Police Brutality

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If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face — forever.'

George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four. 

Back when I was studying in high school, in the holidays before my final year, I was asked to read and analyse George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four in order to be prepared for analyses of it in class when school began again. 

I looked at the cover - it was bleak, dark, and hard a chair on it. It made me feel weary and claustrophobic just looking at the cover, and I felt no desire to open the book and acknowledge its content. However, having forced myself to, I managed to get through it - barely. I simply could not connect to its storyline. I was politically passive, and had no opinions of my own because in my naivety, I was not affected by any of the problems that arose in the storyline. Thus, I completely disregarded it from my state of mind.

Until I graduated. When I graduated, the portals to the real world opened to me and I was exposed to the disgusting side of humanity, the side where authoritative figures have agency over other humans who sit below the government, governed by laws made up by other humans who sought to dictate the actions of others. I began to form my own opinions. I saw cases of maltreatment and began to feel a sense of angst that has, to this day, been burning bright. 

And now I realise that Orwell was right. All of the statements he implied in his novel are unfolding right before our very eyes. It is we who are dehumanising ourselves; most particularly, it is the figures of authority who are dehumanising others. The image below shows an officer, Edward Krawetz, kicking a handcuffed drunk woman in the head because she did not wish for him to penetrate her purse with his authoritative fingers. She attempted to protest by lifting her leg, failing to kick him, and so he retaliated by kicking her head so hard it smacked onto the kerb.

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Police brutality is rising. It is rising now more than ever, and it has evolved into something racially prejudiced. Numerous African-American males have been killed this year by members of the police force: Eric Garner, a sufferer of asthma was held in a chokehold position until he died because he intervened on a fight and stopped it, however allegedly he was selling untaxed cigarettes - whilst on the floor in the chokehold position, he repeatedly gasped, "I can't breathe! I can't breath!" and was ignored; John Crawford, shot dead inside a Walmart store whilst waving a BB gun in the air; Ezell Ford, lying on the ground, complying to officers' directions when they shot him in the back - dead; Dante Parker, tased to death because of being a suspect; Michael Brown, Sean Bell, Oscar Grant, Frank Jude, Johnathan Ferrell, Kathryn Johnston, Kendrec McDade, Timothy Standsbury Jr., Kenneth Chamberlain, Timothy Thomas, Robert Davis, Rodney King, Amadou Diallo, and many more.

'White officers kill a Black person, on average, 96 times per year.' I now regret having hated Nineteen Eighty-Four, for if I had not, I think I would have been in the law field, giving a voice to the voiceless, giving a chance to those who are without. 

References:

http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2014/08/3-unarmed-black-african-american-men-killed-police

http://northdallasgazette.com/2014/08/20/2-black-men-per-week-are-killed-by-a-cop-in-america/

Successful Partnering

I always wonder how I will be like in the event of finding my true spouse. I wonder whether I will be able to act in the insane ways that I currently do without feeling a sense of shame.

But most of all, I wonder whether I will have both the courage to be able to release flatulence in their presence or the ability to withstand the releasing of their flatulence without ending up with an upset stomach and a foul mood.

"This is about those less than ideal moments, 

the times when we're simply human; 

a loosened booger, trap-door opening and closing 

with every breath, 

[...] conversations on a toilet? 

If you can't love me in this awkward speech, 

just live in this filthy, stinky moment, 

what are you gonna do when it really gets bad? 

Will you still love me?"

The performance poet, Jesse Parent, always tends to nicely and expressively and satirically lay down my thoughts and make them appear as foreign to me as a friendly stray cat is to an unfriendly stray dog. In the above quote, taken from the above video, he states in a flawless manner the importance of being with someone who accepts you as a fellow human being, as a person prone to sickness and a person with a working digestive system that will most likely interrupt conversations.

I suppose, then, the day that I fart by accident and another person farts back to relieve me from my public humiliation will be the day that I ask them to be my spouse. For if I fart and they fart then the ice that exists within the broken ice that cannot be broken, will break, and from it, a successful, smelly, shameless relationship will spawn. 

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Extremities

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Within the same hour, on the same television but on different channels, I watched on one channel a mindless Beverly Hills actress who was selling one of her eighty cars to buy an island for her husband, and on the other, a mourning pack of Muslim people protesting after the main family having received the body of their eldest son, alongside his head.

What frightens me is that most of us believe the world is mildly equal, and those who disagree do so either because they see that marriage equality is not considered pertinent nor legal in most countries and states, or because they are aware that Africa is poverty stricken. Yes, these two facts are true, but so is the fact that there exists amidst our technological lives places where terrors of war and religion are claiming the lives of many, and unfortunately for me, I know of this and I see this daily.

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My parents see it fit to have a Lebanese satellite box rather than Foxtel or Netflix because they believe their cultural roots to be of higher importance than the seven o'clock news - even if they flick back to Australian television every now and again to eavesdrop on their country of residence.

