I had a couple of experiences with non-violent conflict resolution that have had a lasting impact on me.
In the mid-1970s, we lived in Boston’s South End, a neighborhood of row-houses inhabited by people from a diverse set of backgrounds: Blacks, Asians, Hispanics, Whites, alcoholics, Native Americans, and others.
One day, I had put the full trash cans out at the curb for the trash collectors, and I was sitting on the stoop of our house drinking my morning cup of coffee.
A couple of young boys, perhaps 12 years old, came down the street, tipping over trash cans and spilling the trash out into the street. When they came to our house, they tipped over our trash cans, but I was right there, and I told them that they had to pick up the trash and put it back in the cans. They were old enough to be rebellious, but young enough to be a bit intimidated by me (in my mid-20s), so they said they wouldn’t do it, but I said they had to. (No threats, just authority.)
About this time, a fairly large group — a couple of dozen of their relatives — came around the corner, led by a large, commanding woman. The kids were delighted, because I was about to be put in my place by their people. They were MicMacs (part of the Mi'kmaq Nation, Native Americans who lived in the South End).
The leader of the group yelled at me, “What are you doing to our kids?”
I said back, matching the volume but keeping the tone friendly, “I’m not doing anything to the kids. But they knocked over our trash cans, and I told them they had to pick up the trash.”
She said, “You can’t tell our kids what to do!”
I said back, still matching her volume, “We parents always have to tell kids what to do. They sometimes make a mess, and we have to tell them to pick up the mess. I’m not trying to give them a hard time, but they made a mess, and they have to clean it up. It’s one of the things that parents have to do.”
(I’m condensing and clarifying a longer and messier conversation, but this is the gist of it, as I remember it after all these years. This probably took place before our first child was born, so I wasn’t actually a parent at that time, and wasn’t speaking from personal experience. But I was speaking a truth that was clear both to me and to them.)
This discussion went on for several minutes, and the kids were watching with evident pleasure.
After a while, the message got through. We all love our children, and we all have a responsibility to bring them up to do right, and that includes picking up when they made a mess.
At a critical point, the boundaries changed. We were not a group of MicMacs, versus a white man. We were a group of grown-ups, relating to a group of kids.
All of a sudden, the leader of the group told the kids they had to pick up the trash! The kids were bewildered by the sudden change, but what could they do? They picked up the trash.
I assured the boys that they were good kids, they were doing the right thing, and thanked them. We grown-ups assured each other that we were all doing our best to do the difficult job of bringing up kids to do the right thing.
They continued on down the street, and I finished my cup of coffee.
Here is another true story that happened to me while we lived in Boston’s South End. I used it as my example in a workshop on NVC (Non-Violent Communication) taught by Dorothy Henderson, on 21-22 June 2024.
In the mid-1970s we lived in cooperative house in Boston’s South End, which had a very diverse population. We didn’t have much money, but more than some of the others living in that neighborhood. We got much of our furniture from yard sales and garage sales, mostly from the suburbs since our neighborhood had almost no yards or garages. Not infrequently, we would pick up furniture from the curbside, where homeowners would set it out before trash pickup. (We still own some of the furniture from those days.)
We found ourselves with an extra piece of furniture we had no room for: a large overstuffed chair, still quite serviceable. So, of course, we put it out at the curb a few days before trash pickup, so that someone else who needed a chair might see it, pick it up, take it home, and use it.
That morning, I was sitting on the stoop, drinking my morning coffee, when a man walked by, stopped to look at the chair, and then took out a large pocket knife and started slicing into the upholstery.
“Stop it! What are you doing?”, I shouted.
Him: “It’s trash, right? I’m looking for pocket change that might have fallen into the cracks in the upholstery.”
Me: “Yeah, but I put it out there so someone who wanted a chair could take it home and use it. If you want it, you can have it. Just take it. But don’t destroy it. If you don’t want it, leave it so someone else can have it.”
Him: “But it might have money in it, and I need the money!”
Me: “I’ll help you look for the money if you want, but don’t cut up the chair!”
Him: “Are you telling me to leave the chair alone?”
Me: “No! You can have the chair! I want you to have the chair! Just don’t cut it up!”
(The actual conversation was undoubtedly longer and messier, but this is what I remember after all this time. I started by shouting at him. He shouted back. I continued, matching his volume, but without threats, and in a generally friendly manner.)
After some amount of back-and-forth, he said, “OK. I’ll come back for the chair.” And he walked off. I said, “Thanks! I’m glad for you to have the chair.” He never came back.
It was only as I was describing this episode to my wife and other housemates that I realized I had just had a high-volume argument with a man holding a large knife in one hand.
. . .
Over the years, I have reflected on this interaction. My plan was to put this quite serviceable chair that we didn’t need into the hands of someone who could use it. This man’s actions were thwarting my plan by damaging the chair. Quite a reasonable plan, and a good reason to be annoyed by his actions.
On the other hand, his plan, actions, and responses were reasonable, too, once I understood them. He was walking down the street, looking for trash that might contain lost pocket change. To him, the chair was trash, and trash can’t be damaged, since it is destined for the landfill anyway. I was thwarting his plan, keeping him from searching for lost change in furniture that was obviously trash to me. He had quite a reasonable plan, and a good reason to be annoyed by my actions.
Fortunately (mostly for me, probably) we were able to communicate, and eventually to understand each others’ goals and actions. He was willing to say he would cooperate with my goal (even though he didn’t actually do it), and walk away.