Complex Grief…or none?

This is a personal reflection.

A middle-aged man died recently, in an accident, but essentially by his own hand. I doubt it was suicide, but there is that possibility. I am not upset, but that fact is making me upset. His death has also triggered unwelcome memories.

The man who died leaves behind a wife and family, and a business. There were LOTS of cars at his funeral. Other people who saw them commented to me how they had filled the large parking area at the funeral chapel and were parked out on the grass near the street.

He & I went to the same school. He lived relatively near me, and sometimes got a lift to school with me. At school he told people that I was chasing him. I wasn’t. I might have been open to the idea: our families were friends and it would have been a “suitable match”.

The things that made it completely unsuitable to me included me catching him watching me getting dressed before school, and them him denying it, saying he was looking for a door. (My bedroom was at the side of the house, nowhere near either the front or back doors.) It could have been an innocent mistake, but his overtly aggressive behaviour towards me after that showed that it wasn’t. He was trying to overpower me. He talked trash about me at school and to my family.

My “crime” was being shocked to find him leering at me through the gap in the curtains (which I hadn’t even noticed was there), and telling my family, who were in the house. We continued to drive him to school, but not for much longer. I objected too strongly. Apparently everyone was bitter about my objections. I’m glad they relieved me of the excruciating car ride with him subtly undermining me to my family.

As adults, in our early 20’s I was having a conversation with his brother outside church, and this man made a huge scene, being very aggressive and insisting that I speak to him instead of his brother. His girlfriend (now wife) was there. I literally called out to her to come and fetch “whatever this is” and sort it out. His brother’s wife came to protect his brother from me, who was apparently painted as some kind of scarlet woman. Fortunately, the man I was talking to explained to his wife that we were talking business, and she is a sane woman. She has been friendly to me ever since.

This man, who I had maybe a dozen conversations with in my life ruined my reputation for absolutely no reason. Or perhaps because of his wounded pride? Or fear of his own reputation being ruined? Maybe he really did accidentally peer into my window, and just seized an opportunity to ogle.

Now he is dead. I’m really not sad.

To be sad, I would have to have some kind of care, or respect, or value for him. I don’t. I’m personally quite pleased the world is short by one toxic male.

Apparently hundreds of other people, including members of my family, are sad. I doubt any of them remember his actions towards me, but they seem to mostly subscribe to the same view, so they’re not going to care.

Probably his death brings up issues for them about mortality, and life, as well as genuinely missing his friendship.

For me, it’s just a painful reminder of how easily a man can influence the opinion of others about a young woman. I was still a schoolgirl, naive and innocent, when he started badmouthing me. I had good standing in my school community.

My own lack of empathy about his death made me wonder if this is how many men & women feel when they read news of women being assaulted, raped, murdered. They don’t have an emotional attachment to the victim, so: what difference does it make to them?

I don’t know.

I do know: “Every man’s death diminishes me because no man is an island” (paraphrase of John Donne).

In this instance, his death diminishes me by taking up my mental and emotional energy. And I resent it.

What would you do?

I usually publish things with the aim of uplifting, edifying and hopefully entertaining.

This post is largely self-therapy. I’m posting it because I feel helpless and alone, and unsure what to do.

I discovered today that I am / have suddenly become uncomfortable around little girls in swimsuits. Specifically one little girl. It’s giving me flashbacks to childhood trauma.

I didn’t feel this when my own children were young. We went swimming as often as I could manage to, because I love swimming, it’s an important life skill & a healthy activity. Also, where we live it’s very hot in summer.

Noticing and thinking about my reaction has led me to realise that with my own children I was very “present” and engaged with them. They are real people that I have (& always had) very real connection with. When I was with them I was thinking about them, their feelings and needs, making sure they were safe & having a happy time. I was somewhat hyper-vigilant about keeping them safe because of my childhood, & because their father also violently abused me, both physically & psychologically. The Family Court insisting that they spend time with their father was a terrible blow to me. It was a great relief when the same Court later removed his parental rights altogether, leaving my children with me, but that took too long.

Despite all this, my children did not give me flashbacks to trauma. I think this is because, as I said, they were real people I was (& am) connected to. Being around them was part of an active, focussed life which occupied my thinking with plans. Plans for dinner, plans for Christmas presents, planning activities into our schedule…most mothers will have an idea of the mental load involved. (For a slightly comical illustration, see “I Don’t Know How She Does It”, starring Sarah Jessica Parker.) My children, perhaps strangely, didn’t remind me of me. This child does.

I think my experience today is partly because this is a child I don’t know well, but one I’ve seen several times now. It’s also a child I suspect is being abused. What I don’t know is whether I have these suspicions because of my own hyper-vigilance, or because she really is being abused.

Today involved her running around the house where we were, wearing only a swimsuit, even after the temperature dropped. It’s still 20°C, so perhaps this is fine. Everyone else was fully dressed, including other children. I kept wanting to tell her to put clothes on. I kept having small flashbacks, and fearing for her safety as people commented on how close she is to one male relative.

At the same time, as I’ve previously observed, they were treating a boy very differently. There were presents involved, and not only did they give the girl lots more presents, but they made a big fuss about it, pointing out to the boy that she got lots more presents. With hindsight, this was like “negging”, a technique promoted by abusive men to deliberately damage a woman’s self-esteem so that she will have sex with him. Obviously this is very damaging. This was a whole group of interconnected people doing this to these children. Maybe it just seemed that way?

