Playing with Fear (#7)

I have an interesting job. My assignment for this evening: taking a group of children into the woods at night and scaring them. Terrifying them. So badly that they trembled, whimpered and eventually screamed.

Believe it or not, all of them signed up for this treatment, and their parents were in favor. They didn't know it, but they were learning a valuable lesson, and perhaps even helping carry out an ancient indigenous tradition.

The scary hike is part of an outdoor education program for fifth and sixth graders, and it's not without controversy. Some members of other outdoor schools have criticized the practice, but by the end of this piece I hope to have you convinced that it is not only safe, but also beneficial.

Only a fraction of the children earn the privilege of signing up for the scary hikes, as a reward for being the first in bed the previous night. Although there are many choices, including such tame options as catching frogs at the pond or playing ga-ga ball, the scary hikes fill up first every single week, and kids are disappointed if they don't get into one. The elective nature of this practice is critical and can't be stressed enough: I would never intentionally scare children without them asking me to do it! (Often kids reconsider or "chicken out" later in the day after signups, and we always take them off the list, no questions asked.)

The hike begins on a light tone: I begin telling them a story that happened decades ago on this land we're on. It runs like a tour of the places where various events of the story took place, starting out innocuous enough and gradually increasing in graphic sensory detail to its shocking conclusion. I pretend to be more and more afraid, trying to remain calm but showing signs of inward panic and impaired judgment, and this heightens the effect because as the tour guide I am their source of security. I get spooked by strange noises (cars in the distance, insects) and sights (rock piles or downed trees that "don't look right" to me), and I talk quickly and with intensity as I ask the kids to stay quiet and in a straight line, and to walk fast. This is method acting: I feel genuine physiological fear responses such as sweating, dry mouth, higher pitched speech, fidgeting, and fast, shallow breathing. The children exhibit similar fear responses.

At a certain moment my cell phone rings - a setup - and I have a fake conversation in front of the children. I say the camp director's name and then, "Yes?... Which hike was she on?... Where was she last seen?... Yes, I'm close to the pond... Ok, I'll take my group up there and check. (Hanging up) Okay, kids, we have a situation here. Please stay calm and follow my instructions, and everything will be fine. (Under my breath) Why? Why now, why me?" At this point, the kids are whimpering and trembling, wondering why they ever signed up for this hike. I've been telling them over and over to stay calm, and that everything is going to be all right. Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could talk them down out of their fear at this point. The darkness crowds in around them, and they are visiting dark places inside themselves.

When we arrive at the pond, I pretend I am looking for a child, and at the same time I am positioning my group directly in front of another group of kids hiding silently in the bushes. The leader of that group is with them and has trained them to wait in silence until they hear me say the key word, which is "Kayla." I whisper loudly, "they said she was over this way.... (a bit louder now) Kayla!" And suddenly the bushes erupt with a shrill, piercing scream that would do Edvard Munch proud. My group is so startled, they scream in kind and many jump up or fall over.

Instantly the tension is broken, as kids' friends shout out, "Hah! We got you good!" The response: "Oh, yeah! Good one!" There is a minute or so of joyful mayhem before the two leaders separate the groups again. I go through a short debrief where I tell my group that the whole story was made up, and that everything I've told them since the start has been a lie. They babble all the way back to camp, totally comfortable with the woods and the safety of it all.

Of course the startle effect is critical: it's the only way to break the tension and convince the kids in a visceral way that they are safe, and that the scary story was a lie. If the hike were to end without that climax, then their fear response might remain more active and they'd have a hard time sorting out the truth or calming down enough to go to sleep. I'd have a hard time convincing them to trust me again, I think.

But right before I dismiss them to their cabins, we have a brief discussion about the valuable learning available in this experience.

