It's a good question.
Abolitionism is the term that classically refers to the movement to free enslaved people. Today, the abolitionist movement refers to the deconstruction of institutionalized violence that still exists in our society in the form of police and prisons, as a result of the slavery on which our country was founded.
As an Abolitionist, I strive to make headway in the fight against police brutality, against the inhumane treatment of migrants at the border, and against violence of any kind. Violence is multi-faceted and ubiquitous, perpetuated through inequality executed by our unequal education system, by our for-profit health care industry, and by decades of housing discrimination and unfair wages. More than anything, it is our ideas, especially as white people, that perpetuate the most violence. The system will not change until we change the way we understand it.
As a parent also, of course, I stand for non-violence, just like my parents did with me. They were quick to enforce the “no-hitting rule.” The difference between regular parenting (whatever that is) and Abolitionist Parenting lies in the moment that the loving mentality of forgiveness and compassion my parents showed me when I misbehaved disappeared when they were shown faces on the TV, accompanied by captions and voices talking about the heinous crimes those faces had allegedly committed.
Abolitionist Parenting works in two ways.
First, it utilizes the ferocious love a parent feels for their child to unlock the compassion necessary to see others as people who were once children themselves. We understand that fundamentally, it is love that helps people get better.
Inversely, Abolitionist Parenting urges us to scrutinize the way we have been conditioned by our society to deal with harm. We take a close and constant look at the punitive nature of our practices, and hold them up to the light to show where they are not aligned with the ethics we proclaim to have.
The main argument I hear against the dismantling of prisons is “Where will we put all the bad people?” The argument for the police is, “Who are we supposed to call when someone breaks into our house in the middle of the night?” This argument, which is also used to defend the unabashed legalization of firearms, doesn’t consider how unlikely a home break-in is to actually occur, and how only a fraction of those burglaries are violent. It also neglects to acknowledge the fact that the police usually show up after a crime is committed and therefore are largely helpless to stop it.
As far as the “bad people,” this is a good way to begin to understand abolitionism through a parenting lens.
When your child hits you, steals from you, or (gasp!) disobeys you, do you lock them up for a number of days, months, or years, and leave them alone? Are they a bad person? Are they beyond help? Beyond compassion? How do we heal from a problem? How do we find reconciliation? Abolitionist parenting seeks to connect the dots from the love we share for our children, to the love we would ideally feel for the rest of our society.
The idea that some people are so deeply lost to the bad side of humanity, that they are of a different breed, and should be separated from the rest of us, is a disturbingly familiar notion. Yet as strongly as we claim to be beyond bigotry, these patterns of thinking can come back nearly fully-formed when we talk about criminals.
Harm is inevitable. Our actions will inevitably hurt others, whether it is intentional or not, whether it is a dear friend or a complete stranger. We make mistakes. We lash out. It’s what people do. All people. The question we should be asking is not “What am I going to do with you?” or “How should you be punished?” but rather how do we deal with the harm that was caused? Who has been harmed? Is reconciliation possible? How? These questions we ask as compassionate parents somehow get tossed as invaluable when we are dealing with the children of the society we have created.
We are to support harsh, punitive retribution unto those who have done wrong. Yet good parents know this is ineffective, and actually counterproductive. Can we consider it justice to actively continue the cycle of pain by punishing someone who is likely reacting to harm that has been done to them in some way, whether through abuse or neglect?
We are certainly conditioned to fear arrest. But is that the only reason we don’t perpetuate violence? Could there be another, more natural reason why there isn’t complete chaos, or is the peace we experience solely thanks to the hundreds of billions of dollars we spend on “enforcement” and “correction”? If this is true, and it is the police maintaining peace amongst a violent populus, might it be possible that these spending budgets could be reexamined, and funds could be allocated to provide resources to the people who are so angry, desperate, and therefore dangerous?
Plain and simple, Abolitionist Parenting aims to look at the roots of harm, instead of only at the negative consequences and potential punishment for that harm. It is violence and domination, as well as violent ideas, that we aim to abolish. And as I mentioned, violent ideas come in many subliminal forms. I am admittedly working through this as I go, trying to understand exactly how I want to parent, and who exactly I want to be. Hopefully this blog helps me, and others, understand and apply some of these tenets.
If we allow that justice is to isolate and subject a wrongdoer to the violence experienced by our imprisoned population every day, we go against our self-proclaimed morals. Calling for the inhumane captivity of anyone, regardless of their transgressions, does not qualify as being “for peace”. There is a hypocrisy at work within us that is borderline sociopathic. It must be expunged.
I will discuss more questions and ideas like this in posts to follow. I will talk about tools I use as an Abolitionist Parent, and more about what that means. It isn’t just not putting my child in time-out, though I don’t do that. And it isn’t letting him do whatever he wants. But I do work actively to break down the natural patriarchy that exists, and examine the inherent power dynamic at play. I have to overrule him sometimes. But before I teach him compliance, I will teach him kindness. I will teach him to critically think about what is true, and what resonates in his heart, and with his conscience.
When I was a kid, my dad often referenced the wisdom of Jiminy Cricket, the friend of Pinocchio who perched on his shoulder and whispered good-natured advice in his ear. Jiminy Cricket was Pinnochio’s integrity. “He is his conscience,” my dad would always say. Well, Dad, it’s time I used mine. We can tell right from wrong. This knowledge comes from somewhere deep inside us. Yet too often we push that voice down until it is so quiet it can’t be heard. But thanks to my parents, I never shushed my cricket. And now I can’t get him to quiet down.
The product is this blog. I hope you will join me on this journey.
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