I was so uncomfortable with this situation, and so powerless in this group that I made an excuse to leave. Cowardly self-preservation.

Making an official report may have very serious consequences for my own circumstances. It’s not like I’m a Teacher with a school to protect me.

I’m not currently a Mandated Reporter, but I have been previously. I have made official reports about other families before. Once I made a report about a father and a teenage girl. They removed the girl from the family very quickly. Things have to be pretty bad for that to happen. The father tracked me down, came to my house and tried to kidnap my toddler. This was how I found out that the daughter had been removed. My husband stopped him. It was terrifying.

I have been a member of a profession which deals with child abuse, as well as having been subjected to investigation myself because of my abusive ex-husband. This means that I understand intimately what really happens.

I used to believe that reporting can only do good. If there’s no abuse, no problem. Right? Not really.

It can be intrusive on an innocent family and damage what were good relationships.

If the abuser is able to make it seem like they are innocent, it can make the abuse better hidden, not less bad. If, like my ex-husband, they can make it appear that someone else is the abuser, they can get even more access to the child, at the same time removing a protective person.

Abusers are generally good actors and social manipulators. They are often charming & well-liked. When abuse is discovered, it affects a whole network of people. The child might end up with more emotional abuse from more people, some of it unintended, as people react to the challenge to their own perception & judgement. “But he was always so nice to me!”

So, this is my dilemma. What if I cause harm instead of doing good, even though my intention is to save a child.

Do I make a phone call and report my suspicions?

Do I bring invasive authorities into a family’s lives, based on me feeling uncomfortable?

I have no actual evidence, and I’ve just seen a whole group seemingly involved together. They will, no doubt, protect each other.

What can I do? What would you do?

(Note: A stock image is used on this post. It is not the child that I mentioned.)

Relics of the Ancients (Fiction)

He paused.

What a find! He could barely breathe in his excitement. He tried to call out, but instead squeaked like a mouse. His throat seemed to have dried and stuck together.

So. Many. Relics.

All in one place. All tangled together. It would take years to carefully prise them apart, trying not to damage them further, assemble and catalogue them.

A goldmine!

He smiled at his own use of such an archaic and abstract term. Even more ancient than these relics. It meant a “bottomless pit of riches”.

That’s exactly what he was seeing here. He knew that what he was looking at was only a small part of what was beneath. His imaging equipment told him the volume beneath – it was massive.

The ancients had dumped items no longer being used into collective areas. Ancient texts referred to them as “Refuse centres”. Possibly because the items were refused as imperfect?

It could also be a “Recycling Collection Point”, he pondered. It was hard to tell the difference, but more items of coloured hydrocarbon and metal were found at “Recycling Collection Points”, and not much else.

Either way, he’d have years of funding for a whole team to dig it all out. Years more to examine, catalogue and discuss it.

He gasped audibly. A travelling exhibition! He could be famous! His mind was running ahead of him, hoping, imagining, the items he would find beneath his feet.

He took a steadying breath. He found his water bottle and drank. Another steadying breath.

Wait. He’d be the first to collect something before he called the others.

He checked his thick protective gloves as he knelt. No tools. Just gentle hands.

Carefully he grasped the nearest piece of flexible hydrocarbon and tugged. It slithered towards him smoothly, then stopped abruptly. Folding it out of the way, he reached beneath it. Using both hands he gently prodded, moving things aside. There! What was that! He pulled out a bright red mass of thin plastic threads, bound together on a wide open, shallow bag of some sort. One side was loose threads, the other a woven net of a different colour. With the care of wonder adding to his years of training, he lifted it, turning it gently, watching how the strands fell. Eventually he decided that it was a decorative protective covering of some kind. It seemed to have a better aesthetic when “upside down”, the coloured part inside, the red threads falling neatly in a cascade. What it covered he had no idea.

Credits flashed before his mind’s eye. So many credits. Countless wealth! It would take years of research. YEARS!

In his excitement he almost forgot to be gentle as he stuffed his find into his collection bag.

He was about to call to the others, but there were more things right by his feet. He might as well have a bit more of a look.

His probing fingers found something more solid. Small. Rectangular. Thin. He extracted it slowly. At the other end it had a small circular hole, and a length of webbed fabric attached. He kept pulling, disentangling the fabric from the many things it was entwined with. Once it was free, he gently wiped at the rectangle, trying to make out the ancient language.

ComiCon

Drat! He wasn’t familiar with that! He would have to consult the lexicon.

He added it to his bag. There was something glinting. He’d grab that too! Carefully extracting the shiny thing revealed that it was an embossed, five pointed shape of gold-coloured plastic attached to khaki fabric.

Deputy Sheriff.

He knew what that meant! It was a mark for a law-enforcement occupation!

As he extracted more of the fabric, he realised it was the remains of clothing. There was more plastic attached. This one rectangular and black with white writing.

Nicole Haught

He had no idea on that one. Lexicon again. Research hours!

He was shaking with excitement by now. Uncovering the culture of the past! No doubt some important figure had worn these items. A person of significance in the culture of the ancients.

“What are you doing?” It was an exasperated shriek from Eiowyn. “Your camera light isn’t on! It’s not recording! You’re missing valuable footage!”

She stomped an exasperated foot.

