All posts by Princess Sparkle
Jill Meagher. I thought my information was inconsequential
It was not an attack, or a near rape or an attempted abduction. Well it certainly didn’t seem like it at the time. Just a nuisance.
In July. I thought nothing of it. I mentioned it to my boyfriend a day or two later in passing. We shrugged. I’m a big girl, I live in the city, I travel alone late at night, these things happen all the time. No biggie. I wasn’t scared.
It was only after the constant calls to report anything, ANYTHING, no matter how small, to Crimestoppers to help Jill Meagher that this little incident began to amplify.
I did not want to seem like a bandwagon jumper, a time waster, an alarmist or a wuss but I called Crimestoppers yesterday morning after yet another tweet urging people to call. I’d discussed the incident to my boyfriend and housemates the night before and they’d encouraged me too.
So the call to Crimestoppers went something like this;
“Look I’m really sorry, this is probably a waste of time and not helpful and I’m sure you’re really busy but they keep saying to report anything that may help find Jill Meagher and something happened to me in July. I was riding home along Sydney Road 1am Sunday morning. I don’t drink so alcohol was not a factor. I was near the corner of Albion Street and Sydney Road. A guy on the footpath said, “Excuse me”. I took one look at him. He seemed slight and non descript but there was something a little menacing about him. Usually blokes at that time of night are loud, pissed, abusive, suggestive or in groups. I kept riding. As I did he walked off the footpath and on to the road and lunged at my bike trying to grab the pack rack/mudguard. I kept riding.”
“What did he look like?” asked Crimestoppers.
“Early thirties, sandy hair, jeans, blue hoodie. Norwegian/Finnish looking. Scandinavian.’
“Any accent?”
“No. Sorry. This is probably no help at all and sorry for wasting your time”
Crimestoppers were appreciative and thanked me for my call.
After I called Crimestoppers I tweeted to others thinking perhaps I could encourage someone out there who like me didn’t want to make a fuss, be accused of making something out of nothing or someone not wanting to feel or appear as a wuss who had useful information to give police a part of the puzzle. I did not think mine was. But one of the main reasons I called was to help awareness and accurate stats.
About 6pm I arrived home and had a look at the footage just released in relation to Jill’s disappearance. In it there was a man who looked like the man who was a nuisance to me weeks before. I was shocked. I was not expecting that at all. Exactly like him.
All I know is the man who hassled me looked just like the man in the CCTV footage and was wearing the same clothes. I do not know for sure if he is the same man. Or if he had anything to do with the disappearance of Jill Meagher.
One of the other reasons I didn’t think to report the nuisance weeks or days before was that I assumed if a woman was taken from the street it would involve a car, being down a lane or involving some heavy looking fellas. Not a lone nondescript guy on the street who looked like an IT guy. Alone and on foot. With the opening line ‘excuse me.’
Like all of us I am deeply disturbed by the disappearance of Jill Meagher. It’s very close to home on many levels. The thing in the report that really resonated is as she left the bar her male work colleague asked if he could walk her home. She said no. Repeatedly.
Which would have been pretty much what I would have said. Actually my response would have been more like, “Fuck off. Walk me home? Like you could protect me. I walk these streets all the time. Thanks sunshine. I grew up in Reservoir. I can look after myself.”
Anyone who wonders why I and people like me did not report it earlier do not realize how much unwanted attention women and girls get all the time. And how often when it is reported it’s dismissed.
Steve Price and Andrew Bolt accused me of being responsible for Jill’s death LISTEN HERE for not reporting the minor nusiance. So I suppose I’ll be in the slammer with this Brunswick woman was threatened by man with uncannily similarities to Jill Meagher’s killer. Twice. She went to the police. No details of the incident were recorded.
This from Bek “How sad that each of us probably has dozens of these unreported incidents (the boy who touched me on the way up the waterside ladder at the local pool, the man who pinched my bottom as I walked between Myer stores in the city, the piano examiner who touched my breast while I played for my piano exam in Year 10, etc, etc…). If all this stopped, we might have less trouble spotting the really dangerous guys.”
If women reported every drunk, creep, loony or fuckwit who hassled them the cops would have to multiply their numbers by a thousand and still be flat out.
I ride all over Melbourne. I never feel scared and I experience unwanted attention from dickheads and creeps in EVERY suburb. I find Brunswick and particularly well-lit busy Sydney road one of the places I deal with the least amount of bullshit.
This morning I was inundated by calls and door knocks from media maggots wanting to ‘make content’ from the disappearance of Jill Meagher. Sickening.
I am happy to help Jill Meagher, her family, Vic Police and trusted associates. I am NOT happy to enable media vultures veiling content as ‘concern’. Mainstream media, particularly tabloids, talk back radio and A Current Affair thrives on the horror, grotesque and sensationalist.
