This article was first published in The Age in August 2010
Call me a lazy bludger, but I have strived throughout my life to avoid permanent full-time paid employment. Over the years, I have cobbled together combinations of part-time positions, volunteer work and ''home duties'' with the kids.
I realise that this is a luxury not afforded to many and feel fortunate to have worked in industries in which part-time work is available, paid at a reasonable rate and doesn't necessarily single you out as being unambitious or slack. Financially, it has meant going without the new TVs, fancy clothes or overseas trips that friends might have, but nonetheless I have always remained steadfast in my belief that a long working week compromises your enjoyment of life.
When the New Economics Foundation, an independent think tank, released a report encouraging people to engage in a "thought experiment" in which the standard working week was reduced to 21 hours, even I thought it sounded a little wacky. But I starting coming around to the idea and began wondering why we never even question the assumption that we all want to work 40-hour weeks.
For some reason, we seem wedded to this ideal of eight hours a day, five days a week, as if it were, quite literally, cast in stone on that day when Melbourne stonemasons downed tools in 1856. We accept ''40'' as if it is the magical number that allows people to work at their best, optimises productivity and without which the economy will go to ruin.
What is ridiculous about our unquestioning attachment to the 40-hour week is how few people are actually working it.
According to the Australia Institute, Australians clock up one of the longest working weeks in the world, with full-time workers putting in 44 hours on average each week. Whether or not people are financially compensated for this extra work (the majority are not), many workers report being dissatisfied with the long hours expected from them, either explicitly or implicitly, by their employer and express a desire to work less. Indeed, research shows that the benefits of reducing the standard working week could be huge.
Most people still aspire to the adage about working to live, rather than living to work. However, our beliefs about how we should live have significantly altered over the past few decades. As Australia Institute founder Clive Hamilton points out, we have scaled-up our lifestyle expectations to such a degree that we feel compelled to work longer hours, to earn more, only so we can buy more. Ultimately, of course, this ascent of consumerism is unsustainable on both a personal and an environmental level. Working less might give us pause to re-examine our materialistic desires and allow us the time to find ways to live more sustainably.
A shorter working week might also reap positive health benefits. Research commissioned by the Queensland Department of Industrial Relations identified a relationship between longer working hours and sleep-deprivation, obesity, alcoholism and cardiovascular disease.
Not only could working fewer hours lead to less stress and longer, better-quality sleep, it would also give people more opportunity to engage in exercise, to visit health professionals regularly and to become less reliant on unhealthy or fast-food options. Crucially, it would allow people more time to relax, whether that means going for walks, seeing friends, reading, listening to music or watching TV.
But the clincher is the amount of time it would free up to spend with people we care about. Whether it is spent kicking a footy with the kids, caring for elderly parents, engaging in volunteer work or in organised activities, it is undoubtedly good for our relationships and for the cohesiveness and well-being of the wider community.
I'm not going to claim to be an expert on macroeconomics or the deregulation of the labour market. Despite the New Economics Foundation's claims that shorter working weeks combined with fair wages for all could result in a better distribution of paid work, address some of the issues facing women in the workforce and help us move towards a decarbonised economy, I have no doubt that the business community would close down any attempts to shorten the working week significantly with the claim that "we can't afford it".
However, that's not to say that we should not, after more than 150 years, review the idea of the 40-hour working week and ask ourselves some crucial questions: Will accumulating more ''stuff'' make us happier? How do we value, financially reward and share different kinds of work? And how can we actualise the kind of lives that we really want?
Original article at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/less-time-on-the-job-could-really-work-20100827-13w07.html
Monday, August 30, 2010
Boot licking in the political playground
Running for government necessarily involves a degree of shameless boot licking. But Julia Gillard's sudden bid to win the Christian vote would have even the youngest of school children shouting 'brown nose' out across the playground.
When Gillard went public with her lack of faith, many people dared to dream of a future where right-wing Christian lobby groups might wield less influence over our national leader and on debate around issues such as gay marriage, euthanasia and overseas aid. If nothing else, it would free up that spot on the news every Sunday night previously taken up by Kevin Rudd's (and before him, John Howard's) impromptu media conferences held on the way home from church.
But the Christian vote proved just too alluring in the end for the prime minister. It seems that in the same way that I tried to impress the most popular girl at school with a spectacular attempt at a double backflip off the monkey bars in grade six, Gillard will try anything in an attempt to win over new friends in the religious right.
Two weeks ago, the prime minister canned her original plan to send a video message to the Mary MacKillop fundraising dinner, not only turning up in person but also pledging $1.5 million of public money towards the canonisation shin-dig in October. In her response to questions from the Australian Christian Lobby (ACL), Gillard confirmed that the Labor Party is committed to maintaining the definition of marriage as being exclusively between a man and a woman. More recently, she has pledged $222 million to expand the number of chaplains in schools by one-third.
According to government guidelines, the National School Chaplaincy Programme's aim is to assist schools to provide pastoral care, and general religious and personal guidance. Currently, about 2700 schools receive approximately $20,000 a year to employ a person with a religious background to provide this “advice and comfort”. Julia Gillard has assured the ACL that there will be no moves to secularise the program in the future.
The website of my old alma mater – a public school – shows that they have taken up the cash on offer and employed their very own chaplain. While I admittedly had a pretty tame childhood (notwithstanding the monkey bars incident), one thing is for sure – had I ever had real cause to seek counselling during my school years, a school chaplain is the last person I would have approached for advice.
When I think back to the problems that kids faced when I was young, they include issues around teen sex, drugs, alcohol and grief. What kind of advice would a chaplain provide to a young girl dealing with an unwanted pregnancy? What about a teenage boy who was coming to terms with being gay? Or just a vulnerable student who was grappling with questions about the meaning of life? It would be simply naïve to think that a chaplain could possibly put aside their religious beliefs and provide unbiased advice to students in such circumstances.
In her previous role as education minister, Julia Gillard had undertaken to replace chaplains in schools with qualified psychologists and counsellors. Now, however, she is vowing to continue a program that uses public money to directly support a program that aims to advance religion among the young and – let's face it – sometimes impressionable. Such a promise would seem to stand in complete contradiction to the principle of the separation of church and state.
One of the Labor Party's other promises in this campaign has centred around mental health issues. Over $65 million has been pledged to provide services to promote mental health in children and to address youth suicide. Just imagine what difference another $222 million could make if the money spent on employing chaplains in schools was diverted to more tangible and proven strategies for improving the welfare and well-being of our young people.
I know that in the playground of politics you might sometimes be forced to act in ways that compromise your personal beliefs in the name of winning votes and crucial marginal seats. But no one respects you when you sell out and try to be friends with absolutely everybody. I never did master that double backflip off the monkey bars. Instead, I ended up face-planting into the tan bark, humiliating myself and making even my existing friends a bit embarrassed to sit next to me in class later that afternoon. There's a lesson in there somewhere for the prime minister.
When Gillard went public with her lack of faith, many people dared to dream of a future where right-wing Christian lobby groups might wield less influence over our national leader and on debate around issues such as gay marriage, euthanasia and overseas aid. If nothing else, it would free up that spot on the news every Sunday night previously taken up by Kevin Rudd's (and before him, John Howard's) impromptu media conferences held on the way home from church.
But the Christian vote proved just too alluring in the end for the prime minister. It seems that in the same way that I tried to impress the most popular girl at school with a spectacular attempt at a double backflip off the monkey bars in grade six, Gillard will try anything in an attempt to win over new friends in the religious right.
Two weeks ago, the prime minister canned her original plan to send a video message to the Mary MacKillop fundraising dinner, not only turning up in person but also pledging $1.5 million of public money towards the canonisation shin-dig in October. In her response to questions from the Australian Christian Lobby (ACL), Gillard confirmed that the Labor Party is committed to maintaining the definition of marriage as being exclusively between a man and a woman. More recently, she has pledged $222 million to expand the number of chaplains in schools by one-third.
According to government guidelines, the National School Chaplaincy Programme's aim is to assist schools to provide pastoral care, and general religious and personal guidance. Currently, about 2700 schools receive approximately $20,000 a year to employ a person with a religious background to provide this “advice and comfort”. Julia Gillard has assured the ACL that there will be no moves to secularise the program in the future.
The website of my old alma mater – a public school – shows that they have taken up the cash on offer and employed their very own chaplain. While I admittedly had a pretty tame childhood (notwithstanding the monkey bars incident), one thing is for sure – had I ever had real cause to seek counselling during my school years, a school chaplain is the last person I would have approached for advice.
When I think back to the problems that kids faced when I was young, they include issues around teen sex, drugs, alcohol and grief. What kind of advice would a chaplain provide to a young girl dealing with an unwanted pregnancy? What about a teenage boy who was coming to terms with being gay? Or just a vulnerable student who was grappling with questions about the meaning of life? It would be simply naïve to think that a chaplain could possibly put aside their religious beliefs and provide unbiased advice to students in such circumstances.
In her previous role as education minister, Julia Gillard had undertaken to replace chaplains in schools with qualified psychologists and counsellors. Now, however, she is vowing to continue a program that uses public money to directly support a program that aims to advance religion among the young and – let's face it – sometimes impressionable. Such a promise would seem to stand in complete contradiction to the principle of the separation of church and state.
One of the Labor Party's other promises in this campaign has centred around mental health issues. Over $65 million has been pledged to provide services to promote mental health in children and to address youth suicide. Just imagine what difference another $222 million could make if the money spent on employing chaplains in schools was diverted to more tangible and proven strategies for improving the welfare and well-being of our young people.
I know that in the playground of politics you might sometimes be forced to act in ways that compromise your personal beliefs in the name of winning votes and crucial marginal seats. But no one respects you when you sell out and try to be friends with absolutely everybody. I never did master that double backflip off the monkey bars. Instead, I ended up face-planting into the tan bark, humiliating myself and making even my existing friends a bit embarrassed to sit next to me in class later that afternoon. There's a lesson in there somewhere for the prime minister.
Encouraging atheist women to come out
This article was first published in the National Times in August 2010
The Vatican's recent revisions that put the ordination of women on par with child sex abuse drew howls of protest from around the world. In some ways, I think people are being a little unfair.
After all, the Catholic Church is just being true to form – it has actively discriminated against women since its inception. Perhaps rather than condemning the Church for this slip-up, we should be thanking it for the reminder that religious values and teachings have been used to incite, aid and justify discrimination against women throughout history.
From the orthodox Jewish prayer in which men thank God for not making them women, to the estimated 5000 Muslim women and girls who are shot, strangled, stoned, burned or otherwise killed by their own families every year in an effort to restore "honour", you can find countless examples from every one of the major religions to demonstrate their patriarchal basis and the inherent message that women are inferior to men.
But while it is women's lives that are so often restricted and harmed by religious practices, debates involving religion – both for and against – are still often dominated by men. Female atheists clearly do exist, with 2006 census data showing women compose nearly half of the Australians who label themselves as having no religion. But they always seem so quiet.
Part of the problem, I think, stems from the brand of atheism that is dominant today. Many people, especially women, might find it intimidating or unappealing.
While the religious can simply fall back on a position of faith to justify their own beliefs, atheists are not afforded the same kind of shoulder-shrugging, passive argument. Instead, they are expected to have a university-level understanding of every major religion, a thorough grounding in ancient and modern history, and a faultless knowledge of science. Atheists must be prepared to actively defend their non-belief, a process that by definition will offend many believers.
While there is most definitely a place for this so-called "militant" atheism, it is little wonder that some women might find it off-putting. After all, girls are taught to be sensitive and emotional, to not cause trouble or be particularly forthright with their opinions. Women who dare to be aggressive or outspoken are often labelled as hysterical harpies, not worthy of being listened to and impossible to take seriously. We should hardly be surprised that some women might be reluctant to come out as atheists.
All of this is not to say that there are no vocal or intelligent women out there talking about the role of religion, sharing stories about their own loss of faith and generally waving the atheist flag. However, we rarely hear the names of Dutch activist Ayaan Hirsi Ali or author Ophelia Benson mentioned alongside Richard Dawkins or Christopher Hitchens.
How then can we redress the balance and create an environment in which more women are encouraged and inspired to align themselves publicly with science, reason and non-belief? How can we better engage them in discussions about the ways in which religious teachings are used to control female bodies and lives?
Perhaps we need to promote a different side to atheism that is not so much seen as looking back in anger, as it is about looking forward with hope. While it may be akin to sacrilege, maybe there is room for a type of atheism that isn't so much about being anti-religious, as it is about looking at questions of how to live, how to find meaning and how to end suffering.
Clearly, not all believers are misogynists; equally, many acts of violence against women have been perpetrated by non-believers. However, as Jimmy Carter pointed out last year, religion remains one of the "basic causes of the violation of women's rights" and this is something that all of us must work together to tackle.
It's not a question of whether smart, rational women are out there – it's just a matter of encouraging them to stand up and make their voices heard when it comes to matters of reason and religion.
Original article at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/why-religion-and-atheism-need-smart-women-20100805-11imn.html
The Vatican's recent revisions that put the ordination of women on par with child sex abuse drew howls of protest from around the world. In some ways, I think people are being a little unfair.
After all, the Catholic Church is just being true to form – it has actively discriminated against women since its inception. Perhaps rather than condemning the Church for this slip-up, we should be thanking it for the reminder that religious values and teachings have been used to incite, aid and justify discrimination against women throughout history.
From the orthodox Jewish prayer in which men thank God for not making them women, to the estimated 5000 Muslim women and girls who are shot, strangled, stoned, burned or otherwise killed by their own families every year in an effort to restore "honour", you can find countless examples from every one of the major religions to demonstrate their patriarchal basis and the inherent message that women are inferior to men.
But while it is women's lives that are so often restricted and harmed by religious practices, debates involving religion – both for and against – are still often dominated by men. Female atheists clearly do exist, with 2006 census data showing women compose nearly half of the Australians who label themselves as having no religion. But they always seem so quiet.
Part of the problem, I think, stems from the brand of atheism that is dominant today. Many people, especially women, might find it intimidating or unappealing.
While the religious can simply fall back on a position of faith to justify their own beliefs, atheists are not afforded the same kind of shoulder-shrugging, passive argument. Instead, they are expected to have a university-level understanding of every major religion, a thorough grounding in ancient and modern history, and a faultless knowledge of science. Atheists must be prepared to actively defend their non-belief, a process that by definition will offend many believers.
While there is most definitely a place for this so-called "militant" atheism, it is little wonder that some women might find it off-putting. After all, girls are taught to be sensitive and emotional, to not cause trouble or be particularly forthright with their opinions. Women who dare to be aggressive or outspoken are often labelled as hysterical harpies, not worthy of being listened to and impossible to take seriously. We should hardly be surprised that some women might be reluctant to come out as atheists.
All of this is not to say that there are no vocal or intelligent women out there talking about the role of religion, sharing stories about their own loss of faith and generally waving the atheist flag. However, we rarely hear the names of Dutch activist Ayaan Hirsi Ali or author Ophelia Benson mentioned alongside Richard Dawkins or Christopher Hitchens.
How then can we redress the balance and create an environment in which more women are encouraged and inspired to align themselves publicly with science, reason and non-belief? How can we better engage them in discussions about the ways in which religious teachings are used to control female bodies and lives?
