Completely Unnecessary

To the collective “???” of nearly everyone I know, I went to Bendigo on Tuesday. I felt like getting out of town, and thought a two-hour train ride each way would actually make me get some reading done. I was correct about the reading, managing to plow through Fowler’s Language in the News. Hurrah

I definitely wore the wrong shoes, though. My flip flops are worn almost completely through, and I regretted my decision to wear them almost immediately. And certainly after starting a 7k walk, which yielded two fun, new calluses on the balls of my feet.

That’s not the terror, though.

I walked up to White Hills Cemetery, which dates from the time of the gold fields (1850s). It’s famous for having one of the oldest Chinese cemeteries in Australia, etc, etc.

Now, I’m confusing because I love cemeteries almost as much as I hate dead bodies. Or, should I say, I love well-kept cemeteries.

The first gravesite I approached had a low structure built on top of it. Sort of a curb built around the grave, filled in with gravel. Except that the gravel looked as though someone had been digging it out - or, more horrifically, pushing it out as they escaped from their tomb.

Unsettled, I moved along, being careful not to stop for too long due to the multitudes of incredibly large and (it being Australia and all) probably poisonous ants. They were using one of the mounded graves in the Chinese section as their hill. It was unpleasant.

I’d say one out of every five graves I passed was in a state of serious, vaguely terrifying disrepair.

And I don’t mean the gravestones were bleached - I’m talking about the ground caving in, spider-filled holes looking directly into graves, mounds that have still not settled despite the 150 years since their digging, twisted wrought iron fencing (undoubtedly wrenched apart by the zombie army my overactive imagination increasingly expected to find behind the next headstone).

The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and I was scared out of my tiny mind. But I kept moving, willing the part of me that is still somewhat afraid of Skeletor to bravery.

And then I heard a man’s voice near me say, ‘Heeeelllloooo.’ I turned around 360 degrees and there was no one in this godforsaken cemetery.

I nearly wet myself.

Turns out, it was a motorcycle revving in the distance. But I spent the 20 seconds before it revved again wheeling like a terrified pony.

I can honestly say it’s probably the most scared I’ve been since I talked my aunt into letting me watch Ghostbusters the first time it was shown on TV, maybe 1987. (She learned her lesson when I woke up crying at 2am and had to be retrieved by my mother.) That, or that time I made Jessica sleep over after I watched The Ring.

I hightailed it to the edges of the cemetery, where I found some rather attractive broken headstones. They were, no doubt, shattered as the zombie army marched on its nightly raid, but they were far less terrifying.

And then I got to walk back to town on my painful, forming calluses. I had a glass of wine at the first pub I found and read some Fowler.

My will to sightsee was a bit shot at that point (and hurty), but I dragged myself around Bendigo’s other tourist attractions - Golden Dragon museum (check), lookout tower in the park (check), corner with the four churches (check), Shamrock Hotel (and another glass of wine, check).

All done in time to make the 6:40 train back to Melbourne. I read more Fowler and tried not to watch a man picking his nose for what seemed an audacious length of time.

All in all - a great trip!

Update: I put my Bendigo pics up on Flickr. Waiting for the new Gallery feature on WP 2.5 before I upload them here.

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The other day, the Herald Sun ran a story about Connex’s idea to take out some of the seats on Melbourne’s trains to cram in more commuters. Luckily, that isn’t the point.

The headline they ran with the story read:

Train plan a ‘third world’ joke

Alright. That’s a terrible headline, for a whole host of reasons. I think we can all be angry at the official that unfavorably labeled a plan to put more Melburnian commuters on our trains as ‘Third World.’ I can think of a myriad of reasons why that’s offensive.

Not the least of which is that no one appears to have said it.

Ted Baillieu, leader of the opposition, is credited with the ‘joke’ comment, but no one in the article is quoted as using the words ‘third’ and ‘world’ at all.

The question then becomes whether the Herald Sun is using an unattributed quote or one they just completely made up.

For bonus points, they use the ‘quote’ in the lede as well.

Largest circulation in Australia…

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Sometimes people ask me why I’ve had so much… erm, trouble… with Australian men. Tonight I learned it’s because they start them so incredibly young.

I was at a cheerful party tonight, when we realized that some of the guests were both a) uninvited and b) well under legal age. Two boys, both about sixteen, had infiltrated our highly mature get together. I was wearing lycra biking pants, which is how you know maturity was the standard.

Someone, and I’m not saying it definitely wasn’t me, remarked that their nights would be absolutely amazing if one amongst us smooched the woefully young. It was not me, and - lest ye judge - ponder how fucking rock star you would have felt pashing a 30-year-old in your tender youth.

It was apparently a bit more than they could handle.

