The socialization of hate
We have much to learn from the innocence of children
Greg McVicker, Volunteer Staff
A couple of weeks ago, I accompanied my six-year-old son to his pediatrician’s office. While waiting for our name to be called, I watched in silent awe as children played together. In this office were children from various ethnic and cultural backgrounds, but no one pointed this out. There was no racial divide. The children did not say how they differed from other children due to skin colour or ask each other what their religion was.
I found myself looking back at where I grew up (war-torn Northern Ireland) and reflecting upon where the socialization of hate came from. For years, I was asked what foot I kicked with, if I was left or right, if I supported the Pope or the Queen, how I recited the Lord’s Prayer, if I knew “The Sash My Father Wore,” how I said my alphabet, what football team I supported or if I were green or orange. All of these terms were used as a product of hate and in finding out whether one was Catholic or Protestant. What did it matter? We were growing up in a country with people from other nationalities who immigrated to Northern Ireland; people from the white race, the black race, the yellow race. But again, race is a socially constructed term, so why did any of this matter? Socialized hatred through colour schemes!
Growing up in the ’80s, I was often involved in collecting material to use for the “Twelfth Night” bonefire. The Twelfth has been celebrated for over 300 years by the Protestant majority in Northern Ireland, recounting the Battle of the Boyne which took place in 1690 between King James II and King William of Orange III. At midnight every July 11, we would burn the stacked pile of collected materials. But lighting the fire was not to be done by an Irish Catholic, and Irish Catholics should never have been in attendance. People from all areas of my “peaceful” neighbourhood would emerge drinking alcohol, speaking about Fenian bastards, cheers erupting when an effigy of the Pope was recklessly tossed onto the fire to burn.
Children from the neighbourhood witnessed these events and learned hatred that very night, as well as during the practice marches that lead up to this night and in preparation for the “Twelfth Day.” Those who were not Protestant learned to hate themselves or call out against their own kind in order to protect themselves while in attendance of such fires.
Curbs would be painted red, white and blue, signifying the Union Jack; young boys, having taken the handle from their mother’s broom, would tape these same colours along the handle, adding a tennis ball to the top in making a baton to practice swinging around their neck, twirling and throwing high into the air as they lead their parade battalion forth on the “Twelfth Day” throughout Belfast. Songs of hatred I heard so often now ring throughout my mind.
I reflected upon seeing children no older than five years of age dressed in their best Sunday suit, parading along side of their fathers, wearing an orange sash. These children were taught what hatred for another human is all about, that anyone who was a Catholic was a Fenian and not to be associated with. The innocence connected to children was quickly fractured and removed while colours determined religion.
Returning to Northern Ireland 18 years later, I was shocked to see that the socialization of hatred still continued. While travelling from Belfast to Scotland by ship, I decided to walk through the duty-free area. I watched as a seven-year-old boy put a jester’s hat on his head; the colours green, white and orange, which reflect the Irish flag. His sister, maybe 10 years of age, shouted at her brother, “Get that Fenian crap off before Da sees you and knocks your head in.” Needless to say, I was ashamed that socialized hatred through colour schemes still continued all these years later: that green, white and orange automatically makes one inferior, whereas red, white and blue deems one as being superior.
In looking back at the pediatrics office, there was no visible sign of socialized hatred amongst the children. They played together and did not disassociate from other children due to their upbringing, cultural background, skin colour, religion or otherwise. They played as one. Their innocence was intact, waiting to be shattered by the biases presented today within the larger society in which they live and learn.
In saying that, we can learn a lot from children. We can learn how to interact with one another and not hate other individuals because of their cultural background, race, or skin colour. We can learn if we work together in peace and for the same goals, we are able to accomplish so much more. We can learn that being human does not mean to oppress someone else for our own benefit and gain, but that we can all be equal. As adults, we sometimes feel we have all the answers. Maybe it is time we listen and learn from our children, as they may hold the key in ending discrimination, racism and socialized hatred.
Greg McVicker is a fourth-year undergraduate social work student.
