Yes. Shame.
In my work on the American History curriculum at our tutoring center I have been reading about the stark contrasts between Europeans and Native Americans in pre-Columbian times. In the most liberal textbooks this wide ranging area of differentiation is a major point of focus because understanding it is crucial to understanding the way the colonists treated the Native Americans upon arrival, like aliens, like foreigners.
Some of the differences are common knowledge: the sense of community; sharing housing, food, and trade goods was a normal way of life for most tribes. One colonist wrote in his letters home that no one would ever starve if even one person in the tribe had riches. There was no hoarding and no boot-strap theory.
Other differences may not be so familiar to all: a woman could hold positions of great power, sitting on councils, choosing her husband, and having the option to divorce a man who displeased her; she simply placed his belongings outside the home. "You really messed up this time, buddy," I can imagine his friends saying.
But one custom I was reviewing of the Native American tribes is one that, while I was already aware of, struck me in a profound way now that I am a mother: shame.
The Europeans practiced as a centuries-old tradition corporal punishment, physical discipline. It was expected that you would hit your child for misbehaving, that you would yell, berate, and make him or her feel small and powerless. "Spare the rod, spoil the child." While I believe this biblical advice is not advocating hitting your kid with a stick (or even physically harming your child at all), I do realize that that is in all actuality how it sounds, and that, more importantly, that is how good Christians interpret it.
Adults in a European society could expect to be tortured, jailed, hanged, stretched, lashed, put in the stocks, and on and on, for any matter trivial or great, depending on the magistrate and current rules mandating discipline.
The lesson, at least as I learned it, being brought up in much this way, and in a society that still pretty much adheres to the good old European way: don't get caught. Oh, and also, hitting is okay if you have the power and someone else wrongs you.
In striking contrast, the Native American means of dealing with people who act against the good of the family or the tribe is one of shame. When children misbehave they are shamed by their parents through losing family privileges, like partaking in family functions, meals, activities, etc., or having a responsibility you are proud of taken away. You have lost trust, and you must earn it back. When adults wrong the tribe in some way, they are treated in much the same way, shamed by the crowd, unable to partake in community gatherings and festivals. If you continue to misbehave, you will be cast out of the group entirely until you prove you are prepared to reenter and follow the expectations therein.
The lesson here: behave appropriately or you will be cast out of the light, cast out of the love. That warm feeling you have when you are gathered with your closest friends and relatives will be taken from you.
This idea of shaming is one that has always made sense to me. I have been hit. I have been grounded. I have been beaten. Nothing changed my attitude more than being told that I was a disappointment. I had let people down. I had hurt someone.
It also occurred to me that this was a practice I had already established in my own home. I have never struck Celaya. In fact, the one time I saw Carlos knock her on the back of the skull in play, Celaya skipping off to play elsewhere, I went on a twenty minute rant about what we are teaching our daughter about violence. Yea yea, I know, slight overreaction.
But when Celaya acts out in general I tend to get quieter, more patient, and finally, I will become very serious, not speak at all, and just look her in the eyes. Not angry, just not my usual playful, smiling, laughing self. On a few rare occasions I have walked away into the next room. She of course follows quickly after me at which point I'll say, "well then, let's pick up your blocks like Mama said." I do this knowing instinctively that she will follow because she adores me, because I adore her. This whole approach only works because of just how much love I show her, just how much I snuggle her, just how much attention I pay to her. She is the light of my life and all the big bright glowing rays of motherly love shine down on her from me like manna from heaven. I am her whole world. The very thought of being cast even momentarily out of that world whips her into shape. Well, toddler shape. She basically throws a couple of blocks in the box while I do the rest. She's 20 months after all. But hey, it's a start.
This is not to say that I do not yell. If she goes for the knives in the dishwasher, stands up on a kitchen chair, tries to climb on a bookshelf, or anything else that puts her in immediate danger, she gets a "HEY!" in my sternly raised Mama voice. It's effective. She's still alive.
The point about shame as opposed to physical punishment is this: shame is more difficult; physical punishment is easy. It takes time, day after day, hour after hour kind of time, to build up the love, trust, and security that people are afraid to lose. It takes hard work to earn people's respect, even your children's, so that they don't want to lose yours. It matters to me what my child thinks of me, if she thinks I am a strong, intelligent, moral, wise, loving mother, she will, logically, want to stay in my good graces, most of the time anyway. I am aware of the sheer and utter insanity that is adolescence. Remember, I said logically.
But this means I have to work every day to be the kind of person I hope my kid wants to be like. I have to devote time every day to show her how important she is to me.
I guess this is why they say it takes a village. How much more difficult this task would be if I had to do it alone, and even more difficult if I had family and friends that belonged to the physical punishment school of thought. Thankfully, I do not. They are quite enlightened.
Well, most of them.
And those who aren't?
Well, shame on them.
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