My considerations are these. How can I help? How can I encourage people to speak out? How can I make sure the emphasis stays on the investigation and not on anything else?
Who do I trust to not use this terrible situation to whip up fear, accusations or ratings?
Not you 3AW (Neil Mitchell referred, to Jill as a ‘party girl’ who may have gone partying) Channel Seven, Today Tonight or the Herald Sun.
I spoke to The Age, Chrissie Swann and Jon Faine. Because I trust them.
If you would like to be informed and not emotionally manipulated may I suggest you consume your media from ABC.
What has happened to Jill Meagher is horrible but not common. Keep in mind the most dangerous place for a girl or woman is not on the street late at night but IN HER OWN HOME. She is most likely to be killed or injured by not only by a man she knows but one she is related to.
My tips for women wanting to feel safe. Buy a bike, use main roads and learn self-defence. You cannot rely on ‘a man walking you home’. Nor should you want to. Your city sister. Walk wherever you like.
Women, men and children should be able to walk the street when they want, where they want wearlng whatever they want.
Men are far more likely to cop violence on the street. So why is no one telling them not to walk alone?
Don’t tell me not to walk alone at night. Tell people not to rape and kill.
If like me you thought your information was inconsequential please call Crimestoppers 1800 333 000
Colette sent me this, which explains why we don’t report these frequent occurrences. She generously allowed me to publish it. Thanks Colette.
Hi Catherine,
In the past couple of days I have heard a senior policeman say that women should report incidents to the Police when they happen and it got me thinking about some of the ‘incidents’ that have happened to me over the years. What if all women reported these ‘incidents’ throughout our lives, where would we start and where would we stop.
Should I start with my grade 2 school excursion where the boys pulled me into their compartment, blocked the door, tossed me from side to side of the compartment, pulled my dress up and pulled my pants down till I screamed and cried enough for them to let me go. I didn’t tell anyone about that.
What about when I was about 10 years old and out riding my bike with my friend, you know back when it was safe to let your kids go off and ride their bikes all day. There we were riding along the footpath and when crossing over a creek a guy called out and we looked down and saw him lying on the creek bank with his pants down and masturbating… “Come over” he said… we didn’t tell anyone about that.
What about when I was 15 and working Saturday mornings in a supermarket and the boss would trap me in the bench seat of the break room and rub his hands up and down my legs. I told my workmate about that and she said he did it to her too.
What about when this same boss would get me in a big bear hug so that his arm went all the way around my body and his hand cupped my breast, yes I was not alone there either.
What about when a male teacher threw a girl against the door of the classroom breaking the window in the door… good catholic girls school, I’m pretty sure our principal (Sister Patricia) was told about that but he was still there when I left 3 years later.
What about when I went on holidays with 2 girlfriends at the age of 18 and we were lying in the botanic gardens in Adelaide reading books and a man came up and lay down on his side facing us and started masturbating… oh actually we did report that one. We were at the beach in Glenelg the following day and we saw him and so we went to the Police Station and told them and they laughed at us.
What about when I was travelling at the age of 21 through Europe with a girlfriend. We were on a night train and she got up to go to the toilet and I saw a man follow her down the train carriageway so I got up to see if she was all right. She wasn’t alright, this man had my friend pinned up against the wall of the train with his hand at her throat and my appearance and yelling at him sent him running back along the passage. We didn’t tell anyone about that.
I can’t imagine being taken seriously if I had reported any of these ‘incidences’, and that is part of the problem, it should all be taken seriously because it is all serious and disturbing and heartbreaking terribly terribly common.
Crimestoppers 1800 333 000
Cunt. It’s an intelligence test
Cunt is a homophone. Like rose and rose, root and root, tacky and tacky and tender and tender.
Language changes.
Hilary has one. Trump is one. Got it? Good.
It’s just a word. Like cabbage, carrot or faggot. And you all know it. Stop being uptight white honky offence sniffer pigs in an attempt to look virtuous. It just makes you look dumb, boring and pedestrian.
Great people do things, average people talk about doing things and small people find fault with things others are doing.
Stop acting like cunts and trying to getting your little moment on the attention sun lounge by something other than pointing and telling the teacher that ‘(insert name of person who threatens you because they refuse to massage your prejudices here) used a rude word.’
What are you? The word police?
You’re as bad as Cory Bernardi. You heard me.
I am so bored by this ‘I find your use of the word cunt offensive’ well fine. Fuck off and sit at the kid’s table.
Or ‘cunts are beautiful’. No they aren’t and they don’t have to be.
