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Siren: how I fell out of love with football

Rachel Matthews, Siren (Transit Lounge Publishing 2017)

Anna Krien, Night Games: Sex, Power and Sport (Black Inc 2014)

Paul D Carter, Eleven Seasons (Allen & Unwin 2012)

Deb Waterhouse-Watson, Athletes, Sexual Assault and Trial by Media: Narrative Immunity (New York Routledge 2013)

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Three years ago, in August 2014, I posted a blog piece titled A Few Thoughts On Winning – Part 1. Essentially, it was my love letter to Australian Rules Football (AFL).

I never got around to writing Part 2. Consider this the sequel: my Dear John letter, how I fell out of love with football.

I’ll start by considering some recent (and relatively recent) books that engage with sexual violence and football culture, then add in my own recent engagement with this issue.

Like Dr Deb Waterhouse-Watson, author of Athletes, Sexual Assault and Trial by Media, I am a fanatical Geelong Cats supporter. Since researching women and football, Waterhouse-Watson no longer attends games, in protest. I am about to join her sitting it out. Deb Waterhouse-Watson notes that more than 27 cases of sexual assault and rape involving 57 footballers and club officials had, as at time of her book’s publication, resulted in zero convictions. In November 2014 St Kilda footballer Stephen Milne pleaded guilty to the lesser charge of indecent assault in exchange for rape charges being dropped, from events that happened 10 years previously, in March 2004, when he was 24 and his victim was 19.

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Deb Waterhouse-Watson, author of Athletes, Sexual Assault and Trial by Media: Narrative Immunity

Milne was fined $15,000 and no conviction was recorded. His victim’s impact statement was reported by Wayne Flower in the Herald-Sun newspaper 18 November 2014:

Judge Michael Bourke said the victim spoke of very considerable effects and changes to her life.

“During the time immediately after, but also over the period of 10 years, and of the renewed publicity and proceedings, there has been impact on her work, family and social life,’’ he said.

“She deferred her university course for a year and she continues to have feelings of being withdrawn and isolated. She has felt judged by others, she has been abused, she has felt a sense of injustice.’’

The court heard the woman has difficulties sleeping and suffers from nightmares.

“She has witnessed and felt the impact upon her mother. Media attention has added to many of these things,’’ he said.

Judge Bourke said he had difficulty in assessing the victim impact statement because Milne had pleaded guilty to a lesser charge than was originally alleged.

“The line of causation is not straight forward. Having said that, it is still clear that (the victim) has suffered a good deal arising out of the events of this night of which this offence was a part,’’ he said.

“She did nothing wrong and has not deserved the consequences and effects upon her. Precision is not possible however I must take into account the victim impact caused. I do so bearing in mind that you [Stephen Milne] have pleaded to and will be sentenced for the offence before me.’’

Eleven days earlier, on 7 November 2014, the Herald-Sun ran an article by Wayne Flower and Ashley Argoon in which Milne’s football club captain Nick Riewoldt provided a character reference in court:

“Riewoldt told a judge Milne was a great mate, who could have kept playing footy for some time beyond his retirement in 2013.

But being charged with rape had hampered the veteran forward’s career and denied him job opportunities and endorsements.”

Waterhouse-Watson terms the protection against conviction afforded to sports personalities “narrative immunity”. By “narrative”, she means the story that is told, over and over, that frames these cases: the story, as author Rachel Matthews puts it, “of the woman who must be blamed” (mamamia.com 14 August 2017).

As Matthews put it in an article in the Sydney Morning Herald newspaper (24 June 2016), titled Football’s Abuse of Women is Institutional,

“It’s about what we value. And where sheilas do and don’t fit. The symbols of our nationhood. Our sporting greats. And in our Australia’s colonial history, what journalist Francis Adams called the ‘true Bushman’ or ‘the man of the nation’. Such worshipping of masculinity leaves little room for women. It keeps them in the background. And as targets for blame.”

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Rachel Matthews wrote her novel Siren initially as part of her PhD in creative writing at Victoria University. To write about sexual violence and the mistreatment of women in Australian Rules Football she researched over a period of four years. The result is a complex, multi-layered exploration of the effects of rape, on the victim, witnesses, family and friends (but not on the perpetrator), and the ethics of rape reporting. Is a witness obliged to bear witness? Is a GP required to report? If the victim confides in a friend, is that friend obliged to tell the victim’s parents, or her own parents, or a teacher, or police?

As one character says, “In the end, it’s up to the girl if she wants to lay charges. These things are messy.”

What I like most about Siren is that it is about the girl. Matthews is determined to challenge the convention that worshipping of masculinity, as she puts it, “leaves little room for women. It keeps them in the background”. She ensures that her narrative foregrounds the woman: Siren starts with Jordi (‘the girl’, ‘the victim’) and ends with Jordi.

Befuddled by our cultural expectations, I was slow to catch on. I kept worrying about when the rape would be reported, when charges would be brought, when the courtroom scenes would commence. But Matthews has a different project. She builds a narrative around Jordi, turning ‘the victim’ into a fully realised character with a history, a family, a family history, a place in the world – and a future, should she survive her experience of rape.

At first I worried Matthews was condescending to Jordi, with her insistence on surrounding Jordi by brand names and cultural references that establish her and her family firmly as that ocker stereotype, ‘bogans’. ‘Battlers’ is the slightly kinder stereotype. But she fleshes out Jordi, and her parents, Petra and Kane, and her siblings, Breanna, Cruise and Ryan, so that each has an emotional reality.

While Siren takes the narrative through to a rape being publicly acknowledged, Anna Krien’s Night Games follows a football-related court case, taking the court proceedings as her starting point for a wide investigation into sexual violence in football – hence the subtitle Sex, Power and Sport.

Anna Krien’s Night Games, unlike Siren, is not a novel. It’s a serious, intelligent inquiry addressing the grey areas of sexual ‘consent’, the ambiguities and anomalies in how rape charges unfold. She doesn’t refer to the young woman involved by her real name, as the young woman declined to participate in any way in Krien’s research for this book. Nor does she use the real name of the young man charged with rape.

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The case Anna Krien follows arose out of events on the evening of Collingwood Football Club’s grand final win in 2010. Two young Collingwood players, Dayne Beams and VFL player John McCarthy, were questioned by the Victorian sexual crimes squad about accusations that they had non-consensual sex with a young woman at a party in a South Melbourne townhouse. Beams and McCarthy were supported by their club, which deployed the club’s lawyer, David Galbally QC, to ensure they were not charged.

McCarthy – pick 31 in the 2007 draft – was delisted by Collingwood at the end of the following season but was picked up by Port Adelaide, where he proved popular. His death in an accident in Las Vegas on a post-season trip with teammates in September 2012 resulted in an outpouring of grief across the AFL. In the trade period 2014, Dayne Beams requested a transfer from Collingwood to the Brisbane Lions, where he is currently captain.