Perhaps we need to promote a different side to atheism that is not so much seen as looking back in anger, as it is about looking forward with hope. While it may be akin to sacrilege, maybe there is room for a type of atheism that isn't so much about being anti-religious, as it is about looking at questions of how to live, how to find meaning and how to end suffering.
Clearly, not all believers are misogynists; equally, many acts of violence against women have been perpetrated by non-believers. However, as Jimmy Carter pointed out last year, religion remains one of the "basic causes of the violation of women's rights" and this is something that all of us must work together to tackle.
It's not a question of whether smart, rational women are out there – it's just a matter of encouraging them to stand up and make their voices heard when it comes to matters of reason and religion.
Original article at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/why-religion-and-atheism-need-smart-women-20100805-11imn.html
Not miraculous, just good luck
This article was first published in the National Times in July 2010
Every time you check the news lately it seems that God has performed another miracle. Last month, a four-year-old boy survived a seven-storey fall from the balcony of a high-rise building in Miami, landing on a palm tree with little more than a scratch. Within hours the press had dubbed him the "miracle boy" with witnesses declaring that they "saw the hand of God" helping the child.
We have also supposedly seen God's handiwork in a spate of recent airline disasters. First there was the Libyan plane crash and then, just 10 days later, a similar horror in India. In both cases, the survival of one or more passengers was deemed miraculous. In the case of the Mangalore accident, even those who missed the flight cited divine intervention. One of the passengers meant to board the plane said, "I was supposed to go at 1.15am, but by mistake I thought it was 1.15pm . . . it is actually a miracle from God".
All this talk of miracles tends to lead religion into dangerous territory. For me, "miracles" are just a reminder of a problem inherent in religious logic. If we are to believe that God really did intervene to save these people from an early death, what does this say about those who die? Presumably God does not care enough to save them from the terror and pain of an accidental death or to spare their families a lifetime of grief. We can also reasonably ask why, if God is all-powerful and all-loving, he doesn't prevent plane crashes and balcony falls in the first place?
The response offered up by religion is the baffling claim that God works in mysterious ways, or has a "higher plan", which we are not qualified – or even permitted – to inquire after. I prefer American biology professor and renowned internet blogger P.Z. Myers' recent response that such events can only be interpreted as proof that "God is a capricious bastard".
In Australia, most of our recent miracle work has come by way of helpful go-between Mary MacKillop. More astonishing than "miraculous" recoveries from terminal cancer, has been the media coverage of this story.
Since the canonisation campaign really started to take off, some Australian media outlets have simply and unabashedly reported Mary's miracles as if they were irrefutable fact, with the words "allegedly" and "according to" glaringly absent from many stories. Take, for example, this headline: "Woman miraculously cured from inoperable lung cancer by praying to Mary MacKillop". Perhaps even worse though, are uncritical reports that Mary's miracles have been subjected to "exhaustive inquiry" involving "rigorous scientific analysis".
According to the official Mary MacKillop website, the miracle rubber-stamping process involves demonstrating that a person really had an illness, that they are now cured, and the cure was not brought about by medical means. What is missing from all this "stringent" scrutiny by "medical specialists" though is one of the most fundamental tenets of scientific methodology: correlation does not prove causation. To claim that any miracle either recent or historical has been medically or scientifically proven is patently false.
While spontaneous regression from cancer is certainly uncommon, it is also not unknown or undocumented. Just because so-called miracle recipient Kathleen Evans recovered from lung and brain cancer, and she also prayed to Mary MacKillop, does not mean that one thing led to another. By the same logic, I could claim that wearing blue socks brings prosperity since I found $2 behind the couch this morning.
What's, of course, interesting about miracles is that they are always within the realm of the possible. If God really wanted to silence the doubters, why wouldn't he do something truly impressive and unambiguous? Or, as the now-infamous line goes, why doesn't God ever answer the prayers of amputees?
If the church wants to claim that an infrequent, yet still entirely possible, event is a miracle then that's up to them. For me, and I'm sure a lot of others, such statements just serve to remind us about one of the more difficult problems with religious belief – unless we are prepared to hold God directly accountable for all the unfair, undeserved and particularly unspeakable things that happen on his watch, we can't give him credit for the occasional stroke of good fortune. If this seems like a simplistic argument, that's because the hole in the logic just looks so impossibly big from this side.
Likewise, should people want to devote their lives to securing an Aussie sainthood, then that is their business. Personally, I can't help but think that two "confirmed" miracles in the 100-plus years since her death just suggests a kind of stinginess on Mary MacKillop's part.
Instead my objections arise when the church and the media start uncritically reporting "miracles" as news and as fact.
With Mary MacKillop's big day looming in October, let's hope that the coverage of her canonisation shows due respect for reason, science and good sense. In the meantime, can we please banish all this talk of miracles and call survival stories what they really are – cases of good luck.
Original text at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/not-miraculous-just-good-luck-20100716-10dwp.html
Every time you check the news lately it seems that God has performed another miracle. Last month, a four-year-old boy survived a seven-storey fall from the balcony of a high-rise building in Miami, landing on a palm tree with little more than a scratch. Within hours the press had dubbed him the "miracle boy" with witnesses declaring that they "saw the hand of God" helping the child.
We have also supposedly seen God's handiwork in a spate of recent airline disasters. First there was the Libyan plane crash and then, just 10 days later, a similar horror in India. In both cases, the survival of one or more passengers was deemed miraculous. In the case of the Mangalore accident, even those who missed the flight cited divine intervention. One of the passengers meant to board the plane said, "I was supposed to go at 1.15am, but by mistake I thought it was 1.15pm . . . it is actually a miracle from God".
All this talk of miracles tends to lead religion into dangerous territory. For me, "miracles" are just a reminder of a problem inherent in religious logic. If we are to believe that God really did intervene to save these people from an early death, what does this say about those who die? Presumably God does not care enough to save them from the terror and pain of an accidental death or to spare their families a lifetime of grief. We can also reasonably ask why, if God is all-powerful and all-loving, he doesn't prevent plane crashes and balcony falls in the first place?
The response offered up by religion is the baffling claim that God works in mysterious ways, or has a "higher plan", which we are not qualified – or even permitted – to inquire after. I prefer American biology professor and renowned internet blogger P.Z. Myers' recent response that such events can only be interpreted as proof that "God is a capricious bastard".
In Australia, most of our recent miracle work has come by way of helpful go-between Mary MacKillop. More astonishing than "miraculous" recoveries from terminal cancer, has been the media coverage of this story.
Since the canonisation campaign really started to take off, some Australian media outlets have simply and unabashedly reported Mary's miracles as if they were irrefutable fact, with the words "allegedly" and "according to" glaringly absent from many stories. Take, for example, this headline: "Woman miraculously cured from inoperable lung cancer by praying to Mary MacKillop". Perhaps even worse though, are uncritical reports that Mary's miracles have been subjected to "exhaustive inquiry" involving "rigorous scientific analysis".
According to the official Mary MacKillop website, the miracle rubber-stamping process involves demonstrating that a person really had an illness, that they are now cured, and the cure was not brought about by medical means. What is missing from all this "stringent" scrutiny by "medical specialists" though is one of the most fundamental tenets of scientific methodology: correlation does not prove causation. To claim that any miracle either recent or historical has been medically or scientifically proven is patently false.
While spontaneous regression from cancer is certainly uncommon, it is also not unknown or undocumented. Just because so-called miracle recipient Kathleen Evans recovered from lung and brain cancer, and she also prayed to Mary MacKillop, does not mean that one thing led to another. By the same logic, I could claim that wearing blue socks brings prosperity since I found $2 behind the couch this morning.
What's, of course, interesting about miracles is that they are always within the realm of the possible. If God really wanted to silence the doubters, why wouldn't he do something truly impressive and unambiguous? Or, as the now-infamous line goes, why doesn't God ever answer the prayers of amputees?
If the church wants to claim that an infrequent, yet still entirely possible, event is a miracle then that's up to them. For me, and I'm sure a lot of others, such statements just serve to remind us about one of the more difficult problems with religious belief – unless we are prepared to hold God directly accountable for all the unfair, undeserved and particularly unspeakable things that happen on his watch, we can't give him credit for the occasional stroke of good fortune. If this seems like a simplistic argument, that's because the hole in the logic just looks so impossibly big from this side.
Likewise, should people want to devote their lives to securing an Aussie sainthood, then that is their business. Personally, I can't help but think that two "confirmed" miracles in the 100-plus years since her death just suggests a kind of stinginess on Mary MacKillop's part.
Instead my objections arise when the church and the media start uncritically reporting "miracles" as news and as fact.
With Mary MacKillop's big day looming in October, let's hope that the coverage of her canonisation shows due respect for reason, science and good sense. In the meantime, can we please banish all this talk of miracles and call survival stories what they really are – cases of good luck.
Original text at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/not-miraculous-just-good-luck-20100716-10dwp.html
Here's a spray of my own
This article was first published in The Age in July 2010
Please, don't adjust your sets - it really is still 2010. But watching TV lately, you could easily be forgiven for thinking you had slipped into a time warp.
For those fortunate enough not to have seen the latest commercial for Brut deodorant, let me paint you the picture.
A woman in a hardly-there, leopard-print bikini is walking down a beach footpath. A guy clocks the oncoming girl and, rather than selfishly ogle her on his own, he gives his mates a nudge so that they can leer at her as a pack. Their approval is clearly evident as they loudly let rip a couple of ''phwoars'' while the camera pans to a shot of her bouncing breasts.
Just when you think it can't get any worse, a barely pubescent boy with a banjo jumps out of a car singing a jingle recommending that if men see an attractive woman on the street they need to "spot and share, because, fellas, it's just what's right". The trio of gawking boys, meanwhile, can hardly contain their vocal enthusiasm as the woman walks past with a shy, but knowing, look.
The message is anything but subtle: women amount to little more than the sum of their breasts and behind, and men have an entitlement - indeed a duty - to ''share them around'' and publicly rate them with their mates.
Other gems of wisdom in the campaign include: ''Never look at another man while eating a banana'' and ''You can drive her car but she can't drive yours'' - each presented in an online video clip in which an attractive girl strips off a T-shirt to reveal a skimpy bikini.
In response to various complaints to the Advertising Standards Bureau, Pharmacare cited a global trend towards ''retrosexual'' culture, loosely defined as the opposite of the ''metrosexual'' tag. Retrosexuals, apparently, are men who embrace their masculinity and yearn to return to a time when ''men were real men'' and women could be given a cheeky pinch on the bum without it turning into a massive legal headache.
According to the Pharmacare and Unilever (responsible for the equally bad Lynx deodorant advertisements) these kinds of ''lads' ads'' are simply using humour and playfulness to sell a product. They claim they only depict women looking "comfortable" and "happy" (read: semi-naked, with coy, moist-lipped smiles). These campaigns manage to walk a fine line, at various times being found to breach the Advertiser Code of Ethics in their portrayal of women, while at other times getting away with questionable content under the defence that they are just being ''ironic'' (the subtext being that objectors are just uptight, joyless wowsers).
But putting aside the contribution that such images make to a view of women as nothing more than a source of entertainment and titillation for men, try as I might I can't find the irony or humour in the tagline - ''still brutally male''. Since when did being a ''real man'' involve violence? And since when was brutality such an aspirational quality that it could be used to entice us into a product choice?
While it would be naive to claim that advertising is solely responsible for shaping our ideologies, such representations do contribute to our collective understanding of what it means to be a man and what it means to be a woman. They reinforce a stereotype of female sexuality in which women's only value and power lies in looking and acting in a very particular way. And they clearly promote a message that ''real men'' know what women are good for - checking out with your mates, getting in to bed, and fetching you a beer afterwards.
But, before you despair, it's not all bad news. Presumably intended to ''go viral'', the Brut Code campaign seems to be a bit of a flop, with only 11 followers on Twitter. Hardly a good return on what must be a hugely expensive exercise covering outdoor advertising, prime-time TV placement and social networking technologies.
Can I suggest then that there might actually be a more fitting use for all those unwanted cans of lads' deodorant out there? Perhaps women should start keeping some of it in their handbags.
That way, the next time some bloke feels the need to comment publicly on her appearance, she can give him an ''ironic'' blast of manly fragrance.
Original text at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/heres-a-spray-of-my-own-this-stuff-really-is-on-the-nose-20100707-100ji.html
Please, don't adjust your sets - it really is still 2010. But watching TV lately, you could easily be forgiven for thinking you had slipped into a time warp.
For those fortunate enough not to have seen the latest commercial for Brut deodorant, let me paint you the picture.
A woman in a hardly-there, leopard-print bikini is walking down a beach footpath. A guy clocks the oncoming girl and, rather than selfishly ogle her on his own, he gives his mates a nudge so that they can leer at her as a pack. Their approval is clearly evident as they loudly let rip a couple of ''phwoars'' while the camera pans to a shot of her bouncing breasts.
Just when you think it can't get any worse, a barely pubescent boy with a banjo jumps out of a car singing a jingle recommending that if men see an attractive woman on the street they need to "spot and share, because, fellas, it's just what's right". The trio of gawking boys, meanwhile, can hardly contain their vocal enthusiasm as the woman walks past with a shy, but knowing, look.
The message is anything but subtle: women amount to little more than the sum of their breasts and behind, and men have an entitlement - indeed a duty - to ''share them around'' and publicly rate them with their mates.
Other gems of wisdom in the campaign include: ''Never look at another man while eating a banana'' and ''You can drive her car but she can't drive yours'' - each presented in an online video clip in which an attractive girl strips off a T-shirt to reveal a skimpy bikini.
In response to various complaints to the Advertising Standards Bureau, Pharmacare cited a global trend towards ''retrosexual'' culture, loosely defined as the opposite of the ''metrosexual'' tag. Retrosexuals, apparently, are men who embrace their masculinity and yearn to return to a time when ''men were real men'' and women could be given a cheeky pinch on the bum without it turning into a massive legal headache.
According to the Pharmacare and Unilever (responsible for the equally bad Lynx deodorant advertisements) these kinds of ''lads' ads'' are simply using humour and playfulness to sell a product. They claim they only depict women looking "comfortable" and "happy" (read: semi-naked, with coy, moist-lipped smiles). These campaigns manage to walk a fine line, at various times being found to breach the Advertiser Code of Ethics in their portrayal of women, while at other times getting away with questionable content under the defence that they are just being ''ironic'' (the subtext being that objectors are just uptight, joyless wowsers).
But putting aside the contribution that such images make to a view of women as nothing more than a source of entertainment and titillation for men, try as I might I can't find the irony or humour in the tagline - ''still brutally male''. Since when did being a ''real man'' involve violence? And since when was brutality such an aspirational quality that it could be used to entice us into a product choice?
While it would be naive to claim that advertising is solely responsible for shaping our ideologies, such representations do contribute to our collective understanding of what it means to be a man and what it means to be a woman. They reinforce a stereotype of female sexuality in which women's only value and power lies in looking and acting in a very particular way. And they clearly promote a message that ''real men'' know what women are good for - checking out with your mates, getting in to bed, and fetching you a beer afterwards.
But, before you despair, it's not all bad news. Presumably intended to ''go viral'', the Brut Code campaign seems to be a bit of a flop, with only 11 followers on Twitter. Hardly a good return on what must be a hugely expensive exercise covering outdoor advertising, prime-time TV placement and social networking technologies.
