Odd Girl Out (51 page)

This is not to say every educator is supposed to be an angel. Yet it is all too easy to confine anti-bullying messages like mine to youth without taking responsibility for what we bring to a community. I have trouble agreeing with educators who say they are not there to be social workers, but only to teach. We are not only models of intellect and academic inquiry; we are equally examples of good manners and citizenship.

 

Very little training would be required to train educators to identify and discipline alternative aggressions. The question is whether or not we want them to. When I asked Kendra, an elementary-school teacher, how she can tell it's happening in her classroom, she said it's obvious. "[Girls become] very withdrawn, their personalities change. Their facial expressions change. It's almost like a sadness, an intimidation ... Even their posture. It almost sounds silly. They just withdraw—from the teachers, their group of friends ... You can just look. I like for a child to smile. Lots of times I say, "Give me a smile," and if they really cannot smile, you know something is wrong.

Of course, even the most well-intentioned educators miss some covert aggression. Kendra cautioned, "They will try to hurt without anyone seeing it. You really have to see the expressions on their faces to know who's being left out or what's happening." Even Jenny, my old roommate who is a teacher and target of bullying herself, often comes home frustrated because she cannot fathom when it is Princess manages to psychologically flatten fragile Maya. In these situations, only the child can be relied upon to come forward and explain. And if she believes that her teacher will trivialize or ignore her pain, or approach the problem insensitively, she will remain silent.

No one should have to rely on ad hoc moments of compassion or personal experience to confront an epidemic. It is only through enforceable public rules and systematic staff training that we will begin to scratch the surface of this problem. If we don't make alternative aggressions a clear responsibility of school officials, children will continue to be vulnerable to bullying and abuse.

Writing this book brought light to the dark corners of my life. Naming the alternative aggressions allowed me to see myself and my relationships in an entirely new way. It gave me a way to talk with others, to come to peace with what I remembered and what I continue to experience today.

I believe our task now is to give every girl, every parent, and every teacher a shared, public language to address girls' conflicts and relationships. A world that acknowledges the hidden culture of girls' aggression would empower girls not only to negotiate conflict, but to define relationship in new and healthier ways. Girls would learn that relationship is an option and not a mandate. They would understand relationship as a chosen partnership in which care and conflict are comfortably exchanged.

When girls understand that relationship can be chosen and that conflict is natural, their social identities will cease to hinge on how many idealized friendships they can rack up. Conflict will no longer feel like a violation of relationship but rather will be seen as a by-product of relationship, even a worthy skill to be honed. Conflict will not be something to be kept locked out of relationship. It will not feel, as it did to Carmen Peralta, like a bomb, splintering friendship beyond repair.

Parents would show girls that conflict-free relationships do not exist. Instead of believing conflict terminates relationship, girls could learn that
no relationship can survive without conflict.
Girls would learn not to be controlled by fear, understanding that relationships ebb and flow beyond the power of one.

In a world that acknowledges the hidden culture of aggression, girls would cease to play out their own fearful prophecies of loss. Knowing that conflicts are periodic, and that relationships survive them, girls might be less inclined to engage in the repression, backstabbing, and ganging up that so often rise up to crush friendships. Most of the behaviors mapped out in this book—nonverbal gesturing, ganging up, behind-the-back talking, rumor spreading, the
Survivor-like
exiling of cliques, note passing, the silent treatment, nice-in-private and mean-in-public friends—are fueled by the lack of face-to-face confrontations. If girls could recognize their anger and upset, the intensity and scope of their reprisals might very well subside.

In a world that acknowledges the hidden culture of aggression, girls who are victimized would know they are not alone. They would have a language to assign meaning to what happened to them. They would enjoy protection at school. They could assimilate girl bullying into their lives as a painful, but not earth-shattering, event. Schools would have the resources, research, and strategies to address the wide range of alternative aggressions. Parents would have the confidence to approach their schools and properly protect their children.

 

the price of alternative aggressions

In the course of writing this book, I watched alternative aggressions and conflict avoidance intersect with three areas of girls' lives: leadership, relationship violence, and the reported loss of girls' self-esteem around adolescence.

At a girls' leadership workshop for twenty middle-class teenagers, one third of whom were nonwhite, we were talking about what made us uncomfortable about leadership, what we were calling "danger zones." As the girls began discussing their fears, I was amazed that nearly every concern related to how others would react to what they say or do.

Over and over again, looking bad or stupid—in their parlance, "getting judged"—was their worst fear. Whether meeting new people, speaking in public, reciting, or debating, the girls feared being "shut down"; they worried that people would not give them a chance to explain themselves and that others would shatter their self-confidence. As a result, they worried, people would not like them, would not want to be their friends, would turn their backs on them.

"The most remarkable thing about the socialization of aggression in girls is its absence," writes sociologist Anne Campbell. "Girls do not learn the right way to express aggression; they simply learn not to express it."
¹⁰⁴
Many girls at the workshop, for instance, perceived being agreed with or supported as a sign of personal connection and being opposed as relational loss. Intriguingly, the dread they felt toward certain leadership practices was a mirror reflection of the fears so many girls voiced about
personal
conflict. In other words, these girls felt a comparable anxiety toward the "good" aggressions (confidence, competition, assertiveness) as many did toward the "bad" ones (interpersonal confrontation, anger, overt meanness). Like the girl who will not say why she is angry because she is afraid of losing her friend, the workshop participants predicted similar relational loss if they acted as leaders.

