It's Not About Law And Order, It's About Love And Respect

There have been times when I have restrained an emotional child who I feared was going to hurt himself or others. The way that's worked is that I secure the child in a gentle, but firm hug, immobilizing arms, if necessary, with my arms, and the legs, if necessary, with my legs. This is accompanied by a simple, calm explanation, such as, "I can't let you hurt my friends." When they insist, "Let me go!" I answer, "I will let you go when I know you're not going to hurt people." 

I strive to maintain a calm, loving demeanor, repeating my simple phrases, "I can't let you hurt my friends." "I'll let you go when I know you're not going to hurt people."

I've only had to resort to these measures a half dozen or so times during my 14 year tenure at Woodland Park, and I've always stuck with softly repeating my simple phrases, "I can't let you hurt my friends." "I'll let you go when I know you're not going to hurt people."

Every time I've done this it has been off to the side of our busy classroom. Only once did I have to resort to it outdoors. I'm proud of this technique. I don't mind if the other children see it; in fact, I want them to because it is loving and respectful, a demonstration that I take my responsibility to keep everyone safe seriously and I can do it without resorting to threats, punishment, or the frayed ends of frustration. I hold them firmly and repeat my simple phrases, "I can't let you hurt my friends." "I'll let you go when I know you're not going to hurt people."

Sometimes a child will shriek, "I'm ready! I won't hurt people!" and I'll respond, "You still sound very upset. I'm worried you will hurt people." They're not always experiencing a full-on tantrum; sometimes children are simply too amped up to control themselves, often laughing in a breathless staccato as they attempt to writhe from my grasp. Sometimes they try to bite me. When the physical battle is fierce, I point out the simple fact, "I am much stronger than you. You cannot hurt me. It's my job to keep everyone safe." And I finish with, "I can't let you hurt my friends." "I will not let you go until I know you're not going to hurt people."

At some point, usually within seconds, I feel the child start to sink into me. Sometimes it happens all at once and sometimes it happens gradually, but they all eventually sink into me, limply, warmly, the tension ebbing away. When I feel that, even slightly, I immediately begin to loosen my hold: if I err it's on the side of letting go too much, too soon, but typically the more I relax, the more they relax. One time an angry boy was thrashing about in my arms, telling me he hated me, but even as he did it, I could feel the energy leaving his body. As I loosened my hold he continued to toss his body back and forth against my arms and my chest. After a few minutes I was holding my arms in a loose circle as he rolled around them like a rag doll, still shouting. He could have easily ducked under my arms. As we performed this pantomime together another child approached to get my attention. He shouted, "I'm talking to Teacher Tom right now!" then went back to telling me he hated me with his words while loving me through our embrace. And all the while I'm saying, "I can't let you hurt my friends." "I will not let you go until I know you're not going to hurt people."

The moment I detect that release of tension, I add a question to my phrases. "If I let you go, are you going to hurt my friends?" It might surprise you to know how often a preschooler will answer, "Yes," they will hurt their friends, so I keep holding them, saying, "I can't let you hurt my friends." "I will not let you go until I know you're not going to hurt people." And then, after a pause, I'll add the question, "If I let you go, are you going to hurt my friends?"

The moment a child assures me he is ready to not hurt other people, I release him. I've not once had a child be wrong about that.

It's not exactly a pleasant experience for anyone, but it is a loving one, driven by my adult responsibility to keep children safe, rather than a hotheaded insistence on "learning to show some me respect" or punishment. It's not about law and order, it's about love and respect for children.

This is not how it goes, however, in many American schools. Even children as young as five are being strapped to boards and chairs or locked into isolation rooms. According to reporting by ProPublica:

The practices -- which have included pinning uncooperative children facedown on the floor, locking them in dark closets and tying them up with straps, handcuffs, bungee cords or even duct tape -- were used more than 267,000 times nationwide in the 2012 school year . . . Three-quarters of the students restrained had physical, emotional or intellectual disabilities.

More than 100,000 were forced into solitary confinement rooms, often referred to as "scream rooms." But as the reporter points out, "Those figures almost certainly understate what's really happening. Advocates and government officials say underreporting is rampant." These practices have resulted in head injuries, bloody noses, broken bones and worse.

This is happening despite the fact that restraint and isolation is seen as a "last resort" measure by mental heal professionals:

For more than a decade, mental-health facilities and other institutions have worked to curtail the practice of physically restraining children or isolating them in rooms against their will. Indeed, federal rules restrict those practices in nearly all institutions that receive money from Washington to help the young -- including hospitals, nursing homes and psychiatric centers . . . But such limits don't apply to public schools. Retraining and secluding students for any reason remains perfectly legal under federal law. And despite near-consensus that the tactics should be used rarely, new data suggests some schools still routinely rely on them to control children.

I understand that there may be times when extreme measures are needed, especially when dealing with older, physically stronger children who become violent, but I can think of no instance when this sort of restraint and isolation would be necessary with elementary aged children. I'm writing about this because a former student of mine recently witnessed a fellow student being violently restrained in his elementary school, a school that I know did not rely on these measures last year. In fact, I've heard that faculty in that school are being required by the administration to use restraint measures even if it is against their will. 

Not only are these practices abusive and cruel, but according to mental-health professionals, they are ineffective. That our schools continue to resort to restraint and isolation, often in instances where the student's behavior doesn't rise to the level of being a danger to himself or others, is a horrifying thing. It tells me that the adults don't know what they're doing. It tells me that law and order is a higher priority to these people than love and respect. These people should not be working with young children.

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