Although the Victorian sexual crimes squad investigation began with accusations against Beams and McCarthy, the focus quickly moved to a friend of Beams who had encountered the alleged victim after Beams and McCarthy had sex with her. They’d spoken briefly, had sex in an adjacent alley, then walked together to the nearest main road to hail a taxi, which they had shared, conversing in the cab and exchanging phone numbers, kissing, and agreeing to meet the following day.

The young man, who Krien calls “Justin”, was charged with six counts of rape, one of attempted rape, and one of indecent assault. He played for Richmond’s VFL affiliate, the Coburg Tigers, but as soon as the rape charges were made public the football club board held a meeting, after which Justin was phoned and informed he’d never play another footy game for Coburg Tigers. Instead, Collingwood Football Club offered Justin the services of David Galbally QC as lawyer.

Anna Krien writes

“… with Beams and McCarthy not yet in the clear, the reason for the QC’s presence seemed pretty obvious to an outsider like me. It made sense to control the narrative. [Justin] was a nobody, but what really happened that night and how it revealed itself could affect ‘real’ footballers, not to mention the richest footy club in town.”

In my opinion Anna Krien’s Night Games should be compulsory reading for anyone involved in the AFL in any capacity, from fans through footballers through club CEOs. The book is not, in my opinion, unfair to the young woman Krien calls “Sarah”. The way I’ve outlined what occurred that night may make it sound as if “Sarah” surely consented to alleyway sex with “Justin”, but the case as it emerged in court was by no means that clear. It’s the lack of clarity, the Rashoman qualities, that are troubling. In exploring the differing perspectives, Krien refers back to other high profile incidents where young women suffered, through sexual abuse, and for speaking out against footballers about that abuse.

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Anna Krien, author of Night Games: Sex, Power and Sport

When I first starting thinking about how to write this blog, I had in mind that I might list all the cases of sexual and misogynist abuse against women by footballers and football personalities that have occurred in the time I’ve been following the game (17 years – I did not grow up a football fan). But I realised the list is too long. To my knowledge, only one AFL player has faced charges of rape: Andrew Lovett, who was stood down by the club he’d just joined after being accused of raping a female friend of a teammate in December 2009. He was acquitted of rape charges in July 2011.

Where Rachel Matthews’ novel Siren examines the effects of rape prior to its public disclosure, and Krien’s journalistic enterprise Night Games examines how rape charges play out in court, Paul D Carter’s novel Eleven Seasons considers the wider, ripple effect of football rape. Paul D Carter spent nine years writing Eleven Seasons, which won The Australian’s Vogel Literary Award in 2012. The novel is quite slim, and subtle, and melancholy, and I’m glad he took his time writing, and kept the narrative pace gentle, because it’s a gem.

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All the sad, lonely, lost characters! Carter’s character Jason Dalton, Jason’s mother, almost all the characters in Rachel Matthews’ Siren. Who knew football was a space of such forlornness?

What’s interesting is how Eleven Seasons explores the damage done to men by football culture, as well as to women. Siren does this too: I talked before about the narrative focus on Jordi, ‘the girl who got raped’ (how reductive); but there’s a dual narrative focus, with much of Siren concerned with the journey undertaken by aging footy star Max Carlisle, who witnesses Jordi’s rape and feels responsible.

Max Carlisle undergoes an emotional progression across the narrative that is Siren, and so does Paul D Carter’s Jason Dalton. Eleven Seasons is a coming of age novel. Recently when asked what book I’d put on a curriculum for teenage boys I unhesitatingly put forward Eleven Seasons. But, like Siren and Night Games, I would hope it reaches a wide readership.

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Paul D Carter, author of Eleven Seasons

Which brings me to my own stake in this discussion. I grew up in the electorate of Sturt in South Australia, nominally a supporter of the SANFL football club Sturt. My family moved to Melbourne when I was 12, and I didn’t follow VFL in Victoria. I lived in NSW from ages 18 to 30 and did not follow football (NRL) there. I lived in London across my 30s and did not follow soccer. It was only when I moved to Geelong 17 years ago, into a house directly across a narrow back street from Geelong Football Club’s home stadium, that I took an interest in AFL.

I was lucky. The year I first joined as a member of Geelong Football Club, the Geelong Cats began the journey that took them to three premierships across a five-year period. The Cats have finished Top 2 in 8 out of the last 11 Home & Away seasons and have played finals every year bar one since 2007. I have been there, seated by deep forward pocket, screaming my lungs out proudly supporting “my boys”.

When one of our lesser players punched his girlfriend after a drunken night out, I was gratified that the players’ leadership group ensured he was dropped to the VFL team and later delisted. I trusted my club to promote the principles of Respect & Responsibility, the AFL policy devised in 2005 to counter football’s traditional sexism. I have no reason to believe Geelong Football Club does not immerse its recruits in Respect & Responsibility and does not walk the talk. Everything in my experience of Geelong Football Club tells me this club has its heart in the right place.

But it gets harder to ignore all that other stuff I see reported about women being abused by football players, about fans abusing women, about football media personalities indulging their misogynistic instincts. It’s got so that now, on grand final eve, my first thought is not for which team won, but which women out there – unknown, unnamed – were beaten or raped by drunken male fans or players ‘celebrating’.

This year the winning team was Richmond. On the night of the grand final a Richmond football player – gossip suggests a Richmond player who previously played for Geelong – took photos of a young woman wearing nothing but his premiership medal.* According to the young woman, he told her he deleted the pictures. Instead he posted them on social media. The photos have now appeared on the internet and in mass circulation newspapers. It makes no difference that her face isn’t shown, that she’s reduced to breasts. She trusted a sex partner, and that player betrayed her.

Also on the night of this year’s grand final a young mother went missing in the Surf Coast town Aireys Inlet. Last I heard human remains had been uncovered on the beach. Police were asking anyone who found further human remains to contact them. There’s no evidence to suggest that if she was murdered, this murder was a consequence of male football fans drinking alcohol all day. But I read the news updates, and I confess I shudder.*

Before Richmond Football Club won its grand final, its first in 37 years, it had to win through a qualifying final and a preliminary final. In the qualifying final Richmond beat Geelong. I was there, at least for the first half, when the Richmond crowd aggression led me to walk out. The game was over for me before it started though. It was over for me as I walked through the park that surrounds the Melbourne Cricket Ground, the famous MCG where AFL grand finals are played. As I walked towards the stadium, accompanied by three male friends, some male Richmond fans crossed our path yelling “STICK IT UP THE PUSSIES! STICK IT UP THEIR ARSES!”

