When rules don't help

The life of a star has a profound influence on the others around it, just like the life of a person. (Smithsonian Institiution)

It was a moment that will surely be familiar to anyone who survived middle school.

My students and I were playing and singing a song together when one voice rang out a little louder than the rest. Exuberant and enthusiastic though it was, it was imperfect. No problem in our group — we’re all learning. We’re constantly talking about how we can all grow and improve as musicians, and how it’s an act of leadership to put in the effort.

But not all of us were in agreement on this point, apparently. Two eighth grade girls, sitting idly instead of participating in the music, exchanged a glance. Its meaning was unmistakeable — they were silently making fun of the earnestness of the confident singer.

Not everyone saw the glance, but a few did. And I sure did. At the end of the song, I called these two girls out by name in front of the group. I reminded them that we’ve been working very hard to build a culture where people can try things that they’re not already good at without being afraid someone will make fun of them. I told them that their behavior was incredibly destructive to what we’re trying to do as a school, and that as eighth graders they were well aware of that. I said that I never want to see such behavior again.

All the air went out of the room. The tension held. A moment of silence went by. The girls politely apologized. I thanked them. Another beat of silence, and we started another song.

I don’t usually do that kind of thing. Unless behavior is openly disruptive and can quickly be corrected in the moment (“Sal, please stop that banging. Thanks!”), I tend to offer corrective feedback in private. But this felt different. This was a moment where I needed to stand up for the culture that I was trying to create. I needed to make sure that everyone knew and understood what we stand for. It was critical to squelch an unspoken and contagious narrative (“If you try too hard, the girls who rule the school will make fun of you”) and broadcast the desired one (“Here, we encourage each other to try”).

Kids are not fully formed — they are still figuring out what they want to stand for. They can go off track, mess up, and learn from their mistakes. However, if the students had been adults, I might have politely asked them to leave and never come back.

Why was it such a big deal? Well, I founded my school to create a place where it is okay to be wrong, ask questions, and experiment. And that only works if all of us — teachers and students — are enrolled in the journey. Otherwise, we are saying one thing and doing another. Under those circumstances, there’s no way we can possibly deliver on the promise of being what we say we want to be.

However, as important as this buy-in is, there’s no way to legislate it. I can’t make a rule that no one makes fun of someone else’s singing — and I certainly can’t make a rule that you can’t glance at your friend. No, formal rules don’t help here. We’re operating based on principles, and all members of the community need to understand them and voluntarily follow them in order for us to build an environment where everyone feels welcome.

A person might appear to go along with the values of my school while they are actively working against them. If I should find evidence that they aren’t in alignment with those values, they’ve got to either change or move on. Otherwise, we’re just another institution whose mission statement has nothing to do with reality, where people pay lip service to inclusion, diversity, and kindness but don’t actually follow through.

At times, I’ve had to compete with someone else’s vision for what my organization should be. Our Wi-Fi network used to be called “Growth Mindsets Only” and the password was “mistakes help you learn.” One of my teachers told me, months after a colleague’s departure, that the former teacher had rolled her eyes at this password which conveyed our most dearly held school principles. It can never be against the rules to roll your eyes — but such a teacher does not belong at my school. This tiny anecdote explained months of low-level conflict.

When it comes to the culture of an organization, it can be the most subtle acts of subterfuge that sink our lofty goals. One particularly charismatic person has the gravity to affect the orbit of a number of others in a way that may be conflict with the people who are supposedly in charge. Such a problem can be extremely difficult to identify and repair, because these powerful actors are good at covering their tracks. The phenomenon is just like a black hole — you may not be able to see the source of the disturbance, but the objects around it behave differently. You don’t see the rock, you only see the ripples. And those ripples can wreak havoc for which there is little recourse.

It’s far easier to destroy something than it is to create it; it’s easier to make fun of someone else’s musical efforts than to make your own attempt. And it’s all too easy for a person to toe the line and appear to be on board with something they disdain in order to keep their role. Thus, those of us who are working to build something that goes against what is easy are facing an uphill climb.

But even though we can’t make a rule about what people have to believe or police their every interaction, we can speak up for what we believe in. We can call out the actions that harm the community, but more importantly, we can work to empower and amplify those who are helping to create something meaningful. Like singing, lifting each other up is an act of leadership that can happen from any chair.