Or ‘cunts are beautiful. Not like men’s thingies they’re disgusting.’ Really? WOW! Double standards. I happen to think cocks are gorgeous.
Worse still are the cunt agnostics. The ‘c bomb’ people. “Whoah! That Catherine Deveny sure like’s the ‘c bomb’. What are you trying to do? Half say it? Grow the fuck up.
Leadbeater’s Possum. YOU. ME. CARPARK. NOW! From Melbourne Zoo Debate
Last night I did a Comedy Debate to celebrate the 150th birthday of Melbourne Zoo
To be honest I wasn’t thrilled to get the Leadbeater’s Possum.
I thought to myself, “How the hell is Melbourne’s noisiest atheist going to convince a bunch of inner city, latte drinking, Monthly reading, sarong wearing, ’let’s go out to a debate on a Wednesday night for a bit of culture’ audience to vote for a rat that eats their passionfruit, pees on their wisteria and makes sexy noises in their roof when they are trying to sleep to get a spot on some imaginary arc?”
At least I could comfort myself by with the knowledge at least I didn’t get the Baw Baw frog. Which is what Rusty Berther did. Now he’s not just scared and weird but spewing heaps.
In the spirit of full disclosure I must tell you I am related to such a marsupial. I have a possum cousin. Well his real name is Glenn but we call him Possum because he eats roots and leaves. He’s not a Leadbeater’s possum. More a panel beater’s possum.
So why should the Leadbeater’s possum get a spot on the arc?
Look I could say,
1. The Leadbeater’s possums’ extinction is so inevitable the top scientific authority on the endangered marsupial David Lindenmayer recently quit from a team trying to save it, in protest over forestry policies that will guarantee the animal’s extinction.
2. The Leadbeater’s possum is so endangered there are only 100 of them left. You know Ted Baillieu? Close the Tafes, open more jails, I hate poor people Ted Baillieu? Not only does Ted Baillieu hate poor people, but he also clearly hates Leadbeater’s possums by allowing the logging of Toolangi state forest, the last remaining habitat of the Leadbeater’s possum.
3. They also go by the common name of fairy possum. ‘Marriage is a mistake everyone has the right to make’ AM I RIGHT?
4. The Leadbeater’s possum is Victoria’s animal emblem.
Which are all adequate reasons why this little creature should be saved a spot on the arc. But the Leadbeater’s possum should not only get a spot on the arc but the first spot.
Why?
The possum lives in a matriarchal society.
The male and female bond after they have first given each other a 69.
They are highly energetic, aggressive, territorial and constantly fight with their neighbors.
They sleep for six months a year and when they wake they are incredibly promiscuous, between punch-ups and eating they have children as early as possible.
The Leadbeater’s Possum is the animal equivalent of the Collingwood Supporter.
That’s right. The unfairly maligned, badly treated butt of all Victorian jokes. I am not a Collingwood supporter but not only do my siblings go for the Pies, so too does my partner making me a sexually transmitted Collingwood supporter.
The Leadbeater’s Possum will chase humans away if they come near their territory. They have no concept of fear. That’s right. NO FEAR.
Collingwood Supporters have No Fear Stickers on their cars.
Leadbeater’s Possums live on Mountain Ash, Alpine Ash and Shining Gum.
Collingwood Supporters also live on fags and chewies.
Like Collingwood supporters, the Leadbeater’s natural enemies are Hawks, Cats, Eagles, and Bulldogs.
The senior female is the main defender: she is more active in expelling outsiders, and attacks her daughters when they reach sexual maturity, forcing them to disperse earlier than male children. Which proves Kath Pettingill and Judy Moran are both Collingwood Supporters.
The Leadbeater’s Possum is not only so endangered it’s probably lost half it’s population since tonight’s debate began it represents all oppressed minorities brave enough to live a sexy, passionate, vibrant life despite ‘social convention’ or in the case of Collingwood supporters ‘intervention orders’.
Look, I can’t force you to give the Leadbeater’s Possum a place on the arc. But what I will say is if they do get left behind don’t blame me if Chopper Read rocks up to your joint. Not only does he barrack for Collingwood but he really likes Leadbeaters possums. Or perhaps he’s just wants to stay in their good books.
No I Am Not Okay – Alex
One of the brilliant pieces written by students from The Monthly Masterclass
At 8:30am this morning I sat down with Catherine Pham the acting manager of The Melbourne Clinic “Outreach Program” in Richmond.
Struggling to meet her fixed gaze, I nod robotically while she gives me her diagnosis:
“It seems to me that the future is looking fairly bleak to you right now Alex. From the little time I’ve known you it’s become apparent that there are many different pieces to your personality that you’re not quite sure how to put together…but I think you already know this.”