Children need to test their fear. They need to explore how their fear fits into the world and how their bodies respond to fear. I went through a phase of enjoying horror movies and novels during middle school. Certain Native American tribes used to initiate children at about this age by making them swim across a lake during a moonless night, telling them to be careful of the sharks. Of course there are no sharks, but when those children had crossed the lake safely, they probably felt an inner sense of their own courage and integrity, trusting themselves to examine evidence rather than blindly trusting authority. I argue that this is a critical developmental step for any child age 10-13. My hope is that the bogus scary story teaches my students to examine critically anything presented to them, even from a trusted adult. I hope that they will grow up to be the kind of citizens who critically examine the stories their government presents to them. I hope that when they hear "terror alert level orange today," as I heard last week in the airport, that they think of all my fearmongering antics (the strange rock piles, the fake phone call, the fake panic) and see some parallels. Perhaps the big, scary Oz is really just an old man behind a curtain. Every citizen needs to make this realization, for our cultural stability, and I have observed that as children come of age, most of them crave this experience.

As I dismiss them from the hike, they disperse back to their cabins, buzzing with joy and relief, knowing deeply in their guts that there isn't anything to be afraid of in the woods, beyond the usual common sense about wild animals, food and shelter, getting lost, etc. They are better able to discern legitimate fears from paranoid ones. The lack of blind trust enables them to trust more deeply because that trust is tempered with wise judgment.

The Power of Perception (#6)

Is it more compassionate to give people what they think they want, or what is actually in their best interest? Is a happy illusion preferable to an actual benefit if that benefit is invisible?

In a busy airport, I recently conducted an unwitting social experiment. I was standing in a long security line that was moving along quickly. In an effort to keep the line moving, I decided to get prepared while I waited. I removed all my liquids and gels from my baggage and put them into a zip-lock bag. I also got out my driver's license and put it in my pocket next to my boarding pass. During the 20-30 seconds I was kneeling to unzip my bag, the line progressed ten or fifteen feet, and so there was a big gap in front of me. I told the man behind me that I was almost finished and was about to stand up and close the gap, and he seemed fine with that. Just then, a TSA inspector kindly but firmly shouted at me to keep the line moving.

When the line brought me closer to the guard's position, I responded to him that I was not actually delaying the line at all, because as soon as I was finished, I moved forward and closed the gap again, and that, in fact, I was helping the line eventually move faster, because I was totally prepared and would not have to fumble around when it was my turn. His response: The TSA agents would rather have me fumble around at the front of the line, creating a slight actual delay only visible to a few people near me, rather than leave a gap in line that creates the illusion of a huge delay to everyone in line. The people in back can't see what's going on, so they might think it's just a terribly slow line.

And I understood exactly what he meant. It's disturbing when a line does not move - people get antsy. For everyone's psychological health, it would have been better to do what he requested, even though the net effect of this action would be to delay the line by an additional 30 seconds or so.

I suppose the most compassionate way to handle it would have been to find a bench somewhere and get prepared before taking my place in line, as I would do at a bank. But for the sake of argument, let's say my options were limited to delaying people without them knowing, or giving them the false impression of a delay.

Consider the following ethical thought experiment:

Say there were a mild toxin in the water supply of a certain city, in such a low concentration that the risk of harm to people by ingesting the water is slight but not zero. This toxin has no taste, so it is imperceptible. The water appears to be clean, fresh, and healthy, even with the toxin present.

Now let's say there were another chemical that could be added that would precipitate the toxin into a harmless oxide, making the water 100% safe to drink. The precipitate would add a bit of turbidity (cloudy appearance) to the water, giving the impression that something might be amiss with the water. (All you chemists out there, please suspend disbelief for a moment.)

As mayor of that city, which option would you choose? Would you oxidize the toxin, making the water appear turbid and possibly unsafe, though completely safe, or would you allow people to continue obliviously ingesting the toxin from crystal clear water with the illusion of safety?

I know what I would do. Can you guess already? My integrity would not allow me to leave the toxin and make myself look good. Even though it might cost me re-election, I would add the oxidizer. It would require a lot of press conferences and other educational efforts, and still the people would not understand, and still they would feel anger and fear about the turbidity in the water. They might mistrust me and think that I was lying to them in my press conferences. However, in this situation the moral imperative seems quite clear.

