What I Learned About International Relations from Watching Kids Play
I didn’t realize my week’s lesson would teach me more than it would teach my students. In hopes of teaching them how to share and cooperate, I bought the 28 young Burmese orphans only one box of toys. There were 64 pieces, each intended to make a cube, resulting in ten cubes with four pieces left over. The first day, I distributed the pieces according to color so they could grasp the English equivalent of each color. I demonstrated how to put the pieces together, starting with two sides for a corner until to six pieces for a completed cube.
As they were initially fascinated with the pieces, each child needed only a few to satisfy them until they could understand more complex structures and would want more pieces. I wanted them to form groups and build a cube together, learning to share and take pride in their teamwork. Instead, the students who were older, smarter or stronger simply took more pieces from their peers to build whatever they wanted while the weaker or slower ones would be left to watch in dismay.
One the second day, the allure of the toys didn’t fade. Once I opened the box, students rushed to me with their hands waving in the air. I handed out four pieces to each empty palm as fewer students came to me initially, thinking only they would care to play. They all wanted a piece. Some who had already gotten pieces hid them behind their backs as they held a hand up pleading for more. Others who came later could only get one or two or no pieces at all. The inequality persisted.
They began to fight over the valuable items. Acquisition became the goal. They wanted to build bigger and better things than the rest. Competition ensued. The weaker children, those several years younger than the rest, were the first to lose their pieces. Some of the older kids preyed on these toddlers and collaborated with them in order to share the pieces. Or, under the guise of showing them how to build a cube, they would take these pieces. One party would squeal, the other would remain cold, emotionless but victorious. They fought, and cried. I would try and restore order, telling them “No! Say you’re sorry,” but they didn’t feel the shame or guilt that would curb this sort of selfish behavior. I had failed in teaching them to share.
To distract them, I tried to teach colors again. The insisted on showing me their cool creations, sometimes listening, reminding me that some had figured the exercise better than others. There were a few kids who gave up on the cubes, finding other toys, or sitting quietly staring into space. I needed more pieces, not to control and distribute the existing ones. There were simply not enough.
The following day, I added two more boxes to my supply, so everyone lined up and received six different colored pieces with which to build a cube. The valuable goods were no longer scarce. Everyone started with enough. Each person not only knew how to construct a cube, but had all the necessary materials to do so. It started out great. Soon, it became evident that not everyone actually had the skills to build a cube, so they lost their pieces again to their more willful competitors. I fiercely strove to maintain equality, repeating “Only six pieces for every person.” At one point, I lost my drive and four boys had amassed two to three cubes. Another two girls had also built bigger cubes.
The order was lost, but at least they weren’t fighting. And then it started. Those who had been gathering more cubes wanted more cubes. When one person wasn’t looking, they would snatch their loose pieces as kids would take apart and reconstruct their cubes over and over.
I tried to shift the focus from amassing as many pieces to building the best cube. Each child had to trade a piece of their cube with another child in order to build a one color cube. The valuable commodity now differed according to person. It didn’t matter how many cubes they had as long as they had a singular colored cube.
While some abided by this rule change, not all played the same game. When initiating a trade, a kid would take the piece and not give back. Many wanted to help me build a single color cube, but didn’t try to help themselves. I ruled. I regulated. I controlled the market. I was the cube god, simultaneously needing nothing but owning everything.
Using my power, I enforced my equality rule yet again. They did not like losing their pieces. Many perpetually asked for more. I would point to another kid and say, “Look how few she has. You have too many! We all have six pieces each.” My communist tendencies would not maintain itself. Greed, corruption, corroboration, and everything childish within all of us ruined my plans.
Competition makes the hunt for limited resources a game that relies on the envy of your peers. When no one cares how many pieces you have or if you have more than the others, what do you really have at all? Is value given by the market or by yourself?
In one last try, I asked them to give me their cubes so we could build a tower. Some would give it up more easily than others. They watched it grow, hopefully feeling part of a bigger movement. Then, they saw it collapse, and they could each gather their own cube or more from among the wreckage.
Finally, when lunch approached, they threw their cubes into my lap with nonchalance. There were more valuable things at stake.
But, I still couldn't forget what they kept telling me while I tried to distribute the toys evenly. "May ya deh boo." That means something between "it's not okay" and "it's never fair" in Burmese according to my other Burmese students. They knew there were problems all along, but they took what they could and dealt with it.
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