They pantomimed gestures of sticking it up our pussy arses.

“There goes the Richmond brains trust,” grimaced one of my companions.

I understand idiot fans are ‘normal’ in footy. I understand most fans shrug it off, as my companions did. I understand the “Richmond brains trust” was drunk. I understand it’s unfortunate my team’s name, the Geelong Cats, lends itself to obscene sledging.

I understood that if I made a fuss about it most AFL fans would dismiss me as an uptight old lady, as “soft”, as “weak”, as not a true fan. I posted about it on Facebook, to my Facebook Friends. One of my friends told me I should take it further. He told me I should make an official complaint, to the AFL, the MCG, the Cats, and to Richmond Football Club.

I told him it wasn’t worth my time. He pointed out another Cats fan, a woman named Anne, had been on 3AW talkback radio that morning making similar complaints, to shock-jock Neil Mitchell. He said people were dissing Anne, accusing her of making it up. I said I’d think about it.

That night, the Monday after Friday’s qualifying final, I emailed formal complaints to the AFL, the MCG, the Geelong Cats, the Richmond Tigers, and I emailed 3AW, Foxsports and ABC’s sports flagship Grandstand. I received responses within a day from all bar Grandstand and Richmond, and Richmond’s Integrity Services Manager emailed me a few days later.

What I didn’t realise, until the following weekend, was that the story Foxsports ran about my complaint was posted on Foxsports’ Facebook page, and also on the AFL’s. Hundreds of people had commented on my comments.

Sure enough, I was a “soft cock”, a “pussy”, a “snowflake”, an “old lady”, and many other things besides. Most people derided me for not simply reporting it to Stadium security and letting it rest at that. I decided not to be an anonymous “Elly”. I sat up in bed for several hours that Saturday morning and replied to as many of those commenters as I could, vigorously stating the case for why it was not sufficient (or even productive) to report bad language to MCG security, and why I felt it necessary to cancel my football club membership, even though it was not my football club that had offended.

I received three responses: one a woman who wrote “lmfao” (“laughing my fucking arse off”), one a man who wrote “Good onya” (in Australia, that’s not necessarily an expression of good will), and one a female fellow Cats fan who wished me well. That’s ok. I was not seeking to convert anyone. I was standing up and having my say.

In point of fact I did attend Geelong’s preliminary final, the Friday after the Richmond match. I was thrilled to see “my boys” defy the predictions to claim a magnificent win over the Sydney Swans. If that’s the last footy match I ever attend, it ended on a high note.

I just hope – sincerely hope – no-one went home drunk and abusive, and no woman was the worse for my club’s win.

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  • UPDATE: ABC News report 16 October 2017
    “Victoria Police said her death was not being treated as suspicious, but the investigation remained ongoing.”
  • UPDATE: ABC News report 30 October 2017 – the Richmond footballer who has publicly apologized for not deleting a nude photo as promised is not the former Geelong player previously rumored to have been at fault.


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    Hillary Clinton and the 2016 U.S. Presidential election – What happened?

    Hillary Clinton, What Happened (Simon & Schuster 2017)

    Susan Bordo, The Destruction of Hillary Clinton (The Text Publishing Company 2017)

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    So much has been said and written about how Hillary Clinton lost the 2016 U.S. Presidential election because she was a “flawed” candidate, and about her supposed inauthenticity.

    In response to the question, ‘ Who is Hillary Clinton, really?’, large numbers of Americans have, in multiple ways, insisted she’s a liar, untrustworthy, a war-monger, an Establishment agent, a privileged white lady, a Lady Macbeth, unlikeable, avaricious, corrupt, criminal, vicious, and worse (enabler for a sexual predator, a murderer).

    I’m not American. I’ve watched Hillary since 1992 (not before). I followed media and social media coverage of the 2016 campaign and election. I’ve read her autobiography Living History, and now I’ve read her memoir and analysis of the 2016 elections, titled What Happened, and I remain puzzled.

    Not puzzled as to who Hillary is. Seems simple to me: she’s a Methodist. An over-achieving, hyper-capable, intellectually brilliant Methodist with a life-long dedication to public service.

    My puzzlement continues over how it is that such large numbers of American citizens refuse to accept it can be so simple, and prefer to believe in Clinton as a bitch-witch Medusa.

    These two recent publications – What Happened by Hillary Clinton, and The Destruction of Hillary Clinton by feminist academic Susan Bordo, a media critic and cultural historian – attempt to address public perceptions of who Hillary is, and other factors that contributed to her election loss, resulting in the triumph of President Donald Trump.

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    If you’re committed to the view that Hillary Clinton lost the election because she personally is “flawed”, or flawed as a candidate, I hope you will nonetheless continue reading. Most of this review focuses not on Hillary’s character and history, but on those other factors that combined to help undo her campaign.

    In both Clinton’s and Bordo’s accounts, but most expansively in Clinton’s, other factors of vital public interest are identified:

    • Cyber warfare, also known as “active measures” – “semicovert or covert intelligence operations to shape an adversary’s political decisions” (Thomas Rid, Professor of Security Studies at King’s College, London).
    • The war on truth – the phenomenon of “false news” and a transition within established media from traditional news values to news as entertainment: news for ratings, news as click bait, news to fuel a 24-hours news cycle.
    • Inappropriate interference by State agencies in the electoral process, in breach of established protocols.
    • The breakdown of Democratic voter solidarity, with voters taking their cues from dissenter Democrat or third party leaders.

    In short:

    • Putin
    • Emails
    • Comey
    • Sanders

    At more length:

    Putin, Wikileaks, cyber warfare and the war on truth

    In the section of her book titled ‘Frustration’, which examines in depth specific issues and missteps within Clinton’s campaign that caused its failure, Clinton has a chapter titled ‘Trolls, Bots, Fake News, and Real Russians’. Whatever your personal views on Clinton, I recommend this chapter as a serious essay by a former Secretary of State on cyber propaganda as proxy warfare.

    Clinton summarizes:

    “The January 2017 Intelligence Community report called the Russian influence campaign a ‘new normal,’ and predicted Moscow would continue attacking the United States and its allies. Given the success Putin has had, we should expect interference in future elections and even more aggressive cyber and propaganda efforts. […]

    “We should also expect the right-wing war on truth to continue. As Trump faces growing political and legal challenges, he and his allies will likely intensify their efforts to delegitimize the mainstream press, the judiciary, and anyone else who threatens his preferred version of reality.”