“How many times do I have to remind you that people won’t come to see the relics unless they can watch The Finding! They’re certainly not going to pay to read about something that they haven’t seen verified as authentic first! Without The Finding all the videos would be incomplete too! What were you thinking?

You’ll have to tangle it back up in there and find it all over again.

Why didn’t you call me first?”

He still couldn’t speak. The excitement was now mixed with embarrassment. The dancing credits slowed their whirl in his head.

“Of course.’ He said, defeated.

He pulled out his find. He tucked the lanyard and ComiCon pass inside the wig, and put the remains of a shirt with 2 badges on top. He placed them under the half-submerged plastic shopping bag. It wouldn’t matter that they weren’t buried deep. It was more important that they not be damaged any more. He’d pull out other things first, then “find” them. It would work.

Eiowyn seemed satisfied. She called the lighting team, walked him back a few paces, checked his makeup. Some smearing made it more “believable”.

Jupiter, the lighting guy, checked the levels and nodded. Checking everyone was in place, Eiowyn flicked the switch on Brad’s helmet-cam, nodded to the other cameramen and shouted:

“Action!”

Swimming Away (Fiction)

Trigger warning: childhood abuse

The woman swims until her body is numb, acting by instinct, efficiently, not the way it’s been taught, which is more awkward, less efficient. It feels good.

She does a few half-hearted dolphin kicks, remembering her childhood, pretending to be a mermaid.

When she reaches the end of the pool, the young Lifeguard speaks to her excitedly, impressed:
“Were you trying to do a dolphin kick?” they begin.

“Childhood muscle memory,” she mutters, adding without thinking, “Trying to escape.”

The Lifeguard blinks. Pauses. “Were you attacked in the water as a child?”

Shaking her head, not in denial but to shove the memory away, she dives back under, swimming away to safety, the Lifeguard left wondering.

But she’s never safe. She swims with her memories.

“I’ll let you back up when you swallow,” he grins evilly, his hand on her head, pushing her back under water, her eyes wide, her scream muffled by the huge sausage in her throat. Food isn’t supposed to hurt you. Food isn’t supposed to choke you. Fathers aren’t supposed to hold you under water.

An adult walking on the beach approached and asked suspiciously,

“What are you doing?”

“Playing a game,” he said easily, with a relaxed smile.

The adult looked skeptically at the struggling child under water. He let her up and she coughed violently, gasping in desperation, unable to do anything else. Her father made reassuring, apologetic sounds and picked her up. She sagged against him in relief, clinging to his neck in desperation.

The stranger seemed reassured by his charm as her father continued the conversation and they eventually laughed at her with her father, and walked on.

Once they were far enough away he gently coaxed her to let go of his neck, smiling, soothing. Once her feet were on the ground he grabbed her wrist angrily and there was a cracking noise. He almost pulled her off her feet.

“If you get me into trouble, I’ll leave you behind! You’ll never see anyone again.” He hissed at her.

She blinked. Terrified. Left behind? Like her doll. Never see anyone? What does that mean? So many images whirling through her mind: Her friend down the road. Her grandma with the yummy cakes. Her school. Her loving father who was so strange and angry. The stranger laughing at her. She didn’t want other people to laugh at her. It was so bewildering.

Again she was under the water, unable to breathe, choking on the sausage that her father always managed to bring when he took her to the beach.

Maybe they grew at the beach? She had checked the beach bag before she put it in the car, “So helpful!” Her mother had smiled, going back to bed. There had been no sausage in the bag, but again she was choking on it’s vast rubberyness. Where did it come from?

“I’ll let you up when you swallow.”

Her stinging eyes were closed, she couldn’t breathe, she was so tired, so sleepy. She just wanted it to end. She wasn’t even sure if she did it on purpose or just couldn’t help it, but she swallowed that hateful sausage. She felt it stuck in her throat, and it seemed to burst. The world went black.

“Swallow the salt, it will make you vomit.”

Isn’t vomiting bad? She had vague memories that teachers and mothers don’t like vomit. Grandma HATED vomit, she remembered.

She was stumbling up the steps to the holiday cottage, crying and shaking uncontrollably. Her throat hurt from the salt and vomit and blood and from the sausage that had been there, stretching it. She’d swallowed it, but she was still so hungry! Her nose was running. She couldn’t speak, but she tried to. Urgent noises came from somewhere deep within her.

Her mother blinked. “What happened?”

“Oh,” said her father in that condescending tone reserved for children who have inconvenienced their parents by hurting themselves, “She went under water and got a mouthful. It got up her nose.” He laughed. “She’s not very happy about it!”

Her mother laughed too. “It’s only some water!” In a mocking tone: “Did the mean water hurt you, diddums?”

Her father said: “You can go to bed for a while.”

That meant he didn’t want a child in the way. She went.

She needed some fresh water to drink, to wash her eyes and skin, but couldn’t speak to ask for it. She was too small to get it herself. She needed something to eat, too.

No-one cared. No-one would help.

She went to bed. Her skin was stinging, here eyes were stinging. Her throat was worse. She closed her eyes and relaxed her body as she’d learned. She could hear her parents making those noises they made sometimes when she was in bed. She didn’t like those noises. She put the pillow over her head. Sleep would make it go away. When she woke up she knew that her parents would be happy. They would have forgotten she had been hurt and upset. It would almost be like it hadn’t happened. If she tried to talk about it, her mother would say it was a dream.