Or is it? Are there situations where integrity requires choosing the illusion? When the perception of harm is actually more harmful than the actual harm? (Or the perception of good actually carries more benefit than the actual good?) The airline security line may be an example of this. When people see a long line that is not moving, maybe their blood pressure and heart rate increase. Maybe their respiration rate increases and their palms start to sweat as they contemplate missing their flights.

We've all heard of the placebo effect: an inert substance given to someone often actually cures them of a disease because of their expectation that it is a "medicine." Similarly, a "nocebo" is an inert substance that a person believes to be harmful, and because of that expectation, studies show that it often actually harms their health.

What if the turbid (but harmless) water in our example created a nocebo effect on some of the residents? Because of the false perception that they were drinking toxic water, the people might exhibit some ill health effects. Is the harm caused by this nocebo effect greater than the harm that might be caused by the actual toxin? This certainly complicates matters.

Do you care what doctors might say about you when you are unconscious from anesthesia? Is there any harm in it? What if your subconscious were to absorb such messages?

The comedian Paula Poundstone said that when she was a waitress, if someone was rude to her, she would go in the back and secretly touch their eggs! Is there any harm in that if the customer never finds out? What if the waitress's hands are as clean as the cook's?

Would you rather have a computer hacker imperceptibly steal $5 per month from your bank account for the rest of your life, or would you rather have a dishonest cashier swipe $100 cash from you just once? Most people would say that they'd prefer the latter, because it amounts to less money, but in reality I think most people would prefer the former because its effect would not be noticed. We'll all survive a small theft like that - the real harm is the emotional stress that such a theft creates, the feelings of violation and powerlessness. These feelings aren't in the picture unless we know about the theft.

Most of us wouldn't choose the happy illusion, because of our pride and our idealistic affinity for truth and honesty. But that isn't reason enough to dismiss it. The power of perception is too important to ignore. The consequences of an illusion (or lack thereof) must be treated as real consequences and factored into the analysis. In many cases, ignorance may be more than just bliss.

Mothers and Fathers (#5)

A few weeks before April, I planned my Mother's Day surprise. It came a couple weeks late.

June 1 was the date scheduled for her hip replacement, and I had a plane ticket ready for a visit to help with her recovery. But no one in the family knew about my visit except my aunt and sister, who helped with scheduling my trip. My sister picked me up at the airport and brought me to mom's church, where I hid around the corner and emerged suddenly and amazingly.

I felt happy to sit with mom yesterday after her surgery and hold her hand and talk with her. I only got to stay for an hour, because there were so many things to do and people to look out for in the household, but it was just as well because she needed to sleep. She was so animated, showing us all the different tubes in her body and what they were for.

Besides helping mom and the family, what is the purpose of this trip for me? Mom created my body inside hers, she held me, and she cared for my every need as a baby. Now as I care for some of her needs and show my love for her by my presence, it awakens a nurturing part of myself. This awakening helps me to serve others, and even myself.

Each of us gets certain good things from our mother and father, and there are inevitably some things any imperfect mother and father cannot give. As we mature into whole and complete (albeit imperfect) adults, we must learn to compensate for these inadequacies. We must learn to give ourselves what our parents were not able to give, and be grateful for all that they were able to give. This visit is a small part of that process for me.

Will I be a good father someday? I've often wondered this, and several relatives think the answer is a resounding "yes!" It's true that I've had a lot more practice than the average person, because of my work with kids and my numerous young siblings and cousins. I've helped children with allergic reactions, cut fingers, skinned knees, flu, fever, bug bites, bedwetting, poison oak, ticks, lice, severe asthma, even broken bones. I've talked kids out of homesickness, helped establish clear boundaries and positive discipline, and shown compassion.

I'm not so sure, though. There have been lots of times when kids seem to run the show, and I just don't know what to do. There are times when I need a break from everything. But I guess any good parent needs a break from things once in a while. And the true measure of any parent is the deep love, sacrifice, and compassion for one's children, and I have all of those hands down.

I'm looking forward to putting all this experience to use with my own children.