I decided to have a chat to the boys, primarily to figure out if they were the impossibly young ages they seemed. And also to try to get the perhaps fatally unnecessary drink off the one slumping against the doorframe. Whilst they claimed to be 16, the slumping/giggling one seemed a might younger. I asked for ID. I was presented with a 20c piece, a smirk and an expectant look by his friend.

This did not go over as well as the young man imagined it might. From his stammering apology well after the fact, he may have taken to heart the dressing down the coin in my hand had surely warranted.

Way to blow the brass ring, mate. Few teenagers are tolerated, yet alone smooched during a party at which all the alcohol was purchased legally.

They were made to leave almost immediately - with Ruth hilariously marching up to them and asking, ‘Do you know who I am?’ before kicking them out.

They tried to make nice far later in the evening - well, I’m going to assume the slumpy one had no idea where he was. They announced that someone’s taxi had arrived, leaving us to wonder who Tim was and also why these boys were still lurking near the front gate. I went out the front to break the bad fare news to the taxi driver, and was presented with a newly shy Slumpy’s Friend. He apologized to me, arguing that he thought he was handing me his ID.

I know I often mistake a 2×3 card for a coin, so I shook his hand and denied his request to come back inside the party.

Sixteen at best. And you guys wonder why I don’t date more…

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I just turned on the TV to try to watch Tancredo drop out of the primaries.

(And can I just take a moment to tell him that, while he’ll be missed (totes), I’m so glad that I’ll finally be able to figure out which one is Duncan Hunter during the debates? Not that Hunter will be in the race that much longer, but still.)

So anyway, it wasn’t on, but NBC is running the a show I’d never heard of called Merv Griffin’s Crosswords. Or something. It’s the best! There’s a ridiculous set, a host who’s just far, far too keen, and full on 1980s banter.

The best part, though, was during the contestant introductions. The host, who talks like very young version of John Mahoney’s character in Reality Bites said, ‘And this is so and so. And she’s a big fan of wiener dogs!’

And on national television, the woman responded, “Yep! I never met a wiener I didn’t like! [beat] Wiener dog I didn’t like.’

And the host just moved on. It was incredible. So great, in fact, that I turned it off right after that.

American daytime TV is better than that of Australia (or so I assume). I remember afternoon television four years ago was just Days of Our Lives from the ’90s and a bunch of kid shows (which is why for months I thought ‘arvo’ was the name of a bus – it’s actually Australian for ‘afternoon’).

I say if you can’t watch a nice lady humiliate herself, it’s not worth watching. Not that it was anyway, but you know.

Tancredo ’12!

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As I was saying the other day, no one seemed very interested in the actual people involved in the Aurukun case.

News Limited finally got around interviewing ‘rape girl’s’ family (and I’m just going to hope my inverted commas there let you know how I feel about that moniker).

The uncle said no authority had contacted the family since the story was reported. He first heard about it on the radio, and he welcomed the opportunity to speak to the media.

They apparently warned authorities that the girl would be in danger if she was returned to the community because they feared the boys would rape her again.

“She should never have been allowed to come back from foster care while those boys were still here,” the girl’s mother told a News Limited newspaper today.

“We told that to welfare. (Some of) those boys had raped her in the past.”

So, the family asked authorities to keep her safe, they were rebuffed, and then their child was attacked again. And yet we’re told that ‘new paternalism‘ is the best way forward?

Man, I am just feeling so stabby today - the joys of watching Alan Keyes do the crazy dance at the Republican debate notwithstanding.

Links:
Rape Girl Family’s Warnings Ignored [the Age]
Aboriginal Gap Prompts Call for New ‘Paternalism’ [CS Monitor]

Extra Links:
A new paternalism for Aboriginal Australia , which nicely sums up a number of the problems with the Intervention and the Howard Government’s approach to problems in Aboriginal communities. A longish, but good read.

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Another day, another story of worldwide respect for women, as demonstrated by their treatment when most vulnerable.

A 15-year-old, 80-lb Brazilian girl was incarcerated for 26 days for petty theft… in a cell with 34 men. No medals for guessing how that went down. She was raped, tortured and had to trade sex for food. Her head was shaved by guards to make her look more like a boy.

Meanwhile, details from a complaint by another former Halliburton employee allege that she was raped by an unknown fellow employee. He got the key to her apartment from the unlocked box where all the keys were kept, as you do.

Jessica at Jezebel sums it up for us:

The Florida woman also maintains it was non-consensual sex, though Halliburton (apparently) internally determined it was consensual, while also protecting the identity of the alleged rapist from her, which is sort of doubly insulting if you think about it; not only are they alleging she consented to sex but they’re alleging she consented to sex with someone she did not know.

Meanwhile, Australia is looking into another case of child rape in Queensland. And - wait for it - some are calling for extension of the Intervention into Queensland! Hurrah. I’m sure those girls will feel better when companies are mining on their traditional lands.

It’s, like, so symbolic.

