Sad Boys and Angry Men

The brutal murder of Tyre Nichols by five policemen in Memphis has ignited national outrage. Watching the video seemed too much like blood porn, so I’ve only - only! - read vivid descriptions. Tyre was stopped for alleged reckless driving, although no evidence of that “crime” has been offered.

Several days earlier, the New York Times posted a video story of Tauris Sledge, a Black high school student in Chattanooga, who was manhandled, arrested and charged by a School Resource Officer (SRO). SROs are now stationed in an estimated 70% of the nation’s high schools. Tauris’s initial “crime” was refusing to play kickball in gym class, but then opting to join a basketball game. When he and the gym teacher argued, the SRO was called in and the situation rapidly escalated. Tauris faces multiple charges as an adult, with a sentence as severe as a year in jail.

I needn’t add to the chorus identifying police culture as the dynamic common to these and countless similar incidents every day of every year. I also needn’t remind readers of the disproportionate suffering of Black men and boys at the hands of police. The fact that Tyre Nichols’s assailants are Black is of some tangential interest, but not particularly germane to the larger cultural issue I address.

American culture, primarily male culture, gives rise to police violence in ways that are seldom addressed. Although not unique to the United States, our iteration of power, control and compliance is particularly and increasingly toxic. It begins in homes and schools.

The common denominator in the cases of Tyre and Tauris is the expectation of compliance in the presence of male power and authority. I emphasize “male” quite intentionally, although the dynamic seeps across gender lines. The reason the most flagrant abusers are men is, I suspect, for two reasons: more positions of power are held by men; and girls are raised in a slightly less “command and control” environment. In homes and schools, girls tend to be more mature, less impulsive and more apparently compliant, thus inviting less of the escalating need for dominance that killed Tyre and may incarcerate Tauris.

The social and educational culture creates boys who become these men. Sexual and domestic abusers tend to be those who have been abused themselves. Similarly, I would confidently predict that the five Tennessee policemen and the SRO who manhandled Tauris are products of male dominated homes and schools where rigid compliance was required and noncompliance was met with swift control. This can produce fear, resentment and anger that may partially subside over time, but can also form a reservoir like molten lava that can explode in the right - or wrong- circumstances.

When this is the only behavioral model you experience as a child, it is likely the model you will employ as an adult. Most men moderate this impulse without becoming abusive, and some men do the emotional and psychological work to become self-aware enough to break the cycle. But professions like policing draw a sub-set of men (and some women) in whom this command and control model has been deeply internalized.

A great many law enforcement personnel temper this quality through professional training or personal growth, but I think we underestimate its prevalence. Even as a privileged, easy-going white male, the majority of small encounters I had with police in NYC were tinged with aura of control. I, and most folks, knew better than to test the patience of a police officer by asking questions or intervening in any conflict where injustice might be occurring. The potential for escalation was always palpable.

I have written extensively about “tough love” charter schools where rigid discipline leads to suspensions, expulsions, pant-wetting and, occasionally, arrests of those who refuse to comply. These schools are usually majority Black, further amplifying the offensive inference that Black kids need to be controlled. And I very cautiously acknowledge the tradition of corporal punishment in some parts of the Black community. I acknowledge it and also gently suggest it can be part of the problem and never part of the solution.

The macro de-escalation of male violence requires a radical shift in understanding of child development and human psychology. Punishment and domination never cultivate “good” behavior. Punishment represses behavior temporarily, but leaves residue that is carried forward. A punished child learns nothing worthwhile.

All humans, little and large, need love, kindness and compassion. An inevitable irony is that those who need these things the most are those who are least likely to receive them. Angry boys are sad boys and the responses they draw to their behavior are likely to make them sadder and angrier.

De-escalation in the micro requires teachers, parents and policemen who have the skills and understanding to respond to anger with compassion, to respond to resistance with patience, and to consciously reject the internalized impulse to “win,” especially in situations where you already hold the implicit control.

With apologies for the uncharacteristic length of this post, I offer two personal anecdotes illustrating a different approach. Anecdotes are just that - anecdotal not conclusive - but they may be instructive in some useful way.

In 1966 I entered Army basic training in Fort Benning, GA. In this brutal context a few of us were elevated into “leadership” positions each week. I put quotes around “leadership” because we trainees were all Private E-1 in rank, and the leadership roles were just play-acting. I was appointed platoon leader for a week. In this role I had to delegate various menial tasks to members of my platoon – cleaning toilets, sweeping floors, etc.