Can I suggest then that there might actually be a more fitting use for all those unwanted cans of lads' deodorant out there? Perhaps women should start keeping some of it in their handbags.
That way, the next time some bloke feels the need to comment publicly on her appearance, she can give him an ''ironic'' blast of manly fragrance.
Original text at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/heres-a-spray-of-my-own-this-stuff-really-is-on-the-nose-20100707-100ji.html
Some animals are more equal than others
This article was first published in the National Times in July 2010
You could hear the indignation of dog owners reverberate around the country last week. How dare some researcher from the University of South Australia claim that domestic dogs were getter dumber! Not my little Fido, they declared in web comments everywhere, capital letters firmly on to indicate their displeasure. He has a basic understanding of trigonometry and has finished the entire Stieg Larsson trilogy!
Never mind that the research was pretty innocuous, merely suggesting that domesticated dogs had become so reliant on their human owners that they had lost some of the problem solving skills necessary to find food when compared to dingoes. What was interesting was how passionate people get about defending the intelligence of their beloved pets.
People, rightly, love their dogs. The relationship between owner and animal is one of reciprocal companionship, pleasure and love. Judging by the ridiculous clothing range at my local pet shop involving football team colours, bows and ruffles, people are clearly willing to go to great lengths to indulge their canine friends. Silly outfits aside, generally speaking we treat our dogs with kindness and a genuine concern for their quality of life.
But the line we draw between animals we call 'pets' and those that we call 'commodities' is an entirely illusory and disingenuous one. We cannot passionately defend the rights and intelligence of one while deliberately ignoring those same traits in another species just because it suits our plans for dinner.
Animal psychologists have often reported that the intelligence of domestic dogs is on par with a two-year-old child, that they are capable of understanding up to 250 words and gestures, and able to perform simple mathematical calculations. Pigs, according to research from Penn State University, are smarter than the average three-year-old child, capable of abstract representation and outsmarting even primates on video game tests involving joy sticks.
So why is it that we bristle with horror at the very thought of keeping our pet dog continually pregnant, confined inside a shed to an individual metal stall so tiny that even turning around is impossible, on a concrete floor with no straw or bedding whatsoever. And yet, the fact that the majority of sows in Australia are farmed in this way raises little more than a resigned sigh from most people. These animals, after all, are our bacon and ham – not our clever, cuddly, idiosyncratic dogs; never mind that they are equally, if not more, capable of feeling pain, stress and distress. The difference between our reaction to one species and another being forcibly confined to a continual life of cruelty can only be explained by a process Jonathan Safran Foer recently described as, “conscious forgetting”.
It is good news then that earlier this month Tasmania announced a phasing out of this cruel farming practice. We can only hope that the rest of the country will join Tasmania, along with countries like the UK, in banning such inhumane farming practices.
But no real improvements in animal welfare will be achieved until we reconsider our traditional notions that some animals are worthy of protection from pain and suffering, while others are not. We need to recognise the fictitious nature of the division we have created between animals as pets and animals as food. We need to reconnect the product we see our plates with the animal it came from.
Ghandi said that you can judge the greatness of a nation and its moral progress by the way that it treats its animals. In terms of our love for our dogs and other companion animals, it is clear that we could be judged very favourably indeed. However, when it comes to our treatment of 'food' animals, I don't think we are in line for a glowing report card at all. Surely it is time that we made the conscious effort each time we visit the supermarket or order dinner in a restaurant to think about what is more important – satisfying our palates, or satisfying our conscience?
Original text at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/some-animals-really-are-more-equal-than-others-20100702-zto2.html
You could hear the indignation of dog owners reverberate around the country last week. How dare some researcher from the University of South Australia claim that domestic dogs were getter dumber! Not my little Fido, they declared in web comments everywhere, capital letters firmly on to indicate their displeasure. He has a basic understanding of trigonometry and has finished the entire Stieg Larsson trilogy!
Never mind that the research was pretty innocuous, merely suggesting that domesticated dogs had become so reliant on their human owners that they had lost some of the problem solving skills necessary to find food when compared to dingoes. What was interesting was how passionate people get about defending the intelligence of their beloved pets.
People, rightly, love their dogs. The relationship between owner and animal is one of reciprocal companionship, pleasure and love. Judging by the ridiculous clothing range at my local pet shop involving football team colours, bows and ruffles, people are clearly willing to go to great lengths to indulge their canine friends. Silly outfits aside, generally speaking we treat our dogs with kindness and a genuine concern for their quality of life.
But the line we draw between animals we call 'pets' and those that we call 'commodities' is an entirely illusory and disingenuous one. We cannot passionately defend the rights and intelligence of one while deliberately ignoring those same traits in another species just because it suits our plans for dinner.
Animal psychologists have often reported that the intelligence of domestic dogs is on par with a two-year-old child, that they are capable of understanding up to 250 words and gestures, and able to perform simple mathematical calculations. Pigs, according to research from Penn State University, are smarter than the average three-year-old child, capable of abstract representation and outsmarting even primates on video game tests involving joy sticks.
So why is it that we bristle with horror at the very thought of keeping our pet dog continually pregnant, confined inside a shed to an individual metal stall so tiny that even turning around is impossible, on a concrete floor with no straw or bedding whatsoever. And yet, the fact that the majority of sows in Australia are farmed in this way raises little more than a resigned sigh from most people. These animals, after all, are our bacon and ham – not our clever, cuddly, idiosyncratic dogs; never mind that they are equally, if not more, capable of feeling pain, stress and distress. The difference between our reaction to one species and another being forcibly confined to a continual life of cruelty can only be explained by a process Jonathan Safran Foer recently described as, “conscious forgetting”.
It is good news then that earlier this month Tasmania announced a phasing out of this cruel farming practice. We can only hope that the rest of the country will join Tasmania, along with countries like the UK, in banning such inhumane farming practices.
But no real improvements in animal welfare will be achieved until we reconsider our traditional notions that some animals are worthy of protection from pain and suffering, while others are not. We need to recognise the fictitious nature of the division we have created between animals as pets and animals as food. We need to reconnect the product we see our plates with the animal it came from.
Ghandi said that you can judge the greatness of a nation and its moral progress by the way that it treats its animals. In terms of our love for our dogs and other companion animals, it is clear that we could be judged very favourably indeed. However, when it comes to our treatment of 'food' animals, I don't think we are in line for a glowing report card at all. Surely it is time that we made the conscious effort each time we visit the supermarket or order dinner in a restaurant to think about what is more important – satisfying our palates, or satisfying our conscience?
Original text at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/some-animals-really-are-more-equal-than-others-20100702-zto2.html
A long way to go in balancing work and family
This article was first published in the Canberra Times in May 2010
Perhaps naively, I had always thought that balancing work and family life would be most difficult in the early years. As most parents will attest, childcare is expensive and places are hard to come by. Women who return to work after the birth of a child frequently come up against attitudes that they are now slack, unreliable or less ambitious. And then there's all the not-so-subtle comments from colleagues, friends and strangers on the bus that it would all be much simpler if mothers just stayed at home.
But while everyone's attention has been diverted by the important issues of paid paternity leave, additional unpaid parental leave and the right to request part-time hours for parents of child under school age, what happens after this? Leave and entitlements for parents in the early years are critical if we want to keep skilled, experienced mothers and fathers in the workplace, but what about when the kids start school? There would seem to be an assumption in the National Employment Standards that all the issues magically disappear.
On a day-to-day basis, there's the difficulties that arise when the school day is (roughly) two hours shorter than the average working day. Add in commuting time, and you're looking a shortfall of three hours. Yes, some schools run before- or after-school care programs and I have no doubt that they offer a range of fun and educational activities for children. However, what if parents don't feel comfortable with the idea of sending a six year old who is worn out after a long school day to another three hours of care?
Then there's the mismatch between the standard four weeks' annual leave provided by most workplaces and the eleven-plus weeks that school kids get. I have friends who have come up with an arrangement where each parent takes annual leave on alternating school holidays. Essentially, this is workable but it means that they never get to share vacation time together as a family, while still leaving them a couple of weeks short every year.
Last, add in the fact that schools are hotbeds of illness and kids seem to get sick every other week. Most workplaces offer ten days of personal leave to cover the times when you or a family member is sick or requires care. However, most parents will be familiar with the sigh of exasperation when ringing in to request time off because their child has gastro again. You can almost hear the mental note in the boss' head – don't bother hiring a parent next time.
Put it all together and it seems like little wonder that many women don't bother returning to the workplace until their kids reach an age of greater independence. Those that do go back through choice, or because of financial or professional obligation, often find this is a time of considerable stress both at home and at work, and one where their career flat lines.
While there are best practice guides and rhetoric about family-friendly practices aplenty, what we need to see now is all the hot air being transformed into real opportunity. Organisations need to see such measures as a business advantage – a way to attract and retain talented staff, not just something to tide women over through that annoying fertile period of their career. And, most importantly, such opportunities must be made available to parents in all kinds of workplaces, not just reserved for the professionals or the managers.
Employers must be understanding, accommodating and imaginative in how they help parents combine work and family. Perhaps staff could work only in school terms from 10.00 am to 3.00 pm. Maybe they could utilise annual leave days when a child becomes sick or purchase additional leave to cover school holidays. Undoubtedly, workplaces could make more creative use of technology.
Crucially, we need a mindshift away from viewing parents who utilise such measures as being soft or less ambitious. Ask anyone who has ever attempted the near-impossible task of getting their kids out of bed, dressed, fed and to school while also managing to arrive at their own workplace in a semi-respectable state – combining kids and work is anything but slack or unambitious.
Whatever stage of life you are at, combining paid work with child-rearing or the care of another family member is hard. But until we set up the proper arrangements and expectations that acknowledge this reality, mothers and fathers are just going to feel that they are failing at both.
Perhaps naively, I had always thought that balancing work and family life would be most difficult in the early years. As most parents will attest, childcare is expensive and places are hard to come by. Women who return to work after the birth of a child frequently come up against attitudes that they are now slack, unreliable or less ambitious. And then there's all the not-so-subtle comments from colleagues, friends and strangers on the bus that it would all be much simpler if mothers just stayed at home.
But while everyone's attention has been diverted by the important issues of paid paternity leave, additional unpaid parental leave and the right to request part-time hours for parents of child under school age, what happens after this? Leave and entitlements for parents in the early years are critical if we want to keep skilled, experienced mothers and fathers in the workplace, but what about when the kids start school? There would seem to be an assumption in the National Employment Standards that all the issues magically disappear.
On a day-to-day basis, there's the difficulties that arise when the school day is (roughly) two hours shorter than the average working day. Add in commuting time, and you're looking a shortfall of three hours. Yes, some schools run before- or after-school care programs and I have no doubt that they offer a range of fun and educational activities for children. However, what if parents don't feel comfortable with the idea of sending a six year old who is worn out after a long school day to another three hours of care?
Then there's the mismatch between the standard four weeks' annual leave provided by most workplaces and the eleven-plus weeks that school kids get. I have friends who have come up with an arrangement where each parent takes annual leave on alternating school holidays. Essentially, this is workable but it means that they never get to share vacation time together as a family, while still leaving them a couple of weeks short every year.
Last, add in the fact that schools are hotbeds of illness and kids seem to get sick every other week. Most workplaces offer ten days of personal leave to cover the times when you or a family member is sick or requires care. However, most parents will be familiar with the sigh of exasperation when ringing in to request time off because their child has gastro again. You can almost hear the mental note in the boss' head – don't bother hiring a parent next time.
Put it all together and it seems like little wonder that many women don't bother returning to the workplace until their kids reach an age of greater independence. Those that do go back through choice, or because of financial or professional obligation, often find this is a time of considerable stress both at home and at work, and one where their career flat lines.
While there are best practice guides and rhetoric about family-friendly practices aplenty, what we need to see now is all the hot air being transformed into real opportunity. Organisations need to see such measures as a business advantage – a way to attract and retain talented staff, not just something to tide women over through that annoying fertile period of their career. And, most importantly, such opportunities must be made available to parents in all kinds of workplaces, not just reserved for the professionals or the managers.
Employers must be understanding, accommodating and imaginative in how they help parents combine work and family. Perhaps staff could work only in school terms from 10.00 am to 3.00 pm. Maybe they could utilise annual leave days when a child becomes sick or purchase additional leave to cover school holidays. Undoubtedly, workplaces could make more creative use of technology.
Crucially, we need a mindshift away from viewing parents who utilise such measures as being soft or less ambitious. Ask anyone who has ever attempted the near-impossible task of getting their kids out of bed, dressed, fed and to school while also managing to arrive at their own workplace in a semi-respectable state – combining kids and work is anything but slack or unambitious.
Whatever stage of life you are at, combining paid work with child-rearing or the care of another family member is hard. But until we set up the proper arrangements and expectations that acknowledge this reality, mothers and fathers are just going to feel that they are failing at both.
Dining al fresco a waste of space
This article was first published in the Canberra Times in May 2010
Europe has given us a lot to be thankful for: stylish small cars, air kissing and Eurovision. One thing that I don't think we should add to the list, however, is al fresco dining.
Once upon a time, footpaths were intended as places for safe thoroughfare – getting from one place to another without the inconvenience of getting hit by a car. But utilitarian design has given over to commercial impetus. Walk down the average city footpath now you are more likely to feel the same kind of slight embarrassment as if you had unintentionally walked in on a dinner party to which you weren't invited.
This once-public space has become an unnavigable maze of chairs, tables and market umbrellas. A trip to the post office now involves a sort of stop-start dance reminiscent of the 80s arcade game, Frogger, as you yield to the oncoming pram before making a dash in front of the waiter ferrying a scalding cup of coffee across no man's land with little more than a cursory glance around him. And before you go complaining that you can't fit your wheelchair down the footpath any more, just remind yourself that this is all terribly European. And everybody knows that 'European' is shorthand for stylish and sophisticated, so stop your bloody whingeing.
AustRoads' Guide to Traffic Engineering Practice: Pedestrians sets an absolute minimum width of 1.5 metres for pedestrian passage so that wheelchairs can pass. The Pedestrian Council of Australia website states that ideally we should allow a continuous accessible path of 1.8 metres so that people with disabilities can perform basic functions such as shopping, attending public facilities, going home or visiting friends. Given this, I'd suggest that our Councils need to take a ruler to all those people who insist on pushing their chairs way out into the pedestrian zone in flagrant disregard of the needs, comfort and safety of those around them.
Maybe I wouldn't be so annoyed by al fresco dining if I actually enjoyed it in the first place but the fact of the matter is that I don't love the smell of exhaust in the morning. And, with further apologies to Apocalypse Now fans, that gasoline smell isn't victory; it's ruining my meal.
Add in the noise of passing motorcycles, honking horns and the inconvenience of wind and other weather, and it's hard to tease out the relaxing or enjoyable aspects of the experience, much less the exotic and cosmopolitan side to it.
I also have a theory that the world of outdoor eating is populated by a particularly selfish subset of society. What do these people have in common? Unappetising behaviours and habits.
The old adage is that a bit of fresh air aids digestion, but while the smokers monopolise all of the best outdoor spaces, the only fresh air you're going to get is the 'menthol fresh' variety. Sitting outside amongst the 'elements' is more likely to mean those from the carcinogenic end of the periodic table – arsenic, lead, cadmium and the like.
