On the Moral Compass of Children

The news showed up just before Yom Kippur, just before that time of deep reflection when we wrestle with the challenges of being human: Girl's Suicide Points to Rise in Apps Used by Cyberbullies.

Fifteen Florida middle school children participated in bullying another child so relentlessly that she took her own life. At age 12. Twelve. When I read this, I found myself muttering, almost moaning, aloud. Rebecca Sedwick was "absolutely terrorized on social media" says the local sheriff.

Rebecca Sedwick

How could these kids do this to another human being? Who is the evil child living in the world who would send this text message: "Can u die please?"

What? asked Bella, on hearing my audible shock. I hesitated telling her about the article--for a minute--because the idea of discussing suicide with my children is somehow sickening. I don't want them to know that it exists. But of course, like just about everything in this world, they know, or they will know, whether or not I tell them. Instead of trying to explain, I said read this, and handed her the article. At 10.5, she's not much younger than Rebecca. She will be in middle school next year. And she will get a phone, in not too long. I wanted her to know, in the starkest terms, that every word that she types, anywhere, has lasting effects, both on herself, and on others.

Bella was mystified by the article. "But why were the kids mean to her? Why?" she asked. As if there should be a reason. 

"It doesn't matter why," I told her. 

Do I think that Bella is a potential bully? I certainly hope not. But one must ask: did the parents of those fifteen children think their children were? And what did they do to prevent them from unleashing such hatred on another human being? 

Is it even plausible that such a large group of children all were lacking a moral compass? The dynamics of the group are strange and powerful. Children will gang up on the weak, even if their individual inclination is to be kind. It's a mob mentality, where ethics go out the window, and evil spreads like fire. When the horror is over, the individual child might defend himself saying, "But it wasn't just me! Everyone was doing it!" So the group becomes both the impetus, and the excuse. 

This is not a phenomenon seen only in children, of course. Think about the Holocaust. Think about neighbors turning in neighbors.

A parent of a teenager told me that the students in her daughter's high school are required to sign an anti-bullying pledge at the beginning of each year. I wonder if those pledges work. I wonder if, perhaps, Rebecca Sedwick's bullies had to sign one; according to a school official, the school has an "extensive anti-bullying campaign." They do? What the hell is happening in this campaign?

The term cyberbullies makes the culprits sound like strangers on the internet out to terrorize young people, when in fact these were classmates of the victim. The article mentions that there was regular bullying, too--i.e. pushing and hitting. Though unmentioned, there was undoubtedly also social isolation and intimidation--common forms of bullying, especially among girls, that often go unnoticed and unaddressed. It doesn't matter where or how they did their evil work, the end result is the same: a group of children terrorized another child, with no regard for her feelings or her well-being. 

It seems to me that the more explicit we are with kids about our expectations of them, the more information they have to make ethical decisions. We tell toddlers, over and over, to "be nice." We need to find a way to tell older kids to be nice, too, in ways that they understand, in as stark terms as necessary. Maybe we can start by having them read the article.

May Rebecca Sedwick's memory be for a blessing...

Where's That T-Shirt From? Ethics, Shopping, and Growing Kids

So I've been thinking a lot lately about clothes. How much we own; how much we wear; how much it costs; where it comes from. When I heard about the factory collapse in Bangladesh, I immediately wanted to know what in my closet could have originated there. All it takes is a t-shirt or a towel, and at once the far-away horror on the news is made personal.

I'm thinking about this especially now, because it's coming to the end of the school year and my big kids' uniform clothes are in tatters. On the weekends, they each wear the same two or three outfits over and over. Much of what is in their closets, for one reason or another, does not get worn. Soon it will be summer, and they will need the requisite number of t-shirts and shorts to get them through camp. But where should these clothes come from?

When Bella was in second grade, her class did a theme study on textiles. The idea was to learn about the processes of how things are made by focusing on a specific product, from agriculture to manufacturing. One assignment had the kids looking on garment tags and recording the type of material and the place of origin (T-shirt: cotton, China; Jacket: polyester, Bangladesh).  Far-flung spots like Indonesia, Pakistan, and India were injected into our family's consciousness via our clothing. But to what end?

As part of that unit, Bella's class went on a field trip to a rare working schmata factory in Brooklyn (and I chaperoned: an experience unforgettable for many reasons, but not least because I had baby Louisa strapped to me in a Moby Wrap (cotton, Thailand)--not the typical place to bring an infant.) The factory was busy, the workers were friendly, and the business, we were told by the owners, was at risk. Why? Because of the demand for cheap clothes made in places with cheap labor and zero protections for workers. There was undoubtedly much lost on the seven- and eight-year-olds, many of whom were simply captivated by the big machines and bolts of bright patterned cloth. But the fact that this factory still even exists on our shores is nothing short of amazing to me.

I'm not the only one thinking about the origins of our clothes right now. As the NY Times pointed out, "The revolution that has swept the food industry is expanding to retail: origins matter." Last week on Fresh Air I heard an interview with Elizabeth Cline, who has written a book about the many costs of our society's addiction to cheap clothes. She pointed out that Americans used to spend a much larger percentage of their earnings on clothing. Today, we expect clothes to be dirt cheap, and many people buy a whole new wardrobe (or at least a new outfit) each season.

When Terry Gross asked Cline if her shopping habits have changed since researching and writing this book, she said they had. The main thing she tries to do, now, is wear what she has and take good care of her clothes--and if she needs a few new things, she tries to shop vintage and looks for durable, rather than disposable, garments.

Sounds logical, right? Just buy a few things, make them good things, and take care of them. But as Cline was talking, I found myself wondering about the special case of children. They are growing, and until they stop, they will continue to need new clothes (Eeek! For us that's still a lot of years!). I have the benefit of having three daughters, so I can hand down from one to the next (although once clothes have been through Ruby there's often not much left to hand to Louisa. Also, living in NYC, we are seriously short on space, so I don't always choose to hold onto Ruby's clothes for the 6.5 year hiatus 'til they will fit Louisa).

All this brings me to my point. Bella needs clothes for camp! In the past, I would buy cheap stuff from Old Navy and Target and send her on her way. But it just doesn't feel right to me, knowing what I now know. I would love to buy ethically sourced garments, but it's too expensive to outfit her from American Apparel or the like.

Anyone else out there in my situation, with clothing needs and bags to give away? I'm thinking a kids' summer clothing swap may be in order. Please be in touch if you're in or near NYC, and you're interested.