She’d learned to swallow her tears.

Later, she’d made the water her escape. Now she could swim away.

Holiday Viewing?

I’ve been sewing & cooking Christmas presents recently, because there’s no point giving shop-bought presents to people with a lot more money than you. The only way to make an impact is to give them something truly unique. Preferably awesome AND unique. I’d love to achieve awesome, but I’m just aiming for the “unique” part!

While I sew & sometimes while cooking & cleaning, I like to have a show or movie playing in the background to stop me getting bored with the monotony. I now understand why housewives of old watched daytime TV, & I’m very thankful that these days there are streaming services!

It occurred to me to share some thoughts on some of the movies and shows that I’ve watched. Some of these I watched quite a while ago, but they’re memorable enough to comment on. Others were very recent.

This list is long, so scroll through and read about the things that might interest you. Happy viewing!

All the Marvel Movies

Alright, not quite ALL the movies produced by Marvel Studios, just the “Marvel Cinematic Universe” ones. This series of movies links together the main characters of The Avengers, including their background stories, into one cohesive story.

I’m re-watching these in chronological order. I’m only part-way through, but loving this decision so far!

Each movie is beautifully made in itself, but watching them in order, quite close together, is giving me even more of an appreciation of the craftsmanship and well-planned storytelling that went into the series of movies which link together the stories of the Marvel Universe. It’s like they were all mapped out before filming began. It’s the kind of care and attention to detail, and respect for the story and the audience that I’ve read in George RR Martin’s ‘Song of Ice and Fire’ series.

The sequence of movies is:

1. Iron Man, 2008
2. The Incredible Hulk, 2008*
3. Iron Man 2, 2010
4. Thor, 2011
5. Captain America: The First Avenger, 2011
6. The Avengers, 2012
7. Iron Man 3, 2013
8. Thor: The Dark World, 2013
9. Captain America: The Winter Soldier, 2014
10. Guardians of the Galaxy, 2014
11. Avengers: Age of Ultron, 2015
12. Ant Man, 2015
13. Captain America: Civil War, 2016
14. Doctor Strange, 2016
15. Guardians of the Galaxy 2, 2017
16. Spider Man, Homecoming, 2017 (I missed this one first time around)
17. Thor: Ragnarok, 2017
18. Black Panther, 2017
19. Avengers Infinity War, 2018
20. Ant Man and the Wasp, 2018
21. Captain Marvel (I haven’t seen this one yet, but I’m looking forward to it!), 2019
22. Avengers: End Game, 2019 (We’d better get that half of the Universe back!)
23. There are still more to come!

*(I couldn’t find a copy of this one for my rewatch, so had to skip over it. A pity, since I’ve loved The Hulk since he was played by Lou Ferrigno, and Mark Ruffalo does a superb job!)

Scorpion (TV show)

A great ensemble cast playing a delightful group of slightly dysfunctional geniuses and the people they bring into their circle of love. As a Team they solve impossible problems to save the world over and over again, like MacGuyver,  The A-Team, or superheroes. There are surprises every episode, but, like Doctor Who and Original Star Trek, (almost) every episode ends on a happy note. Amidst this are the relationships that develop throughout the series. With a Psychiatrist as one of the main characters, Psychological insights and motivations are spelled out. (Correctly or not.)

Travellers (TV show)

Gripping scifi time travel drama. Over 3 seasons we get to know the main characters, and almost feel like part of their Team. This show is cleverly written, with great continuity throughout the various convoluted developments involved in time travel. The only flaw that I noticed was the final Marcy/David scene. When you have watched all the seasons you will probably realise what I’m referring to. (If you don’t notice, think of the “original” Marcy’s story.)

The Holiday (movie)

I watched this a few years ago and loved it. I watched it again recently, and (despite references to video rentals) it’s still relevant. It’s a bit cliche’d and sentimental, but it’s also funny &, more importantly, empowering for people who have not yet experienced being “the star” of their romantic relationship.

Mona Lisa Smile (movie)

Beautifully played with Julia Roberts starring, this is a female “Dead Poets Society”, but less tragic and more triumphant. Bring a box of tissues.

Warhorse

I’d avoided watching this because I thought it would be dreary and tragic. It’s not. It’s a story with twists and turns, beautifully illustrating the human impact of war: on civilians & on soldiers of both sides. There are a range of emotions, including triumph.

I, Tonya (movie)

I think I expected this movie to be piggybacking on “Battle of the Sexes”: a biography of a female sports star. By that description, it is. It’s a very different story, though, well told from “first person” interviews with the characters, and the relevant flashbacks.

Incidental to the story, we see a picture of how Domestic Violence works. The contradictions, the complexity of relationships, the inability of the abused to leave, and likelihood that they unwittingly go to a similar situation because it seems “normal”. For those who need to be told, that does not mean that they like, want or deserve it. They are victims of training and circumstance.

Somehow, these horrible people are sympathetically portrayed. It’s even funny!

Tonya calls the skating judges on their middle-class bias, and they agree. “You’re not the wholesome American Family image we want to portray.” “But I don’t have a wholesome American Family.” Then she works towards fixing the problem. That’s guts. Whatever else Tonya Harding may be, she has guts.

Bandersnatch on Netflix

You can’t watch this one “in the background”. It requires all your attention, & participation.

