Chapter 8: Advanced Topics in Public Speaking

Dana

It feels so weird, describing what happens in Program Escorts training. What’s important isn’t what one person says or another does. It’s the connections people make, the experiences. When a Naked In School participant is having difficulty with a peer, an intervening escort using our method de-escalates the situation not just with active listening but identifying emotionally with both the peer and the participant. It’s an act of willful empathy that connects all three, bridging the divide and dissipating the conflict. If done well, anyway. And the way to learn how is to experience that connection in the workshop. The words aren’t the point.

I suppose I’ll have to try anyway.

The meeting room of the San Diego AFSC offices was a pleasant surprise—large and airy. The end wall was a bank of windows, and one long wall was a mural of a Central American jungle. It felt like a refuge. The large meeting table had been pushed against that wall, leaving a space without barriers between us. Not quite enough room for a round circle of twenty chairs, but a lopsided ellipse was fine for our purposes.

The projector bluetooth-paired perfectly with my tablet. A few participants arrived as I was testing it—and a text arrived from Teri. Not normally not a problem, but it was a hot text—too hot to show anyone but me. Oooops.

I quickly dismissed the banner, unpaired the projector, set my tablet to Do Not Disturb, and turned off banners for texts (because of course my lovers are priority overrides for DND). All things I know how to do, thank you very much. I just, yanno, forgot. Maybe, I thought, I needed another cup of coffee. Or to stop worrying about my father’s wedding. Then I texted Teri and Mike on my phone, Going dark for the workshop, talk later??

Brie leaned down to whisper, “Was that sext from your boyfriend or your girlfriend?”

I gave her a Look I meant to be quelling, but she just grinned. I shook my head. Between her and Teri’s text, not the best way to set a good tone for the workshop.

By 8:01, everyone had arrived.

Brie started by thanking Martin for hosting us, then had everyone introduce themselves and their school, starting with us. There were sixteen students from six local schools, plus two faculty advisors, both named Michael, here as auditing observers. One Michael had trouble not looking at my breasts. I concentrated on memorizing names and faces.

Then Brie asked for a minute of silence, so we could center ourselves. I used the time to set aside all thoughts of the wedding, so I could focus on the here, on the now, on us.

I broke the silence with, “Is anyone here uncomfortable with seeing nudity?” All shook their heads. “Is anyone who has already participated in the Program willing to volunteer to be naked?” Blank looks—which was fine, this was just introducing the concept for later. “You don’t need to answer now—we’ll come back to this.” Then I picked out one of the shorter boys. “Ned, could you assist us with a roleplay? Clothed is fine.”

“Uh, sure.” His voice was soft.

I had him stand up by the table, pretending to be a naked Program participant busy at his locker. Brie played a student with a ‘reasonable’ posing request—or rather she started out reasonable, but built up her demands. The scene was short but intense—Ned did a good job of acting intimidated and overwhelmed. As did Brie acting confident and in-charge.

We talked through what we’d seen and felt, including Ned. Looking intimidated wasn’t an act—which was helpful.

“We’ll come back to this scenario a few times today,” I told them. “Each time we do, you all will have another tool for dealing with it. For now, though, I have one thing for you to think about.

“A ‘reasonable’ request is an act of violence. Not just when it’s a disputed request—all requests. It is a demand for access to someone’s body. Even if the participant readily agrees, it is still a form of violence. To someone who is exhibitionist, the violence can be so light it’s not noticed as such. To anyone with a strong sense of personal autonomy, it can be brutal.

“What we’ll be learning today is two main things: dealing with violence in all its forms, and changing your school’s culture to be less violent.”

We took a break every hour, to stretch and pee and (for Brie and I) prepare for the next unit. We resumed with a minute of silence each time.

During the 11 o’clock break, as I leafed through for the next folder, I heard a soft tenor voice behind me. “Excuse me.” Brie and I both turned to Ned.

“Yes?” Brie asked.

“I’m just curious,” voice still soft, “but what’s your connection to the Society of Friends?”

I smiled. “I’m a member of Elkton Range Meeting.”

Ned smiled back, teeth gleaming. His face was lean, much like Mike’s. Hair dark, too. Nice. Plus he hadn’t once glanced down at my breasts. “La Jolla Meeting. I’m seeing a lot of Friendly touches in this.”

I nodded. “I built in as many Quaker principles as I could, while staying secular. Though we adapted much of our conceptual framework for mediation and intervention from the Alternatives to Violence Project. And of course, we lean heavily on AFSC for general support—plus the LDS church, the Mormons,” I added, with a nod to Brie.

“You’re AVP-trained?” He seemed surprised.

“We both are,” Brie put in. “And Dana’s a trainer.”

That was getting uncomfortably like bragging. Time to switch focus. “La Jolla isn’t close, is it?”

He shook his head. “About an hour up the coast.”

“Pity. I was hoping to attend a local Meeting for Worship on Sunday, but it’d have to be close by—I won’t have much time before my flight.”