    Clinton suggests four steps:

    1. A Special Counsel investigation in tandem with an independent commission with subpoena power, to “provide a full public accounting of the attack against our country and make recommendations to improve security going forward”.
    2. State and private sector partnership to plan and invest in improvements to U.S. networks and national infrastructure security, alongside acceleration of the U.S. military and intelligence agencies’ own offensive cyber and information warfare capabilities.
    3. Publicly calling out cyber enemies – Putin and Wikileaks – and taking tough measures against them.
    4. “We need to beat back the assault on truth and reason here at home and rebuild trust in our institutions.” Social media and tech companies need to adjust algorithms, deactivate bot networks, partner with fact-checkers and generally clean up their platforms. Mainstream media need to reaffirm a commitment to rigorously uphold factual rather than speculative or unexamined reporting.

    By implication (Clinton doesn’t spell this out), individuals need to educate themselves to better identify fake news and stop fuelling it: stop Sharing fake news, but also stop Liking and Commenting, as responses on fake news posts trigger the algorithms that spread these posts more widely.

    In What Happened’s final section, titled ‘Resilience’, in a chapter titled ‘Onward Together’, Clinton does strongly urge individuals to participate in public political conversation:

    “If you’ve been keeping your opinions to yourself, try speaking out – whether that’s on social media, in a letter to the editor, or in conversations with friends, family, and neighbors. Your views are every bit as valuable as everyone else’s. You’ll be surprised by how satisfying it can be to express yourself. And chances are, once you take a stand, you’ll find you’re not standing alone for long. If all else fails, make a sign and show up at a protest.”

    Using the mantra “Resist, insist, persist, and enlist”, with the emphasis on “enlist”, Clinton recommends further civic engagement:

    • “Register to vote.” Encourage friends, family and others to register too.
    • “Get involved in a cause that matters to you.” Actively involved.
    • Engage with our elected representatives.
    • Run for office.

    In that section titled ‘Frustration’, Clinton addresses at length avoidable mistakes she made. A chapter titled ‘Country Roads’ examines economic stagnation in rural areas previously dependent on the fossil fuel industries, states such as Kentucky, West Virginia and parts of Ohio. She examines the impact of her statement at a town hall meeting that “We’re going to put a lot of coal miners and coal companies out of business”. This chapter is heartfelt and thoughtful, and I was astonished at her courage in subsequently fronting up to a public meeting in Mingo County in West Virginia, “arguably Ground Zero for the coal crisis”. Here the candidate ran a gauntlet of “several hundred angry protestors chanting ‘We want Trump!’ and ‘Go home Hillary’”. One woman had hands dripping red paint to symbolize blood and yelled accusations about Benghazi.

    In this chapter Clinton does not make excuses. She presents a distressing picture of the plight of Appalachian communities and discusses the issues from multiple angles. She does provide the full context of that inflammatory, widely disseminated quote:

    “Instead of dividing people the way Donald Trump does, let’s reunite around policies that will bring jobs and opportunities to all these under-served poor communities. So, for example, I’m the only candidate who has a policy about how to bring economic opportunity using clean renewable energy as the key into Coal Country. Because we’re going to put a lot of coal miners and coal companies out of business, right Time? And we’re going to make it clear that we don’t want to forget those people. Those people labored in those mines for generations, losing their health, often losing their lives to turn on our lights and power our factories. Now we’ve got to move away from coal and all the other fossil fuels, but I don’t want to move away from the people who did the best they could to produce the energy that we relied on.”

    In a later chapter in that section, titled ‘Why’, Clinton provides the context for the inflammatory quote about Trump voters being a “basket of deplorables”. Many Trump supporters, she continued, as quoted by Susan Bordo, are

    “People who feel that the government has let them down, the economy has let them down, nobody cares about them, nobody worries about what happens to their lives and their futures. They are just desperate for change. Doesn’t even really matter where it comes from. They won’t wake up and see their jobs disappear, lose a kid to heroin, feel like they’re in a dead end. Those are people who we have to understand and empathize with as well.”

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    Comey and “those damn emails”

    There is a chapter titled ‘Those Damn Emails’. Although the issue of Hillary’s use of a private email server during her tenure as Secretary of State dominated coverage of her presidential campaign, and ultimately, arguably, derailed it, the ‘issue’ was only ever a furphy. Federal Register regulations requiring that only government servers be used were brought in in 2013, after Clinton left office. She, like all previous Secretaries of State (Colin Powell and Madeleine Albright, for example), did use a private server, and used it for both government and personal email correspondence; this was not in violation of any protocol or law. That she chose to delete her personal emails prior to providing all work-related emails for examination was found to be a legitimate choice. (Powell and Albright, by the way, did not provide any emails for examination, despite official State Department requests.)

    Nor was Clinton guilty of improperly or carelessly disseminating classified emails. Even then-FBI director James Comey was obliged to retract his damning public verdict that Clinton had been “extremely careless” in her email use. Under questioning on 7 July 2016 (prior to the election vote), Comey acknowledged only three of 110 emails he had claimed were classified, out of more than 30,000 work emails provided, “had any kind of markings on them at all which would have alerted the recipient to their classified status. Those three, moreover, were marked (mistakenly, as it later turned out) only ‘internally,’ with tiny letter symbols pertaining to specific sentences within the emails” (Bordo).

    DEMOCRAT MATT CARTWRIGHT: You were asked about marking on a few documents, I have the manual here, marketing national classified security information. And I don’t think you were given a full chance to talk about those three documents with the little ‘c’s on them. Were they properly documented? Were they properly marked according to the manual?

    JAMES COMEY: No.

    CARTWRIGHT: According to the manual, and I ask unanimous consent to enter this into the record, Mr Chairman.

    CHAIRMAN: Without objection so ordered.

    CARTWRIGHT: According to the manual, if you’re going to classify something, there has to be a header to the document, right?

    COMEY: Correct.

    CARTWRIGHT: Was there a header on the three documents that we’ve discussed today that had the little ‘c’ in the text somewhere?

    COMEY: No. There were three emails, the ‘c’ was in the body, in the text, but there was no header on the email or in the text.

    CARTWRIGHT: So if Secretary Clinton really were an expert about what’s classified and what’s not classified and we’re following the manual, the absence of a header would tell her immediately that those three documents were not classified. Am I correct in that?

    COMEY: That would be a reasonable inference.

    Across the presidential campaign, it’s been quantified that there was three times more coverage of Hillary Clinton’s so-called “email scandal” than there was on all her policy statements combined. The real scandal, according to Clinton and Bordo, is the way Hillary Clinton’s email use as Secretary of State was used as a political weapon to scupper her presidential campaign. Eleven days before the election FBI director Comey publicly announced further investigation into Clinton’s emails, even though the emails in question were subject to a wholly unrelated inquiry (into former congressman Anthony Weiner’s misuse of emails) and in the event turned out to be emails already examined months earlier during the closed inquiry into Clinton’s email use.