Throughout the workshop, more parallels emerged. These girls imagined themselves at work on everything from extracurricular projects to their future ventures as adults. Among the girls' most salient fears was being seen as conceited, which they believed would make them unlikable to coworkers. Girls who would do anything to avoid being seen as "all that" about a boyfriend were similarly alarmed when they envisioned professional conduct. Instead of thinking about how much they could achieve at work, they were wondering how to appear as though they hadn't, or how to look like they didn't think they deserved to.

The same thing happened with competition and desire. Many workshop participants told me they were afraid of being called competitive or bossy at work. What they were thinking about at work was not what they wanted and how to get it, but how to appear as though they didn't care as they maneuvered their way patiently toward their goals.

Finally, the workshop participants confided a fear of "messing up" or losing control by saying the wrong thing. This anxiety would force them to think every little thing through, driving them away from the risk taking and shoot-from-the-hip thinking so critical to success in the workplace.

At the following year's workshop, thirty middle-class teenagers were scattered in a circle on cushions in a recreation room. One quarter of them were nonwhite. We were talking about what makes a good leader. I asked them to call out the words they thought described her, and I scribbled along on an easel at the front of the room. When I stepped back to look at their list, here is what I saw:

A GOOD LEADER IS...

Passive, yielding, caring words (in bold) overwhelmed the list. Only four of the words, or less than 10 percent of their "good leader" (underlined) words, suggested a person unwilling to be nice.

To these girls, a good leader was a good girl.

Taking charge, saying no, and engaging in conflict were not signs of their good leader. The girls' leader was easy to get along with. She was nice. She was caring. She was someone you'd like to have as your friend. Looking back at the "anti-girl" list the group made the day before, mentioned in chapter five (see
[>]
), I was shocked by what they believed was wrong in girls: "Brainy," "Opinionated," "Pushy," "Mean," "Professional," "Serious," "Strong," "Independent," "Egocentric," "Unrestrained," "Artsy." The qualities that are the ingredients for a strong leader are the qualities of a bad girl.

Unfortunately, this is not a passing phase. In
Play Like a Man, Win Like a Woman,
CNN Executive Vice President Gail Evans explores why women struggle for equality in the corporate world. After decades of watching women hit the glass ceiling, Evans concludes that a misguided focus on personal relationships is partly to blame.

Evans argues that women struggle when hearing the word no from colleagues or superiors, construing it as a sign of interpersonal conflict. Because of this, women will avoid asking questions they anticipate will end in a no, hearing it as "a sign the relationship between us and our superiors has failed." Many women also avoid risk taking because they fear situations in which they may need to act like they know more than they really do, or bluff. Like the girls who fear being seen as "all that," women workers fear coming off as a person who thinks she's better than everyone else.

Evans notes that girls who wait to be asked "to go out on a date, to get called on in class," turn into women who wait to be asked to do projects rather than get out there and do them. Girls who, like seventh-grader Lily Carter in chapter three, communicate with friends through "hints" turn into women who "assume" the boss knows their work is excellent.

Because women have not been taught to see fighting as a sport or acceptable event, Evans explains that "the concept of a fair fight is an oxymoron. A fight shouldn't take place. If it does, the rules go out the window." Where Evans has watched men buy each other a beer after a conflict at work, a woman often takes it personally. She may storm away angry, reflecting a lifetime association of conflict with relational loss. Women who, as girls, never learned to be comfortable with conflict now as adults have trouble distinguishing normal, day-to-day disagreements from personal attacks.
¹⁰⁵

Evans's observations are not surprising. When girls learn to assert themselves indirectly, or not at all, they claim power similarly as adults. They may become helpers instead of leaders, work behind the scenes instead of at center stage, serve as deputies and vice presidents instead of chiefs and presidents.

To be sure, corporate culture does nothing to discourage this view. Women who are confident, who brag, who are assertive, and who fight are often called "manly" or "bitchy," "frigid," "castrating," or "aggressive." Their courage is not an asset. It's considered inappropriate. The California-based Bully Broads program is singular evidence: the instructor teaches female executives how to appear less assertive, advising them to stutter and cry in public in order to "soften" their image.
¹⁰⁶
Small wonder the very girls who feel comfortable lost in the crowd end up as working women holding the short end of the stick.

Listening to the stories of Vanessa, Natalie, and Annie in chapter two, the word "bullying" sounds hollow. These girls endured protracted emotional abuse at the hands of their closest friends. They refused to give up their friendships, struggling at any cost to remain connected to their bullies. When I spoke to these girls and others, I could not help but ask how they could stay involved with people who were so hurtful. Their responses often sounded like those of battered women.

One girl wanted to leave her friend, but she was afraid of sitting at lunch and recess alone. Another insisted that her friends would be nicer tomorrow, or next week. I was reminded of the way a battered woman refuses to leave an abusive spouse because of her fears of living alone, or because he "said he was sorry." Conventional anti-bullying strategies at school are misplaced in these situations because they are built on the assumption that the aggressor and target are not friends. The intimacy of girlfriends is a central component of relational aggression between girls, and current strategies used by relationship violence experts might be more helpful for girls trapped in these situations.