Then there's the Lycra brigade – cyclists who are so concerned with the aerodynamics of their sport that they insist on wear body-hugging clothing that gives us all a bit too much information anatomically speaking. Oddly, they don't seem quite so concerned about fitness or efficiency that they can't fit in a croissant before peddling off home.
And to top it all off, there's the dogs. Some people seem incapable of grabbing a short black without their canine in tow. Dogs, let it be known, love nothing more than a chance to stretch out and watch the passing parade on a Saturday morning. Unfortunately this usually means stretching out across your feet as well because the tables are always so claustrophobically close. Just try and keep your mind off the fact that those very hindquarters almost certainly passed a bowel movement in the last hour.
Now, tell me again, how's your appetite?
Perhaps the most telling thing about outdoor dining, though, is the extraordinary lengths with which we try to make it as indoor-like as possible. What does it mean when we sit behind coffee-brand emblazoned partitions, surrounded by clear plastic blinds or huddled under gas-guzzling heaters? As you try and secure the one table that is actually in the shade despite the spectacularly large umbrellas and eat off linen table cloths so that you can pretend this is a silver service experience, you've got to ask yourself what the point to all this al fresco business is anyway. Perhaps you need to examine the evidence, and consider the possibility that you'd actually just rather go inside.
Maybe then, the rest of us can get back to the business of using footpaths for their intended purpose.
Europe has given us a lot to be thankful for: stylish small cars, air kissing and Eurovision. One thing that I don't think we should add to the list, however, is al fresco dining.
Once upon a time, footpaths were intended as places for safe thoroughfare – getting from one place to another without the inconvenience of getting hit by a car. But utilitarian design has given over to commercial impetus. Walk down the average city footpath now you are more likely to feel the same kind of slight embarrassment as if you had unintentionally walked in on a dinner party to which you weren't invited.
This once-public space has become an unnavigable maze of chairs, tables and market umbrellas. A trip to the post office now involves a sort of stop-start dance reminiscent of the 80s arcade game, Frogger, as you yield to the oncoming pram before making a dash in front of the waiter ferrying a scalding cup of coffee across no man's land with little more than a cursory glance around him. And before you go complaining that you can't fit your wheelchair down the footpath any more, just remind yourself that this is all terribly European. And everybody knows that 'European' is shorthand for stylish and sophisticated, so stop your bloody whingeing.
AustRoads' Guide to Traffic Engineering Practice: Pedestrians sets an absolute minimum width of 1.5 metres for pedestrian passage so that wheelchairs can pass. The Pedestrian Council of Australia website states that ideally we should allow a continuous accessible path of 1.8 metres so that people with disabilities can perform basic functions such as shopping, attending public facilities, going home or visiting friends. Given this, I'd suggest that our Councils need to take a ruler to all those people who insist on pushing their chairs way out into the pedestrian zone in flagrant disregard of the needs, comfort and safety of those around them.
Maybe I wouldn't be so annoyed by al fresco dining if I actually enjoyed it in the first place but the fact of the matter is that I don't love the smell of exhaust in the morning. And, with further apologies to Apocalypse Now fans, that gasoline smell isn't victory; it's ruining my meal.
Add in the noise of passing motorcycles, honking horns and the inconvenience of wind and other weather, and it's hard to tease out the relaxing or enjoyable aspects of the experience, much less the exotic and cosmopolitan side to it.
I also have a theory that the world of outdoor eating is populated by a particularly selfish subset of society. What do these people have in common? Unappetising behaviours and habits.
The old adage is that a bit of fresh air aids digestion, but while the smokers monopolise all of the best outdoor spaces, the only fresh air you're going to get is the 'menthol fresh' variety. Sitting outside amongst the 'elements' is more likely to mean those from the carcinogenic end of the periodic table – arsenic, lead, cadmium and the like.
Then there's the Lycra brigade – cyclists who are so concerned with the aerodynamics of their sport that they insist on wear body-hugging clothing that gives us all a bit too much information anatomically speaking. Oddly, they don't seem quite so concerned about fitness or efficiency that they can't fit in a croissant before peddling off home.
And to top it all off, there's the dogs. Some people seem incapable of grabbing a short black without their canine in tow. Dogs, let it be known, love nothing more than a chance to stretch out and watch the passing parade on a Saturday morning. Unfortunately this usually means stretching out across your feet as well because the tables are always so claustrophobically close. Just try and keep your mind off the fact that those very hindquarters almost certainly passed a bowel movement in the last hour.
Now, tell me again, how's your appetite?
Perhaps the most telling thing about outdoor dining, though, is the extraordinary lengths with which we try to make it as indoor-like as possible. What does it mean when we sit behind coffee-brand emblazoned partitions, surrounded by clear plastic blinds or huddled under gas-guzzling heaters? As you try and secure the one table that is actually in the shade despite the spectacularly large umbrellas and eat off linen table cloths so that you can pretend this is a silver service experience, you've got to ask yourself what the point to all this al fresco business is anyway. Perhaps you need to examine the evidence, and consider the possibility that you'd actually just rather go inside.
Maybe then, the rest of us can get back to the business of using footpaths for their intended purpose.
The bystander effect
This article was first published in The Age in April 2010
On Tuesday, a man was stabbed at Melbourne's Clayton train station during the morning hour rush, the incident yet another example of violent knife crime. But perhaps what is most disturbing about the story is that according to newspaper reports, the majority of passers-by simply carried on their business of catching the train, walking past the victim as he bled heavily and eventually died at the scene.
It reminded me of an awful event in which I was involved a few years ago. This incident, too, happened at a train station. Walking through the underground concourse on a Friday afternoon at Spencer Street Station, I came upon a middle-aged man, sprawled haphazardly and horribly across the middle of my path, seemingly the victim of a heart attack.
Another guy and I did our best to administer first aid and call for help while this person lay helplessly amid the peak hour rush. It was astonishing to think how many people walked past us that day, the wave of commuters parting politely around our scene with little more than a cursory glance of curiosity.
Of course there are always going to be times when we decide not to intervene or assist someone in need because of a perceived danger to ourselves or because circumstances genuinely don't allow for it. However, why is it that most of the time we first look for reasons not to help, rather than doing what we know is right?
In both of the train station incidents, hundreds of people made the decision not to get involved. Some will have told themselves that the situation was already in hand (clearly it wasn't in both cases) or maybe they just decided that it would be too much hassle to have to catch a later train. Other people will have told themselves that they'd do more harm than good if they just stood around helplessly, adding to the chaos or causing embarrassment to the victim. Often though, the reasons we create in our head about why we can't help a stranger in need are just excuses for not wanting to be inconvenienced. Our lives are busy and our time is precious. If we don't help, someone else will surely fill the gap.
It seems clear that humans have an innate sense of compassion for other people. Our first impulse on encountering suffering is generally a feeling of wanting to help. But clearly this instinct can be overridden during the internal conversations we have with ourselves where we weigh up the perceived personal costs over the value of helping someone we don't know. Selfishness often wins out.
Peter Singer, in examining the reasons behind altruistic behaviour, often cites an experiment from Princeton University in which a group of theology students of different religious and moral beliefs were asked to give a lecture in an adjacent building. Half the students were assigned to talk about the good Samaritan parable, half were given a different topic. Some of the students were told that they were running late, some were told that they had just enough time to make it to the nearby building, and some were told that they had plenty of time.
On their way out, the students encountered a ''victim'' on the ground, clearly in need of help. The researchers observed that the key determinant of whether students stopped to assist the person in distress was not linked to their religious or moral beliefs, but rather their sense of being in a hurry. Students who felt pressed for time more often left the victim unaided, while those with time to spare were more likely to stop and help.
The experiment showed that our sense of what is right and wrong can be easily trumped by something as trivial as running late. Even the thought that someone might die as a result of their inaction was not a compelling enough reason for people to go out of their way to help. What hope is there for the rest of us if even those who have the story of the good Samaritan front and centre in their minds don't necessarily feel obliged to act in an altruistic way?
The first step is to start challenging those internal conversations we have when confronted with a difficult situation. Sometimes it's just too easy to find excuses about why we can't help and ways of justifying our lack of response. Clearly, we need to start recognising that it's not enough to just feel compassion for other people, we need to act on it as well. And that means making the conscious decision to help others - whether they are the dying man at the train station, the teenager asking for spare change on the street corner, or the nameless child starving in the Congo.
Original text at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/dont-rush-on-by-when-someone-needs-help-20100423-tj4z.html
On Tuesday, a man was stabbed at Melbourne's Clayton train station during the morning hour rush, the incident yet another example of violent knife crime. But perhaps what is most disturbing about the story is that according to newspaper reports, the majority of passers-by simply carried on their business of catching the train, walking past the victim as he bled heavily and eventually died at the scene.
It reminded me of an awful event in which I was involved a few years ago. This incident, too, happened at a train station. Walking through the underground concourse on a Friday afternoon at Spencer Street Station, I came upon a middle-aged man, sprawled haphazardly and horribly across the middle of my path, seemingly the victim of a heart attack.
Another guy and I did our best to administer first aid and call for help while this person lay helplessly amid the peak hour rush. It was astonishing to think how many people walked past us that day, the wave of commuters parting politely around our scene with little more than a cursory glance of curiosity.
Of course there are always going to be times when we decide not to intervene or assist someone in need because of a perceived danger to ourselves or because circumstances genuinely don't allow for it. However, why is it that most of the time we first look for reasons not to help, rather than doing what we know is right?
In both of the train station incidents, hundreds of people made the decision not to get involved. Some will have told themselves that the situation was already in hand (clearly it wasn't in both cases) or maybe they just decided that it would be too much hassle to have to catch a later train. Other people will have told themselves that they'd do more harm than good if they just stood around helplessly, adding to the chaos or causing embarrassment to the victim. Often though, the reasons we create in our head about why we can't help a stranger in need are just excuses for not wanting to be inconvenienced. Our lives are busy and our time is precious. If we don't help, someone else will surely fill the gap.
It seems clear that humans have an innate sense of compassion for other people. Our first impulse on encountering suffering is generally a feeling of wanting to help. But clearly this instinct can be overridden during the internal conversations we have with ourselves where we weigh up the perceived personal costs over the value of helping someone we don't know. Selfishness often wins out.
Peter Singer, in examining the reasons behind altruistic behaviour, often cites an experiment from Princeton University in which a group of theology students of different religious and moral beliefs were asked to give a lecture in an adjacent building. Half the students were assigned to talk about the good Samaritan parable, half were given a different topic. Some of the students were told that they were running late, some were told that they had just enough time to make it to the nearby building, and some were told that they had plenty of time.
On their way out, the students encountered a ''victim'' on the ground, clearly in need of help. The researchers observed that the key determinant of whether students stopped to assist the person in distress was not linked to their religious or moral beliefs, but rather their sense of being in a hurry. Students who felt pressed for time more often left the victim unaided, while those with time to spare were more likely to stop and help.
The experiment showed that our sense of what is right and wrong can be easily trumped by something as trivial as running late. Even the thought that someone might die as a result of their inaction was not a compelling enough reason for people to go out of their way to help. What hope is there for the rest of us if even those who have the story of the good Samaritan front and centre in their minds don't necessarily feel obliged to act in an altruistic way?
The first step is to start challenging those internal conversations we have when confronted with a difficult situation. Sometimes it's just too easy to find excuses about why we can't help and ways of justifying our lack of response. Clearly, we need to start recognising that it's not enough to just feel compassion for other people, we need to act on it as well. And that means making the conscious decision to help others - whether they are the dying man at the train station, the teenager asking for spare change on the street corner, or the nameless child starving in the Congo.
Original text at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/dont-rush-on-by-when-someone-needs-help-20100423-tj4z.html
Quick jab saves lives
This article was published in the Canberra Times in April 2010
As the weather gets colder, so begins the season of exaggerated claims by people who say they've got the flu. A bit of runny nose? A tickle in the throat? Oh it must be flu! Yes, that disease that killed over 20 million people in 1918.
Just to get things straight, cold and flu are not interchangeable words. The common cold gives you congestion, a runny nose, sore throat and cough. Influenza generally confines you to bed – not because you fancy a lie in with a good book, but because you physically can't get up because of the high fever, body aches, shivering and sweating.
If you surveyed your workmates, you could be forgiven for thinking that the average person gets a flu about ten times a year. However in reality, flu is estimated to infect between five and 20% of the population annually.
But what difference does it make when, to quote The Smiths, I'm feeling very sick and ill today? Isn't this all just an issue of nomenclature?
Well, no. When we misdiagnose ourselves with flu, we down-play the severity of the virus and risk becoming complacent about a disease that, according to the Influenza Specialist Group (ISG), kills about 3500 Australians each year. To put this in perspective, this is a figure greater than the national road toll, or the number of annual deaths from prostate cancer or from breast cancer. On top of this, the flu is responsible for about 18,000 hospitalisations each year. And before you going thinking that these are just old people already knocking on death's door, over 80% of these admissions were of people under 65 years old.
The provisional results of the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare Adult Vaccination Survey showed that last year, during a time of unprecedented talk about flu, just 19% of people aged over 18 years bothered to get the free H1N1 vaccine. Why is it that so few people get immunised against what can be life-threatening disease?
Apart from general complacency, part of the problem seems to stem from a number of misunderstandings regarding the virus and the vaccine. An ISG study in 2008 found that one-third of respondents wrongly believed that the influenza vaccine actually gives you the flu. Almost two-thirds of respondents did not believe that the vaccine was particularly effective, and a similar number thought that being fit and healthy would offer some protection against flu.
It seems that sadly, in the battle between science and hearsay, we often place more weight in a colleague's claim to have developed a cough not 30 minutes after receiving the flu vaccine than we do in years of research, testing and reporting. It is my experience that whenever the words 'illness' and 'vaccine' are mentioned in the same sentence, people immediately start spouting conspiracy theories about the evil plans of pharmaceutical companies for world domination. Suddenly we forget about the millions of people who used to die from smallpox every year, or the hundreds of thousands of children who were crippled with polio. Although still far from being fully utilised in developing countries, immunisation prevents millions of deaths every year. Without question, it is one of the most successful public health interventions ever.
In the case of the influenza vaccine, I think part of the problem comes down to one of marketing. We have sold a message that immunisation is about protecting yourself, and thus the counter-argument can be mounted that if you don't have the time or the inclination for a jab, then that is your business, your risk.
Instead we need to reinvent the way that we look at vaccination of influenza and other diseases and celebrate it as an act of community service, similar perhaps to the way that we view blood donation. Getting vaccinated should be lauded as an altruistic deed that limits the spread of disease and protects vulnerable members of our community such as babies, pregnant women, those suffering from chronic illness and Indigenous Australians. Not only that, it is a simple measure that will free up hospital beds, empty doctor's waiting rooms and have a positive effect on the economy.
So this year, instead whingeing that your sore throat is a bout of dreaded flu, why not do something proactive? Quit crying wolf and take up the offer of vaccination. I guarantee that your second or two of discomfort will be much appreciated by me, and by others considered vulnerable or at-risk.
As the weather gets colder, so begins the season of exaggerated claims by people who say they've got the flu. A bit of runny nose? A tickle in the throat? Oh it must be flu! Yes, that disease that killed over 20 million people in 1918.
