardly important, well, except on a philosophical level, where all good disagreements take place. He wanted teachers to be assigned lesson to present and I wanted to allow for choice. (I was cringing at the thought of being assigned the singing lesson- on behalf of the students, a bad, bad idea.) He felt we teachers should just "suck it up and deal" (on behalf of the students, ironically, the very ones I was trying to save from my murderous voice.)
I have always believed in building community, developing teacher buy-in and promoting enthusiasm by providing choice whenever possible. The best ideas usually come from a team of thinkers. The time invested/energy output gained seemed like a worthwhile ratio.
But, as previously mentioned, it wasn't really about that at all. It was about The Past, another dark origin where all good arguments are born. He led our conversation down the path of insults and insinuations referring back to a time when he felt teachers talked in circles and got nowhere (back when I was co-coordinating the team, of course.) He praised the new regime of no discussion during meetings and teachers doing what they are told. (Of course, he is slightly invested in the new regime as they are life partners.) And so I acquiesced, sure, go ahead assign people. (But surely it won't take more than 5 minutes for everyone to choose their strength, to pick the area they'd like to spend celebrating with the kids? It is hard for me to let things go. I finally managed it and said simply I wasn't going to assign people. If he wanted to do that, then that could be his part. I'd already organized the events, listed materials and outlined the directions, alternatives and pictures to go with. I'd developed 2 different student surveys and was happy to hand this piece of organization over (just don't give me the singing booth.)
Somehow it wasn't quite that easy and the meeting ended abruptly. He came in first the thing next morning to "discuss" and ended up dancing around my room ridiculing me in a manner I hadn't seen since back when I had a brother....in the 19's as Mohamed would say. Like 1980.
To finish my ridiculous day off, he came in one final time, pointing in my face, cutting off any word I tried to utter and
Try as I might not to be affected by the interaction, I recognize it as bullying- and it does affect me. I wonder what I have done, exactly, to this person I hardly know that would cause him to feel such outrage and hatred for me. And I try to immediately counter that with knowledge that it's about control and power- and nothing I have really done.
Several websites I ran across confirm my fears. Back in October when things turned to hell with another colleague (the life partner of my current tormentor), I decided it was so severe I had to quit. After reading that an "estimated 64% of bullying victims quit or are fired for poor performance" I knew I'd made the right decision. But that still doesn't mean it feels good.
I had been ready to invest in my job, my life here in Kinshasa, my partner's life in Kinshasa. We have families here- children to raise, friends to support, artists to mingle with. Not an exciting life but a potentially fulfilling one.
And then it seemed every time I approached a group of talking people, a certain person would walk away. Every time I offered an idea at a meeting, I was shut up, put down or tuned out. Whatever I presented was met with disdain and contempt and even outright hostility.
After a particularly tense meeting when tempers- or a specific temper- was flaring, my co-cordinator and I decided to quit early. We'd already been told the positions would not look the same next year. When considering the months ahead, I certainly felt the sleepless nights and morning dread weren't worth the minimal monetary compensation. She was ready to do without the constant Thursday morning complaint session following every Wednesday afternoon meeting. We happily handed things over.
While it made matters just dandy for her, somehow the same camaraderie no longer extended to me. A colleague I was once able to bounce ideas off of and develop working documents with was no longer speaking to me. Of course, over the past three years I'd seen him work his way around. I'd spent a few weeks listening to him insist that one of the teachers be fired for "stealing report card comments," witnessed him noting a colleague's arrival and departure times to prove her incompetence and tried to help him discover the difference between mentoring someone and tracking their mistakes in order to report on them. I should not have been surprised when the tables turned to me.
But I am no angel and so, not only was I surprised, I was outraged. I was indignant and righteous. Oh, I hate to be wrong. There's no worse topic to debate right and wrong than your personal convictions. I like the way I teach. I believe in the way I teach. I have spent years reading, researching, discovering and developing my teaching methods. I understand children and they way they grow and develop.
But I also understand that there are multiple approaches to teaching and learning. And just because someone doesn't subscribe to my methods, it doesn't mean they are wrong. Or that I am right. Or that I am wrong. (Because I hate to be wrong. Even when I am wrong- a real life Bama from one of my favorite movie clips of all time )
But the tables did turn to me and mercilessly so. I spent months dragging myself to work, dreading every step I had to take outside the safety and security of my classroom. I struggled to sit through every meeting feeling the silent tension as sharp and cutting as the daggers lining the palm fronds outside our classrooms. I felt completely left out of everything and it affected my patience with children, my satisfaction with my job and my health.
The worst part is, I can't really be sure why or how this all began. I'd given up the part of my job that seemed to be at the root of the problem-handed over control to he who sought it so intensely- and so I had figured all would return to normal. Except it never really was normal. It had just been several years of turn taking. Now it was my turn.
With two people bent on making me miserable, pregnancy hormones bent on making me a frazzled wreck and seven weeks of school left, I am living for the weekends. Sometimes, that's not even enough.
On the sunny days, I am finding ways to enjoy my students and prepare the end of year rituals that will line the path to middle school. I delight in introducing the younger students to art concepts they haven't yet imagined and find satisfaction in watching their creations unfold. I feel my passions rekindled during discussions with 4th graders about Gandhi, equality and the nonviolent fight for justice. Even as I find satisfaction in realizing it is a perfect segue to the 5th grade study of human rights, I remember I won't be here to teach it next year. And I try to find hope for an unknown future instead.
On dark, rainy days it is harder to believe there is a silver lining to this cloud. It's hard to remember that part of my dream has always been creating a place of my own. I begrudgingly admit that in order to step forward, I usually need a push. Not the gentle shove from a friend down a snowy, sleigh riding hill but the mean hard push of an enemy into rocky terrain.