Bandersnatchis a “choose your own adventure” story with multiple endings. When I watched it I got at least 3 of the endings. I’m tempted to watch it again to see if I can get all the other endings.

The choices are forced, & maybe that’s also part of the story.

This article gives some more detail (contains spoilers).

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I might add more as I think of them, but here is where I’m up to so far.

Feel free to comment your viewing suggestions for me and others! 🙂

You can also follow me on Twitter (@LyannaSpearwife) and my Facebook page ‘Lyanna Spearwife’

 

Refugees. We’re not Racist, but: Who wants them?

World Refugee Day 2018  was a day on which my Twitter feed was full of news about the babies of South American Asylum-Seekers being seized from their parents and kept in large groups…totally inappropriate and neglectful conditions adding to the trauma of forceful separation from their parents. There was also recent news that there is no plan for reuniting the families. Even Senators are upset. Previous news included Trump bragging that the children were being removed “as a deterrent” to seeking Asylum in the USA. This last is similar to Australia’s justification of indefinite off-shore detention of Asylum Seekers, even after their Refugee status has been confirmed.

The photo above is from this article.

Mysteriously to many, these events are publicly supported and welcomed by Americans who believe in “white supremacy” at any cost. Those who feel the need to protect their ego or for some reason cannot “give ground” against their support of the Republican Party, which chose Trump as their leader also see this as “strong”. We all know how hard it can be to admit when you’re wrong, or have made a mistake. Especially if you think you are “the chosen” or “more special”, and value “strength”. No-one wants to admit they were fooled. Cons artists and abusers rely on the human tendency to hide one’s own shame.

Conversely, Americans who understand the human impact of these events are outraged. Americans who understand the effects of childhood trauma are appalled. People with an understanding of History are connecting the actions of Trump’s Administration with those of Regimes like the German Nazis. People outside of the USA are also expressing their horror on social media.

From Australia, I couldn’t help seeing the parallels with both recent Australian Asylum Seeker Policy, and Racist policies of 100 years ago.

The USA forcibly separating children from parents immediately made me think of Australia’s Stolen Generations & the “Bringing Them Home” Report. This is the “Report of the National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from Their Families” published in April 1997. It details the outcomes of earlier sustained policy of “Assimilation” of Aboriginal children into white families, in the belief that “white is better” (white supremacy), and that Aboriginal people should be “allowed to die out” (attrition). The Aboriginal Protection Act 1869, which essentially put all Aboriginal people in the care of a “Guardian” with absolute power over their lives, was one of the pieces of legislation which led to the “Stolen Generations” and other atrocities.

The movie ‘Rabbit Proof Fence‘ dramatises real events caused by Australia’s policy and practice at the time. (Photo still from the movie credit)

This may have been seen as a more palatable solution than the genocide which occurred earlier in Tasmania (the Southernmost island State) which included herding Aboriginal people, killing them directly and infecting them with treatable European disease but not providing medicine. Truganini, the last “full blood” to survive, is pictured below, and part of her story is here.

Australia’s racism extended to other races, with the White Australia Policy,  typified by the Immigration Restriction Act 1901, favouring white European migrants and actively discriminating against non-Europeans by both language and appearance. This policy was officially stopped about 50 years ago, but unofficially, aspects of the culture remain.

Australia’s history is littered with stories of racism: of treating Aborigines differently from Europeans. From the moment that Britain decided to claim it as a colony, a claim of “Terra Nullius” required the occupants to be discounted as legitimate owners of the land. (The landmark Mabo Decision highlighted the necessity of Terra Nullius.) This may be the unstated reasoning behind declaring Aborigines “fauna” and counting them as such: a dominant narrative that these were less than people “legitimised” seizing their land and wiping them out.

Isn’t this similar to the rhetoric that Australia has recently used, calling Asylum Seekers “illegals”? (Legally, these are people rightfully seeking the protections afforded by the United Nations Convention on Refugees.) With public belief in such rhetoric, some people have wholeheartedly supported the indefinite offshore detention of Asylum Seekers in centres closely resembling concentration camps, and with abuses, deaths and decimated lives. Detained Journalist Behrouz Boochani has provided some insight with his phone-filmed movie: “Chauka, Please Tell Us The Time?” and many first-hand accounts, including this week’s.

Similar rhetoric influencing public opinion in order to discriminate against and kill a people group was used by the Nazis in Germany. The Nazis insisted that Jewish people were vermin to be eradicated. President Donald Trump used that very same wording in a Tweet on 19 June 2018, as noted by hundreds (thousands, probably, but I stopped counting!), including this one:

https://twitter.com/ArtimusFoul/status/1009076225585893378

Aviva Dautch observed on both Twitter and Facebook that this is not “how it begins”, it’s already “several stages along”:

Abuse is abuse. Racism is racism. Whatever country it is in, whatever rhetoric is used, whatever group of people is targeted.

Since I started writing this, President Trump very quickly signed a new Order not to separate families. This is surprising both in speed, and that it happened at all: There was insistence that “only the Democrats [in Congress] can fix it”. This seems like a win for Democracy! The public outcry made a difference! The people’s voice made a difference!

Here is the full wording of the new order, signed 20 June 2018. Interestingly, it includes a clause that the Secretary of Defence will provide and pay for the accommodation of detained families. I wonder if they were involved in that decision? Refugees & Asylum Seekers are not a Defence issue. This is more demonisation, the implication of threat.

