"Consequences"

13 July, 2000

Nobody likes a spoilsport.

So it's not a lot of fun when I have to play that role. As an editor of a collaborative publication I have to play spoilsport a lot. Individual creators can't always understand that their little proposal infringes on the portions of the project created by others. I have to look out for the interests of all the contributors, not just the one pleading with me now. Just as I have to look out for the interests of the all of the readers.

And I admit that I get tired of saying, "No." I try to come up with less negative ways to say it, like "There are several aspects of this idea that are interesting, but have you thought about the impact it would have on this, that, and the other thing?" But they are never fooled. They know that what I'm saying is "no."

Sometimes being tired of saying "no" manifests as grumpiness. I'll over react. "How many times do I have to explain this?" Then feelings are hurt and I feel like a heel.

Despite the negatives to being the spoilsport, once you start doing it, it's hard to stop. I find myself pointing out the problems or pitfalls of things which aren't my responsibility, and frequently aren't all that important, either. But it's my job to do it in some areas. Over time I've had to experience the pain of failing to do it, and occasionally experienced joy at averting catastrophe. It's a classic pavlovian punishment-and-reward system. No wonder my brain seems to do it automatically.

It must be how parents feel, once their kids reach the point that they don't think they need mom and dad's advice any more. It's been your responsibility for years to keep them from hurting themselves, hurting someone else, breaking things, et cetera. When you failed to do it, you suffered (of course, usually they suffered, too), and when you did it right you got to bask in the satisfaction.

Letting go is the hardest part, at least for me. I have to make myself step back and let the other person do it their way. I have to restrain myself from blurting out advice. And most important of all, I must never, ever let the words, "I told you so" pass my lips later.

On the flip side, it is always good, when something works our better than you expected, to say so. "Wow. I really had my doubts when you started on this project, but you did it! I'm impressed and in awe."

The tricky bit is figuring out which categories things fall into. Sometimes it isn't clear at all until it's far too late.

I heard a story on the radio this morning that illustrates the point well. There was this fifteen-year-old girl who had been caught stealing small amounts of money from her classmates. Teachers and her parents tried various strategies to deal with the problem. Then somehow one of the incidents wound up in juvenile court. Under the states' newly revised juvenile code, the girl was sentenced to six weeks at the brand new "boot camp."

She wasn't an athlete. Far from it, she had a severe weight problem. Her parents were convinced that she wasn't medically up to the rigors of "boot camp." But the state doctor said she was. Of course, the doctor was having to go by guidelines enacted by the legislature, not from his personal experience or any research about the effects of the camp's regimen on actual 15-year-old girls.

She was shipped off to the camp.

On the second day of camp all the girls were forced to go on a four mile run. In near-90 degree heat. As you can imagine she had trouble. But the drill instructors screamed at her that she wasn't trying. She begged them to let her stop and have water. Several of the other girls begged, or they tried to help her, only to get screamed at by the drill instructors. She eventually collapsed on the ground near the end of the run, less than ten yards from the mess hall, where there was air conditioning and water.

The two drill instructors wouldn't let the camp nurse near her. They said she was faking. So, with her lips gone purple and foam coming out of her mouth, she lay in the hot sun.

For four hours.

Until someone with more authority found out and called an ambulance. It was too late.

The two drill instructors are on trial for child abuse and murder. The parents are suing the state for failing to exercise control over the camp.

When these juvenile boot camps were first proposed, a lot of doctors, psychologist, and child development experts voiced concerns. They pointed out that fatal incidents like this happen in real boot camp, where the participants are older with more fully-developed bodies. And where the medical criteria has been determined from years of observation of the actual effects of training.

When the camps in this state were set up and a former Marine drill sargeant, with no experience dealing with children or adolescents in any way, was appointed director of the program, more objections were raised. And when he was allowed to hire ex-drill instructors, and design the training program himself, even more objections were raised.

No one called these people spoilsports. No, they used terms like "soft on crime." But the idea was still the same. People had their minds set on a simplistic solution to a problem, and they weren't about to listen to anyway who was going to spoil their success.

Unfortunately, a girl who's crime was stealing five dollars from a classmate is the one who suffered the consequences. I heard one state official being interviewed who seemed to be trying to blame the parents. I don't get that, the parents raised their objections, and they were told that they were wrong, and that the law said she had to go. I suppose the parents could have physically resisted. But then what would have happened? They would have been hauled off to jail, and the girl would have been hauled off to boot camp anyway.

I don't have any clever answers or conclusions to this. It's a disaster no matter how you look at. All I can do is share it and hope it never happens again.

Note to regular readers: I'm on vacation next week. Don't expect a new essay before July 27.

This page is copyright 2000 by Gene Breshears. Photograph is copyright 1998 by Julie Rampke. All Rights Reserved.