Can an institution be cruel?
Cruelty—1) Disposition to inflict pain or suffering: devoid of humane feelings; 2) a. causing or conducive to injury, grief, or pain b. unrelieved by leniency (Merriam-Webster)…Delight in or indifference to the pain or misery of others; mercilessness, hard-heartedness (Oxford English Dictionary)
Calls for empathy, already widespread in educational and cultural contexts, have proliferated during Covid-times. Whether in shared horror at widespread disease, or as a response to unjust actions in the public space, we are in a time of deeply felt emotions. If the framework of “social and emotional learning” asks us to enter consciously and constructively into the world of others, I have wondered whether there are cases where the opposite has been operative. Have we seen cases where words or actions demonstrate a deficit in human feeling, if not a “delight in,” then even an “indifference to” the pain or misery of others, whether in our behaviors or policies? The public response to the killing of black people at the hands of law enforcement officers is akin to what television images provoked during the Civil Rights Era. In politics and other organizations, the times have called for managers and other leaders to be more understanding. Counter to this widespread empathy, shooting someone in the back seven times, as happened to Jacob Blake, is certainly cruel. And even before considering the individual and institutional cruelty that accompanies overt racism, are there more benign manifestations of such indifference, hidden in plain sight?
A premise of group psychodynamic approaches to behavior is that if individuals can act in particular ways (empathic or cruel, for example), then the group can also manifest these behaviors. Even if Freudian methods of analyzing individual and group conduct might seem shaky, cognitive science identifies emotions like empathy and their potential impact on patients. There continues to be scientific evidence that as the individual goes, so goes the group. In collectives, alliance and cohesion can reduce anxiety, which has long been linked to performance.
In higher education, over the course of the last six months we have had an opportunity to consider how we lead. We have, unfortunately, seen evidence of cruelty, even as we have tried to make decisions in empathic ways. In reflecting upon this period, three questions surface as worthwhile precursors to words and actions. These are perhaps dispositions to consider, even before enacting the behaviors that come from them.
Are we truly listening to people’s stories?
Covid-19 has revealed the disproportionate impact that external stimuli can have. A single parent with children at home whose schools have decided to be entirely remote faces a different fall semester from someone with a strong network of family support nearby. A professor caring for ailing family members encounters the same risks as others, but for that person the impact of institutional policies is disproportionate to others. And these examples are not to mention the high numbers of Black, Indigenous, and other People of Color (BIPOC) who are cleaning dorm rooms, serving food to our students, and emptying the trash in our offices. We can quickly slide into self-congratulatory modes about the good work that we are doing to build campus infrastructure, but the scale of our structures does not account for these individuals, qua individuals. Their stories matter as much as—if not more than—our administrative achievements.
Are we being done in by our rules?
One of my favorite passages of literature is Homer’s Iliad book 24, where a soldier visits the father of a man killed in battle, in a moment of empathy and—even more powerful—absolution. The soldier Achilles’ surreptitious, nighttime visit to Priam, who could be his own father, is met with a poignant and unforgettable realization on the part of the bereaved man: “I have kissed the hand of the man who killed my son.” The vignette changes nothing. The war continues. Soldiers have a role to play in the conquest of this territory. Nevertheless, the image is meaningful, conveying that independent of the rules of engagement, human beings are being impacted; even the fiercest of enemies can recognize this and act in surprising, humane ways.
For our institutions, we should apply the rules of engagement with real concern regarding disparate impact, such as policies that benefit parents but not those who might be unwed, unpartnered, or otherwise isolated. It is important to continue understanding that these rules impact people. Sometimes, changing those rules or discontinuing them is worth our considerations. Rules must adapt to circumstances, always with an awareness of the individuals that they are meant to serve.
What if our “law and order” discourse, for example, had Achilles’ awareness of the people policed, a true realization of the value of black life, qua life?
How do we deliver news?
The vignette from Homer shows that even where rules must apply, nothing stops empathic people from leading with care. It is also evidence that we can improve as we go. Prior to his visit to Priam, Achilles was an emblem of cruelty, going so far as to continue harming the body of Hector for days after he had killed him. More than devoid of feeling or indifferent, Achilles had shown a “disposition to inflict pain or suffering,” his delight bordering on sadism. His behavior changed, in part as a result of the awareness of his own impending death. His father will soon suffer the same pain that he is inflicting on Priam through the desecration of his son. This begs the existential question: Does the killer, whether with knee on neck or deploying rapid fire, hate himself?
Self-empathy helps us to extend empathy to others. Perhaps all emotional life is ultimately selfish, but this realization causes us to examine our desires, motivations, and actions. Even when we are so bold as to tell others, “I didn’t make the rules,” adding the humility of “I feel your pain” to the equation helps.
Cruelty comes out of an imbalance in the emotions. Taking time to recalibrate can impact how we behave, and it can have a lasting, positive effect on others—and perhaps even save their life.