KC HillViolence and Aboriginal Education
September 17th 2008 06:57
I have been in some very dangerous situations in my work with various emergency services, but nothing shook me up as much as having a 13 year old student put a knife to my throat during school hours. It was then I realised “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
I had been on the Aboriginal community of Woora Warra, working as Deputy Principal, for about a week, and had not been prepared for what I had seen. Violence borne of poverty was common. The poverty came from about 95% unemployment in the town, with few employment opportunities.
The kids grew up with violence a part of their being. As such, they became the same themselves. And one day, I just happened to walk in on it.
Young Laurence was a nice enough lad, usually polite, but also withdrawn and depressed. I knew this was a sign of other problems, and everyone in the school knew what these kids had to put up with.
Like most of the kids, he hung around in a gang. It was pretty simple who you hung around with, because it depended where you lived. There were four recognised “corners” to the town, and each corner had it’s own “gang”. Most of the kids didn’t venture much out of their quarter, and most definitely not after dark. Unless they were looking to cause trouble.
Laurence was also very small, possibly as a result of malnutrition, another common problem on the communities. He was probably about 145 cm, slight build, though a reasonable athlete. Because of his size, he was an obvious target for other students. Not so much because they disliked him, it was just they were used to being bullied by bigger people, so they reasoned that was the way things are.
On this particular day, Laurence fought back. It is common for people on the communities to carry weapons. Not so much guns, that’s uncommon. Clubs, iron bars, solid wood, even golf clubs are usual, but knives are reasonably common, too. Hand held weapons that can be concealed but also rationalised as “legal”. It’s hard to rationalise a concealed gun as “harmless” if you need to explain it to a “bullyboy” (policeman).
So Laurence whipped the knife out when a group of older students started shoving him. He was with his own friends, and couldn’t stand to lose face. That would be “shame”.
He waved the knife to warn the older boys away. They stood their ground, and I guessed they had weapons of their own. I had been in this situation before, when I worked in the jails, and tried to calm things down.
“Hey Laurence, what you up to?” I asked, trying to get his attention away from the others and towards me. I expected him to turn, and lower the knife.
He spun with the grace of a ballerina, and thrust the knife upward towards my throat. With precision that would have made a Samurai proud, he stopped short of actually piercing skin. I could feel the tip of the knife pressing against my neck. I could feel my carotid artery pumping blood back against the sharp point of the blade. Blood that I was sure would soon be pumping out of my open throat, and onto the wooden boards of the school’s floor I was standing on.
“This not white man business, eh,” he said. My instinct was to use the unarmed combat training I had and disarm him, but I realised he had the upper hand. He had caught me by surprise, and I swore inwardly at myself for that. I had underestimated him, because he was a kid. Now he was a potential killer.
If I tried to take him while he was this tense, and with the knife where it was, I was going to be hurt. Badly hurt. I needed to talk him down, rather than be physical. I stood my ground, and looked him in the eye. Most Aboriginal people won’t look their elders in the eye, and will look away. I expected this to be the case in this situation.
He continued to stare into my eyes. That was twice in ten seconds I had misjudged the situation. I wasn’t doing too well, I thought to myself.
I could see fear and hate at the same time in his eyes, yet something told me the fear and hate wasn’t directed at me.
“I gonna cut your f***in’ throat,” he said before I could say anything. I recognised it was to look big in front of the others, and that he probably didn’t mean it. At least, I hoped he didn’t.
I could feel myself losing the situation, and wasn’t sure what to do. Then one of Laurence’s friends saved the day.
“Eh, Laurence, you want me to get a milk crate so you reach high enough to cut him throat?”
That was enough. Laurence knew things were wrong. He pulled the knife away from my neck, and I realised the worst part of the danger was over.
By this stage, most of the other staff from the school were arriving, and many of the students. One of the Murri teacher’s aides, respected by the students as a local football hero, walked up to Laurence, and took the knife from him. Laurence didn’t dare argue with the older Murri.
The situation diffused. The police sergeant turned up. Then Laurence’s father. Last I seen of them that day, the father was physically dragging Laurence home, and yelling abuse at him for threatening a school teacher. I didn’t lay charges.
The next day, the father came to see me. I was unsure of how that would go, but the man was genuinely distraught. He was crying and apologising, and kissing my hand. I found out later this is a sign of genuine remorse, and seeking forgiveness, in the local Aboriginal culture. We talked, and ended up on equal terms, which is the way I prefer things.
Laurence came to the school later, and apologised as well. I could see the signs of physical abuse on him, and guessed what had happened. He, too, was genuinely distraught, and told me he didn’t mean to hurt me, he just wanted to scare me. He asked me if I was OK after it had happened.
Before I could answer, John, the teacher’s aide who had taken the knife off him, said “The teacher, he OK. He go home and change his underwear, then he come back to school.”
Anyway, after that, I had very little trouble with the students at the school, and they often came to me to talk, or just to sit nearby, to be somewhere they knew was safe. But it wasn’t the last time we had to deal with knives and students.
In hindsight, I suppose that was the test from the students. The test as to whether they could get over me or not. I don’t think it was planned the way it happened, it just happened. The other staff told me it isn't uncommon, and they all had the same sort of stories of their own experiences. From the student’s point of view, and the staff, for that matter, they felt that I had been put in a bad situation, and it hadn’t scared me at all.