I keep nodding. I already know this.
“There’s a child in you that’s hiding away scared, that is afraid to fail. That craves nurture, care and shelter. But the adult Alex is ready to throw caution to the wind and start working towards your goals as a journalist. There’s a part of you who’s is trying to take care of everyone who is around you and a bigger part of you who knows you’re barely taking care of yourself. I imagine it feels a little bit shitty Alex, trying to put all these pieces together?”
I don’t answer for a few moments. Not usually one who’s short on words I do my best to decide and to vocalise how ‘this feels…’
“Yeah,” I begin, faltering. I clear my throat and start again.
“It just feels fucking frightening…” I hear myself say.
The Melbourne Clinic runs a program called “Outreach” which has been set up for patients who have recently been discharged from an in-patient facility. The idea is that inside the safe and secure compounds of the Melbourne Clinic, the “mentally ill,” (or the old, the drug and alcohol dependent or disordered) individual is able to seek daily one-on-one care from a dedicated team of psychiatrists, psychologists, social workers and in my case, nutritionists.
When one has completed their forty day stay, walking through those front doors feels like diving deep into a dark and wondrous unknown.
This is where Outreach steps in. “The Outreach program provides support and assistance at the recommendation of your treating doctor,” says the brochure I’m gripping in my shaking hand.
This morning my fractured and fragmented self is sitting in front of Catherine Phem. I am hunched over and curled into myself like a scared infant, being “assessed”.
It feels a little bit like a psych session and a little bit like speed dating. Catherine is helping me find my best suited “Outreach Support Worker.” Another attachment to my expanding support network which assists to shift things from “fucking frightening” to “a little bit shitty”.
Catherine has thick square glasses and a mop of dark hair that she periodically runs her hand through. She is sitting facing me, knees crossed, a Chanel scarf wrapped nonchalant around her neck. Her fixed stare, professional attire and thoughtful insight stop my mind wondering too far away and my eyes from resting on the floor.
“I imagine it’s very frightening Alex…not only are you trying to figure yourself out, but you’re searching for an outlet for all those emotions the eating disorder once provided. Our aim is to help you direct those emotions in a more positive and fulfilling way.
But you know these new ways are not going to provide the instant gratification that your old coping mechanisms once did. Drug use, alcohol abuse, binging, purging, risk taking and breaking the law are a great way to feel whole for a little while. But I’m guessing you were feeling pretty empty the day you decided to self-admit…Am I right?”
“I still feel empty,” I reply.
“I feel hollow and numb and scared.”
But even this feels better than how it felt fifty two days ago when I first dragged my tired, skinny self through to reception at the Melbourne Clinic.
“What scares you the most Alex?” Catherine gently inquires.
I don’t have to think too hard about this one…
“Fucking it all up again.” I reply straight away.
I think back to two days before when I sat with my hands cuffed behind me, sobbing and shaking in the back of a divvy van. On my way to the Fitzroy police station to be punished again for acting out on those “quick gratification” behaviours.
“At least you didn’t end up binging that day.” Had been the retort from my psychiatrist after I’d finished fessing up in my session the following evening.
“Granted, you did ride your bike half way across Melbourne, minimize on your meal plan and get done for shop theft, but at least there’s still been no purging.”
52 days.
“You should congratulate yourself for that.”
Back in the room with Catherine I find some words to put to these fears.
“I just feel like I’m incredibly vulnerable right now. I feel like there’s not much pushing me towards what seems like an invisible finish line and I feel like one more false move and I’ll spiral completely out of control again.”
Catherine nods encouragingly. She has seen hundreds like me before. All or nothing, black and white thinkers who succeed, succeed and succeed until one too many bumps in the road leads to complete derailment.
I nearly got there under the gentle eye of Constable Mitchells as I cowered in the corner of the Fitzroy interview room on Tuesday night. But following the questioning, the finger printing and the anxiety evoked shaking fits I dome how got back up on my bike…quite literally.
At 7pm while I was supposed to be attending my first “post hospitalisation-binge-eating-information-evening” I was tearily making my way through the dark, back to the surrogate family who have opened their home to me for a short while.
Trying to out ride the shame, guilt and fear my latest “fuck up” had conjured I was “car doored” on the way home.
The unseeing driver had nearly thrown me off my bike and I’d just kept riding.
“Fuck you!” I screamed either at him or to myself.
You’re a fucking disgrace, the voice in my head yells back. “Why must you keep on making it so much harder than it has to be?”
But at least I hadn’t purged that day.
