Skip to main content

Dear Planet; Can We Please Stop Validating Bullies?




So I happened across this little tidbit while browsing my news feeds, and it brought back this horrible torrent of memories and a sad realization; nothing has changed over the years.

The message being sent here is clear; being bullied is not just part of growing up, but in this case, there's something wrong with you and they're right to point it out. Toughen up, learn to deal with it. Be like everyone else and they won't bother you.

I was so young when I was brought into the bullying abyss that I thought it was a way of life. After all, I was the one screwing up, right? I mean, I was the one who was always in the principal's office. I was the one always getting suspended.

And of course, when I started fighting back with no sense of restraint, I was the monster. I was the demon. I was the one who needed help. Never mind the multiple kids who'd been tormenting for so long their taunts, jeers, and physical assaults had seeped into my subconscious. No, what they were doing was normal; kids being kids. I was the one with the issue.

Therein lies the worst aspect of bullying. Kids are taught to speak up, to tell an adult when something is happening to them. Kids are not shown the fine print that reads the adult may not believe you or worse, that the child, or the victim is in the wrong.

The article presented here is the exact opposite way to end bullying in the world. If you really want to solve the problem, tell the children perpetuating this torment that they are wrong, and there are consequences for their actions. Tell the girl that she is beautiful, that it is okay for her to be herself, and that she is doing nothing wrong. Because she's not.

You want to end the violence and madness? Do you want to do so seriously, and not just with rhetoric and empty words? Stop blaming the victim. Stop justifying the perpetrator. Make people take responsibility for their actions.

And you will see positive change overnight.

Thanks for reading.




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

America: A True Story About Hatred and Unity

I wanted fast food tonight. That was all. I found myself at Burger King to pick up my wife's order. I was a few cars deep when I spotted the Confederate flag. I surreptitiously snapped a few photos. This was going to be a very different story. When I pull out of Burger King, it turns out there's more than one. In fact, there are four trucks, each flying variations of the flag. I have to go around the front of them to avoid an accident. They're parked right in the middle of the road. As I drive around them, each person in the vehicle makes it a point to ensure I see them. I do. They see me too. When I get to McDonald's (which is in the same lot), I learn that they're not taking debit cards at the moment. Terrific. I wanted chicken nuggets and instead, I get a run-in with the new Confederacy. So I make my way back to Burger King, again appearing in full view of the trucks. I place my order, get it, pay, and pull out. Then one of the

The Long Road Home

I will end you tonight. No, wait. That's not where the story starts. The story starts two and a half years before this, when Michelle (referred to as Michelle for legal reasons because SATAN was too heavily trademarked) reached out to me by Facebook. She mentioned that we played the same Facebook game and she wanted to say hi. I had never, in fact, even heard of the Facebook game. But I was freshly broken out of a relationship and she was pretty with a good body so I said "Hurr, okay." Conversation ensues. She tells me we came up in the same place. We did not come up in the same place. We spent one night in San Francisco talking. But I really wanted to sleep with her. So, "Hurr, okay." Fast forward a few months. I've left Missouri for the beautiful Pacific Northwest. I've settled into the ass end of Lynnwood, a suburb of Seattle. The apartment was so bad that the landlord wrote the mold on the wall off as "crayon coloring

Wave Rocketbook Reviewed

I love writing by hand, and I love notebooks. I'll often devote entire budgets to them and when Officemax has one of their twenty-five cent sales, I'll buy them out. I often draft by hand, finding that the scene comes together more purely when it flows from a pen rather than a keyboard. So when DailyDot advertised a durable new type of notebook that you could use over and over again for the cheap price of twenty-five (thirty after shipping) US Dollars? I'm down. The Wave Rocketbook is meant to be elegant in its design and simple in its execution. The instructions come on the bag itself, and only the pen and notebook are included. The pen feels like any other, so you have to be careful not to mix it into your collection or you will end up marking your notebook with the wrong pen (like I did). The ink is erasable, which is a bonus. A place to put the pen would've been nice, but it clips easily, if not securely, into the ringed binding. The paper is thick and