    It violates protocols for an FBI director to publicly comment on an investigation in process, much less speculate about the possible reopening of a completed investigation where, in Comey’s words, “the FBI cannot yet assess whether or not this material may be significant”.

    But that’s what Comey did. Clinton makes a convincing case for Comey’s announcement on 28 October 2016 being the turning point and deciding factor in an election where, for all her “flaws”, she led as preferred candidate at and up until that moment. She believes that a small cabal of FBI agents in the FBI’s New York office pressured Comey into making public statements that amount to electoral interference. Bordo describes it as a “coup d’état”.

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    Sanders and the Bernie Bros

    In What Happened, Hillary Clinton is relatively restrained in her criticisms of Democrat contender Bernie Sanders’ impact on her campaign’s outcome. At some points her anger shows through. At other points she acknowledges him positively. Her main objection to how Sanders managed his campaign and its aftermath is that he set up ‘stalking horse’ policy positions, positions that were so idealistic, so far towards the left, that there was no chance of being able to deliver them as legislation, but which served to discredit her credentials as a “progressive” and made her own policy positions, which Clinton considers to be on the same continuum but pitched more realistically, appear compromised. She objects to his unwillingness to rein in the online vitriol of his more extreme supporters and to correct mischaracterizations of her activist history and affiliations. She notes he was tardy in publicly supporting her campaign after she was confirmed as the Democrat presidential candidate. She points out that ultimately she lost the presidential vote by a slim margin of voters, and that had some Sanders voters not abstained or voted Green, history may have been different.

    Susan Bordo is not at all restrained. Her chapter ‘Bernie Sanders and the “Millennials”’ is, at 30 pages, the longest chapter in her book The Destruction of Hillary Clinton. She makes many of the same points Hillary does, but much more angrily. Unlike Hillary, she expresses exasperation at younger feminist voters who say they saw Hillary Clinton as an Establishment candidate or that they didn’t see her feminist policies and politics as relevant. Bordo isn’t at her most convincing in this chapter. She comes across as patronizing younger voters, accusing them of ignorance or immaturity.

    The candidate herself is very clear younger voters are the future. She concludes What Happened? with a section titled ‘Resilience’, where in chapters titled ‘Love and Kindness’ and ‘Onward Together’, where she argues the need fervently for common cause. In ‘Onward Together’, she chooses to conclude her book with an account of her May 2017 visit to her college alma mater, Wellesley, where she had been invited to deliver an address to the graduating class, 48 years after she had come to national attention as the first student to deliver an Ivy League college graduation address, an event covered by Life magazine.

    What’s interesting to me, and frankly moving, given how clear it is from previous chapters how personally devastated Hillary Clinton was by her election failure, is that in these concluding pages Clinton chooses not to focus on the speech she delivered to the Wellesley graduating class, but on the speech delivered by the representative of that class, Tala Nashawati:

    “… she compared her classmates to emeralds. ‘Like us, emeralds are valuable, rare, and pretty durable,’ she said. ‘But there’s something else emeralds are known for: their flaws. I know it’s hard to admit, especially as Wellesley students, but we all have a lot of flaws. We are incomplete, scratched up in some places, jagged around the edges.’

    I leaned in, curious. This is not what I had expected to hear.

    ‘Flawed emeralds are sometimes even better than flawless ones’, Tala went on, ‘because the flaws show authenticity and character.’

    There was that word again, authenticity. But she was using it as a balm instead of a bludgeon. Flawed. How often had I heard that word over the past two years. ‘Flawed Hillary.’ But here was Tala defiantly reclaiming the word, insisting on the beauty and strength of imperfection.

    Now her classmates were leaning in, too. They snapped their fingers instead of clapping, as Tala smiled and built to her close.

    ‘In the words of Secretary Clinton, never doubt that you are valuable and powerful and deserving of every chance in the world to pursue your dreams,’ she told the class of 2017. ‘You are rare and unique. Let yourself be flawed. Go proudly and confidently into the world with your blinding hues to show everyone who’s boss and break every glass ceiling that still remains.’

    Now the snaps gave way to cheers. I was among the loudest. I stood and applauded and felt hope and pride rising in my heart. If this was the future, then everything had been worth it.

    Things are going to be hard for a long time. But we are going to be okay. All of us.

    The rain was ending. It was my turn to speak.

    ‘What do we do now?’ I said. There was only one answer: ‘Keep going.’”

    Hillary_Clinton_smile


    4 Comments

    Easter Uprising 2017: on being Christian – a sequel to Buddhist Thoughts at Easter 2014

    Last night, on Good Friday, I spent too much time responding to a meme posted on Facebook that read “Religion makes fools of us all”.

    I was irritated that people feel a need to post atheistic aphorisms on the second most important date in the Christian calendar (after Easter Sunday), and on the Jewish Passover.

    I was also frustrated by the terms of debate. What was meant by “religion”? Did it refer here to religious institutions, or to spiritual beliefs and practices, or to faith? If religious institutions, was it directed primarily at Christianity, or a catch-all statement? If Christianity, did it target traditional Roman Catholic Church dogma? Church abuses? If dogma, did it reflect an accurate understanding of the history and doctrines of church institutions?

    What I found was people who claimed atheist positions decrying what they perceived as church positions. If I, as a Christian, disputed their interpretations of church positions they told me I was wrong, that my understandings of Christianity are faulty.

    I have many faults. Christianity has many faults. The Christian Church has many faults – indeed, Christian churches have many faults. Religious institutions have many faults. Religion generally has many faults. Mea culpa.

    But I cannot let stand attacks against religion that are attacks against straw man positions. Dust in the wind we may be, but straws flying loose in hot wind are ridiculous.

    What I do NOT believe:

    I do not believe in an old white bloke with a long white beard perched On High in a Celestial Firmament.

    I do not believe that said old white bloke stretched out a finger and pronounced LIGHT and then created Earth and the universe in seven days.

    I do not believe that when I die I will ascend to fluffy clouds and play a harp throughout eternity.

    I do not believe that when I die I will descend to a place of fire and brimstone to undergo eternal torment supervised by demons.

    I do not believe I will be bodily resurrected on a day of judgement that will see the apocalypse of John’s Revelations.

    I do not believe I will meet my dead loved ones – or any others dead and departed – in a conscious after-life.

    I do not believe in the laws or prophesies of the Old Testament a.k.a the Hebrew Bible.

    I do not believe the literal truth of the Christian gospels.

    I do not believe everything the apostle Paul taught. I do not believe Paul always taught in accordance with the teachings of Jesus, whom he never met.

    Things I am not sure I believe:

    I’m not sure a man named Jesus (or the Aramaic version of) who lived and died as described in the gospels actually existed.