Just to get things straight, cold and flu are not interchangeable words. The common cold gives you congestion, a runny nose, sore throat and cough. Influenza generally confines you to bed – not because you fancy a lie in with a good book, but because you physically can't get up because of the high fever, body aches, shivering and sweating.
If you surveyed your workmates, you could be forgiven for thinking that the average person gets a flu about ten times a year. However in reality, flu is estimated to infect between five and 20% of the population annually.
But what difference does it make when, to quote The Smiths, I'm feeling very sick and ill today? Isn't this all just an issue of nomenclature?
Well, no. When we misdiagnose ourselves with flu, we down-play the severity of the virus and risk becoming complacent about a disease that, according to the Influenza Specialist Group (ISG), kills about 3500 Australians each year. To put this in perspective, this is a figure greater than the national road toll, or the number of annual deaths from prostate cancer or from breast cancer. On top of this, the flu is responsible for about 18,000 hospitalisations each year. And before you going thinking that these are just old people already knocking on death's door, over 80% of these admissions were of people under 65 years old.
The provisional results of the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare Adult Vaccination Survey showed that last year, during a time of unprecedented talk about flu, just 19% of people aged over 18 years bothered to get the free H1N1 vaccine. Why is it that so few people get immunised against what can be life-threatening disease?
Apart from general complacency, part of the problem seems to stem from a number of misunderstandings regarding the virus and the vaccine. An ISG study in 2008 found that one-third of respondents wrongly believed that the influenza vaccine actually gives you the flu. Almost two-thirds of respondents did not believe that the vaccine was particularly effective, and a similar number thought that being fit and healthy would offer some protection against flu.
It seems that sadly, in the battle between science and hearsay, we often place more weight in a colleague's claim to have developed a cough not 30 minutes after receiving the flu vaccine than we do in years of research, testing and reporting. It is my experience that whenever the words 'illness' and 'vaccine' are mentioned in the same sentence, people immediately start spouting conspiracy theories about the evil plans of pharmaceutical companies for world domination. Suddenly we forget about the millions of people who used to die from smallpox every year, or the hundreds of thousands of children who were crippled with polio. Although still far from being fully utilised in developing countries, immunisation prevents millions of deaths every year. Without question, it is one of the most successful public health interventions ever.
In the case of the influenza vaccine, I think part of the problem comes down to one of marketing. We have sold a message that immunisation is about protecting yourself, and thus the counter-argument can be mounted that if you don't have the time or the inclination for a jab, then that is your business, your risk.
Instead we need to reinvent the way that we look at vaccination of influenza and other diseases and celebrate it as an act of community service, similar perhaps to the way that we view blood donation. Getting vaccinated should be lauded as an altruistic deed that limits the spread of disease and protects vulnerable members of our community such as babies, pregnant women, those suffering from chronic illness and Indigenous Australians. Not only that, it is a simple measure that will free up hospital beds, empty doctor's waiting rooms and have a positive effect on the economy.
So this year, instead whingeing that your sore throat is a bout of dreaded flu, why not do something proactive? Quit crying wolf and take up the offer of vaccination. I guarantee that your second or two of discomfort will be much appreciated by me, and by others considered vulnerable or at-risk.
Science needs a simpler voice
This article was published in the Canberra Times in April 2010
Sport, fashion, food and lifestyle – all get their very own section in the paper. Even celebrity gossip gets a guernsey. But science? They're just those dorks in the corner working on boring things such as understanding the origins of life, preserving ecological diversity and finding cures for life-threatening illnesses. Who wants to read about that?
Imagine we were to draw up a ledger of all the fields of human endeavour and the degree to which they have shaped our lives. Admittedly fashion gave us parachute pants and sport offered up Brendan Fevola, but surely science pips them at the post in terms of its fundamental influence on us and our understanding of the world.
While there is Robyn Williams on the radio and Catalyst on the telly, the printed media hardly overwhelms us with stories of a scientific bent. Yes, articles can sometimes be found scattered around the front section of the newspaper but compared to politics, crime, sport, human interest, arts, and just about anything else, the coverage is often fairly light on. Then, what we generally do read about is the 'whizz-bang' moments or those stories that seem to have a direct personal effect on our lives (such as the release of the iPad or other technological gadgetry). While, admittedly, we have seen an increase in stories about climate change and water scarcity over the last decade, other environmental issues generally remain untouched.
The Swinburne National Technology and Society Monitor 2009 reported that Australians generally have a positive attitude to science and technology. On commenting about the annual survey, Professor Michael Gilding observed that, “when presented with complex scientific or technological issues, people often take a short cut and form an opinion based on the information source rather than the information itself.” Clearly it is therefore crucial that the commercial media increase the quantity, diversity and depth of their science coverage.
The danger of having a scientifically illiterate public has become most apparent in the last year or so with certain high-profile, climate change denying columnists peddling anti-scientific messages. These columnists have no training or expertise in the field, no understanding of scientific methodology and, frankly, no right to criticise the consensus of the vast majority of the scientific community. And yet for many people such columns form their main source of (mis)information on scientific matters. Now I'm not denying that these columnists have a right to an opinion; I'm just denying that those opinions necessarily have a right to air time or column space, particularly at the expense of more qualified reportage.
Last month, Tim Flannery lamented that, “We've got a big problem with the gap between scientific information and a very confused public”. Without better communication between scientists and the public, he said, misinformation is allowed room to proliferate.
However, while we have no mainstream forum in which scientists can disseminate information and participate in scientific discussions, this remains a very hard thing to achieve. What we need is an avenue through which the average person on the street (me and probably you) can increase our scientific literacy. We need more in-depth and high-quality stories that translate scientific work into understandable and engaging narratives. And we require a medium for more open and informed debate on the issues raised.
It's not like there isn't a precedent for such a forum. The New York Times, The Times and The Guardian, for example, all contain dedicated science sections. And as the growing readership of popular science magazines like Scientific American and New Scientist indicates, the public is hungry for more science-based content.
But here in Australia, while we continue to deny it the place it rightfully deserves in the media, science will continue to live in the shadows and, sadly, the rest of us will remain in the dark.
How can we expect young people to become interested in pursuing science –professionally or personally – if their only exposure to it is a limited media coverage that portrays it as dull or unimportant? How can we expect the average layperson to cast a vote or even have an interesting discussion about some of the greatest issues that face us in life today without affording them a full and sophisticated coverage of science? I look forward to the day when I can say over my morning coffee, 'Pass the science section, dear'.
Sport, fashion, food and lifestyle – all get their very own section in the paper. Even celebrity gossip gets a guernsey. But science? They're just those dorks in the corner working on boring things such as understanding the origins of life, preserving ecological diversity and finding cures for life-threatening illnesses. Who wants to read about that?
Imagine we were to draw up a ledger of all the fields of human endeavour and the degree to which they have shaped our lives. Admittedly fashion gave us parachute pants and sport offered up Brendan Fevola, but surely science pips them at the post in terms of its fundamental influence on us and our understanding of the world.
While there is Robyn Williams on the radio and Catalyst on the telly, the printed media hardly overwhelms us with stories of a scientific bent. Yes, articles can sometimes be found scattered around the front section of the newspaper but compared to politics, crime, sport, human interest, arts, and just about anything else, the coverage is often fairly light on. Then, what we generally do read about is the 'whizz-bang' moments or those stories that seem to have a direct personal effect on our lives (such as the release of the iPad or other technological gadgetry). While, admittedly, we have seen an increase in stories about climate change and water scarcity over the last decade, other environmental issues generally remain untouched.
The Swinburne National Technology and Society Monitor 2009 reported that Australians generally have a positive attitude to science and technology. On commenting about the annual survey, Professor Michael Gilding observed that, “when presented with complex scientific or technological issues, people often take a short cut and form an opinion based on the information source rather than the information itself.” Clearly it is therefore crucial that the commercial media increase the quantity, diversity and depth of their science coverage.
The danger of having a scientifically illiterate public has become most apparent in the last year or so with certain high-profile, climate change denying columnists peddling anti-scientific messages. These columnists have no training or expertise in the field, no understanding of scientific methodology and, frankly, no right to criticise the consensus of the vast majority of the scientific community. And yet for many people such columns form their main source of (mis)information on scientific matters. Now I'm not denying that these columnists have a right to an opinion; I'm just denying that those opinions necessarily have a right to air time or column space, particularly at the expense of more qualified reportage.
Last month, Tim Flannery lamented that, “We've got a big problem with the gap between scientific information and a very confused public”. Without better communication between scientists and the public, he said, misinformation is allowed room to proliferate.
However, while we have no mainstream forum in which scientists can disseminate information and participate in scientific discussions, this remains a very hard thing to achieve. What we need is an avenue through which the average person on the street (me and probably you) can increase our scientific literacy. We need more in-depth and high-quality stories that translate scientific work into understandable and engaging narratives. And we require a medium for more open and informed debate on the issues raised.
It's not like there isn't a precedent for such a forum. The New York Times, The Times and The Guardian, for example, all contain dedicated science sections. And as the growing readership of popular science magazines like Scientific American and New Scientist indicates, the public is hungry for more science-based content.
But here in Australia, while we continue to deny it the place it rightfully deserves in the media, science will continue to live in the shadows and, sadly, the rest of us will remain in the dark.
How can we expect young people to become interested in pursuing science –professionally or personally – if their only exposure to it is a limited media coverage that portrays it as dull or unimportant? How can we expect the average layperson to cast a vote or even have an interesting discussion about some of the greatest issues that face us in life today without affording them a full and sophisticated coverage of science? I look forward to the day when I can say over my morning coffee, 'Pass the science section, dear'.
Light pollution with a slight chance of stars
This article was published in Eureka Street in March 2010
You see the Southern Cross everywhere lately — on T-shirts, tattoos and train stations. It's a pity then that pretty soon we won't be able to see it in the actual sky.
Who did not, as a child, lie on their backs and wonder at the night sky? Searching for the familiar shape of the Saucepan or the red glow of Mars, gasping at the heart-skipping sight of a shooting star and marvelling at what Byron called, 'the poetry of heaven'. Today when I look out from our inner-city backyard, I am lucky if I can count 50 individual stars. And most of those are probably aeroplanes.
When was it decided that the replacement of our night sky with a near-blank canvas was acceptable? Bit by bit, every year, a few more of Shakespeare's 'blessed candles of the night' are extinguished by the ever-brightening domes that hang over our cities.
According to the International Astronomical Union, two billion people — almost 30 per cent of the world's population — cannot see the Milky Way. And as the view is obscured, so too is that powerful reminder that we are part of something much grander, an insignificant dot in a vast and expanding universe.
Our love of all things light and bright has killed our access to true darkness. From households that love the 'security' of a well-lit backyard to advertising execs who think we really need neon reminders of our banking options at 4.00 am, a large proportion of lighting is probably unnecessary.
Even lighting regarded as essential, such as street lights and flood lighting on public buildings, can be shamefully inefficient, with an estimated 30 per cent of the glow being pointlessly directed skyward where it lights up water and dust particles, contributing to that sickly orange halo.
Our desperate need for something like perpetual daylight can in part be attributed to a childlike fear of the bogeyman and the unfounded assumption that more and brighter lighting will make us safe.
Certainly public lighting has a positive effect on people's sense of security but studies of its actual effect on crime rates are inconclusive at best. In fact in a 2008 experiment in Essex where all street lights were turned out between midnight and 5.30 am, a marked decrease in crime was observed. A similar trend has also been measured in cities that have experienced long-term power outages.
Earlier this month there was a fortnight-long worldwide program to measure the brightness of the night sky, GLOBE at Night. And tomorrow night, we will see the return of Earth Hour, where homes and businesses are encouraged to turn out the lights for one hour.
As well as urging us to think about the resources and money wasted in over-lighting our cities, both campaigns encourage us to think about darkness differently — not as something to be feared and conquered, but as something precious, a link between us and all time and space.
Unlike other forms of pollution, light pollution is a relatively simple one to combat. By getting rid of all unnecessary lighting, using lower wattage lamps and installing shields to prevent light spillage, we would instantly start to repaint the night sky. Do nothing and soon the only place we'll see starlight is when it's projected on to the ceiling of a planetarium.
Back at my house, it's not only us humans who lack a good night's sleep because of the ever-present glow. The Indian Mynahs start their song at 3.00 am, fooled into thinking that day is breaking. A nocturnal trip to the bathroom no longer requires a blind fumble through the dark. And if it's too bright to get back to sleep afterwards, there's enough light breaking through the curtains to read a few chapters of Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything is Illuminated without even turning on the bedside lamp.
If you travel away from the city lights, it's hard not to be awe-struck by the scale and vastness of the twinkling lights in the sky. On a moonless night they shine so brightly that it seems impossible we could have ever wiped them from our city skies, let alone wiped them from our minds and our children's imaginations.
Vincent Van Gogh said 'the sight of the stars make me dream'. When we insist on over-lighting our cities, it's not just sleep we're losing — we're also losing the chance to dream.
Original text at: http://www.eurekastreet.com.au/article.aspx?aeid=19775
You see the Southern Cross everywhere lately — on T-shirts, tattoos and train stations. It's a pity then that pretty soon we won't be able to see it in the actual sky.
Who did not, as a child, lie on their backs and wonder at the night sky? Searching for the familiar shape of the Saucepan or the red glow of Mars, gasping at the heart-skipping sight of a shooting star and marvelling at what Byron called, 'the poetry of heaven'. Today when I look out from our inner-city backyard, I am lucky if I can count 50 individual stars. And most of those are probably aeroplanes.
When was it decided that the replacement of our night sky with a near-blank canvas was acceptable? Bit by bit, every year, a few more of Shakespeare's 'blessed candles of the night' are extinguished by the ever-brightening domes that hang over our cities.
According to the International Astronomical Union, two billion people — almost 30 per cent of the world's population — cannot see the Milky Way. And as the view is obscured, so too is that powerful reminder that we are part of something much grander, an insignificant dot in a vast and expanding universe.
Our love of all things light and bright has killed our access to true darkness. From households that love the 'security' of a well-lit backyard to advertising execs who think we really need neon reminders of our banking options at 4.00 am, a large proportion of lighting is probably unnecessary.
Even lighting regarded as essential, such as street lights and flood lighting on public buildings, can be shamefully inefficient, with an estimated 30 per cent of the glow being pointlessly directed skyward where it lights up water and dust particles, contributing to that sickly orange halo.
Our desperate need for something like perpetual daylight can in part be attributed to a childlike fear of the bogeyman and the unfounded assumption that more and brighter lighting will make us safe.
Certainly public lighting has a positive effect on people's sense of security but studies of its actual effect on crime rates are inconclusive at best. In fact in a 2008 experiment in Essex where all street lights were turned out between midnight and 5.30 am, a marked decrease in crime was observed. A similar trend has also been measured in cities that have experienced long-term power outages.
Earlier this month there was a fortnight-long worldwide program to measure the brightness of the night sky, GLOBE at Night. And tomorrow night, we will see the return of Earth Hour, where homes and businesses are encouraged to turn out the lights for one hour.
As well as urging us to think about the resources and money wasted in over-lighting our cities, both campaigns encourage us to think about darkness differently — not as something to be feared and conquered, but as something precious, a link between us and all time and space.
