Rethinking Kindness

I sat down today to write a post about how I wished I was kinder. As I tried to put into words what I was thinking though, I began to wonder if kindness is currently being weaponised as a form of social control?

I tried at first to write about how it’s not that I am unkind, in fact I do a lot of kind things every day. I didn’t go into examples, as true kindness doesn’t come from a need to brag about it (credit for kindness creates conflicting motives: are you acting because you are kind, or because you just want to be seen as being kind?), but I have plenty of examples in my head, and I am confident that people who know me in my everyday life can think of some too. But I wrote about how I felt my instinct is seldom kindness first. Far too often, I complained, I respond to things with anger, or defensiveness, or frustration, or disappointment. Something negative. I will get to kind eventually, but not always quickly enough.

But here’s where my whole thesis was derailed, because the next thing I wanted to write was this: “It’s not my fault. I was raised that way. My parents weren’t kind people either.” And I realised as soon as my fingers typed the words that this was total bullshit. My parents were two of the kindest people I’ve ever met. At its most material, neither my sister or I ever had to ask for anything we needed as we grew up, and even the things we didn’t need, whatever we asked for usually materialised. Even their failed marriage which made things difficult was an act of kindness as they misguidedly stayed together “for the kids” long after their love had died, sacrificing their own daily happiness for the wellbeing of me and my sister.

What I realised I meant when I wrote “my parents weren’t kind people” was that these two incredibly kind people, who gave me the best childhood they could in the circumstances of their marital failings, were, like me, alongside their kindness, also often grumpy, cynical, selfish, snide, bitter, and careless. They could lash out with unkind words - for each other, at us, to their friends - just as easily as their day-to-day actions might come from a place of compassion and concern. They could say something kind and in the same breath do something to contradict that kindness; both parents at different points in their marriage abandoning the rest of us as they pursued happiness beyond the family home.

And as I thought about mom and dad - two people I loved, and two people I hated; deceased now, I still look back on them with both a full heart and a broken one - I thought about the times and places where my own kindness seemed lacking. Frustration at the state of the world leading to my lashing out sometimes too quickly at people, blaming them for complicity in fucking everything up instead of seeing where they are coming from and finding the good buried in at least their intentions. Speaking bluntly and without social nuance because I, personally, find small talk and niceties a bit vacuous and unnecessary and forgetting that to others, unused to such rawness, such candour could come across as callous or uncaring. As a teacher in the classroom, sometimes forgetting what it is to be an 11-18 year old trying to balance the demands of family, the demands of school, the demands of friends, and your own burgeoning sense of self and wellbeing and seeing only how work not being done or something asked for not happening affects me and my life instead of considering how what I asked for might have affected them and all that is going on in theirs. Dismissing demands on my own limited time - even from those closest to me - so I can selfishly indulge in what I want to do.

None of these things make me proud, and I often regret doing them. Sometimes the regret is near-instantaneous and I end up stopping myself and do the right thing. Other times, I see I was acting selfishly and apologise and try to make up for it. I try and catch myself from doing it again the next time. And sometimes, there too, I fail. But isn’t that just what it is to be human in an imperfect world? Such instances of potential unkindness do not blot out all the other instances where kindness did come first; and none are really that unkind, just ill-thought-out. Born of the pressures and frustrations of living in a demanding and disappointing world with finite time and resources.

As well as my parents’ own tendencies to snap at each other, and us, despite showing us nothing but love, my tendency towards kindness was further formed by getting into punk. The snotty fuck you attitude of the world which saved my life and showed me how to turn anger into magic was one of thrown barbs and raised middle fingers, spiked hair and cultural critique. Yet punk was also where I learned about mutual aid and DIY; about co-ops and community. Through the kindness of punks I was able to tour the country, sleeping on strangers’ floors and borrowing backline equipment; help support charities I didn’t even know existed; get my writing and music out into the world; and see a vision of a better world, one where non-human animals were valued and their suffering ceased, one without sexism, racism, homophobia or fascism; a world without war. Kindness in punk didn’t mean smiles and flowers. It wasn’t instagram-vapid and hashtag-ready, it was rough around the edges and sullen. It swore, it was prickly, but its heart was big and definitely in the right place. The song might yell “fuck you” and the fighting in the mosh pit might seem aggressive, but if you needed someone to help you out when the world had turned its back, there was no better place.

Both my parents and the punks showed me that kindness can often be masked by a facade that looks like unkindness, but that the kindness that’s sometimes obscured is the really good stuff, always there when it counts. Kindness that lasts a lifetime. Kind people, they taught me, can also be crusty people, people quick to tell you to fuck off, people who make mistakes and even people who think sometimes a little too much about themselves. I realised that I could still consider myself kind even if I was also sometimes a little too quick to call out someone’s bullshit, be negative, or point a finger in someone’s direction.

And I realised that the prevailing view of kindness right now as some sort of social media movement - where we ought only say nice things and never be impolite - is not only having the unkind side-effect of making those of us kind people who don’t quite fit the stereotype feel unnecessarily bad about the three people we told to fuck off for every five we did something nice for, but it is essentially a way of silencing dissent and criticism. If it becomes seen as “unkind” to say something negative, we may polite ourselves into oblivion. I have seen examples of this in the #edutwitter community on Twitter, where during the Covid-19 school closures some beleaguered Heads put their staff at risk as they blindly complied with poor and confusing government guidelines about safety. If these Heads were criticised or questioned, charges of “unkindness” would arise. Could people not see how stressful a time this was, and how much pressure these Heads were under to do the impossible? How could anyone expect them to get everything right?

But such a position could be applied to any leadership error. There are always pressures and competing demands. There are always stresses. It is not unkind to criticise a bad decision made under poor circumstances; it is actually a kindness. A sharing of the burden of responsibility from being placed at the top of an unnecessary hierarchy and spreading it out across us all. The addition of an outside eye which may have seen something missed in the haze of pressure to get it right. So long as the criticism comes with the motive of ensuring the best outcomes, then it is hard to say it isn’t kind. To not make the criticism might be to condemn the staff, students and their families to preventable sickness, suffering or even death from Covid-19, surely the very definition of unkindness?

In politics too. A very real dispute between the radical politics of former Labour leader, Jeremy Corbyn and the distinctly non-radical approach of his successor Keir Starmer has led to various factions throwing charges of unkindness at each other. Those unsupportive of Corbyn were “unkind” to him when they criticised his handling of the media and narrative during his time in power or repeated charges of antisemitism; those unsupportive of Starmer are “unkind” to criticise his support for policies far to the right of the previous party manifesto. The idea that we could have a serious debate about the failings of each leader, and their successes, to reach an agreement kindest for the whole country - the defeat of the demonstrably awful Tories by an elected government who enact policies for the many, not the few - is off the table as soon as we stop talking about the substance of the discussion and replace it with a discussion of etiquette.

It made me realise that we have to move away from the sort of superficial kindness which throws sterile and insipid positivity around to look kind, and seek a more substantive form of kindness. One inclusive of every offered olive branch, even if the branch is gnarled and covered in thorns. A kindness unafraid of sometimes being brusque and, even, sometimes failing to be kind; aware that we all fall short sometimes and true kindness includes a notion of forgiveness and charity which hopes we will do better next time.

I sat down today to write a post about how I wished I was kinder. Instead, I did myself a kindness and realised that, while we can all do better, and I will continue to strive to be even kinder, I shouldn’t feel down on myself just because my version of kind may not always be recognised by others, including those to whom I am kind. My kindness - with all its spikes and bumps - is known to myself. And that is enough.