“I’ve sat in on a few of your ward rounds Alex and I know the demi-circle of professionals sitting around telling you what to do with yourself can be an intimidating environment. But I don’t think you’re one who is very easily intimidated. That’s why I’m thinking of assigning Ainslee as you’re “Outreach worker”. She’s going to be able to give you the push that I think you want.”
I’m nodding again.
“Just so I have something to pass on to Ainslee, can you tell me some things you like to do?”
“Besides eating, getting high and exercising?” I mumble, using that familiar defence of sarcasm to deflect from what I’m really thinking. Which is that I haven’t had time to enjoy too much else for the past few years…
“Ummm reading, writing, climbing, feeding my brain, I dunno, I like sitting in cafes for long periods of time and I like taking trips away from myself somewhere in the outdoors.”
“That’s a good start,” says Catherine. “Now I’m aware that you’ve got a writing class to attend so I won’t take up much more of your time. We just have to do a risk assessment which I’m sure you’ve done before.”
I have.
Catherine contrives from my “yes” “no” “yes” “no” answers to her (insert dangerous behaviour) questions that I’m not about to do myself or anyone else any harm and she stands up to open the door.
“You’ll be hearing from Ainslee in the next few days,” she says signalling it’s time to go.
I return her smile and make my way back outside the safe walls of the Clinic.
Outside in the sunshine, “Adult Alex” slings her back pack over her shoulder, fastens her helmet to her head and sets off to meet another Catherine.
“Today I’m doing something productive,” I almost smile.
This is how it feels to be only just ok.
Here is Alex’s email. She’d love your feedback alwix@hotmail.com
The Good Enough Parenting Story – Jenny Lines
I should have known how it would be. When she was two she and her sister spent the night at a friend’s place up the road. The next morning I could hear her all the way down the hill. As she burst though the back door she was crying with rage and loss ‘Daddy wouldn’t let me to stay longer’
At just 20 years old she left without a backward glance laden with all she would need for a year in Mexico. As if we had any idea and that was just about the material bits and pieces.
The next 36 hours were full of self-recrimination. ‘Why didn’t I tell her…I forgot to tell her…What if she..?
What if I…? What if they…?’
The previous 20 years of feeling good about good enough parenting dissipated under the weight of all the what ifs.
She was to arrive at Mexico City airport at midnight – the witching hour. What if Juan the taxi driver failed to materialise? And who was Juan anyway? A contact of the Student Travel guy who was to be rung, who was to appear and carry her off to the backpackers (coven?) returning her to the bus station the next morning for the final journey north.
I slept with the mobile thinking of my own mother who had no such luxury when I left without a backward glance all those years ago. But when the call came in the wee hours I did wonder if it wasn’t better not to know.
‘They’ve lost my luggage and I don’t know what to do’ click-silence-ring back-silence. Her sister rings ‘did you get the call?’ ‘Yes’ – ring back- silence. There was nothing to be done. Surely my good enough parenting would prevail and maybe Juan would help. I slept uneasily.
Another 24 hours went by. (not as long as the month my mother waited to hear from me, trekking in Nepal.) At last an email. It had been an epic journey but she made it through an unscheduled stop in Hawaii for a sick child, the lost luggage crisis and a blood nose on the bus. The connecting flight was achieved, the luggage found (Juan did help) and a nice lady had tissues for her blood nose.
But it wasn’t so much this that gave me heart as the story of being driven through the prostitutes’ barrio ‘so interesting mum’ with the women laughing and chatting round glowing braziers. I was impressed that she’d negotiated the travel ‘crises’ but more impressed by her ability to remain curious and non-judgemental about her new world.
And this ’embrace all adventures’ attitude continued through a year that was so long for me and in the end so short-seeming for her.
I missed her and I relished every communication. Many made me weep with laughter. Many involved thoughtful commentary on her new place and people.
I discovered in her a kind of exuberant innocence which kept her safe even in the so-called Badlands of Mexico. Even being bitten by a scorpion made for a great story. ‘When the taxi driver heard I’d been bitten he did a screaming uturn and took me to the local hospital which was amazing. They didn’t even have computers and they laughed at me for my short non-Mexican name.’
There was one very urgent text though. ‘How does one roast a potato?’ I replied suggesting it might be good to roast more then one potato at once but I began to think that if this was all that was being asked of me then maybe the good enough parenting had worked.
What does a good enough mother hope for her child? I think the writer, Katherine Patterson captures it for me. ‘There are only two things we can give our children. One of them is roots. The other is wings’
Community Food Centres. Prevention via Connection by Jennifer Alden
One of the brilliant pieces written by students from The Monthly Masterclass
Who would have thought that in the new millenium all things to do with food would become cool? Growing, preparing, sharing and writing about it. Plus a new generation of foodenistas have welcomed a lifestyle with a lighter footprint. However, beyond the modern, youthful and emblematic ‘Eco-frugalist’ way of life there lies a deeper concern. One yearning for connection, sustenance and wellbeing, driven by a deep conviction that a changing climate will see an end to much that a consumerist society takes for granted.