Unlike other forms of pollution, light pollution is a relatively simple one to combat. By getting rid of all unnecessary lighting, using lower wattage lamps and installing shields to prevent light spillage, we would instantly start to repaint the night sky. Do nothing and soon the only place we'll see starlight is when it's projected on to the ceiling of a planetarium.
Back at my house, it's not only us humans who lack a good night's sleep because of the ever-present glow. The Indian Mynahs start their song at 3.00 am, fooled into thinking that day is breaking. A nocturnal trip to the bathroom no longer requires a blind fumble through the dark. And if it's too bright to get back to sleep afterwards, there's enough light breaking through the curtains to read a few chapters of Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything is Illuminated without even turning on the bedside lamp.
If you travel away from the city lights, it's hard not to be awe-struck by the scale and vastness of the twinkling lights in the sky. On a moonless night they shine so brightly that it seems impossible we could have ever wiped them from our city skies, let alone wiped them from our minds and our children's imaginations.
Vincent Van Gogh said 'the sight of the stars make me dream'. When we insist on over-lighting our cities, it's not just sleep we're losing — we're also losing the chance to dream.
Original text at: http://www.eurekastreet.com.au/article.aspx?aeid=19775
Gullibility is written in the stars
This article was published on the National Times in March 2010
The utter stupidity of astrology was brought home to me when I was pregnant with my first child. The estimated delivery date put the baby firmly in the Gemini camp (mischievous, multi-dimensionally talented, often involved in international financial wheeling and dealing). However, towards the end of the pregnancy, the hospital began talking about inducing the birth early – and in the Taurian zodiac. Was my daughter's personality about to take an abrupt u-turn? I wasn't so sure I like the sound of a Taurus baby as much, as they were "often regarded as snobby, withdrawn, boring or even sulky". What had happened my curious, talkative child with a special interest in foreign languages?
There is a case before the Bombay High Court at the moment seeking a ban on astrology, along with a host of other new age practices such as reiki, feng shui, tarot and palmistry, on the basis that they are not science. Here in Australia, it is staggering to see how sympathetic we still are towards new age fluff such as horoscopes. Are people really so gullible and desperate for direction that they consult these vague, boring predictions that were declared back in 1975 by 186 leading astronomers and physicists (including 18 Nobel prize winners) as having "no verified scientific basis"?
Out of curiosity, I decided to compile various horoscope readings on a single day from a range of media sites to see if there was any internal consistency to astrological readings. The inconsistencies were laugh-out-loud silly.
Among the predictions for Sagittarians (my star sign), "Something . . . is making you feel a little sad or disenchanted"; conversely another announced a "positive and optimistic backdrop to your day". One source claimed "your mind is on far away places today, making it hard for you to get much work done" while another declared that "the day will pass by quickly and you should be able to accomplish much". My "beneficial colours" were a near-rainbow: olive green and khaki in one source, sapphire blue in another, and purple by a third. Other more curious advice cautioned me to be "very careful to avoid secret relationships" and mourning the return of a loaned item "that gave you a slightly better lifestyle".
Of course, such a simple experiment will do nothing to silence the believers. They will claim that some astrologers are more accurate than others. My question then is: Which ones?
The "science" by which astrologers claim that celestial bodies somehow influence our personalities and behaviours has been shot to pieces by people with more experience in physics and astronomy than you or I. That the moon exerts a far greater gravitational effect on the Earth than the planets, and the sun wields a much larger electromagnetic effect are incontrovertible facts conveniently ignored by astrologers. That carefully controlled studies of individuals born at the exact same time and location have shown no similarities at all in terms of personality or destiny is somehow seen as proof that skeptics are just killjoys out to ruin everyone else's good time. That we have since realised that the sun passes through not 12 constellations but at least 13 and maybe as many as 24, well that's just being pedantic.
Yeah, yeah, science might not have all the answers (yet) but think of it this way: not one properly controlled study of astrology has ever shown a level of accuracy above what might usually be attributed to chance.
So rather than concentrate on the bad science behind astrology or the various idiosyncrasies of the human mind that lead us to look for collaborative evidence while overlooking conflicting facts, perhaps we should be looking at the question of harm. Does it matter if people consult horoscopes? Isn't it all just a bit of fun?
Apart from the fact that astrology diminishes the awe with which we should regard our universe, it diverts our attention (and our money) away from more legitimate and worthwhile goals. Humans have a unique capacity for reason and rational thought. We are capable of rising above the superstitious to think clearly and critically about life and the world around us.
New age beliefs such as astrology revel in their traditional roots, claiming that the fact that they are based on age-old practices, passed down through the generations, should somehow be a cause for celebration. When astrology is criticised or proven wrong, believers become the sulky child in the corner of the room with their eyes shut and their fingers in their ears, bemoaning how unfair and mean its critics are. Science, on the other hand, has inbuilt mechanisms for weeding out incorrect assumptions; in fact, what is proven incorrect is just as important as what is shown to be correct – it's called progressing our understanding of the world. Astrology cheapens the valuable and amazing advances made through science and promotes uncritical thinking.
We don't need to show tolerance toward views and practices that are fundamentally silly and an insult to our collective intelligence. When we allow new age beliefs begrudging acceptance and give them air time and column space, we create a kind of tacit support and an environment where irrational and dangerous ideas can survive and even prosper.
Enough is enough. It's time for the sensible, the intelligent and the rational-minded to stand up and put an end to this new age of stupidity — starting with horoscopes. But then I would say that, wouldn't I? Sagittarians are always bloody so cynical.
Original text at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/gullibility-is-written-in-the-stars-20100325-qzc3.html
The utter stupidity of astrology was brought home to me when I was pregnant with my first child. The estimated delivery date put the baby firmly in the Gemini camp (mischievous, multi-dimensionally talented, often involved in international financial wheeling and dealing). However, towards the end of the pregnancy, the hospital began talking about inducing the birth early – and in the Taurian zodiac. Was my daughter's personality about to take an abrupt u-turn? I wasn't so sure I like the sound of a Taurus baby as much, as they were "often regarded as snobby, withdrawn, boring or even sulky". What had happened my curious, talkative child with a special interest in foreign languages?
There is a case before the Bombay High Court at the moment seeking a ban on astrology, along with a host of other new age practices such as reiki, feng shui, tarot and palmistry, on the basis that they are not science. Here in Australia, it is staggering to see how sympathetic we still are towards new age fluff such as horoscopes. Are people really so gullible and desperate for direction that they consult these vague, boring predictions that were declared back in 1975 by 186 leading astronomers and physicists (including 18 Nobel prize winners) as having "no verified scientific basis"?
Out of curiosity, I decided to compile various horoscope readings on a single day from a range of media sites to see if there was any internal consistency to astrological readings. The inconsistencies were laugh-out-loud silly.
Among the predictions for Sagittarians (my star sign), "Something . . . is making you feel a little sad or disenchanted"; conversely another announced a "positive and optimistic backdrop to your day". One source claimed "your mind is on far away places today, making it hard for you to get much work done" while another declared that "the day will pass by quickly and you should be able to accomplish much". My "beneficial colours" were a near-rainbow: olive green and khaki in one source, sapphire blue in another, and purple by a third. Other more curious advice cautioned me to be "very careful to avoid secret relationships" and mourning the return of a loaned item "that gave you a slightly better lifestyle".
Of course, such a simple experiment will do nothing to silence the believers. They will claim that some astrologers are more accurate than others. My question then is: Which ones?
The "science" by which astrologers claim that celestial bodies somehow influence our personalities and behaviours has been shot to pieces by people with more experience in physics and astronomy than you or I. That the moon exerts a far greater gravitational effect on the Earth than the planets, and the sun wields a much larger electromagnetic effect are incontrovertible facts conveniently ignored by astrologers. That carefully controlled studies of individuals born at the exact same time and location have shown no similarities at all in terms of personality or destiny is somehow seen as proof that skeptics are just killjoys out to ruin everyone else's good time. That we have since realised that the sun passes through not 12 constellations but at least 13 and maybe as many as 24, well that's just being pedantic.
Yeah, yeah, science might not have all the answers (yet) but think of it this way: not one properly controlled study of astrology has ever shown a level of accuracy above what might usually be attributed to chance.
So rather than concentrate on the bad science behind astrology or the various idiosyncrasies of the human mind that lead us to look for collaborative evidence while overlooking conflicting facts, perhaps we should be looking at the question of harm. Does it matter if people consult horoscopes? Isn't it all just a bit of fun?
Apart from the fact that astrology diminishes the awe with which we should regard our universe, it diverts our attention (and our money) away from more legitimate and worthwhile goals. Humans have a unique capacity for reason and rational thought. We are capable of rising above the superstitious to think clearly and critically about life and the world around us.
New age beliefs such as astrology revel in their traditional roots, claiming that the fact that they are based on age-old practices, passed down through the generations, should somehow be a cause for celebration. When astrology is criticised or proven wrong, believers become the sulky child in the corner of the room with their eyes shut and their fingers in their ears, bemoaning how unfair and mean its critics are. Science, on the other hand, has inbuilt mechanisms for weeding out incorrect assumptions; in fact, what is proven incorrect is just as important as what is shown to be correct – it's called progressing our understanding of the world. Astrology cheapens the valuable and amazing advances made through science and promotes uncritical thinking.
We don't need to show tolerance toward views and practices that are fundamentally silly and an insult to our collective intelligence. When we allow new age beliefs begrudging acceptance and give them air time and column space, we create a kind of tacit support and an environment where irrational and dangerous ideas can survive and even prosper.
Enough is enough. It's time for the sensible, the intelligent and the rational-minded to stand up and put an end to this new age of stupidity — starting with horoscopes. But then I would say that, wouldn't I? Sagittarians are always bloody so cynical.
Original text at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/gullibility-is-written-in-the-stars-20100325-qzc3.html
The Meanderthals and me
This article was published in the Canberra Times in March 2010
They are the 'meanderthals' – people who display an almost primitive ignorance of social graces as they amble down the footpath two or three abreast. As well as dawdling along with prams, this species also enjoys coming to a sudden standstill, oblivious to those around them, so that they can elucidate a particular point in their conversation, hands flapping and eyes blinkered. While their distribution is widespread, they seem to particularly favour the very busiest and narrowest of footpaths, mainly in my neighbourhood.
Wherever there is a meanderthal, one can also expect to find their co-dependent, 'homo erestless'. These are the people who anxiously hop around behind the group, darting from one side to the other, assessing if there's room to pass. Generally, homo erestless are a passive aggressive bunch so, rather than actually verbalising any complaint, they'll huff dramatically under their breath while clipping at the heels of their arch-nemesis. Yeah, that'll teach them.
Maybe Guns 'N' Roses were on to something when they sang, “All we need is just a little patience”. Whether it is irritation with slow walkers, people who take forever to dig the coins out of their purse at the supermarket, or any form of telephone menu system, impatience seems to be the emotion that unites us these days.
Reports from the UK this week have suggested that Generation Y, having grown up in a culture where they have never had to wait for anything, are suffering academically due to their expectation that nothing is worth waiting for. In a world of instant turf, instant coffee and instant messenger, we've all turned into Veruca Salt imploring that we “want it now” and to be forced to wait, even for a few seconds here and there, could damn well nearly kill us.
To further illustrate the point, take a close look at the controls the next time you hop in a lift. More often than not, the only one showing any visible sign of wear will be the 'close door' button.
For years there has been debate raging on the internet about whether this button actually does anything at all. Conspiracy theorists suggest that it acts purely as a placebo for our impatience, creating the illusion that we are really in charge. Whether we don't want to wait for some indecisive slow coach to wander over to 'our' lift or because we can't bear the thought that the automatic door close might not kick in for another five or ten seconds, the desperate repeated jabbing of this button points to the same ill – the self-belief that we are far too important and special to be held up by other people and pointless tasks such as standing still.
And then there's that other sub-set of button pushers – the pedestrian light abusers. These people will hit the button with such force and repetition that you could swear the Department of Transport has an employee at each set of lights, watching for just the right amount of ferocity and urgency before turning the walk light on. A peculiar characteristic of these slightly desperate and edgy people is that they seem to have very little sense of shame as they pummel yet another button into submission. And when of course the light eventually does change, they'll smugly glance around at all the other pedestrians with a look that says, 'See? You've just got to show these buttons who's boss!'
What is most curious about impatience is that we know it is essentially futile. All that irritation bubbling away doesn't teach anybody a lesson, it only corrodes us away from the inside. We are just creating extra stress for ourselves while not making a jot of difference to a world that doesn't care either way if we are home in time to watch the news.
As an antidote to my own severe case of impatience, I have started going on long walks with my two-year-old. Sure, it can be painfully slow and frustrating at times as we stop to pat stray cats, run sticks across paling fences and collect fallen leaves, but generally speaking I feel more relaxed for slowing things down a little.
In fact, I've come to realise that maybe the meanderthals aren't the selfish, ill-mannered lot that I had made them out to be. Maybe we should be preserving their species as I have a sneaking suspicion that they are the ones who know how to relax and who are actually enjoying life and all it has to offer. Perhaps we should all take a lesson from Mae West when she said that "anything worth doing is worth doing slowly”.
They are the 'meanderthals' – people who display an almost primitive ignorance of social graces as they amble down the footpath two or three abreast. As well as dawdling along with prams, this species also enjoys coming to a sudden standstill, oblivious to those around them, so that they can elucidate a particular point in their conversation, hands flapping and eyes blinkered. While their distribution is widespread, they seem to particularly favour the very busiest and narrowest of footpaths, mainly in my neighbourhood.
Wherever there is a meanderthal, one can also expect to find their co-dependent, 'homo erestless'. These are the people who anxiously hop around behind the group, darting from one side to the other, assessing if there's room to pass. Generally, homo erestless are a passive aggressive bunch so, rather than actually verbalising any complaint, they'll huff dramatically under their breath while clipping at the heels of their arch-nemesis. Yeah, that'll teach them.
Maybe Guns 'N' Roses were on to something when they sang, “All we need is just a little patience”. Whether it is irritation with slow walkers, people who take forever to dig the coins out of their purse at the supermarket, or any form of telephone menu system, impatience seems to be the emotion that unites us these days.
Reports from the UK this week have suggested that Generation Y, having grown up in a culture where they have never had to wait for anything, are suffering academically due to their expectation that nothing is worth waiting for. In a world of instant turf, instant coffee and instant messenger, we've all turned into Veruca Salt imploring that we “want it now” and to be forced to wait, even for a few seconds here and there, could damn well nearly kill us.
To further illustrate the point, take a close look at the controls the next time you hop in a lift. More often than not, the only one showing any visible sign of wear will be the 'close door' button.
For years there has been debate raging on the internet about whether this button actually does anything at all. Conspiracy theorists suggest that it acts purely as a placebo for our impatience, creating the illusion that we are really in charge. Whether we don't want to wait for some indecisive slow coach to wander over to 'our' lift or because we can't bear the thought that the automatic door close might not kick in for another five or ten seconds, the desperate repeated jabbing of this button points to the same ill – the self-belief that we are far too important and special to be held up by other people and pointless tasks such as standing still.