One of my platoon members was known by all as Miami Larry. Like about half of my fellow draftees, he was a young black man from a rough part of a rough city. Rumor had it that Larry kept a switchblade under his mattress. He also refused to do much of what he was told to do. However, my standing as a faux leader was going to be judged by my effectiveness in getting all platoon members to do their jobs. It was clear, or so I thought, that no one else was going to do anything if Larry didn’t have to do anything. The general basic training ethic instilled by drill sergeants was that we were to manage these things on our own. They didn’t want to deal with any problem soldiers unless (their words) “we dragged them to headquarters unconscious.”

I was not going to, or be able to, render Larry unconscious. It was a dilemma, and the other soldiers were watching with keen interest. After a few minutes of anxiety, I took a risk. Larry was sitting, looking sullen, on his bunk bed. I walked over and sat beside him. He turned slowly and, if such a thing is possible, glowered at me with surprise. I said something like this:

“Hi Larry! I’m Steve. I’ve got a problem. I’m the platoon leader this week and I’m supposed to get everyone working. It seems pretty clear that you don’t feel like working, and I understand that. But I’m really in a bind. If you don’t do anything, no one else will do anything either – and I’m screwed. I also know that you could kick the crap out of me if you really wanted to, which I hope you don’t (nervous chuckle – from me, not Larry, as he was inscrutable and amazed at the same time, if that’s possible). So I wonder if you’d do me a big, big favor. Just go over there and pick up a broom. Give the floor a few strokes, walk around a bit. I don’t care if anything really gets swept up, but it will sure help me out.”

Larry’s amazement turned into the slightest curl of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He got up, grabbed a broom and said to the others, “C’mon y’all, get to work.” He swept the floor for 30 or 40 seconds, then sat back down on his bunk. But all others did their jobs. Even in this extreme circumstance, an angry young man responded to my clumsy effort to have a relationship, to be honest, and to treat him with respect. I suspect Larry had very few of these things from the authority figures in his life.

Several years later I began work at a home for emotionally disturbed children. I dislike the term “emotionally disturbed” because it was invariably the families of these sad kids who were more emotionally disturbed than the kids. It was a residential campus with separate cottages for each 10 to 12 kids. My cottage consisted of boys ranging in age from 12 to18.

My very first shift was from 3-11 p.m. To my surprise and chagrin, the person with whom I was scheduled to work had called in sick. The day shift staffers barely said “hello” and “goodbye” before walking out the door. Some orientation! If you have any awareness of “emotionally disturbed” teenagers, you might imagine my dismay. I didn’t know the kids, I didn’t know the rules, and skittish teenagers don’t respond comfortably to complete strangers.

The boys were nowhere to be seen. For the first few minutes they ignored me entirely. After a while, an occasional face would lean around a doorframe for a quick glimpse before disappearing. Finally, a seemingly well-composed boy stood in full sight for a few seconds. I gestured him over to the chair I’d taken in the cottage living room. I asked his name.

“Louis,” he replied.

“Louis,” I said, “I need a favor. Would you please ask all the guys to come down to the living room for a few minutes? I’m new and I’d like to meet everyone.”

Louis, thank goodness, shrugged, said “ok,” and went to collect the crew.

When this odd bunch of wary teens had gathered, I tried my Miami Larry technique.

“Hi guys. I'm Steve. I’m new and I don’t have any idea what I'm doing. It’s my first day. I don't know you. I don’t know the rules. I’m alone. So, here’s the deal, I’m going to sit here in the living room. Since I don’t know what you’re supposed to do – or not do – I’ll just trust you to do whatever you should. If anyone wants to come and talk with me for a minute, I’d like that. But you don’t have to. I only have one request. Please don’t run away. If you feel like running away, wait until tomorrow. I’d probably lose my job if someone ran away on my very first day. So, nice to meet you!”

The most remarkable thing happened. The boys drifted off and I began hearing snippets of conversation like, “It’s your night for setting the table. C’mon, just do it.” Every one of them came by, at least for a minute or two, and talked with me. At dinnertime, they seemed like a finely tuned machine – serving, cleaning up, sweeping the dining room and settling into evening routines. They enforced the “lights out at 10” rule even though I didn’t know it existed.

I am not suggesting that kindness, respect and trust can overcome the years of experience that brought Miami Larry and his switchblade into the barracks or led to Louis et al into residential treatment. Larry ended up with a dishonorable discharge when he resisted the control the army exerts.

And Louis et al didn’t always do the dishes. Kenny ran away - often. Others discharged the residue of their family dysfunction in various ways.

But I always loved them and they knew it. I think that means something.