Bully is the saddest movie I have seen in a good long while. Director Lee Hirsch’s excellent documentary details the lives of several families, some with children actively being victimized, others who have already lost their beaten-down kids to suicide. I have a 10-month-old son, and as the film played I began for the first time to really fear for his future — especially the part that includes a Thunderdome-like bus ride as a prerequisite for getting an education.
Hirsch was inspired to make Bully by his own experiences as a child, and he catches real, painful, honest moments from those he profiles. If only the film contained some honest solutions. As it stands, Bully documents a problem for which there is no easy fix.
Take Alex Libby, who was born extremely premature and lags behind as a teen in developing social and communication skills. Alex seems incapable of making friends, probably because the other kids see the world of pain that follows him. In one heartbreaking scene, Alex’s sister explains that she gets bullied just because he’s her brother, something the poor boy can’t grasp — probably because it’s too mind-bogglingly painful. Alex is continuously pushed, hit, insulted, abused and (in one horrifying scene) stabbed repeatedly with a pencil. Alex thinks this is normal.
Hirsch didn’t agree, and finally shared his film with Alex’s family and the school. The parents — who come across as decent, normal, average Americans — had zero clue how bad their son was being treated. Yes, they knew Alex was awkward and had trouble with kids from time to time, but they are shocked at the extent of the brutalization. You will be too, and if you’re anything like me, you’ll wonder where the teachers are?
Here’s where the teachers are: heads down, asses covered, trying to just make it through the day. They are overwhelmed, undertrained and have the support of precisely no one. Since the only solution anyone has to our educational woes is to allow districts to fire teachers at will, I’d like to start with the assistant principal in the film who explains to a bullied child that by not shaking the hand of his tormentor (a kid who’s been bullying him for years) he’s just as bad as his aggressor. Bully makes it clear that for any change to take place it’s going to have to start with the adults — and that’s just not going to happen.
For example, look at the life of Kelby, a whip-smart teenage poster child for the idea that God creates gays at conception. Kelby isn’t just being bullied; she’s a hate crime waiting to happen. (One of the first stories she tells is about being purposely hit by a car by some locals.) That her classmates are awful isn’t surprising — she’s obviously different and kids can be cruel. But the adults in the community (including the cops and the teachers) continually turn a blind eye and even engage in some taunting of their own, something that is monstrous and criminal.
Bully also includes several funerals, and has the parents of the deceased detailing the events leading up to when they found their dead son or daughter hanging in a closet. I’m not ashamed to tell you that I wept, largely out of helplessness. Rampant bullying is a societal problem, one that can’t be solved until we all take a deep breath, dial down the rhetoric and realize that we’re all human beings deserving of love and acceptance.
Yeah, I don’t see it happening either.
This article appears in Apr 12-18, 2012.