“You could come up tomorrow—I could show you around.” Even his eager smile reminded me of Mike.

“I can’t.” My regret wasn’t faked. “I’m in town for a wedding.”

“Ah. Well.” His disappointment was all but palpable.

When we were alone again, Brie whispered, “And Partlow wins another admirer.”

I put enough quell in my Look to make Teri pause.

“Whoops,” she said, cringing. “Sorry.”

Which, okay, I may have come down too hard—but the joke was getting really old. And wasn’t funny in the first place, no matter what she thought. “I’m sorry myself—overreacted there. Let’s bring everyone back to the circle.”

Halfway through the afternoon, Celia finally asked. “This morning, you mentioned tools for culture change. When are we getting to that?”

I couldn’t help smiling to myself—I’d called the timing again. Brie shook her head and gestured to me—this was my topic. “Thank you for bringing that up,” I told Celia. “Short answer: you already have them.”

Several kids shifted—and both teachers.

Celia lifted her chin at me. “You mean, you haven’t shown us how to apply them that way.” She was a tall black girl, mid-toned skin, with short dreads—charismatic and centered. She was a natural for this effort.

I nodded. “You all needed to get comfortable with more, shall we say, local uses, before pointing out broader implications. But since you’ve asked, let’s discuss this now.

“To point out the obvious: if you feel your school needs Program Escorts to protect participants, that means your school’s culture is dangerous—that participants feel endangered by what their peers believe they are allowed to do with them. One direct consequence of having a successful Escorts chapter is that the culture will be changed—for the better, we hope.”

I looked around, and got a few nods. “But on its own, it will be slow. To be more effective, you need to do more. And to show how, we have to explore more modes of authority—so far we’ve talked about, which?”

“Personal and official,” Celia answered.

I nodded approval. “What other modes can there be?”

“Um, cultural?” She thought a moment. “I’m not sure what that looks like, though.”

I nodded. “Any others?”

“Moral authority,” Ned added. Several kids nodded.

“Very good. Any more?” When no one answered, I added, “There is also spiritual authority. It can be very powerful, but it’s not as useful for this unless most of the school shares the same religious beliefs.” Which had been the case for several attendees at our Grand Junction workshop, closer to deep Mormon territory, but less likely here in southern California.

“People with cultural authority are the trend-setters—the ones who can declare this style is cool or that song is great, and have others believe them. People with moral authority can declare this action is wrong, and have others believe them.”

Lots of mental lightbulbs turning on over heads.

“And to make that change,” I went on, “you have to take the tools you’re learning for Program incidents, and apply them to other everyday interactions, with the goal of convincing people that this must change. Convince enough people, get them to internalize it, and you’ve changed your school’s culture.”

Several of those lightbulbs got brighter. And that felt good—really good.

The last time we played our basic scenario, it worked beautifully. Ned was the Program participant again—naked for real this time. Octavio, a large football player with stunning green hair, was the requestor—unfailingly polite but menacing. Celia played Ned’s escort between classes. When Octavio pressed his request hard enough to disturb Ned, she intervened, engaging him—deflecting his aggression and defusing it with leading questions about Ned’s vulnerability and his own anger. When he still pressed, she stood her ground. Only once she showed him her digital recorder did he back down.

I rang the ‘bell’ for the start of the next period (my phone’s timer chime) and everyone let out the breaths they’d been holding.

“That was hard,” Octavio whispered.

“Intense,” Ned agreed.

“Powerful,” Celia said slowly.

“And that,” I said to the quiet room, “is why we recommend that each escort be assigned no more than three period changes.”

“If possible, not one right after the other,” Brie added.

“Even with practice, it can get intense.” I went on, “Situations like this won’t happen often, unless your school is particularly dire. But you, all your escorts, have to be ready. And now you have the tools you need to be ready. Congratulations.”

We brought everyone together in a circle, holding hands, for a closing minute of silence.

Well, I tried. I wrote all of it out, first, but so many of the words were dead—dead to the life they tried to describe, dead to the Spirit. I’ve deleted those parts, leaving the few sparks that remained.

Perhaps those are enough to show you what I mean.

It took the better part of half an hour to leave—there were training materials (one binder per school) to hand out, evaluation & suggestion forms to collect, hugs for each participant. Well, we didn’t hug the two Michaels. Ned, Celia, and a quiet kid named Pat all wanted my personal contact info, to Brie’s continuing amusement. But finally, Martin dropped us off at the hotel at 4:30.

Brie sighed. “I just want to stare at a wall for a couple hours.”

That sounded lovely. But, “We have fifteen minutes, if we can dress quickly after. We’re being picked up in half an hour.”

For the rehearsal dinner.

It had been nice to forget the wedding for most of a day. So, so nice.

Instead of staring at a nice impersonal wall, though, I scrolled through the day’s texts from Mike and Teri. A few made me giggle. Some of the hall costumes Teri sent were incredible, and I gave two of them a thumbs up. I made a general reply, Done. I can has introvert time pls?