Not the Problem Is Not the Solution

Hello,

We spend a great deal of time teaching students to be upstanders. We tell them to do the right thing, to stand up for others, and to say something when something is wrong. We encourage courage. We celebrate character. We write mission statements about belonging and respect. Yet, if we are honest, it is still remarkably difficult for adults to do those very things in real time.

That tension has been sitting with me.

We tend to imagine morality as a simple line. On one end are the people doing harm. On the other end are the rest of us, the ones who would never do that. Most of us place ourselves comfortably in that second category. We assume that if we are not actively participating in wrongdoing, then we are aligned with what is right. But what if the opposite of harm is not simply the absence of harm?

Recently, I read a novel called Gates of Fire. I did not particularly enjoy it, so this is not a recommendation unless you really enjoy historical fiction, armies, and ancient Greece. Still, one exchange in the book stayed with me. The characters are discussing fear and what its opposite might be. They conclude that the opposite of fear is not the absence of fear, but the presence of love. That distinction matters. The absence of something is not the same thing as the active presence of its opposite.

I see that difference play out in small ways in my own life. Everyone in my family loves sushi. They are not brave when they eat it. They are not conquering anxiety. They love it. It is familiar and desirable to them. I, on the other hand, have not even found the courage to try it. I don't want to eat raw fish or seaweed. Their love for sushi means they don't even see the need for courage. Thus, the absence of fear and the presence of love are not interchangeable. These are different internal realities that produce different behaviors.

The absence of harm and the presence of good work the same way. They are not interchangeable. We can see this in everyday moments. A student drops their books in the hallway, and someone laughs while others look away. A colleague is interrupted repeatedly in a meeting, and no one redirects the conversation. A group text shifts toward cruelty, and we scroll past it. In those moments, we may not be the ones doing harm. We may not laugh or add to the commentary. But we also do not interrupt it. We assume neutrality is enough.

This position of neutrality was highlighted for me recently, when I listened to comedian Daniel Sloss tell a story that unsettled me. He described discovering that a man who he considered his friend turned out to be a rapist. (See the video below - be warned, he uses adult language).

As he reflected on it, he admitted that he had seen warning signs in his friend’s behavior toward women and had ignored them. He said, “Don’t make the same mistake I did for three years, which is just sit back and be like, well, I’m not part of the problem, therefore I must be part of the solution.” He went on to argue that being good internally doesn't count if it never translates into action.

In the context of assault, the stakes are obvious. Watching someone be assaulted and doing nothing is wrong. We do not struggle to name that. But Sloss’s deeper point was not limited to that singular moment. It was about the years of small silences that made the larger harm possible. The absence of participation in evil did not make him part of the solution. His inaction created space for passive approval of harm.

That is where this becomes uncomfortable. It is easy to condemn extreme harm. It is harder to examine the everyday tolerance that allows harm to live. A slur said in passing. A joke that reduces someone to a stereotype. Language that chips away at dignity but is dismissed as humor. Those moments are socially easier to ignore, and because they are easier to ignore, they often are taken as acceptance by those who commit larger harms.

We tell students to be upstanders in those moments. We expect them to have courage. But if it is difficult for adults to interrupt degrading language in a hallway or redirect a conversation in a meeting, how realistic is it to expect children to do it consistently? Courage is not formed by slogans. It is formed by pattern. Students learn what we actually believe not only from what we say, but from what we consistently interrupt and what we consistently allow.

The opposite of cruelty is not silence. The opposite of degradation is not quiet discomfort. The opposite of harm is active protection of safety--physical and psychological, emotional and social.

In my next post, "Redesigning Systems of Silence," I want to explore how systems either normalize that protection or quietly endorse silence. After all, when silence becomes predictable, it is rarely accidental.

~Heather

P.S. Wandering through cobblestone streets under Spanish moss in February was not a bad way to spend a few days...and that is why my Catch of the Week this week is Savannah, Georgia.

It is charming, historic, and incredibly walkable. The grid of public squares makes exploring easy, and around every corner there is something worth pausing for, whether it is architecture, waterfront views, or a small plaque that hints at a much bigger story. What makes Savannah especially interesting is its layered history. The city was founded with four prohibitions that did not hold up over time, which adds a fascinating dimension to its story. Idealism met reality, and the city evolved.

It was a great trip filled with beauty and complexity in equal measure. If you enjoy places that are easy to explore and rich with stories, I highly recommend a visit.

P.P.S. Please remember to...

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