|
More
Yawlping
Current
September 2006
May 2006
February 2006
December 2005
October 2005
August 2005
|
My Barbaric Yawlp
A
Star of Superior Influence
by Michael Partie |
|
“I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable.
I sound my barbaric yawlp over the roof-tops of the world…”
Walt Whitman
Leaves of Grass
|
August 1968. My friend Robert Armstrong and I picked our way
to through unfamiliar campsites under the Pacific sun. Scout
troops from all over Guam and from Japan had gathered for the
first Camporee ever held on the island. Both eleven years old,
Robert was African American; I was white, much as I am today.
I don’t remember why we were on our way to the assembly
area or what we were talking about. I don’t remember whether
this was the day the monitor lizard invaded our tent or the
weekend we got sliced up by sword grass looking for WWII artifacts.
I don’t remember whether the rabies outbreak had abated
or if it was still in full swing, but what happened as we entered
the campsite of the kid with the axe remains vivid to this day. |
Robert and I were talking and entered the campsite without realizing
it. A white boy about our age was chopping wood with a hand
axe. When the boy saw us he scowled at Robert. “What are
you doing here, nigger?” he said. I froze. I’d never
heard that word directed at another person and it just paralyzed
me. But Robert didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, extending
his hand. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Robert
Armstrong.” The muscles of the boy’s face went slack
and the axe slipped from his fingers. As if rising of its own
accord, his hand extended toward Robert’s. Never breaking
eye contact, Robert gripped the boy’s hand in a brief
handshake. Then we moved on, leaving the boy bewildered, looking
at his hand, his axe forgotten on the ground at his feet.
Faced with genuine ugliness and threat, Robert offered the boy
friendship, and to paraphrase Jonathan Swift, became a star
of superior influence, drawing him into his own vortex. Robert
did not retreat, nor did he escalate the conflict. In an extraordinary
act of courage, Robert entered through the boy’s provocation
and quite literally disarmed him with a word and a gesture.
I’m not suggesting that if that kid actually swung his
axe at Robert’s head, Robert’s actions would have
stopped it. Robert had courage and grace, but he wasn’t
a Jedi, and for all his belligerence that kid wasn’t going
to physically strike Robert with that axe. The assault was psychological,
verbally caustic, and directed at Robert’s spirit. Robert’s
answer was to direct his own spirit in an act of power and kindness
and clear intent. Robert responded to the boy’s malice
by looking him in the eyes and stepping fearlessly into the
void that separated them. Robert rejected the boy’s invective
and refused to be objectified; instead he asserted his identity:
My name is Robert Armstrong. Axe Boy was mindlessly
acting out a racist imperative like a kind of vicious sleepwalker.
Robert’s act was a thunderclap, jolting him momentarily
awake.
Nearly forty years later the memory still sends a chill up my
spine. In that moment Robert showed me another way to be in
the world, a challenging way to think about conflict and about
being a human being. It came to me at a time before I had the
maturity to fully grasp it, but it stayed with me always, waiting
patiently for understanding. Robert and I never talked about
the incident, but I wish we had. How had he experienced that
event? What gave him the strength to act with such poise –
to fearlessly step forward in the face of such withering hatred
and offer his hand? I wish I could talk to Robert about it today.
I wonder whether his life was influenced by that encounter,
or if this was just one of many such incidents he faced as a
black youth growing up in the 1960s.
And what about the boy with the axe; what did he take away from
the experience? Was it a turning point for him? Did he remain
on his path of pig-headed tribalism or did Robert’s actions
plant a seed of transformation?
Their stories are now far beyond my reach. The only story I
have is my story, the observer’s story. It’s entirely
possible that my life was the only one altered that day. Observers
can be as profoundly affected as active participants in events.
A growing body of literature demonstrates that individuals living
in hospitals, group homes, and other long-term care facilities
can experience profound and enduring trauma by exposure to abuse
and aggression, even if they themselves were not the target
of the abuse and aggression. Although research on the effects
of observing affirming or positive events is less clear, my
lived experience is that these can be as instructive and influential.
In providing supports and services to adults and young people
with behavioral health issues our every act must be an act of
integrity so in our actions we provide alternate visions of
how to be in the world, even if we ourselves are not changed
or the person immediately involved is not changed. In so doing,
we create environments where such change becomes not only possible,
but likely.
How did an eleven-year-old boy have the courage and presence
of mind to make such an enlightened response to racist aggression?
Perhaps Robert was precociously wise and his actions emerged
spontaneously from some deep spiritual center. Certainly, Robert
acted like one inspired. More likely though, Robert’s
father, a man of dignity who held a third degree black belt
in karate and who himself had experienced racial segregation
and institutional repression, provided a powerful model for
his son and taught him some effective, non-violent strategies
for dealing with racial slurs.
I think the second explanation is ultimately more hopeful. If
we believe that extraordinary people can make astonishing acts
of power, what does that get us? We get to admire a special
individual gifted with unusual insight and grace. What the second
explanation gives us is the possibility that everyday people
can help others learn powerful, practical, and peaceful strategies
for responding to aggression, that strength of character and
resilience can be nurtured, and that hatred can be effectively
countered by kindness. I think this explanation offers individuals,
communities, and nations a greater hope for peace.
-May 2006 |
|
