"The brain is a wonderful organ; it starts working the moment you get up in the morning and does not stop until you get into the office." Robert Frost
Oh isn’t it good to be an adult in the workplace. The school yard is far behind us and we don’t have to worry about what the other kids think, the cliques, the fitting in, the confusion, the awkwardness… and most of all, the bullying.
Of course, I hated the bullying that went on at school, but then doesn’t every one?
No, I don’t think so.
For a start there are those that did the bullying; obviously it doesn’t bother them that they are being cruel to someone. Then there were those who stood by and let it happen. Looking back the cruelty probably did bother them, but they didn’t do something to try to stop it, so I guess they didn’t hate it in the way I did.
Bullies always have a mental list of what they think everyone else should be. They are ill equipped to deal with any deviation from that ideal. Anything new or different is attacked. They rubbish the person and take the non-intervention of others to be consent.
At school it was virulent. There was a girl at primary school. I lived in a upper working class/lower middle class area and this girl’s clothing indicated that she came from the lower economic end of the sphere. She was daubed “The Flea-bag”. No one would talk to, play with, or even touch this girl. So one lunch time I went up to her and held her hand and asked her if she wanted to play. She was so frightened of the consequences to me; she mutely shook her head, withdrew her hand and ran away. I was 6 – so my efforts with that situation ended there. But I continued with my actions against bullying for the rest of my school career. I didn’t care if I got called a tell-tale or had to take the brunt of the bully’s anger. I simply couldn’t (and still can’t) bear to see people hurt others by marking them out as the one to be separated from the herd.
I hate bullying.
Note that I use the word hate here for emphasis only. It’s a powerful word for a powerful feeling, and I do feel exactly that for the actions that lead to the torturing of one human being for nothing more than the pleasure of another. Torture is when a person intentionally hurts another which, in my opinion, is one of the worst traits a human being can have. Have no doubt about it, bullying whether verbal or physical, is just another name for torture. I can’t watch torture in dramatised form or even read about it without feeling physically ill; so it is beyond me why some people consider it entertainment real life, and yet apparently, many people do.
But you will note I have separated the act from the person. Yep, I hate bullying, but come on bullies are broken people, if they were whole, they wouldn’t do it – you have to have a bit of compassion for them.
I still believe that – even now as adult. Even now I’ve been a victim of it myself. Long after the school gates clanged shut behind me. Bullies can only be viewed as incomplete people, persons without the ability to enjoy the variety of types of people there are. Bullies don’t get the whole vive la difference approach so beloved by our European neighbours.
One of the most prevalent kinds of bullying in the workplace in the UK at least is class based. I swear the exponents of this form of bullying are totally clueless as to what they do! Never the less the feelings of despair and worthlessness associated with the results of bullying are prevalent with the victims of this treatment. The bullies need help– broken things need to be repaired so that they can function .
I once worked in an office where the titled daughters of the landed gentry whiled away their twenties until they were selected for matrimony and a shire estate. I found myself in this environment as a result of an error made by one of the directors who wrongly assumed that my being born in Westminster meant I came from their side of the tracks. Adding to that, it was understood that the double barreled surname on my CV was an indication of my social status rather than a bit of grit on the printer between my middle and surname. I can now see that my innocent answers during the interview were in fact the script for a comedy of errors. Unknown to me I was employed on the mistaken impression that I was indeed a member of the upper classes.
Once installed in the office it became clear that what they thought they were getting was certainly not what they had got! The first thing that came to light was that I said “Nice to meet you" to every member of the team as I was introduced. Apparently if I had any breeding what so ever I would know that the correct address would be “How do you do”. Don’t even start me on what happened when I said I liked visiting stately homes (yes, you’ve guessed it only tourists would use such a term – apparently I should have had instruction in my youth to use the term Country House).
Believe me this was no Eliza Doolittle experience – no one was interested in My Fair Lady… this was all about making it clear I was a prol”.(Posh gals language for a member of the lower classes) and making me as uncomfortable as possible. Everything I said they asked me to repeat, then they’d painfully copy my pronunciation and smile. It didn’t take long for me not to wish to speak at all.
Having secured a mute on my ‘prol’ tones, the next move was to highlight the fact that the familiar of my name was (shock horror) simply an abbreviation of my name in full. Apparently anyone who is anyone (the silent addition to that being anyone WORTH knowing) has some kind of hilarious story attached (probably involving a horse, a country house and at least two titled people). Thus Candida was known as Biscuit, Fiona was known as Pooh and Jessica was known as Noonoola. Just saying my name seemed to cause some kind of involuntary gag reflex among them. It wasn’t just the way I talked or the name I used, it was everything about me. I was different - so the only thing they knew to do with that was to attack. And everything I did gave them reason to go for it: Let’s not even go there on the lunch time when I ate a melon.
They had me second guessing everything I did. I no longer trusted my own judgement to pick up the correct fork; I was afraid of the sound of my own voice, embarrassed by the use of my own name, worried about the cut of my favourite coat and was second guessing my own judgement of everything. I hated what I had become. In fact Biscuit, for whom I worked directly, could only find one thing to say with a positive vibe about me which was (and I quote):
“I’m amazed how well you dress seeing your clothes are so cheap, you do rather look the brand nicely!”
I was made to feel clumsy, inarticulate, socially inept and a huge mistake daily. Sad to say, the situation continued to the bitter end when they decided that I had an inability to understand that everything that had happened was just good banter and suggested a parting of the ways. Once I was out of there and my sanity was restored I began to realise what had happened to me. I was a victim of other people’s cruelty for MONTHS but I hadn’t even realised that was why I felt so bad every day I worked there. They’d deconstruct me daily and I’d sit there apologising for being and feeling as if I was at fault, but the very idea that I was being bullied didn’t occur to me till I left. Sounds bizarre but true.
Workplace bullying is often so much more subtle than what happens in the playground at school -but whoa! isn’t it so much more effective.
In the workplace I often hear others say that they don’t think they’re bullying because as far as they’re concerned they’re just having a laugh. So I have an answer for the person who says that: Maybe you think it’s funny, but it doesn’t look like he/she does. So guess what? That makes you a bully.
A laugh is by its nature inclusive - cruelty is all about excluding someone, which is the essence of bullying.
Being cruel to others is a despicable thing to do.
It’s not big, it’s not clever… and guess what… IT IS NOT GOOD BANTER.
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