The world is interconnected with the help of technological advances, yet war and its terrors are slicing through this connectivity. Sometimes I consider moving out of my parents' home just because of their viewing choices, and at other times I am thankful for seeing these atrocities because they remind me that the world is not a beautiful place, and that beauty is simply an illusion.

Profanities

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As of late, I have been attempting to reduce my level of profanity. In fact, I have been able to go days without swearing once. The other day, I walked past a woman who reminded me why this was a good decision on my part.

This lady, somewhere in her fifties, is the type of person who speaks on the phone and wants all onlookers to hear her entire conversation. Her conversation, though, was based on something that is not meant to be paired by accompanying words of profanity.

From what I gathered, thanks to her loud, beaming voice, her six year old son has a rotten tooth.
"F**king idiot can't brush his f**king teeth!" she screamed, looking around at me to make sure that I heard what she said. "F**king hell!" She proceeded to carry on in this manner to her friend on the other line, who, I presume, was enjoying herself. Fancy enjoying herself if the call had been about her, lead by her mother and her mother's friend?

My blood boiled. I walked faster in the opposite direction towards my class so as to not be tempted by her thunderous expletives to turn around and smack her nose into her face. I was so proud of myself for not executing what my fight and not flight instinct was telling me to execute. 

What is stopping that mother, though, from teaching her son how to brush his teeth properly so as to save himself the pain of rotten teeth? What benefit does she obtain in parading around university grounds screaming ill-natured things about her son, who is going through what most children go through? 

Some mothers make me reconsider my stance on abortions.

Miss and Mister Lebanon

I think that the more I am around my relatives, the more observant I am. And as of late, I have come to the realisation that my family is surrounded by gender constraints from television viewings of their choice.

There goes by not an evening whilst seated at my grandmother's house along with my family where I do not come across a negative comment aimed at the restricting of individuality. These comments are sprayed from the mouths of my parents, my grandparents and my aunt and uncle. Their sprayings fly at the television screen and bounce off, flying to the faces of my younger cousins who are, despite their mature ages, still rather impressionable. 

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It is almost ritualistic. It happens the most when Mister or Miss Lebanon is being televised. My father begins the ritual, spitting into the air, literally. He spits in order to show his appreciation of the physical appearance of the females presented on the screen. My mother, against all relationship odds, spits along with him, and as far as I can note neither seem concerned at their actions. Neither seem concerned that they are constraining their own daughters and nieces to conform to the looks being presented. They do not seem concerned about how horrible that is.

It is worse when Mister Lebanon is being televised. I still remember when it happened - my father sent my mother a text message informing her to hurry home with me and my sister because Mister Lebanon was on. So we did. Me, involuntarily. He may not realise it, but in his viewing of this show he is constraining himself as a male as well as my sister and I as females. 

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It was alarming to see packs of men with no bodily hair to be found on them. It was alarming to see their beaming white smiles, their tan, toned bodies gleaming from the spreading of oil, and their falsified answers that underpin the necessity of winning. Are you an exemplary figure if you are televised, toned, fit, and make no verbal sense? Or are you an exemplary figure if you perform good deeds without the need for them to be broadcasted all over the world? The status quo prefers the former.

My family is not aware of the unsightly visual and verbal messages that they are confronted with when they press the 'on' button on the television remote. This frustrates me because I am, and it worries me because they are not. Why cannot humans thrive in the comfort of their own natural skin without the application of status quo pigeonholing?

The Dirty Art Sink

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The other day at university, in my other art class which is based on the craft of painting, I was appalled. 

My art teacher does not like to roster her students to clean up after themselves, I suppose because she expects us to be able to apply our common sense after the commencing of our art classes and be able to clean our own messes - apparently, this is not the case.

Ten minutes before twelve in the afternoon on every Thursday, there remains always me and either one or two students, the others having rushed off to catch the rest of the day. Their gigantic easels remain where they were last left when they are meant to be folded up again and placed in their storage place, and the sink as dirty as ever.

For the past three months, there has been a rancid smell that has been coming from the sink area. Nobody dared to investigate it, rather they would wash their hands and belongings and walk off before anyone noticed their noticing of the source of smell. I decided to investigate. Two washcloths, abandoned at the end of the sink for maybe a year were the source to this smell. I ordered the teacher to retrieve some sort of bag, she brought me the rubbish bin and I picked these cloths up and as I moved them to the bin the smell followed. How I managed not to bring up my breakfast, I know not.

I was infuriated. I told my teacher about some of the horrible artrooms I have noticed whilst on placement, and I told her that people should feel blessed that we have some sort of fresh water supply to wash our belongings with. She responded, "yes, that is true, however I think it because of the area the university is in that the sink stays this way". 

You cannot blame the locality of a university for the laziness of people. I have grown up in the proximity of my university, and I have grown up to know that leaving a wet object submerged in water and chemicals for a year will result in a rancid smell. 

It amazes me how my peers know that they are scheduled to be at university at certain times, yet they disobey the timetabling and leave several minutes beforehand. What is the rush? While you rush off, mould takes its time making itself comfortable in a place that has been given to you to maintain hygiene. 