Plus! Real, live discussion in yesterday’s comments about rape and defense contractors. Is capitalism or misogyny to blame? Also, proof that upwards of three individuals read this blog. Is a slow work week or an ice storm trapping you in the house to blame?

Links:
Rape of Girl, 15, Exposes Abuses in Brazil Prison System [NYT, h/t Jezebel]
Defense Contractors: If It Wasn’t For Diplomatic Immunity-Protected Rape, They’d Never Get Laid [Jezebel]
Step in over rape debacle, Macklin told [the Age]

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I’m addicted to the news. I know this. But I really wish I wasn’t. I had this nice little post I was going to write just before bed. Short and sweet. It was entitled, “Off the Market” and all it said was, “Go see Lars and the Real Girl.”

Unfortunately, I chose to read the Age. Now it’s 1:53 in the morning and I have to write a post that’s going to get me all agitated right before bed.

The child described in my previous post was also group raped at seven. Really, the whole situation is just appalling and you can read about it here because I just can’t detail it all.

No one denies there’s a problem with child abuse in some Aboriginal communities. The Little Children Are Sacred report clearly identified this, but there’s a myriad of politics caught up in it, as well.

And part of what is upsetting is the tone taken in the unsigned AAP piece to which I’ve linked above:

The child - who cannot be named - was gang-raped at the age of seven in Aurukun on Cape York in 2002, and was later put into foster care with a non-indigenous family in Cairns.

However, child safety officers in April 2006 returned her to Aurukun, where she was raped again at the age of 10.
…
The girl is now in the care of the Child Safety Department away from Aurukun.

The juxtaposition of the girl’s safety with the non-indigenous (presumably white) family before being thrown back to the dogs, so to speak, is just not the proper way to address a story with this much emotional and political content. The subtext of this article just screams ‘Intervention in Queensland.’

Most disturbingly, it seems to suggest that separating Aboriginal children from their families and communities is the only way to ’save’ them. I don’t think ‘been there, done that‘ is a strong enough sentiment.

This is a highly emotional issue - and rightly so. Such a situation requires incredibly careful, nuanced reporting. This is a hard news piece; it’s not really the place for detailed analysis. And this is a breaking story. But missing here is any voice from the community, any sense that these are acts committed by and inflicted on real people. They just seem to be things spoken about.

I don’t think I can say that’s equally disturbing, but it’s definitely part of the problem. And, more importantly, part of the reason why the problem exists in the first place.

These early pieces are going to set the tone for what looks to be a national debate about expansion of the Intervention. I just hope a traumatized young girl isn’t going to become the latest cudgel with which to beat indigenous Australians.

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In case you thought Werribee was a one-off, Judge Sarah Bradley wants you to know that boys’ fun is for all ages.

Judge Bradley refused to record convictions against six teens and suspended the sentence of three more in the gang rape of a ten-year-old girl in far north Queensland. In her ruling, the judge said that the girl had ‘probably agreed’ to the sex.

Leaving aside for a moment the fact that a ten-year-old can’t legally consent to sex with anyone - really Judge Bradley? You think a fifth grader said, ‘Yeah, let’s get it on’ to nine boys and men several years (at least) her senior?

Three of the men, the ones who received suspended sentences, are 17, 18 and 26 years of age.

According to the Daily Telegraph, the men all come from powerful Cape York Aboriginal families, whereas the girl ‘does not enjoy the elevated family status of her attackers’. She’s now been put in foster care.

Judge Bradley argues that her judgment was legitimate since it’s the ruling for which the Crown asked.

I know it’s unfair that I’m extra appalled that a female judge handed down this ruling. Women shouldn’t be held to higher standards, nor should they be expected to rule more harshly cases where violence has been visited upon women. But, god, all I can think about is how little I was when I was ten.

From what I’ve read of the court statements, it seems as though Judge Bradley is explaining to the men that sex with those under sixteen is wrong. And ideas about legal consent are different in some Aboriginal communities. But I just can’t understand a 24-year-old man who participates in the gang rape of a fifth grader.

Or the judge (and Crown) who excuses him.

Links:
PM ‘disgusted’ at gang rape comments [The Age]
Row over gang rape of 10yo [The Daily Telegraph]
Girl, 10, ‘probably agreed’ to sex [The Courier Mail]

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This morning,  in one photo and accompanying caption, the Age neatly summed up why I have not, as of yet, married an Australian bloke:

Just everything about this picture makes me cringe.

And is it just me, or does the guy on the far right look like he has his ass on backwards?

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Walking home from uni today I looked up and there was a big cockatoo just hanging out on someone’s downspout. He flew around the back of the house when a crow came up for his perch. Animals we have in the zoo back home are just hanging out around the city. It’d be like having cardinals in the zoo - you don’t see them that often, and it’s nice when you do, but it’s not day-changing.

I still like the magpies the best. They evil little bastards (watch your eyes), but they make the coolest sounds I’ve ever heard.

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