While this social evolution has captured the imagination of a growing section of our community, new opportunities are needed for those less well resourced, those experiencing some sort of disadvantage, to tap into this food-focused revolution. Turning the tide of modern day physical and mental maladies, we are increasingly discovering, requires tools. These tools for change are present in our communities and are available to everyone.
They take the form of unused infrastructure in places such as community and neighbourhood houses and churches. These spaces are steadily becoming repurposed as Community Food Centres, with great examples such as The Stop in Canada, recreating community through the power of food.
Possibilities for community activity abound where there is space to establish a garden for the community to grow food, sell it at a market, swap it, collect and swap seeds, create a compost or raise chickens. It involves better use of kitchens where food rescue groups can redistribute fresh food and people can come together to learn to cook, preserve and share it around a communal table. And language is no barrier when it comes to food. Its a place where everyone has a right to a place at the table.
Its a place where kids can spend time after school in the garden or kitchen and those with spare hours, but not spare cash can connect, learn, be inspired, find services, and make friends. Social enterprise also has a home in a location where inspiration and hope drive creative ways to learn and earn through food.
A Community Food Centre can be the greatest investment in preventative medicine a government, large or small, can make. All it needs is some enthusiasm for new possibilities, collaboration, an available location and the kick start of funding. These food hubs for healthy eating can become a source of community pride, an example for planners, and part of the fabric of a more resilient and equitable society, one where prevention of illness and the driver for wellbeing occurs via community connection.
Check out Jennifer Alden at www.healthbrokers.com.au
An Open Letter to Tony Abbott from 17yo Cameron Petrie
I received an email from a school student yesterday, 17yo Cameron, who asked me to look at a letter he had written to Tony Abbott. I asked him if he minded me publishing it on my site. What an informed and engaged young fella! Australia’s looking good…..
Dear Mr Abbott,
Seeing as an election is but a year away, I wanted to ask you these questions that, frankly, have not been answered by any of the Coalition parties. All I see from the Coalition day to day is an attack on Labor, rather than actual policy. Because of this policy gulf, I am here writing a letter, as a member of the younger generation that will inherit the nation as it is created today. The best way to sum up my sentiments right now is through the words of Paul Keating. I am worried about “our ability to say to ourselves and the rest of the world that Australia is a first rate social democracy, that we are what we should be – truly the land of the fair go and the better chance.”
One of the issues that is closest to my heart is the plight of many institutions of higher education in my home state of Victoria, under the Coalition government being led by Ted Baillieu. The cuts to these TAFEs, $1.2 billion to be exact, was then spun in an advertisement, featured in a variety of local newspapers, as the Coalition spending “an extra $1.2 billion for the skills Victoria needs”. Will cuts to education be a part of Coalition policy in government? Will such about faced lying to the public be a part of the government you lead, if elected?
In Queensland, many things have happened which make me deeply nervous about the potential actions of a federal Coalition government. In the Student Union elections at the University of Queensland, the group “Fresh”, which is dominated mostly by students from the Young Liberals, decided it would help their cause if they were to change the name of the opposition group “Pulse”, start a new group called “Pulse” and then fill it with their buddies. The actual students from “Pulse” did not know about this until two days after applications closed, so now the two main choices in the UQ elections are “Fresh” and a group that is, for all intents and purposes, “Fresh” in a new garb.
I know that, within the federal superstructure of Australia, our electoral process is vastly different but, under a government that you lead, will such electoral fraud play a part? Who will lead the “Labor” party? Joe Hockey? Sophie Mirabella? Peter Dutton?
Another event in Queensland that disturbed me greatly was the remark by the LNP premier that “we (the LNP government) get the pooper scooper out every day of the week”, referring to the need to sack public servants in Queensland; 4500 pieces of poo are already gone, and another 15,500 are tipped to go. Will a federal Coalition government liken public servants to pieces of human excrement? Will they treat these hard working people, the backbone of our government, like faeces on the bottom of a boot?
The “free and sceptical” media is referred to by the person whose government you want to emulate, John Howard, as “one of the great pillars of Australian democracy.” (Logies 2011 Award Ceremony) After this remark, could you please explain to me why an individual that is deeply woven into the fabric of the Liberal party, Grahame Morris, called Leigh Sales a “cow” in response to an interview between yourself and Leigh that, in my eyes, tested you slightly? Will this be the reaction of the Liberal Party or their high-up cadres when someone tries to get the truth out of the Liberal Party? Will insults towards people that disagree with you be a feature of the government that you lead?