    If he existed, I’m not sure the accounts of his last days, trial and execution are historically accurate. Scrub that: I’m pretty sure they’re not.

    I’m not sure of the nature of God. Currently I have a concept I embrace, but it’s just that: a concept. Any ‘God’ is beyond human capacity for conceptualisation.

    Here’s what I do believe:

    Religion is valuable, even essential, and spiritual belief and faith are innate in humans.

    Religious belief has brought at least as much good to the world as it has harm.

    All ideologies are subject to corruption and abuse. Secular ideologies have within a short recent period caused immense destruction, comparable to the destructions caused across centuries under the banners of religion.

    Love is what matters most, is ultimately all that matters.

    God is love (my concept, within my limited understanding).

    God is the context, the ground of being. God is cause.

    In first century Judea, a wandering healer who is remembered as Jesus practiced in Galilee.

    His followers believed this man they called Jesus fulfilled the prophesies of Elijah and Isaiah.

    This man they called Jesus, who they wrote about after his death, changed history and changed the way human beings view(ed) their responsibilities to one another.

    I believe people of religious faith have more in common with each other, in terms of their worldviews, than they might with people who don’t understand and relate to religious faith.

    I believe the People of the Book – Jews, Christians, Muslims – are spiritual cousins.

    I believe the foundational teachings of the Buddha, Gautama Siddhartha, are compatible with the foundational teachings of the man we know as Jesus.

    I believe nothing is lost, everything changes.

    I reject any argument that defines a religious faith as a belief in the literal truth of religious texts. That argument attempts to define all religious people as fundamentalist. We are not. Nor are we all members of a church that claims an infallible authority as its earthly head.

    Archaic language taints understanding.

    To “sin” is a medieval archery term meaning “to miss the mark”, “to fall short”.

    To “repent” is to “turn away from”.

    “Mercy” is compassion and forgiveness.

    “The Church” is the people, the followers of Jesus’s teachings. It is not a building or an institution. The term “church’’ originally meant heralds sent out to spread news.

    “Gospel” means “good news”.

    “Saints” originally refers to all followers of Jesus’s teachings, not only those formally designated “saints” by the Roman Catholic Church. Hence, “the communion of saints” – the coming together in companionship and mutual affirmation of those who follow Jesus’s teachings.

    “The kingdom of heaven” is a state of mind, a state of peace, compassion, integrity.

    “For what does your Lord ask of you? To act justly, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God” – Micah 6:8. That’s all there is. (Yes, Micah is a prophet – it’s the laws and prophecies of the Old Testament I reject, not the wisdom teachings.)

    Specifically, in relation to the Easter narrative:

    As I experience faith, religion provides a spiritual source of strength, support and consolation, which I will term ‘Jesus’, which I can access (pray to or find companionship in) in times of brokenness: those times when I feel frailties, failings, inadequacies (“sins”) threaten to overwhelm me and disable me from choosing kind and just attitudes and taking constructive action. This is not secular, a psychological strategy. This is a spiritual practice. The crucifixion is a metanarrative reminding me there are no depths, no despair, I can sink into where Jesus has not gone before me, where Jesus will not meet me, and from which he has not, metaphorically, risen – and with this spiritual guidance, I can ‘rise’ too.

    This is not just me, and not some pathetic, vulnerable “them”. We are all us of broken, in some ways, at some times. There is nothing shameful in being broken. We can heal and grow, though “God”. Our “reborn” self can be a fuller, wiser, kinder self.

    I was not born a miserable worm, a piece of smeared shit the Old Man On High looks down upon and scorns. This is not what “Original Sin” (a term I have never heard used in my church) means to me. In so far as there might be “Original Sin”, it is the recognition that we are not born tabula rasa, a blank slate: we are genetically encoded with specific strengths and vulnerabilities. I embody genetically-programmed weaknesses but they do not define me. I am also in a state of grace, always already loved. In the words of the baptismal service, “We love, because God first loved us.”

    I can celebrate “God” in the world through loving kindness and service. Loving kindness and service are “God” in action, “God” being in the world. We bring forth “God” in the quality of our interactions with others.

    Which brings us to the thorny question of the Trinity, for those who care. The Triune God: Father/Son/Holy Spirit as one being (concept). What if we see the Trinity as a metaphor for inextricable relationship – what Buddhist master Thich Nhat Hanh calls “Interbeing”?

    We make sense of our lives through stories. The religious tradition into which we are born is a metanarrative, framing our own stories, helping us understand and shape our stories. Atheists deride religions as “fairy tales”. It’s true religions intersect with the domain of poetics and metaphor. Are poetics and metaphor not “true”? What about the extraordinary art humans have created to express their religious experiences – visual art, music, architecture, writing? Is the only truth the materialist dogma?

    It’s undeniable religious institutions, religious dogma and religious fervour have caused immense pain and damage over millennia. On the other side of the ledger, if you ask “What has religion ever done for us?” you can get a Life of Brian-esque liturgy: literacy, schools, hospitals, the evolution of social welfare (e.g. through the Minsters); the principles that drove many of the nineteenth-century Progressives (Abolitionist, prison reformers, asylum reformers, attempts at equitable profit-sharing); a social code nominally based on humans’ innate value, including the value of the most marginal (Jesus made a point of hanging out with the most despised and those usually excluded: madmen, foreigners, women, prostitutes, tax collectors, Roman centurions); the primacy of compassion, love, forgiveness… And that’s just the Christian contribution.

    The question I ask of people who post atheist memes is this: “Is it so hard to recognise there are many forms of religious experience and understanding, some of them very sophisticated, some very personal, born of ancient traditions, and they have validity in the lived experiences of their adherents?”


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    After viewing Philippe Mora’s film Monsieur Mayonnaise

    Monsieur Mayonnaise: Philippe Mora’s colour-saturated documentary/memoir/graphic novel/cartoon about how his parents Georges and Mirka survived the Holocaust to introduce European bohemian culture to post-War Melbourne, Australia.

    And how Gunther Morawski became Georges Morand then Mora then Monsieur Mayonnaise then Georges Mora; or, how Gunther Morawski became a Resistance hero, father substitute to Jewish war orphans, people smuggler, and impersonator of Catholic nuns (in company with best mate Marcel Marceau).

    Some of my responses:- with apologies to Philippe Mora and his family for details I’ve recalled wrongly or that should have been included but are not. I hope the Mora family will forgive me for borrowing some of their images and artwork for this blog.

    [SPOILER ALERT: If you plan to see Monsieur Mayonnaise this response might be best read AFTER viewing. On the other hand, it’s the Holocaust – you know how that unfolded. Don’t you?]

    monsieur-mayonnaise-hitler-book-burning

    Artwork by Philippe Mora for his graphic novel Monsieur Mayonnaise

    One morning Leon Zelik left his Paris apartment to buy a newspaper. While he was out, soldiers arrived and took his wife and his three daughters, Mirka, Madeleine and Salome.

