A client in her fifties wanted to heal a wound from middle school. I’ll call her Grace. In the story she told me, Grace was a perpetrator, not a victim.
A few girls had formed a flock for mutual protection, something expected of girls that age. She counted herself lucky to be included. Gradually the flock became passive loyalists to the most popular girl, a curly-headed looker who was bossy.
Grace was an affable child. She liked everybody, but in this flock she deferred uneasily to the opinions of the alpha girl. The guilt she carried all these years later was attached to a particular child I’ll call Megan. Megan was shy and dressed in clothes from bargain stores. Grace still remembers Megan’s look when the alpha girl told her bluntly, “Go away.” The sting of the memory is her own silence. “Why didn’t I say something?”
Small wars and big wars, in both we are all casualties. On the big scale, bombs kill. Craters, schrapnel, and falling buildings wipe out populations; all because countries declare boundaries and enemies. It is the same when marital partners take sides against each other and crater their children’s lives. It is the same when children declare enemies on the playground.
In my world, people are working hard to breach the idea of Other. They seek to understand why the perceived Others think as they do. Where is our mutual humanity in the situation? And where do we need to declare out loud what is wrong with making enemies?
Grace is one of those people. She became known in her community as a voice for underdogs. I dream a flock of Graces who fly in formation and spread peace. Their voice is birdsong.
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