I am sure that you, like most Australians and myself, have the memory of the massacre in Norway by the far right wing Anders Behring Breivik deeply etched in your mind as a dark chapter in human history. To take an extract from The Age that left a lasting mark on me “Breivik’s bullets went through eyes and took sight, they destroyed arms and legs that had to be amputated, they ripped through brains and mouths and breasts and scrotums”. On the Internet, I found a copy of his compendium, his manifesto that led to the killing of 77 innocent people, most of whom were unarmed teenagers. In it, he writes “One of the intelligent ones comes from Australia… They have taken serious steps towards actually enforcing their own borders, despite the predictable outcries from various NGOs and anti-racists, and Prime Minister John Howard has repeatedly proven to be one of the most sensible leaders in the Western world”. (2083 – A Declaration of European Independence) Using one of my favourite intellectual tools, antithesis, can it be deduced from this passage that the government of John Howard was inherently racist in its dealing toward refugees and other racial minorities? As you have said that you will recreate “Howard’s golden age”, is it your intention to become “one of the most sensible leaders in the Western world?” Will it be the intention of your government to achieve similar outcomes?
Over the past two years I have noticed policies being floated by Liberal governments around Australia that are anything but Liberal. Liberty, according to the French Declaration of the Rights of the Man and of the Citizen, considered the document upon which many contemporary political ideas were founded, states that “Liberty consists in the freedom to do that which injures no one else”. Is it Tony Abbott’s idea of liberty that a Victorian can be fined when they swear? Is it Tony Abbot’s idea of liberty that two people who are in a loving, committed relationship cannot get married on the basis of their sexuality? Can you please explain to me what lasting effect these two ‘social dangers’ will have on individuals and society more broadly?
I am sure that you will be able to recall your interview with John Faine on Tuesday the 14th of August, where you were corrected in your calling of asylum seeker boats “illegal”. As I am sure you are aware, being a long standing member of the highest law making body in the country, seeking asylum is not illegal, no matter how you arrive, according to both our domestic law in the Migration Act and according to International Law, encompassing the 1951 Refugee Convention and all subsequent laws and treaties. Were you either:
a) Trying to mislead the Australian people, or…
b) Completely unaware of what is illegal and what is legal under a critical piece of Australian law?
Lastly, I am sure that you remember your interview on the 7.30 Report with Leigh Sales. In it, you state that you had not read the report from Marius Kloppers, the CEO of BHP Billiton, in regard to why the Olympic Dam project had been indefinitely put on hold. Later, in question time, you accused Prime Minister Gillard of falsely claiming you hadn’t read the statement. Again, which is true?
a) You did read the report before the show, but decided to disregard the contents because they did not fit with you political agenda, or…
b) You did not read the report, were ignorant before appearing on the 7.30 Report that was about the decisions made in regard to Olympic Dam and then tried to make assumptions, all the while trying, as usual, to tear down the government.
Are you capable of telling the truth to the Parliament, the highest democratically elected body in the land, the “free and sceptical media”, the “great pillar of Australian democracy” and to the Australian people more broadly, from whom you are seeking you mandate?
These are all the questions I would like to put to you. Many of the questions contained within this letter are, I think, of utmost importance to the future of Australia. I hope you can find the time to answer them both for me and for the Australian people.
Thank you very much for reading my letter,
Cameron Stuart Petrie
Am I Not Chinese Enough? – Biheng Zhang
Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer
I’ve wanted to say this out loud for some time now. It’s a small gripe that I have, a bee in my bonnet, I suppose. On a scale between zero and starvation in war-torn countries, it’s probably a four. But here it is: I hate being reminded that I’m Chinese. Don’t take this the wrong way – I am actually very proud of my heritage and history and will happily share a moon cake with you for the Moon Festival. If you’re into salted eggs in your sweets, that is. But rather, more accurately, I hate being reminded I’m Chinese by strangers when I’m buying milk or answering the phone or waiting for the tram.
I grew up in the inner northern suburbs of Melbourne in the 90s. I went to Northcote High School before the Government injected a whole lot of money at it, a time when kids got chucked out for dealing on the oval and portable classrooms were occasionally torched overnight. You were proud if you came from Rezza and everyone spoke a little wog, if only to hurl the occasional ‘malaka’ at the teacher, who was Greek anyway. A lot of the kids’ accents had a hint of Nick Giannopoulos, including the Asians, but only the dedicated few could pull off the eloquence of Effie. Roll call took fifteen minutes every time we had a new teacher.