The thing I find particularly interesting is the repeated use of the word “appropriate”. It’s open to interpretation and misuse. Also: what “court orders”? Are these court orders the real reason for this sudden new order?

Perhaps it is this order, although I don’t think I can access it to check the details:

U.S. District Court for the Central District of California to modify the Settlement Agreement in Flores v. Sessions, CV 85-4544 (“Flores settlement”)

Whatever it is, I’m thinking it would be better if it WASN’T amended. Just a guess.

It has been pointed out by commentators that the new order does not include a clause to return the thousands of children (including babies) already removed from their parents. They are still hostages.

This is no time to become complacent. History shows us that the philosophy of racism is a driving force which finds ways to achieve it’s goals unless each individual person resists, and combines with others to maintain a civilised, humane society.

As John Greenleaf Whittier said: “Rest if you must, but don’t you quit.”

I implore you: DON’T leave this for your children or grandchildren to hear about, like Australia’s Stolen Generations, and Germany’s Holocaust survivors. DON’T wait for these abused children to grow into adults and share their horrendous stories of grief.

DO contact the person who REPRESENTS YOU, who speaks and acts ON YOUR BEHALF in government. TELL THEM that this is NOT OK.

They really should know this, but unless they have “a mandate” they are probably scared to act. If they have advisers telling them that acting against the “current policy” will make them “look bad”, or that they will be voted out, they will believe it…UNLESS…as The Lorax says, enough people care.

Dr Seuss, ‘The Lorax‘

CARE ENOUGH to tell YOUR REPRESENTATIVE that they need to act to reunite these children with their families, and to stop the persecution of vulnerable people.

If you were paying a Tradesman to do a job, you’d tell them what job you wanted. If you hired a Lawyer to act in your interests, you’d tell them what you wanted. Tell your Politician what you want.

Also: check social media & other sources for information about what action you can take locally. There are groups to join, and causes to donate to. I couldn’t possibly link them all, so I won’t link any. You’ll find them!

Make a difference to many lives, including your own. Act on compassion. Build a healthier society.

Image credit: Multicultural Council of Saskatchewan

Other things you may find interesting:

Main image photo credit: The Conversation: Refugee or Migrant? Sometimes the line is blurred.

Refugee Week 2018

Myths you might have heard about the USA policy of removing children

Book (pdf): The Last Tasmanians

A Timeline of Indigenous Australia 1901 to 1969 (by the ‘Australian Museum’ in Sydney, not the National Museum of Australia)

USA & Australia: 3 Anti-Indigenous Laws https://www.culturalsurvival.org/news/3-horrendous-anti-indigenous-laws

Peter Drew is an Australian artist who has drawn attention to Australia’s failings in policy, both the “White Australia Policy” and treatment of Asylum Seekers.

Feel free to comment below, or you can contact me via Social Media:

@Lyanna Spearwife on Twitter, Facebook and Tumblr

or email: Lyanna.Spearwife@outlook.com

What’s a Strong Woman Anyway?

I saw two things on one day, and it got me thinking: What exactly do people mean when they talk about “Strong Women”. There are countless inspirational memes and quotes encouraging “strength” in women. What does that mean?

The first thing I saw was a headline announcing the latest winner of “World’s Strongest Man“.

Not long afterwards I walked past The Body Shop and saw a quote in their window display: Strong Women: Raise Them, Know Them, Be Them.

I’ve seen versions of this before, like this one.

But what do we mean when we say “strong”?

Feel free to body-build, or engage in whatever physical strength training you want to. Kudos to you!

I’m guessing we don’t mean the same things that won Hafthor Bjornsson the title of ‘World’s Strongest Man’, when people tell women to be “strong”.

So what do they really mean? What other ways of being strong are there?

Maybe it’s giving birth without painkillers? Maybe it’s giving birth at all?

While that’s also pretty strong, I still don’t think it’s what we mean.

Some characteristics that I think show strength in women are:

• Believing in a set of principles and standing up for them (Integrity),
• Maintaining her body within whatever limitations she has,
• Nurturing her own spirit as well as others’,
• Being a loyal friend and relative,
• Protecting the vulnerable,
• Having and sharing hope, even in the face of adversity (Resilience),
• Not giving up, but being able to adapt her plans (Persistence),
• Managing her emotions and behaviours for best outcomes (Self-Awareness, Emotional Intelligence, Pro-social behaviour),
• Aiming for Excellence, even when no-one cares.

What do you think of, when you think “strong woman”?

I’m sure this isn’t an exhaustive list of examples. Any one of these makes a woman a “Strong Woman”. If someone manages all of these every single day, then she probably deserves Sainthood, or a Nobel Prize, or something even more spectacular.

While thinking about this topic, I found this book, which is related, “Character Strengths and Virtues” by Christopher Peterson and Martin Seligman, which aims to counter the DSM approach to defining people.

I haven’t read “Character Strengths and Virtues”, but I’ve read some of Martin Seligman’s other work before. Positive Psychology is something that is particularly useful in today’s society.

If you’re into surveys and quizzes, and “verified data”, or would just like to know your “character strengths” from another source, here’s a free survey you can take. (Note: After you’ve completed the survey, the “download results for free” link is under the “buy” button.)

I took the survey, and reading the questions made me realise how I’ve changed in the last 25 years. The results weren’t a surprise.

