A message from home

The outcry against the Twitter account, which named a specific student as that day’s “f*g,” was swift and unprecedented. Alumni joined ranks with current students, and Facebook became a platform for protest. A petition was begun by two 2011 graduates, and, within an hour, hundreds of names had been added. The Twitter account disappeared, the perpetrator clearly frightened by the backlash. But the campaign did not end there. The cry extended to the public school administration, surrounding towns and even nearby states. The conquest wasn’t against the single Twitter account any longer but the prevalence of cyberbullying and discrimination.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of my little hometown. I’m proud of those who stood up and demanded change. I’m proud of the emails that were sent, the phone calls made and the announcements sent out from every level of administration. But I am not writing to merely champion the tale of a community that came together to force change. It’s a nice story, but it’s been done before, and you all probably care very little about my insignificant hometown. Understandable.

The reason I bring this story to light is not for its triumphs but, rather — being the cynic I am — for its shortcomings, which have gone largely overlooked, flaws that apply all too well to our Princeton community. The problem I have with Ridgefield’s campaign against cyberbullying is not its purpose, which I certainly believe is an honorable one. The problems are its delay and consequent limitations.

Bullying, especially of a homophobic nature, is not new. This Twitter account wasn’t the first or only vessel for harassment on the basis of sexual orientation. It wasn’t the first use of the deplorable name that it called its victim. And yet only after the Twitter had been created, a boy terrorized and embarrassed, had students taken action. It took a glaring, flagrant attack to incite action, and, as far as I’m concerned, that is too late.

I have, personally, been the witness to a number of truly horrible instances of bullying, as two of my best friends are gay. The stories are not mine to tell, and I can’t say that I “know how it feels,” but I have watched wonderful people be torn apart by cruel words and even physical harm, and thus I cannot help but say that standing up for victimized individuals now, though honorable and protective for future students, is hardly preemptive. I’m sure the titling of that vile Twitter account was not the first time the RHS student had used the word “f*g.” Maybe he even whispers it as the student he named walks by him, and I doubt anyone has ever told him to stop. I can’t be positive, but it doesn’t seem far-fetched. Why is it that we wait for a situation to get out of hand before we decide to tackle it? In looking at the LGBT community in particular, I am heartbroken by the number of suicides that are reported in the news, and the many more that are not. One episode of homophobic-driven bullying should have been enough. Just one. But instead we wait for statistics and trends and media coverage to recognize that change is worth the effort.

Unfortunately, this event is not limited to my hometown. I’ve heard the offensive, vulgar word said in our Orange Bubble, too. I’ve heard “gay” tossed around, jokingly, as a derogatory term rather than a classification of a person’s sexual orientation. Rarely does someone call out the culprit and ask him or her to be more respectful, to understand the weight of his or her words. It saddens me to admit that, despite my apparent saddling of this high horse, I don’t always acknowledge the wrongdoing myself. However, in the past week, embroiled in this conflict, I have come to realize the necessity of being proactive and stepping in from the beginning. I’ve recognized the need to identify bullying and discrimination in a passing word or seemingly forgettable instance, because, for a victim, the remark is hardly passing and never forgotten. A “revolution,” as Ridgefield students are now calling it, is admirable, but individual responsibility and change at its simplest level are so unbelievably important, too.

I hope that we may learn from the awful situation in Ridgefield. Princeton, as I have seen so far, seems a compassionate and accepting community, and I hope that the people here will be inspired to take the small steps now, if they haven’t already, to impede a much larger outrage. I don’t want to be waiting for a catastrophe. I want to be preventing it. Revolutions need not begin in hindsight.

Chelsea Jones is a freshman from Ridgefield, Conn. She can be reached at chelseaj@princeton.edu.