And then there's that other sub-set of button pushers – the pedestrian light abusers. These people will hit the button with such force and repetition that you could swear the Department of Transport has an employee at each set of lights, watching for just the right amount of ferocity and urgency before turning the walk light on. A peculiar characteristic of these slightly desperate and edgy people is that they seem to have very little sense of shame as they pummel yet another button into submission. And when of course the light eventually does change, they'll smugly glance around at all the other pedestrians with a look that says, 'See? You've just got to show these buttons who's boss!'
What is most curious about impatience is that we know it is essentially futile. All that irritation bubbling away doesn't teach anybody a lesson, it only corrodes us away from the inside. We are just creating extra stress for ourselves while not making a jot of difference to a world that doesn't care either way if we are home in time to watch the news.
As an antidote to my own severe case of impatience, I have started going on long walks with my two-year-old. Sure, it can be painfully slow and frustrating at times as we stop to pat stray cats, run sticks across paling fences and collect fallen leaves, but generally speaking I feel more relaxed for slowing things down a little.
In fact, I've come to realise that maybe the meanderthals aren't the selfish, ill-mannered lot that I had made them out to be. Maybe we should be preserving their species as I have a sneaking suspicion that they are the ones who know how to relax and who are actually enjoying life and all it has to offer. Perhaps we should all take a lesson from Mae West when she said that "anything worth doing is worth doing slowly”.
It's just food people
This article formed part of a debate with Masterchef's Matt Preston published in the Herald Sun in April 2010
It was also published in the Canberra Times in February 2010
I swear, if one more person drops the words 'prepping' or 'plating up' around me, I am going to stuff their chef's hat right up their backenoff.
When I was a kid, my standard school lunch was a sandwich of luncheon meat and tomato sauce. So it was quite a shock the other day to read an article on back-to-school lunches. Offer your child one of two simple and appetising choices, they suggested – the garden turkey sandwich with lemon mayonnaise or the quesadilla with smashed avocado. I must have had it wrong; I thought we were trying to keep our six year olds fed and watered for the day, not trying to create a generation of precocious snobs.
'Oh, I am such a foodie', people will tell you in tones of smug self-righteousness. Calling yourself a foodie would seem to imply that you have a more advanced and complex love of food than me. Apparently it qualifies you to criticise any morsel put in front of you and it slyly lets your friends know that you can – and will happily – fork out $3.00 per gram of truffle.
Channel Seven's answer to Masterchef, My Kitchen Rules, and ABC's Poh's Kitchen both debuted this week. Over the past months, the best-seller lists have been full of exponentially larger and more expensive food porn. It would seem, disappointingly for those of us who haven't been love-struck by Matt Preston, that 'gourmet culture' is still very much on the ascendency.
No longer mere necessity, food has become a lifestyle and a status symbol. Cookbooks are our art, tv shows our theatre, chefs our heroes and no sophisticated person's week is complete without a trip to the farmer's market on Saturday morning.
During economically uncertain times, it is amazing that the gourmet food industry has succeeded in convincing people to waste their time and money trying to recreate something that they will probably never master. Think you're ever really going to make a croquembouche? What a crock of shit! The anti-climax of failing to reproduce a recipe as per the picture, the mumbled apologies to dinner party guests because it didn't quite turn out as expected, is something that almost all of us will relate to.
It is said that for every cookbook we purchase, we will try an average of two recipes. Why then do we keep buying into this gigantic scam? Sure glossy cookbooks look good on a coffee table but what's the point if they are nothing more than an aspirational goal, a reminder of what we haven't achieved and how we have failed our families?
To be worthy of anything other than derision, food nowadays must be organic, seasonal, locally produced, slow cooked, difficult to prepare, hard to source and – crucially – expensive. Nutrition, ease of preparation and tastiness hardly rate a mention. A friend's child the other day turned down my offer of a sandwich because we didn't have any Edam cheese. Rather than admonish the child, his parents tousled his hair and gave us a superior smile. It was clear, they had never been more proud.
The worst of foodie culture though surely takes place in restaurants. It used to be that grabbing a bite to eat was what you did before you went out. Now the meal itself has become the event as we participate in a pointless game of one-upmanship: Who has been where? Which restaurant has the longer waiting list? Which place is the more swanky? (Some of us would argue that maybe you should consider dropping the 's' off that last question.)
Restaurant conversations have become cringe-worthy with adjectives like tantalising, ambrosial and divine thrown around with unselfconscious abandon while we try and convince each other that it is actually worth all that money. Ah, we tell ourselves, but we have to eat and drink. Surely it's not that much of an extravagance if it also keeps us alive.
It's not that I think we shouldn't be talking about food or asking questions; it's just that I think we are asking the wrong questions. Instead of asking 'Did that Roquefort cheese really come from France?' we should be questioning how ethically the food was grown, its environmental cost and the health ramifications. And of course, there is that most difficult of questions always looming in the background: how can I justify spending $200 on a single meal when 36 million people die of starvation or starvation-related illnesses every year. Yes, I know – such figures are difficult to comprehend and just wash over us – but it just seems that they wash over us all the more easily when we are gorging on duck confit or a chocolate souffle.
Original text at: http://www.heraldsun.com.au/opinion/hey-its-just-food-people-no-need-to-make-a-meal-of-it/story-e6frfhqf-1225852461758
It was also published in the Canberra Times in February 2010
I swear, if one more person drops the words 'prepping' or 'plating up' around me, I am going to stuff their chef's hat right up their backenoff.
When I was a kid, my standard school lunch was a sandwich of luncheon meat and tomato sauce. So it was quite a shock the other day to read an article on back-to-school lunches. Offer your child one of two simple and appetising choices, they suggested – the garden turkey sandwich with lemon mayonnaise or the quesadilla with smashed avocado. I must have had it wrong; I thought we were trying to keep our six year olds fed and watered for the day, not trying to create a generation of precocious snobs.
'Oh, I am such a foodie', people will tell you in tones of smug self-righteousness. Calling yourself a foodie would seem to imply that you have a more advanced and complex love of food than me. Apparently it qualifies you to criticise any morsel put in front of you and it slyly lets your friends know that you can – and will happily – fork out $3.00 per gram of truffle.
Channel Seven's answer to Masterchef, My Kitchen Rules, and ABC's Poh's Kitchen both debuted this week. Over the past months, the best-seller lists have been full of exponentially larger and more expensive food porn. It would seem, disappointingly for those of us who haven't been love-struck by Matt Preston, that 'gourmet culture' is still very much on the ascendency.
No longer mere necessity, food has become a lifestyle and a status symbol. Cookbooks are our art, tv shows our theatre, chefs our heroes and no sophisticated person's week is complete without a trip to the farmer's market on Saturday morning.
During economically uncertain times, it is amazing that the gourmet food industry has succeeded in convincing people to waste their time and money trying to recreate something that they will probably never master. Think you're ever really going to make a croquembouche? What a crock of shit! The anti-climax of failing to reproduce a recipe as per the picture, the mumbled apologies to dinner party guests because it didn't quite turn out as expected, is something that almost all of us will relate to.
It is said that for every cookbook we purchase, we will try an average of two recipes. Why then do we keep buying into this gigantic scam? Sure glossy cookbooks look good on a coffee table but what's the point if they are nothing more than an aspirational goal, a reminder of what we haven't achieved and how we have failed our families?
To be worthy of anything other than derision, food nowadays must be organic, seasonal, locally produced, slow cooked, difficult to prepare, hard to source and – crucially – expensive. Nutrition, ease of preparation and tastiness hardly rate a mention. A friend's child the other day turned down my offer of a sandwich because we didn't have any Edam cheese. Rather than admonish the child, his parents tousled his hair and gave us a superior smile. It was clear, they had never been more proud.
The worst of foodie culture though surely takes place in restaurants. It used to be that grabbing a bite to eat was what you did before you went out. Now the meal itself has become the event as we participate in a pointless game of one-upmanship: Who has been where? Which restaurant has the longer waiting list? Which place is the more swanky? (Some of us would argue that maybe you should consider dropping the 's' off that last question.)
Restaurant conversations have become cringe-worthy with adjectives like tantalising, ambrosial and divine thrown around with unselfconscious abandon while we try and convince each other that it is actually worth all that money. Ah, we tell ourselves, but we have to eat and drink. Surely it's not that much of an extravagance if it also keeps us alive.
It's not that I think we shouldn't be talking about food or asking questions; it's just that I think we are asking the wrong questions. Instead of asking 'Did that Roquefort cheese really come from France?' we should be questioning how ethically the food was grown, its environmental cost and the health ramifications. And of course, there is that most difficult of questions always looming in the background: how can I justify spending $200 on a single meal when 36 million people die of starvation or starvation-related illnesses every year. Yes, I know – such figures are difficult to comprehend and just wash over us – but it just seems that they wash over us all the more easily when we are gorging on duck confit or a chocolate souffle.
Original text at: http://www.heraldsun.com.au/opinion/hey-its-just-food-people-no-need-to-make-a-meal-of-it/story-e6frfhqf-1225852461758
What the duck?
This article was published in Eureka Street in February 2010
We're all sick of the duck shooting argument aren't we? Year after year we see the same old television footage — a misty lake at the crack of dawn, tough men with beards and John Deere caps living out their Rambo fantasies on one side, and crusty-looking agitators with beards and hemp trousers on the other; one small group of extremists versus another.
This would all be fine except that in reality the people opposing duck hunting aren't the radicals that the media would have us believe. The people opposed to duck hunting are you and me and most of the people you know — in fact, according to a 2007 Roy Morgan poll, it's 87 per cent of Victorians, a figure spread fairly evenly among supporters of all political parties.
Putting aside for a moment the arguments of cruelty and conservation, it seems simply like a bad political move for the Victorian government to announce that the duck hunting season in 2010 will not only be longer than in 2009, but the daily bag limit will increase from three to eight.
Queensland, New South Wales and Western Australia Labor governments have all banned recreational duck shooting, so there is a precedent to ban this activity on both animal welfare and environmental grounds. With less than 20,000 duck shooters registered in Victoria, why does the Victorian government pander to the shooting lobby at the expense of the vast majority?
Along with expected scenes of the limp and pathetic bodies of swans and freckled duck being laid out on the steps of Parliament House, we can also anticipate the same old argument from shooters — a bizarre and counter-intuitive claim that they are actually the most passionate of conservationists.
Their argument goes something like this — 'We rely on high duck populations in order to shoot them out of the skies for our own pleasure, hence we actually care the most about preserving their numbers'. They claim, maybe truthfully, to do some good work funding wetland conservation. But any such positive contribution is more than outweighed by the harm they cause.
There is also the old chestnut about hunters 'controlling' duck numbers. One could assume that without their important knowledge of 'game management' we would be dangerously overrun by out-of-control duck populations. When a family of mountain duck has moved into your garage, don't say you weren't warned!
You can only feel sorry for Professor Richard Kingsford, the scientist responsible for surveying bird numbers since 1983, whose work has unwittingly become the justification for the government's decision. Professor Kingsford's research has shown that duck populations have declined by 70 per cent in the past 25 years. Between 2007 and 2008 alone, he found a dramatic 60 per cent decrease in numbers.
Professor Kingsford has pointed out that, although his most recent surveys of Eastern Australia might have shown a slight increase in overall bird populations across Victoria, South Australia, NSW and Queensland combined, Victorian numbers have not necessarily increased at all during the past year.
He is also at pains to point out that only half of the duck species targeted by Victorian hunters migrate. We cannot rely on higher populations in other states conveniently flying in to repopulate our own diminishing stock.
Although some of the reduction in numbers can be attributed to factors such as drought and habitat loss, those gun-toting conservationists only add further to the pressure by killing not only target duck species but other endangered and non-target species as well.
Sure, this is not the intention of the shooters. Field and Game Australia (FGA) openly 'deplore' the killing of protected species and attribute such mistakes to mistaken identity and vandalism. In 1990 in an attempt to reduce the kill of non-target species, the Waterfowl Identification Test was introduced. In 1993, half the freckled duck population in Victoria was shot and killed. This is just part and parcel of the game. To accept duck shooting is to accept the needless deaths of protected species, no matter how unintentional they are.
FGA literature also claims that the ducks they shoot might actually die a less painful death than those who die at the 'cruel hand' of nature. I am sure that deep down most hunters do not want birds to unduly suffer. But studies of hit rates have shown that it takes the average shooter six shots to bring down a bird, and that for every 100 birds bagged, between 60 and 120 are wounded.
No matter how good a marksman an individual might be, the reality of duck shooting is that there are as many birds painfully crippled and wounded as there are birds that are killed and retrieved.
Perhaps the most compelling argument though is a basic one of need. Do we really need to shoot and kill wild ducks? These birds aren't needed for food (although some are eaten). Unlike other environmental debates, unemployment figures will barely be influenced by the demise of the recreational hunting industry.
In the end it comes down to the simple desire of a small number of mainly men who get a thrill from the kill. And while they do so, we are all paying the price for those few hours of bloodlust — humans and animals alike.
Original article at: http://www.eurekastreet.com.au/article.aspx?aeid=18539
We're all sick of the duck shooting argument aren't we? Year after year we see the same old television footage — a misty lake at the crack of dawn, tough men with beards and John Deere caps living out their Rambo fantasies on one side, and crusty-looking agitators with beards and hemp trousers on the other; one small group of extremists versus another.
This would all be fine except that in reality the people opposing duck hunting aren't the radicals that the media would have us believe. The people opposed to duck hunting are you and me and most of the people you know — in fact, according to a 2007 Roy Morgan poll, it's 87 per cent of Victorians, a figure spread fairly evenly among supporters of all political parties.
Putting aside for a moment the arguments of cruelty and conservation, it seems simply like a bad political move for the Victorian government to announce that the duck hunting season in 2010 will not only be longer than in 2009, but the daily bag limit will increase from three to eight.
Queensland, New South Wales and Western Australia Labor governments have all banned recreational duck shooting, so there is a precedent to ban this activity on both animal welfare and environmental grounds. With less than 20,000 duck shooters registered in Victoria, why does the Victorian government pander to the shooting lobby at the expense of the vast majority?
Along with expected scenes of the limp and pathetic bodies of swans and freckled duck being laid out on the steps of Parliament House, we can also anticipate the same old argument from shooters — a bizarre and counter-intuitive claim that they are actually the most passionate of conservationists.
Their argument goes something like this — 'We rely on high duck populations in order to shoot them out of the skies for our own pleasure, hence we actually care the most about preserving their numbers'. They claim, maybe truthfully, to do some good work funding wetland conservation. But any such positive contribution is more than outweighed by the harm they cause.
There is also the old chestnut about hunters 'controlling' duck numbers. One could assume that without their important knowledge of 'game management' we would be dangerously overrun by out-of-control duck populations. When a family of mountain duck has moved into your garage, don't say you weren't warned!
You can only feel sorry for Professor Richard Kingsford, the scientist responsible for surveying bird numbers since 1983, whose work has unwittingly become the justification for the government's decision. Professor Kingsford's research has shown that duck populations have declined by 70 per cent in the past 25 years. Between 2007 and 2008 alone, he found a dramatic 60 per cent decrease in numbers.
Professor Kingsford has pointed out that, although his most recent surveys of Eastern Australia might have shown a slight increase in overall bird populations across Victoria, South Australia, NSW and Queensland combined, Victorian numbers have not necessarily increased at all during the past year.
He is also at pains to point out that only half of the duck species targeted by Victorian hunters migrate. We cannot rely on higher populations in other states conveniently flying in to repopulate our own diminishing stock.
