I’d finally had enough.
I was being tormented by an elementary school classmate. Like a mosquito, this classmate persistently annoyed me.
For months, I had wanted to be left alone. And for months, he had refused to relent.
In hindsight, this scenario was likely low-level bullying. But in those days, bullying wasn’t exactly the Code Red topic it is now.
Back then, the tormented had two choices — stand up to their tormentor or grow a thick skin.
I was skittish and socially awkward, so I took the second approach. But it didn’t alleviate the situation. If anything, it only made things worse.
Anger and frustration simmered throughout me. It was a matter of time before it would all boil over.
And on this day, at recess, it finally did.
I can’t remember what was said that set me off. But what I do remember is that everything around me — the trees, the grass the people — changed color. For the first time in my life, I was truly seeing red.
Rage kicked in. I charged at my classmate and tackled him to the ground.
My other classmates grew silent, stunned by what they had just seen. Had one of the skinniest kids in the class taken down a much stronger classmate?
Yes. Yes, I had.
I don’t recall much of what happened after that. I’m sure that some teachers or administrators spoke with me about what I had done. But I don’t have any memory of a suspension or other punishment.
Eventually, I ended up going elsewhere for middle school. When I reconnected with my elementary school classmates years later, I showed no ill will to my erstwhile tormentor, and he showed no ill will toward me. We had both moved on, and that was that.
Still, decades later, I think about that day at recess. And I consider the larger message it sends.
Humans have many redeeming qualities. But some parts of our nature are less than pleasant.
One of these is our obsession with punishment.
We are emotional beings. But we’re not well equipped to handle the less savory emotions — such as frustration or anger — all that well. We become unhinged when bearing the brunt of these feelings, and we focus on unloading all that pain elsewhere.
Punishment provides a convenient outlet for us in these moments. We can isolate the source of our misery, and then make that source feel that same burn we do. We can make them pay for their transgressions.
The desire to inflict punishment is our emotional nature at work. But that energy, that zeal — it’s all misguided.
For while accountability is essential in society, we often push punishment too far. And once we cross that line, the blowback can be devastating.
I know this all too well.
The classmate who tormented me for months, he was punishing me for being a pushover. But those efforts ultimately backfired on the day I pushed him over.
If schoolyard encounters were the extent of this pattern, it would only be a minor issue. But the consequences can be far worse.
One of the enduring legacies of America is the conflict between the south and the north.
The divide dates back to colonial times, when it reflected differing economies and demographics. The southern colonies — Virginia, the Carolinas and Georgia — were mostly rural and dotted with plantations. The northern colonies — such as Massachusetts and New York — were more urban, filled with textile mills and manufacturers. And the two areas did not see eye to eye.
The earliest days of the United States were filled with compromises between the north and south — including where to build a capital city and how to manage the new nation’s currency.
As the nation expanded westward, the compromises quickly turned to another matter. Which new states and territories would allow slave labor, and which would ban the practice?
It seemed inevitable that these uneasy alliances between the north and south would ignite. And they ultimately did when southern states seceded, spurring the American Civil War.
The north won that war, at great cost. And that victory formally ended the abhorrent practice of slavery across America.
Efforts then turned to rebuilding the nation — a period known as Reconstruction. Yet, many northerners in government saw this as an opportunity to further punish the South for costing them four years of bloodshed and military expenses.
This pile-on punishment left the south destitute and hopeless. And the blowback has lasted ever since.
There remains a chasm between the north and south — one that I’ve experienced from both sides. Many southerners think Yankees are elitist and rude. Many northerners think southerners are stupid and shortsighted.
Neither opinion is accurate, of course. There are many humble and polite northeners, and many brilliant southerners. But these caricatures have persisted nonetheless.
Then there are all the atrocities the south has heaped on Black people since Reconstruction. Segregation, sharecropping, criminalization and extrajudicial killings have marred the region over the years.
Yes, racism is responsible for this. But racism is a learned trait. And I believe that trait has festered in the south in defiance of the heavy-handed punishments of Reconstruction.
In their quest to get a pound of flesh, lawmakers the Reconstruction era have left a long shadow. Their actions ultimately planted the seeds for so much of the strife that exists in our nation today.
About 40 years after Reconstruction wound down, America found itself in another conflict.
Simmering tensions in Europe erupted, sparking the first World War. While the United States didn’t join the fight until its final year, it ultimately sent about 2 million troops to assist the Allied Powers in Europe.
The Allies emerged victorious. But the allies then clamped down on the vanquished Central Powers, dividing their territories and leaving them in financial ruin. One of these nations — Germany — found its currency worthless within years of the conflict. And even after it emerged from its hyperinflation crisis, the nation was beaten down and without much hope for the future.
Into this void stepped a boisterous figure, preaching of a grand nationalist vision for Germany. The German populace threw its support behind this figure, whose name was Adolf Hitler. And the rest, devastatingly, was history.
Less than 30 years after World War I ended, Germany was in ruins again. It had helped spark a second World War — a war it again had lost. And it had committed genocide, sending more than 6 million people to their deaths in concentration camps.
The Holocaust will forever be known as one of the worst atrocities in human history. Germany will forever bear the brunt of responsibility for the attempted extermination of Jewish people across Europe.
Yet, the punishment the Allied Powers heaped on Germany in the aftermath of World War I likely played a role as well. By kicking the nation when it was already down, the allies created the environment for a devastating blowback.
Fortunately, the Allies didn’t make the same mistake after World War II. The nation was still bisected, thanks to the Soviets. But western powers put resources into rebuilding West Germany — with the most notable efforts coming from the United States under the Marshall Plan.
In the aftermath of World War II, high ranking Nazis were hunted down, tried for war crimes and executed. (Some infamously claimed at trial that they were “Just following orders.”)
But the rest of the German people didn’t face death sentences for their tacit support of the Holocaust. Their cities had been firebombed. Their government had collapsed. And their nation’s atrocities were condemned by the world. That was punishment enough.
As a result, Germany is a much more progressive place these days. It is candid about its past atrocities and committed to preventing future ones.
It’s a case study we can all learn from.
As I am writing this, America is once again facing an inflection point.
National elections are always fraught. But this time, the angst seems particularly palpable.
Our nation seems as polarized as it ever has been. And there is a looming referendum on that polarization.
But it’s not the election event I’m most worried about. It’s the aftermath.
For regardless who comes out on top, there will surely be an urge to punish the other side. To kick the vanquished when they’re already down.
These days, such an urge extends past the political figures themselves. It stretches to their supporters. People on each side of the political divide have already committed murders in recent weeks. A sustained vengeance campaign might accelerate the violence — which is not an acceptable outcome.
We must learn the lessons of Reconstruction and of post-World War I Germany. Tightening the screws on vanquished opponents only sets the stage for further horrors. For once they reach their breaking point, they will rise up and take us down — much in the way I took down my classmate at recess all those years ago.
It’s up to us to ensure this doesn’t happen. It’s up to us to ensure the Goldilocks principle applies to punishment — not too much, not too little. This requires us to get off our high horse, to assess the situation and to make the right decision.
This is a lot to ask of us in the heat of the moment, as emotions are running high and vengeance is top of mind. That’s why I call the path forward The Punishment Paradox.
But we must adhere to this plan. It’s essential that we get this right. Our future depends on it.
So, let’s do what it takes to conquer the Punishment Paradox. There is simply no other option.