    The women were herded onto a train along with 1000 other Jews, mostly women and children. They were terrified. As the train rattled along, Mme Zelik and Mirka, her eldest daughter, peered through the wooden slats of their crate-carriage, strained to identify signage at train stations they passed.

    The mother had had the presence of mind to grab a sheet of paper, a pen and an envelope from their apartment as they were taken. Now, she wrote the names of each train station in sequence. She folded the page into the unstamped envelope, which she addressed to her husband, Leon Zelik, at their street address.

    She directed Mirka to drop the sealed envelope through the crate cracks as the train slowed. Mirka was frightened it would blow back onto the tracks.

    They were disembarked at a massive holding centre. Four days before their contingent were scheduled to be shunted to Auschwitz, guards came and released them. As Mirka looked back towards the camp she saw the other detainees crowded against the fences, the children big-eyed, watching the Zelik family retreat to freedom.

    In later years Mirka said the big eyes in the faces of the doomed children were the genesis of the angel children she painted throughout her life. She said the guilt pained her. Telling this, she cried.

    Someone had found the addressed envelope, stamped it, and mailed it to Leon in Paris. From the list of train stations, Leon worked out the camp where his family were held. He convinced a clothing manufacturer to request that the Zelik women be released on the grounds that the mother was a required worker manufacturing German army uniforms. A lie, but it worked.

    In later years, Mirka thanked that anonymous person who found her mother’s letter, every day, life long.

    Mme Zelik, Mirka, Madeleine and Salome were the only survivors of the Jewish detainees on that transport. I have/had a mental blank on The Mother’s name. Wiki says she’s “Celia (Suzanne)” but in his film Philippe Mora refers to her by what I think must be a Lithuanian petname or diminutive.

    monsieur-mayonnaise-mirka-mora-with-angel-children

    Mirka Mora with angel children

    There’s a sequel: by chance Leon met a French farm worker, a Christian, who offered the Zelik family sanctuary. In his village was a house locked up while its owner was a prisoner of war. The Zeliks spent 2 1/2 years there. The Frenchman’s daughter says her father never questioned that providing sanctuary was the right – the only – thing to do.

    I won’t recount Georges story here. I can’t get his story out of my mind, and have been telling it to almost everyone I meet. But every time I tell it, I cry, and the people I tell it to cry too.

    Suffice to say there’s a 92 y.o man on film who says he became an eminent New York child psychiatrist because Mora and his Resistance colleagues saved his life, because Mora cared, and because he wanted to be like Mora: to save children. Even if it meant dressing up as a nun and trekking Jewish war orphans to the Swiss frontier, a la The Sound of Music. In company with the famous mime Marcel Marceau. (No, even in New York none of this is required of child psychiatrists. This is what French Resistance operative code-name Mora did.)

    monsieur-mayonnaise-georges-mora-philippe-mora

    Georges Mora clips his son Philippe’s hair

    In Philippe Mora’s film he visits a museum memorializing child victims of the Holocaust deported from France (not the famous Holocaust Museum in the States – I googled but could not identify this museum). The interior walls seem to be lit with a low golden glow and have what appear to be timber vertical divides and, less prominent, horizontal divides, so that the walls suggest a panel of spaces for portraits or icons. Many of the spaces are filled by photographs of children who died, with their name and (I think) age. The spaces left empty are ones where no photograph has been located. I believe in this museum there are 6000 framed spaces.

    Aesthetically it’s beautiful. Emotionally, it’s devastating.

    monsieur-mayonnaise-hitler-and-mickey

    Artwork by Philippe Mora for his graphic novel Monsieur Mayonnaise

    My father shocked me today when he asked if pogroms predated Hitler. He seemed to think anti-Semitism started in post-WW1 Germany. I can only think this is cognitive slippage in old age and illness, as Dad, having been a child in the ’30s, went on to be a student of economics, politics and modern history.

    Yet knowledge of modern history is vanishing, replaced by Hollywood distortions (Inglourious Basterds), denial, and a galloping cynicism that buys into conspiracy theories and a belief that everything we’ve been told is propaganda.

    When I was 22, in 1983, I went to an adult education course where my classmates included 3 older women, post-WW2 Jewish refugees. Two spoke with heavy accents and the third, after 35 years in Australia, barely spoke English at all. Her friends explained she rarely ventured outside the Jewish emigre community.

    I asked if they’d encountered anti-Semitism in their early years in Australia.

    “Oh darling,” one woman laughed. “No. People here didn’t know what a Jew WAS.”

    I suppose part of the problem is when we can’t admit our ignorance, and *think* we “know” the stranger.

    Openness to learn is more important than ever. But in a media age, what media do we trust?

    monsieur-mayonnaise-georges-mora

    George Mora. Monsieur Mayonnaise.

    My friend Donna says, “I was married into a Jewish family for 32 years. The matriarch pulled the address labels off of every magazine that came to the house (the goyim see the name and know that is a Jewish household), and no one talked about illnesses or diseases except in very hushed voices (the government takes the weak first)… that was not uncommon in the WWII generation, but they are slowly dying off, and the younger folks have no idea..”

    “George Mora’s” two sons had no idea he was really Gunther Morawitz, German-born, medical student at Leipzig University, native German speaker, until his last years; and no idea why he wouldn’t step into a VW or Mercedes-Benz or use Krupp appliances.

    When I was at school I had teachers who were Holocaust survivors. Exposure to first-hand witnesses is invaluable. We’re losing them.

    Remembering snow (1986)

    Rosa says

    I remember snow

    When I was a girl I lived

    in Siberia

    There was so much snow so

    much

    we skated on a river of ice

    Mrs Cameron

    born Roth

    40,916: tattooed in blue

    teaches art

    forgets

    she remembers.

    Don’t ask.

    But

    Mrs Zabukovec

    gypsy eyes

    teaches German

    born Bulgarian

    she remembers

    being 18

    in Berlin

    being 18

    Russians

    she remembers.

    Don’t.

    She remembers

    long rows of blossoms, white-clustered blossoms

    so white so

    much breaks

    down

     

    remembering snow

    monsieur-mayonnaise-mirka-mora

     

     


    7 Comments

    Good in the world

    Featured image: Screaming Freedom, and Freedom, both by Sina Pourhorayad

    This week British MP Jo Cox was murdered by a man who in court justified his actions by yelling “Death to traitors! Freedom for Britain!”

    Jo Cox was a champion for Yorkshire. She also championed, across her career, children’s health and safety, worldwide, and multicultural immigration to Britain. She campaigned for Britain to stay in the EU and she campaigned for just treatment of asylum seekers. She believed in humanity and a shared planet. She believed “We have far more in common than that which divides us.”