They were wrong. I was terrified.
More stories by this author after the following important information
I had been on the Aboriginal community of Woora Warra, working as Deputy Principal, for about a week, and had not been prepared for what I had seen. Violence borne of poverty was common. The poverty came from about 95% unemployment in the town, with few employment opportunities.
The kids grew up with violence a part of their being. As such, they became the same themselves. And one day, I just happened to walk in on it.
Young Laurence was a nice enough lad, usually polite, but also withdrawn and depressed. I knew this was a sign of other problems, and everyone in the school knew what these kids had to put up with.
Like most of the kids, he hung around in a gang. It was pretty simple who you hung around with, because it depended where you lived. There were four recognised “corners” to the town, and each corner had it’s own “gang”. Most of the kids didn’t venture much out of their quarter, and most definitely not after dark. Unless they were looking to cause trouble.
Laurence was also very small, possibly as a result of malnutrition, another common problem on the communities. He was probably about 145 cm, slight build, though a reasonable athlete. Because of his size, he was an obvious target for other students. Not so much because they disliked him, it was just they were used to being bullied by bigger people, so they reasoned that was the way things are.
On this particular day, Laurence fought back. It is common for people on the communities to carry weapons. Not so much guns, that’s uncommon. Clubs, iron bars, solid wood, even golf clubs are usual, but knives are reasonably common, too. Hand held weapons that can be concealed but also rationalised as “legal”. It’s hard to rationalise a concealed gun as “harmless” if you need to explain it to a “bullyboy” (policeman).
So Laurence whipped the knife out when a group of older students started shoving him. He was with his own friends, and couldn’t stand to lose face. That would be “shame”.
He waved the knife to warn the older boys away. They stood their ground, and I guessed they had weapons of their own. I had been in this situation before, when I worked in the jails, and tried to calm things down.
“Hey Laurence, what you up to?” I asked, trying to get his attention away from the others and towards me. I expected him to turn, and lower the knife.
He spun with the grace of a ballerina, and thrust the knife upward towards my throat. With precision that would have made a Samurai proud, he stopped short of actually piercing skin. I could feel the tip of the knife pressing against my neck. I could feel my carotid artery pumping blood back against the sharp point of the blade. Blood that I was sure would soon be pumping out of my open throat, and onto the wooden boards of the school’s floor I was standing on.
“This not white man business, eh,” he said. My instinct was to use the unarmed combat training I had and disarm him, but I realised he had the upper hand. He had caught me by surprise, and I swore inwardly at myself for that. I had underestimated him, because he was a kid. Now he was a potential killer.
If I tried to take him while he was this tense, and with the knife where it was, I was going to be hurt. Badly hurt. I needed to talk him down, rather than be physical. I stood my ground, and looked him in the eye. Most Aboriginal people won’t look their elders in the eye, and will look away. I expected this to be the case in this situation.
He continued to stare into my eyes. That was twice in ten seconds I had misjudged the situation. I wasn’t doing too well, I thought to myself.
I could see fear and hate at the same time in his eyes, yet something told me the fear and hate wasn’t directed at me.
“I gonna cut your f***in’ throat,” he said before I could say anything. I recognised it was to look big in front of the others, and that he probably didn’t mean it. At least, I hoped he didn’t.
I could feel myself losing the situation, and wasn’t sure what to do. Then one of Laurence’s friends saved the day.
“Eh, Laurence, you want me to get a milk crate so you reach high enough to cut him throat?”
That was enough. Laurence knew things were wrong. He pulled the knife away from my neck, and I realised the worst part of the danger was over.
By this stage, most of the other staff from the school were arriving, and many of the students. One of the Murri teacher’s aides, respected by the students as a local football hero, walked up to Laurence, and took the knife from him. Laurence didn’t dare argue with the older Murri.
The situation diffused. The police sergeant turned up. Then Laurence’s father. Last I seen of them that day, the father was physically dragging Laurence home, and yelling abuse at him for threatening a school teacher. I didn’t lay charges.
The next day, the father came to see me. I was unsure of how that would go, but the man was genuinely distraught. He was crying and apologising, and kissing my hand. I found out later this is a sign of genuine remorse, and seeking forgiveness, in the local Aboriginal culture. We talked, and ended up on equal terms, which is the way I prefer things.
Laurence came to the school later, and apologised as well. I could see the signs of physical abuse on him, and guessed what had happened. He, too, was genuinely distraught, and told me he didn’t mean to hurt me, he just wanted to scare me. He asked me if I was OK after it had happened.
Before I could answer, John, the teacher’s aide who had taken the knife off him, said “The teacher, he OK. He go home and change his underwear, then he come back to school.”
Anyway, after that, I had very little trouble with the students at the school, and they often came to me to talk, or just to sit nearby, to be somewhere they knew was safe. But it wasn’t the last time we had to deal with knives and students.
In hindsight, I suppose that was the test from the students. The test as to whether they could get over me or not. I don’t think it was planned the way it happened, it just happened. The other staff told me it isn't uncommon, and they all had the same sort of stories of their own experiences. From the student’s point of view, and the staff, for that matter, they felt that I had been put in a bad situation, and it hadn’t scared me at all.
They were wrong. I was terrified.
More stories by this author after the following important information
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