Let’s Stop Bullying (but Only Until the 8 p.m. News)

Bullying is a terrible thing. At least as long as it happens at school. Then we grow up, enter the adult world and, as if by magic, things change. Brutality becomes leadership, threats become deterrence, arrogance becomes determination, and intimidation becomes a sophisticated negotiating technique. And if the bully also happens to have an army, a few billion and a good communications department, they may even aspire to the Nobel Peace Prize. Perhaps with the support of a few equally deserving colleagues.

But let’s take things in order.

A few months ago, my wife and I attended a school meeting on bullying. It was an instructive evening, during which we were told that a bully is someone who uses their superiority to intimidate, humiliate, isolate and impose their will on others. Preferably surrounded by a few loyal followers and an audience of onlookers who, for the sake of a quiet life, would rather look the other way. We were reminded how important it is to teach young people respect, empathy, dialogue and solidarity. The stronger must not take advantage of the weaker, and threatening someone to get what you want is hardly an example of good manners.

All of this is beyond dispute. We were even reminded that kindness is a strength. Wonderful. Almost moving. Then we went home, just in time for the 8 p.m. news. And there we discovered that the lesson had an expiry date. A rather imminent one.

In the adult world, it seems, the rules work differently. The stronger can quite comfortably impose their will on the weaker, provided they have sufficient economic, military or strategic arguments. Threats become diplomatic instruments, economic coercion becomes legitimate negotiation, and isolation becomes a necessary measure to defend universal values, naturally. Even the bully’s loyal followers have moved up in the world: today they are called strategic allies. As for the silent onlookers, they have perfected the art of diplomatic caution—a discipline in which, apparently, extraordinary results can be achieved.

Let us imagine applying the same logic in a school playground. A particularly strong boy demands his classmate’s lunch because he considers it essential to his own food security. Another threatens to exclude from break time anyone who refuses to accept his terms. A third convinces the rest of the class that the pupil sitting next to him poses a threat and that, for everyone’s sake, it would be best to isolate him.

At that point, the teacher steps in. Not to reprimand them, of course, but to organise a conference on mutual respect. At which, naturally, all three bullies appear as keynote speakers. Followed by applause and a group photo.

Absurd? Certainly. Yet all we need to do is replace the school playground with the international stage, the lunch with a strategic resource, and the teacher with an international organisation to get the unpleasant feeling that we have seen something similar before.

Of course, an international conflict is not a quarrel between classmates. The causes are more complex, the interests are many, and responsibility is not always easy to assign. Yet certain mechanisms of power—and above all the imagination with which they are justified—bear some rather embarrassing similarities. Nor is there any need to look as far as the great geopolitical balances. In domestic politics, in business, in large corporations and in public communication, brutality can become authority, arrogance can become determination, and opportunism can become an extraordinary ability to adapt. All it takes is finding the right words. And, if possible, someone willing to repeat them in front of a camera.

In short, bullying does not always disappear when we grow up. Sometimes it simply changes its name, puts on a tie and gains respectability—or becomes easier to accept.

There is no shortage of examples. All we need to do is turn on the television, open a newspaper or listen to the statements of some powerful figure. The Western world, which likes to present itself as the guardian of democratic values and universal rights, is an excellent source of people puffing out their chests. But it would be unfair to credit it with a monopoly: international competition in this field is particularly fierce.

To be clear, I do not blame schools. On the contrary, I believe their commitment to tackling bullying is essential and deserves our full support. The problem is not what we teach our children. The problem is the spectacle we adults put on as soon as the school bell rings.

We expect them to resolve conflicts through dialogue, while we admire those who know how to prevail by force. We ask them not to humiliate others, while we turn public humiliation into entertainment. We explain that being stronger does not mean being right, while the world often seems to reward precisely those who manage to prove the opposite. And then, perhaps, we are surprised that young people struggle to distinguish good examples from bad ones.

Perhaps we should add a small note to the leaflets handed out at school meetings: Dear young people, we ask you to respect these principles. They are essential to building a better society. Unfortunately, we cannot guarantee that adults will do the same. Especially those who make the most important decisions.

That would at least be an exercise in honesty. A virtue that, incidentally, could also do with a few refresher courses.

In the meantime, let us continue to organise anti-bullying events. They are important, necessary and can genuinely make a difference. But next time, perhaps we should also invite a few politicians, a few senior executives and a few of the world’s most powerful people. Not as speakers, of course.

As pupils.

In the front row, if possible. And without prompters.