    She died for her beliefs. More particularly, she died in consequence of acting on her beliefs.

    The tragic death of Jo Cox, at age 41, elected to the Mother of Parliaments just one year ago, idealist and career activist, a wife and mother of two young children, has me thinking about good in the world.

    It’s a truism to quote Edmund Burke in this context: “All it takes for Evil to prevail in this world is for enough good men to do nothing. The only thing necessary for the Triumph of Evil is for good men to do nothing.”

    A partner to which might be the verse I quoted to some friends last night, from Julian of Norwich, the famed C14th English anchoress:

    And all shall be well
    And all shall be well
    And all manner of thing shall be exceedingly well.
    He said not ‘Thou shalt not be tempested, thou shalt not be travailed, thou shalt not be diseased’; but he said ‘Thou shalt not be overcome’.

    Usually that line is left out. I think that last line is where truth lives.

    In a church today I heard the challenge activism presents expressed another way. The question was asked, “If this church closed tomorrow, how would that affect this town’s community? Would this church be missed? How would it be remembered?”

    Last night I observed community activism in support of asylum seekers in detention in Melbourne. Richmond Uniting Church made its gallery space, Gallery 314, available for Over The Fence, an exhibition of art by asylum seekers, curated by Uniting Church minister Lisa Stewart. The exhibition is open for two evenings only, as an event within Refugee Week.

    At the opening last night, a former detainee, Mohammad, spoke movingly about the experience of being a young man in indefinite detention. He spoke of the corrosive effects of being confined, restricted in his interactions with the broader community, unable to participate and contribute in the ways he wished. He spoke of the extraordinary moment it was for him the first time an Australian citizen with Anglo heritage spoke that simple word to him: “Welcome!”

    Welcome. Well come. How can it be I’ve never heard the “Well come!” in “Welcome”?

    An advocate on behalf of asylum seekers, representing the Melbourne detention centre visitor program, spoke about her frustration at the questions sometimes put to her by Australians with Anglo heritage who are well-intended and educated and whom she would presume are well-informed.

    She asked, “How can it be these people need to ask these questions? How can it be they don’t know the facts about asylum seekers? How can it be they don’t know we have a detention centre here in Melbourne?”

    I cringed when she voiced this. I consider myself well-intended and in terms of academic qualifications, I had the best education Australia can offer.

    Yet despite a strong sense that detaining people indefinitely is morally – and surely legally? – wrong, I have questions I hesitate to ask, for fear of sounding stupid, for fear of sounding callous. Out of fear I am both ignorant and not nearly as kind as I’d like to believe I can be.

    My questions include, “But if asylum seekers who arrive without papers are not detained, what are the alternatives? How can we verify who these people are? If we can’t verify who they are, how can we determine whether individuals among these arrivals without documentation might pose a threat to our community?”

    Without realizing it, I have to some extent bought into a perception of asylum seekers as to varying degrees sinister.

    There were past and a few present asylum seekers at the art exhibition launch last night.

    This morning when I was telling my brother-in-law about my experience of the exhibition launch, he interrupted me and said, “I get it. Good looking. They were good looking. You’ve used the word ‘good looking’ five times so far.”

    Without realizing it, I have to a large extent bought into the equation ‘good looking=good’. How very shallow of me.

    Yes, the asylum seekers present last night were conspicuously good looking. Also conspicuously ‘normal’, in the sense they looked as eager to please, as motivated, as intelligent, smart, as delightful and frankly delicious as young people generally do to my middle-aged eyes. They looked nervous, too.

    I spoke briefly to one artist, whom I will call Ayesha.

    I said, “I hope you’re proud of yourself. You should be.”

    In response, a flicker of what I can only describe as panic crossed Ayesha’s lovely face. Then she smiled, nervously, tentatively, and lowered her face slightly.

    What did she hear? Did she hear an older Anglo lady say, “I hope you’re proud of yourself. You freeloader. You fraud.”

    God, I hope not.

    ‘Ayesha’ is not ‘just’ a lovely face, and not ‘just’ a refugee. She is not a freeloader and not a fraud. ‘Ayesha’ is a talented and intelligent young woman, a young wife and mother – as Jo Cox was.

    ‘Ayesha’ and her fellow artists exhibiting in Over The Fence want to live. They want to live free in a community that accepts them and allows them opportunity.

    They want to be “well come”.

    I am grateful for the opportunity to meet Ayesha and to see Mohammad and others who have been – or are still – in the detention centre in Melbourne. (What is its name? I heard the acronyms but I don’t know what they stand for. I would ask but I hate disclosing my ignorance.)

    I am grateful to the volunteer detention centre visitors who attended the exhibition opening.

    I am grateful to the activists who spoke and to those who organized this event.

    I am grateful to the young woman employed by the detention centre security company who chose to spend her Saturday evening at this exhibition launch.

    I am grateful for having my eyes opened, even if it took “good looking” young people and heart-rending artwork to clear away some cataracts.

    Most of all, I am grateful to be reminded of goodness in the world. Jo Cox died and unjust detentions continue, but Good (with an uppercase) acts in this world, and I do believe good can prevail.

     


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    Practice Talk (1986)

    He is learning English.

    He likes to practice.

     

    – So tell me what your life is like

    here

    asks the passenger.

    He practices talking.

     

    – My life is very filled

    he says

    his life is full.

     

    He drives this cab: al days

    most hours.

    He studies.

    He works hard and he

    is learning.

    Family?

     

    No family.

    There is no

    since he was 15.

     

    His passenger asks

    – Was it hard?

     

    – getting out?

    he waded down

    a river he swam

    at night: smell

     

    bodies

    bits of bodies

    like bouillabaisse

    and mines

    and he

    did not know how

    or where

    to turn or which direction

    and the delta was a swamp

    clogged with flesh and he trod

    and wished

     

    for moonlight and the sea and

    for his uncle:

    who was dead

    among bodies somewhere

     

    else

    and now

    he is here.

    He is learning.

    Not so hard.

     


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    Remembering Snow (1986)

    Rosa says

    I remember snow

    When I was a girl I lived

    in Siberia

    There was so much snow so

    much

    we skated on a river of ice

    Mrs Cameron

    born Roth

    40,916: tattooed in blue

    teaches art

    forgets

    she remembers.

    Don’t ask.

    But

    Mrs Zabukovec

    gypsy eyes

    teaches German

    born Bulgarian

    she remembers

    being 18

    in Berlin

    being 18

    Russians

    she remembers.

    Don’t.

    She remembers

    long rows of blossoms, white-clustered blossoms

    so white so

    much breaks

    down

     

    remembering snow