In the next few days, I’ll be thinking about what it means to be a “Strong Woman” in our society, whether I am one, whether I want to be one, and what I can do about it.

I’ll continue to celebrate the admirable women that I come across, “strong” or not. There are many.

 

Feel free to comment below, or you can contact me via Social Media:

@Lyanna Spearwife on Twitter, Facebook and Tumblr

or email: Lyanna.Spearwife@outlook.com

The majority is not always right

This is a real life example of Leo Tolstoy’s observation that:

“Wrong does not cease to be wrong [just] because the majority share in it.”
― Leo Tolstoy, A Confession

When I was in high school, I studied German. I should probably mention that this was in Tasmania, the island-State at the bottom of Australia, in the 1980’s. We generally don’t have a practical use for other languages, being so far away from non-English-speaking countries, but it was still considered “cultured” to learn a European one. This was probably a hang-over from our British ancestors. It was also a subject that “smart people” chose, so there was some social kudos attached. “Extra smart” people studied two languages: French and German (they were the choices, Japanese was added a few years later – it was the 80’s). I studied German because my mother wanted me to study French like she did.

As I was saying, I learned German. This was an elective from grade 8 to 10. I also studied it in grade 11 (first year of College), but this story is from grade 8. There was one class, of about 25 students, mostly girls.

The school I attended had a rigorous schedule of tests and exams. I now know that not all schools use this system. Tests and exams always made me nervous – there was a lot of pressure, because our grades depended on these, and there was a lot of competition to get the best marks. Social status depended on it. At the end of each Term there were exams. For languages this included oral/ spoken exams.

While we waited our individual turn in the classroom, we hung around outside in a paved area. Part of the school culture was that we all turned up early, and made each other more worried – not usually intentionally, but there were a few who got a kick out of it.

Some people liked to cram immediately beforehand. They would ask the “smart kids” who were their friends about all the things they hadn’t learned beforehand. The “smart kids” sometimes were too stressed to offer much. Other times they revelled in their status of “expert”, bestowing the grace of their bountiful knowledge. This was one of those times.

Cramming in the minutes before the exam never worked for me. I concentrated hard in class and kept careful notes, which I systematically revised in the couple of days before the exam. For some subjects I recorded my voice reading the material and played it back to myself. We’d been taught to schedule blocks of time to revise for each subject, and that’s what I did. I knew that listening to other people discussing beforehand just made me worried and confused, so I stayed out of it. Often I was humming some tune from the Concert Band that I played in, which helpfully kept me grounded and centred, and also blocked out the potentially dangerous chatter.

This time, for some reason, the entire class became involved in a discussion of the pronunciation of “Family” in German. After more and more people became involved, I was specifically asked how to pronounce it, and said what sounds a bit like “Miner Familiar”. Almost the whole group howled with laughter, saying that I was wrong. I felt very stupid, and started to doubt myself. Deep down, I was certain that I had learned it correctly though. There were a few puzzled and worried faces, but gradually more and more were converted to the belief that it was pronounced “Familee”.

At this point, perhaps I should mention that I am quite stubborn. I had a slight suspicion that this was one of those mean tricks where someone tries to get better marks by getting other people to get it wrong. I looked at the main influencer here, and thought that she wouldn’t do that – she was already so good that she wouldn’t need to. Such was her power that no-one would dare question her. Not even iconoclastic me.

I had diligently learned the pronunciation from my notes, and I’d won prizes for reading German before. The practice of exams, including being taught “exam technique” kicked in, and I stuck to my guns. I said something like:

“I’ve learned it that way, so that’s how I’m going to say it.”

The group roared with laughter, and I continued to feel foolish, but I wasn’t turning back now.

“You’re going to get it wrong!” someone called out.

“Yes, I am.” I said with all the certainty and determination of a stubborn child.

In the class after exam period we would be given the results of the exams, written and oral. Before she handed them back, the Teacher wrote on the board: “Meine Familie”, which means “my family”.

For some reason, the Teacher didn’t like me very much, and everyone knew it. She asked me to read out what was on the board. The class snickered. Uncharacteristically, she silenced them quite angrily. Feeling the full weight of failure, I almost burst into tears with shame. Knowing that I must be wrong, I read it the way the class had been saying it: “Mine Familee”, and tried to sink under my desk. I think you could have cooked an egg on my face. The atmosphere in the room was electric. Although I had a few friends who would be sympathetic, there were far more people who would take delight in my finally failing, and they were the vocal, confident ones.

The Teacher looked angry.

“Who told you to say it like that?” She demanded, “That’s not how you said it in the exam!”

“I’m sorry,” I apologised meekly, humiliated, while most, but now less of the class hooted with laughter, “I learned it the wrong way.”

“No, you didn’t!” Silence fell. “You were the only person who got it right. Why did you say it that way now?”

Those who know French and German (and everyone who read the title, most probably) realised the punchline long ago: I was saying “Family” the German way, and the group had decided on saying it the French way…for a German test.

The silence was now accompanied by a sensed trembling in fear.

“Snitches get stitches” was not a saying at my school, but it was a reality. Being a “tell-tale” was social suicide.

“I heard someone say it” I prevaricated vaguely, but was shouted down by another girl.

“She told us all to say it like that!” she lied. She expected the class to support her. Her friend who had led us astray was very popular, untouchable.

I, too, expected the class to support her, while at the same time slowly realising that she was the instigator of the conversation in the first place. My shame and defeat were bottomless.