It’s fair to say that for the most part, growing up in my bit of Melbourne, hanging out after school at Norflandz (that’s Northland Shopping Centre for those who aren’t in the know) and going to my mate’s place the day before Orthodox Easter to find a whole lamb carcass in the backyard, we all felt kind of normal. Which is why, for a long time, it puzzled me when my name or appearance would become a topic of conversation.
As a uni student, I worked at Myer in the city. I was a salesperson in the Christmas shop, which basically meant that for three months of the year straight I had glitter permanently lodged in my hair, nostrils and ears and I still get a nervous twitch from hearing Jingle Bells being played on loop. It also meant that at least once a day I was being asked, ‘So, where are you from?’ by curious but well-meaning customers who saw me and my name badge as a conversation starter. ‘I’m from Brunswick,’ I’d usually respond. ‘Just a few k’s north from here,’ I’d add, if I thought they weren’t from Melbourne. If they persisted to ask where I was really from, I’d clarify that it’s technically Brunswick West. 3055. Occasionally, just for fun, I would tell them Womenswear, level 3. You know, for the other nine months of the year.
I still remember joining the 5th Northcote Scouts at the age of 10 and being assured by our leader Akela (think The Jungle Book) that when it came to reciting the Scout Promise and we reached the line, ‘To do my duty to my God’ that I should focus on the word ‘my’ before God. She wanted me to know that the pledge could be as easily for Buddha if I wanted. I didn’t know, then, what the word was for atheist so I think I just nodded and wondered why all the other kids didn’t get pulled aside. I know, I know, how the heck did I find myself in Scouts? Best to save that one for another day.
And, of course, I’m often reminded that my name is different, unusual, noice (in a voice not unlike Kath and Kim’s). Actually, it’s just Chinese. If you want unusual, talk to Jamie Oliver’s kids. I have to admit, though, my name can be pretty cool, especially if I decide to become the next Cher or Madonna, minus the talent. As it stands, I can claim the twitter user name @biheng and a blog domain biheng.blogspot.com. I dare you to take a stab at my email address.
I’m not writing this to humiliate, accuse or mock anyone (ok, maybe there’s a little bit of gentle mocking). It’s important to acknowledge that a lot of these comments that I’ve encountered over the years have come from a good place. It’s never hatred or abuse or even judgement. Quite often, what I see is a genuine desire to connect and sometimes, even an extension of friendship. I have no ill feeling for anyone who simply wants a chat. But seriously, just let me buy my milk without having to tell my life story.
Unaccompanied Minors By Chris Fotinopoulos
One of the brilliant pieces written by students from The Monthly Masterclass
There is a little known religious practice primarily associated with the Greek Orthodox faith that has a parent placing their child in the spiritual care of a stranger. This is at least how I understood it when I first witnessed a mother purposefully making her way with her baby in her arms to the front section of the church that I attended with my mother, grandmother and sister as a child.
I remember the woman placing her child at the foot of an icon and walking away. As a large section of the congregation stepped forward to attend to the child, I turned to my mother and asked how anyone, let alone a mother, turn her back on a baby? She explained that the baby had not been abandoned – its mother had simply dedicated her child to God in return for her answered prayer.
My mother added that the person who picks up the child accepts to be its godparent, thus taking the responsibility for its spiritual upbringing, especially in the absence of its parents. “But they are a complete stranger” I whispered to my mum, to which she responded that no member of a close community is a stranger. She assured me that the child would be safe no matter who got to it first. She went on to explain that it is not so much the individual who reaches the child but the community that they belong to that provides the spiritual support that all children need and deserve.
Sadly there are many children who are, for whatever reason, left in the care of strangers. The unaccompanied refugee child who arrives on our shores seeking asylum is, in a way, similar to the child who is left at the foot of an icon. The child’s parents or kin look to us for support, but all they seem to receive is indifference and cynicism.
Our community does not surge forward to embrace the unaccompanied minor. Instead it turns its back, accusing strange people from afar of offloading their children on us. We shut our eyes to the prison cell like detention facilities that unaccompanied minors are place in, happy to leave them in the care of government officials, private security firms, and the few who have the decency to hold out a helping hand.
A compassionate community does not stand back and expect the good few to provide the spiritual support that all children deserve — it offers its hand. I remember my grandmother telling me that a strong and decent community functions as one hand, and it is primarily for this reason that I am saddened to see the country that once held out its hand to my grandmother and the many post-warmigrants like her, threaten to push away our newest, youngest and most desperate arrivals.
The ‘unaccompanied minor’ epitomizes all children who are in need of refuge and spiritual care. A strong and compassionate community orientates its heart towards them, holding out its firm, warm and reassuring hand. This is the measure of a true community and indeed the moral standard by which all communities ought to be judged.