Oh, the irony.

The Alarm Caused by the Alarm

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It was rather funny and saddening at the same time to witness the alarm caused by the testing of the fire alarm and evacuation siren the other day at university.

We sat, our minuscule art class, working, cutting apart expensive interior decoration and art magazines so as to obtain a sufficient amount of pictures to collage a room showing perspective for our art journals. We all were quite occupied with our works, all eager to obtain the right sorts of photographs so as to destroy them and paste them eternally on blank pieces of paper, aiming for that sufficiently high mark that will satisfy us enough to justify the amount of money we pay for our presence in that class.

It is amazing the level of silence one encounters when one finds a group of students each trying to impress the teacher. Immersed in slicing through the highly finessed work of others to create our own somewhat finessed works, we treaded through magazines as though their contents were effortless and their contributors were useless nothings who have no conception of what a better looking decoration looks like. 

Too excited with gluesticks and scissors, we forgot the outside world. We forgot signs of life outside of the realm of magazine-cutting, and we were thus rather startled when we heard on the speakers a loud siren, followed by a deep voice, "sorry for this test, this is a fire alarm test, please ignore it".

Everyone began to panic. They winced their eyes at the shriek of each siren, which, mind you, was not that loud at all despite their failed attempts at a crescendo, and I sat there thinking of my parents and my cultural heritage.

My parents fled Lebanon from the atrocities that are still going on to this day. Bomb sirens are a normal thing for them, and to think that the people in my art class were frightened of a fire alarm siren is of high interest to me. 

Some people simply do not take into account the lives or circumstances of others. These people are not aware of how blessed they are in their ignorance. For what they do not know, literally will not kill them.

Darwinism and Pesticide

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Once upon a time, a lovely old man named Charles Darwin brought forth the idea of the 'survival of the fittest'. We thought it fantastic for years, we applied it to our modes of thought and modes of action, yet as of late, I feel that it is eliminated because we are cheating. 

We are mistreating some animals, indeed. We are sending millions of animals to slaughterhouses a day in order to keep our iron levels up, indeed. We are putting live animals in little contraption hanging off keychains to sell - well, at least the Chinese are - indeed, however there is one thing above all that I am referring to, and that is we are not giving pests a chance.

I just killed off an insect that was drowning in the soap area on my bathroom sink. It was floating there, its wings caught in a bubble. I looked at it and all I could see, from the accumulated fear built up inside of me, was a puddle of brown around it. It was not really there, though my immediate reaction was to get rid of the bug and the puddle of water it was in. So I flooded it out, sending it to its death faster.

And I felt horrible. I felt a sense of relief from being far away from that insect, however I began to reflect on all of the insects and bugs whose deaths I am responsible for, and I felt rather awful. Are insects not animals? Do they not deserve rights as well? 

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Most of the insects we kill are utterly harmless to us. If anything, they are only responsible for our temporary adrenaline rushes. I have seen some people handle tarantulas like they are pancakes and I have seen people who scream at the sight of a little ball of fluff mistaking it for a spider. I think the difference is how family members react to insects while these people are young. If I was raised to not mind spiders I would have a pet snake instead of a pet bird. 

It is interesting to see what animals we consider 'pests'. I wonder what Charles Darwin would have thought of this.

Dealing with Stress

Our Father,
art thou in Heaven?
Doth it exist? What be thy name?
To thy kingdom I will come
if my essay is not done
for there is no failure in heaven.

Grant me an A and some bread,
forgive me my profanity,
as you forgive others who profane against stress,
and lead me not into temptation to drop out or procrastinate,
and please deliver me from Facebook and all other evil social networking sites.

Amen.


It has come to this, then, the rewriting and modification of the Our Father in order to fit it in with my current mode of thinking due to my high stress levels. And they should not be this high, asks you, considering I have been writing an essay a day?

Well, theoretically you are indeed correct, my fellow reader. However I have gone, as of today, nine days without writing an essay. That means that I have to catch up on writing nine times. Nine times the initial work that I had planned to be sprawled out. Nine times the stress, on top of other work that I must finish in this busy semester for uni so as to not have to repeat an entire year.

I stumbled upon the above video whilst scrolling through - yes - Facebook. I had promised myself that I would not do any scrolling through this book of faces, however I had broken that promise and from the breaking of it, found a video that I would watch a quarter of and throw out of my mind and onto this post. 

The entire four minutes, all I could think about was how many lies this woman told to herself in order for her to be up there lying to everybody else. There is no way, no way that stress can ever be anybody's friend. I have been well acquainted with this 'stress' fellow on numerous occasions, and I maintain that stress is no friend.

In fact, stress visits me so often that I have no time for any other visitors. Stress is, instead of a friend, an impeding, clingy leech that seeks to suck on your happiness. Do not let it. And most importantly, do not attempt to befriend it. There are more productive things to befriend, such as the latest blockbuster.