Remarkably, there was a groundswell of outrage in my favour. After all, the entire class had reduced marks because they were led into error. They knew that I had actually told them the correct way, and they had all laughed me down. My saviour was a quiet student not known for speaking out. The ‘might of right’ must have emboldened her. Once she spoke up, and then apologised to me in front of everyone for not believing me, pretty much everyone else joined her.

What a moment for the underdogs!

Sadly, I’m not sure that I was particularly gracious in acknowledging them, as I was still a swirl of stress-hormones. I was so relieved, though! There had been no way for me to defend myself.

The Teacher got to the bottom of what happened, and the “expert” was given a lesson in humility and the responsibilities of power. Her friend who had generated the discussion before the exam, and then tried to blame me for everyone’s failure, left the school a year or so later and moved interstate to a Boarding School, while her family stayed put. I kid you not. We really did take our marks seriously. (She’s basically a nice girl, and she did recover from that mistake.)

My point, though, is this: an entire group of people can believe that they are right, and you are wrong. You might believe it too. That doesn’t mean it’s true.

I’d like to encourage you to be sure of your facts by checking them, and stand for what you believe in. Not blindly and pig-headedly (like I did!), but with the assurance that you are right, like the girl who “spoke truth to power”, and defended me.

As Suzy Kassem said:

“History honors the unique minority the majority cannot forget.”
― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

As individuals speak up, we’re seeing a shift in the tide, with movements like #MeToo and #NeverAgain.

Speak your truth. Find your Tribe.

Publishing Children’s Books in Australia

My recent post, prompted by a Twitter feed, listed some mostly American magazines which publish mostly non-fiction writing.

Since then, I’ve been browsing the internet for publishers closer to my home: Australia. I’ve found that this is a topic covered extensively by multiple people & sites. What they have said seemed to be worth sharing!

The focus in this post is on publishing children’s books.

This is not an exhaustive resource, it’s just the things that I’ve found so far. I may, or may not, add to it over time.

I’ve included links to articles and information that will be of interest to a range of different writers. I’ve made the links visible so that you can see where you’re going. Feel free to comment or message me links from your own searches that you’d like to add.

Advice for publishing Children’s Books, from the Children’s Book Council of Australia:

https://cbca.org.au/getting-published-for-authors-and-illustrators

A helpful step by step explanation video of one publishing process:

http://www.austinmacauley.com/how-become-author

What looks like a comprehensive list of Australian Publishers (not all of whom accept unsolicited submissions) by Creative Kids Tales:

https://www.creativekidstales.com.au/services/childrens-publishers-aus

Alys Jackson’s 2017 list of 24 Children’s Publishers:

http://alysjackson.com/20-childrens-publishers-accepting-unsolicited-manuscripts/

Following this trail also led to a list of UK Children’s Fiction Publishers compiled by Lou Treleven (2017):

https://loutreleaven.com/2010/07/21/childrens-publishers-accepting-unsolicited-manuscripts/

A list compiled by Ruth Dawkins in 2016:

http://www.beyondyourblog.com/15-australian-publications-to-submit-your-writing-to/

And, because some of the submission guidelines ask you to compare your work to other published works, here are 40 “favourites”:

https://childhood101.com/picture-books-australia/

 

Feel free to comment below, or you can contact me via Social Media:

@Lyanna Spearwife on Twitter, Facebook and Tumblr

or email: Lyanna.Spearwife@outlook.com

 

Demonstration: Lack of Net Neutrality

WordPress has provided the option to slow down the internet speed on posts, in order to illustrate what changes to Net Neutrality, recently proposed by the Government of the USA, will mean in real life.

I was going to apply it to this post. Then I realised it would apply to my whole blog. I chickened out! I decided it wasn’t worth annoying the nice people who may read my lovingly crafted words! How could I do that to them? It would sabotage my work! I just couldn’t do it.

Imagine not having the choice!

Prior to publishing this, I imagined that it might be like my first experience of the internet, back in the 90’s. Hopefully without the squealing noises as it dialled up.

These days, we expect almost instant loading of whatever we search for. Isn’t it awesome? The processing power! The speed that the electric impulses travel from device to server and back again!

Big companies like Google and Facebook will remain largely unchanged, I believe. Yay! However, I wonder how much the scope of what they can show us will be reduced?

Small sites, like personal blogs and small businesses, may never be seen due to being a lower priority, and therefore incredibly slow. Blogs like this one have the advantage of being part of a larger site, but will that be enough?

What about all those who were brave enough to establish their own business site?

WordPress has an option to convert your site into a WordPress page. A helpful safe-haven, perhaps, but IT SHOULD NOT BE NECESSARY!

The world is richer because of the contributions that people make to it in various ways. Their work, their hobbies, their ideas, their relationships. What we see and read informs our thinking. Being able to access a variety of information and views is part of what makes us whole. It’s part of what makes us free.

We probably all agree that we aren’t interested in all of the gazillion pages on the internet. Some just don’t match our personal interests. BUT, we need for ALL pages to be “created equal” in the eyes of the Law, so that WE have the choice about what we see.

Otherwise, it’s effectively Censorship.

Selective, preferential treatment.

Someone else deciding what is suitable for us to access…

…and who is powerful enough to provide it.

People need Net Neutrality.   The world needs Net Neutrality.