Although some of the reduction in numbers can be attributed to factors such as drought and habitat loss, those gun-toting conservationists only add further to the pressure by killing not only target duck species but other endangered and non-target species as well.
Sure, this is not the intention of the shooters. Field and Game Australia (FGA) openly 'deplore' the killing of protected species and attribute such mistakes to mistaken identity and vandalism. In 1990 in an attempt to reduce the kill of non-target species, the Waterfowl Identification Test was introduced. In 1993, half the freckled duck population in Victoria was shot and killed. This is just part and parcel of the game. To accept duck shooting is to accept the needless deaths of protected species, no matter how unintentional they are.
FGA literature also claims that the ducks they shoot might actually die a less painful death than those who die at the 'cruel hand' of nature. I am sure that deep down most hunters do not want birds to unduly suffer. But studies of hit rates have shown that it takes the average shooter six shots to bring down a bird, and that for every 100 birds bagged, between 60 and 120 are wounded.
No matter how good a marksman an individual might be, the reality of duck shooting is that there are as many birds painfully crippled and wounded as there are birds that are killed and retrieved.
Perhaps the most compelling argument though is a basic one of need. Do we really need to shoot and kill wild ducks? These birds aren't needed for food (although some are eaten). Unlike other environmental debates, unemployment figures will barely be influenced by the demise of the recreational hunting industry.
In the end it comes down to the simple desire of a small number of mainly men who get a thrill from the kill. And while they do so, we are all paying the price for those few hours of bloodlust — humans and animals alike.
Original article at: http://www.eurekastreet.com.au/article.aspx?aeid=18539
Bowled over by rude dog owners
This article was published in The Age in January 2010
Let's start by getting one thing straight. I don't hate dogs - it's just the current breed of dog owners I can't stand. The other day we were enjoying a morning stroll down a busy shopping strip. Suddenly, like a crazed bat out of hell, a border collie came hurtling down the footpath, seemingly unaccompanied by any sane or responsible owner.
Credit where credit's due, the dog did stop at the pedestrian lights, drawing a look of surprise from some people and a smug smile of adoration from its owners who were cycling down the street. That's right, riding their bikes on a parallel, but completely separate, path some three or four metres away.
The lights eventually changed, the owners gave those around them a self-satisfied smile and, with a whistle, they were off again. The dog had to run pretty fast to keep up with its masters, zig-zagging along the busy pavement, brushing past prams containing sleeping babies, pushing its way around the odd wheelchair, its desperation to keep up with its owners paramount in its mind.
Advertisement: Story continues belowHaving your dog off its lead seems to be an emerging trend around our neighbourhood. Oh no, the owners are saying to us, you can't oppress my dog with all your rules and your leads.
It would seem that letting your dog run free is secret code for ''look at how special I am - my dog totally idolises me''. It is as if, by way of extension, we, too, should realise these people's amazing leadership qualities and general greatness, as if they had been democratically voted into this position of power by a vast audience of intelligent people, rather than exalted to this spot by one, flea-infested and, let's face it, smelly canine.
What I don't get about having your dog off-lead is why, if you love your dog as much as you purport to do, you would put it at increased risk of being hit by a car or getting lost.
Research last year from the University of British Columbia put the intelligence of dogs on par with the average two-year-old child. This is in itself pretty impressive, but I don't let my two-year-old wander the streets, trusting that they have a full grasp of the complexities of our road rules. As I love and want to protect my children, I tend to hold their hand as we cross roads or confine them to the safety of a pram. Letting them have free rein amid unpredictable traffic would probably have people questioning my capacity as a parent, not marvelling at how relaxed and casual I am.
Our little brush with the canine running of the Stawell Gift was just one of many occasions recently when we have been bothered by rogue dogs.
Lately, it seems that every time we are picnicking in the park or playing in the playground some exuberant mutt comes to spoil the party, trampling over the food and pushing over the children. Invariably, rather than apologise to us or chastise the animal, the owner will look at the cowering children and answer my glare with a ''Don't worry, she's very friendly'', the subtext of which is ''Stop being an uptight cow and foisting your fears on to your children''. The thing is, though, I actually want my children to have a mistrust of dogs. A bit of healthy apprehension is well founded.
Earlier this week, a report from the Dog Attack Register revealed an average of eight reported dog attacks each day in NSW alone. In Victoria, it is estimated that there are about nine attacks a day. And that's the reported attacks, not the odd nip here or there. And guess what? Almost all the owners of those dogs said that their dogs were friendly too.
Yes, I know. The dogs are not to blame and not all dog owners are selfish. But some are and I'm sick of being made to feel like it's my problem if I'm not overjoyed by the overly affectionate attention of your dog. ''Oh he likes you,'' the owner will say as their dog jumps up, licks your face and makes the occasional dive for your crotch.
As an experiment, let's try replacing the word ''dog'' with the word ''uncle'' in that last sentence and see how you'd feel about it if I just shrugged my shoulders and said, ''Oh Uncle Chester, you rascal''.
So to all you dog owners I say, enough of the crap - and I'm not talking about what you leave on the footpath. Letting your dog roam the streets unrestrained isn't a mark of how brilliantly obedient they are or how great you must be. Instead, it is a threat to public safety, your dog's wellbeing and my personal space. As Ann Landers implored: "Don't accept your dog's admiration as conclusive evidence that you are wonderful."
Original article at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/bowled-over-by-rude-dog-owners-20100130-n4fz.html
Let's start by getting one thing straight. I don't hate dogs - it's just the current breed of dog owners I can't stand. The other day we were enjoying a morning stroll down a busy shopping strip. Suddenly, like a crazed bat out of hell, a border collie came hurtling down the footpath, seemingly unaccompanied by any sane or responsible owner.
Credit where credit's due, the dog did stop at the pedestrian lights, drawing a look of surprise from some people and a smug smile of adoration from its owners who were cycling down the street. That's right, riding their bikes on a parallel, but completely separate, path some three or four metres away.
The lights eventually changed, the owners gave those around them a self-satisfied smile and, with a whistle, they were off again. The dog had to run pretty fast to keep up with its masters, zig-zagging along the busy pavement, brushing past prams containing sleeping babies, pushing its way around the odd wheelchair, its desperation to keep up with its owners paramount in its mind.
Advertisement: Story continues belowHaving your dog off its lead seems to be an emerging trend around our neighbourhood. Oh no, the owners are saying to us, you can't oppress my dog with all your rules and your leads.
It would seem that letting your dog run free is secret code for ''look at how special I am - my dog totally idolises me''. It is as if, by way of extension, we, too, should realise these people's amazing leadership qualities and general greatness, as if they had been democratically voted into this position of power by a vast audience of intelligent people, rather than exalted to this spot by one, flea-infested and, let's face it, smelly canine.
What I don't get about having your dog off-lead is why, if you love your dog as much as you purport to do, you would put it at increased risk of being hit by a car or getting lost.
Research last year from the University of British Columbia put the intelligence of dogs on par with the average two-year-old child. This is in itself pretty impressive, but I don't let my two-year-old wander the streets, trusting that they have a full grasp of the complexities of our road rules. As I love and want to protect my children, I tend to hold their hand as we cross roads or confine them to the safety of a pram. Letting them have free rein amid unpredictable traffic would probably have people questioning my capacity as a parent, not marvelling at how relaxed and casual I am.
Our little brush with the canine running of the Stawell Gift was just one of many occasions recently when we have been bothered by rogue dogs.
Lately, it seems that every time we are picnicking in the park or playing in the playground some exuberant mutt comes to spoil the party, trampling over the food and pushing over the children. Invariably, rather than apologise to us or chastise the animal, the owner will look at the cowering children and answer my glare with a ''Don't worry, she's very friendly'', the subtext of which is ''Stop being an uptight cow and foisting your fears on to your children''. The thing is, though, I actually want my children to have a mistrust of dogs. A bit of healthy apprehension is well founded.
Earlier this week, a report from the Dog Attack Register revealed an average of eight reported dog attacks each day in NSW alone. In Victoria, it is estimated that there are about nine attacks a day. And that's the reported attacks, not the odd nip here or there. And guess what? Almost all the owners of those dogs said that their dogs were friendly too.
Yes, I know. The dogs are not to blame and not all dog owners are selfish. But some are and I'm sick of being made to feel like it's my problem if I'm not overjoyed by the overly affectionate attention of your dog. ''Oh he likes you,'' the owner will say as their dog jumps up, licks your face and makes the occasional dive for your crotch.
As an experiment, let's try replacing the word ''dog'' with the word ''uncle'' in that last sentence and see how you'd feel about it if I just shrugged my shoulders and said, ''Oh Uncle Chester, you rascal''.
So to all you dog owners I say, enough of the crap - and I'm not talking about what you leave on the footpath. Letting your dog roam the streets unrestrained isn't a mark of how brilliantly obedient they are or how great you must be. Instead, it is a threat to public safety, your dog's wellbeing and my personal space. As Ann Landers implored: "Don't accept your dog's admiration as conclusive evidence that you are wonderful."
Original article at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/bowled-over-by-rude-dog-owners-20100130-n4fz.html
Sunday, August 29, 2010
That joke isn't punny anymore
This article was originally published on the National Times
Picture the scene: four long years of training and you're finally ready to open your very own hairdressing business. It's been a long and difficult ride – you've got repetitive strain injury from the blow-dryer, you've got wrinkled dish-pan hands from washing the scabby heads of old women, but it would seem that the hardest bit is yet to come – thinking up an appropriately witty name for your new salon. It has to be memorable. It has to be exciting. It needs to be "punny".
Hairdressers have been blessed with a profession rife with pun-worthy words, all equally irritating and unclever.
The word "hair", with so many close relatives and homophones, has spawned gems like: Hair Apparent; Hair today, gone tomorrow; Hair After; Hair Con; Hair Dinkum Cuts; Hair Dye Versity; Hair Fidelity; Hair for the hills; Hair Horizons; Hair I Am; Hair Loom; Hair of Elegance; Hair to Chat; Hair Tiz; Hair Trade; Hair We Come; Hair's Looking At You; and my personal favourite: Hairway to Heaven.
Other examples guaranteed to get you groaning include: Combing Attractions, Great Clips, It's a Curl Thing, Peroximity, and The Last Tangle.
Really, do the proprietors of hairdressing salons think these names are catchy? Do they lend an air of sophistication and professionalism to their work? Do they just scream high-quality, fashionable cuts to potential customers? Or are they simply stupid and annoying?
Puns have long been recognised as unfunny and yet, irritatingly, they persist – perhaps because the very old and small children seem to find them wildly amusing. Sure, the first time you hear a pun you may think you are quite clever for recognising that similar sounding words can have different meanings. You probably won't laugh out loud, but you may indulge in a little internal groan or grimace.
By the time you see the same pun painted on the front window, embroidered on the polo shirt, etched on the coffee mug and shouted down the telephone, any initial thrill will be long gone. One of the accepted rules of humour is that timing is everything – start plastering your pun everywhere and any opportunity for timing is lost and all your clever wordplay is going to do is agitate. And please don't try and make things better by telling me that the "pun is intended". Seriously, it's not that I needed you to point out to me that you are such a clever wordsmith, I'm not laughing because that joke isn't funny any more.
Freud labelled the pun the "cheapest" form of humour. The 19th century physician and poet, Oliver Wendell Holmes, was so offended by bad puns that he thought, in some cases, the only fit response was murder. In 1858 he said: "A pun does not commonly justify a blow in return. But if a blow were given for such cause, and death ensued, the jury would be judges both of the facts and of the pun, and might, if the latter were of an aggravated character, return a verdict of justifiable homicide."
While some may argue that slaughter is taking our irritation with hairdressing salon names a little too far, I still say enough is enough. It's time to stand up against these lowest common denominator wordplays, these intellectual affronts, and I'm calling for an embargo on punny hairdressers. Let no more lame names be allowed registration. If you frequent one of these establishments, beg the owner to rethink. Please, just do something before we all curl up and dye.
See the original post at: http://www.nationaltimes.com.au/opinion/contributors/hey-hairdressers-enough-with-the-puns-already-20091215-kts8.html
Picture the scene: four long years of training and you're finally ready to open your very own hairdressing business. It's been a long and difficult ride – you've got repetitive strain injury from the blow-dryer, you've got wrinkled dish-pan hands from washing the scabby heads of old women, but it would seem that the hardest bit is yet to come – thinking up an appropriately witty name for your new salon. It has to be memorable. It has to be exciting. It needs to be "punny".
Hairdressers have been blessed with a profession rife with pun-worthy words, all equally irritating and unclever.
The word "hair", with so many close relatives and homophones, has spawned gems like: Hair Apparent; Hair today, gone tomorrow; Hair After; Hair Con; Hair Dinkum Cuts; Hair Dye Versity; Hair Fidelity; Hair for the hills; Hair Horizons; Hair I Am; Hair Loom; Hair of Elegance; Hair to Chat; Hair Tiz; Hair Trade; Hair We Come; Hair's Looking At You; and my personal favourite: Hairway to Heaven.
Other examples guaranteed to get you groaning include: Combing Attractions, Great Clips, It's a Curl Thing, Peroximity, and The Last Tangle.
Really, do the proprietors of hairdressing salons think these names are catchy? Do they lend an air of sophistication and professionalism to their work? Do they just scream high-quality, fashionable cuts to potential customers? Or are they simply stupid and annoying?
Puns have long been recognised as unfunny and yet, irritatingly, they persist – perhaps because the very old and small children seem to find them wildly amusing. Sure, the first time you hear a pun you may think you are quite clever for recognising that similar sounding words can have different meanings. You probably won't laugh out loud, but you may indulge in a little internal groan or grimace.
By the time you see the same pun painted on the front window, embroidered on the polo shirt, etched on the coffee mug and shouted down the telephone, any initial thrill will be long gone. One of the accepted rules of humour is that timing is everything – start plastering your pun everywhere and any opportunity for timing is lost and all your clever wordplay is going to do is agitate. And please don't try and make things better by telling me that the "pun is intended". Seriously, it's not that I needed you to point out to me that you are such a clever wordsmith, I'm not laughing because that joke isn't funny any more.
Freud labelled the pun the "cheapest" form of humour. The 19th century physician and poet, Oliver Wendell Holmes, was so offended by bad puns that he thought, in some cases, the only fit response was murder. In 1858 he said: "A pun does not commonly justify a blow in return. But if a blow were given for such cause, and death ensued, the jury would be judges both of the facts and of the pun, and might, if the latter were of an aggravated character, return a verdict of justifiable homicide."
While some may argue that slaughter is taking our irritation with hairdressing salon names a little too far, I still say enough is enough. It's time to stand up against these lowest common denominator wordplays, these intellectual affronts, and I'm calling for an embargo on punny hairdressers. Let no more lame names be allowed registration. If you frequent one of these establishments, beg the owner to rethink. Please, just do something before we all curl up and dye.
See the original post at: http://www.nationaltimes.com.au/opinion/contributors/hey-hairdressers-enough-with-the-puns-already-20091215-kts8.html
Girl on girl violence
This article was published on crikey.com in December 2009
The County Court this week heard the case of four teenagers who brutally and relentlessly assaulted a girl with an intellectual disability in St Albans. During the 30-minute assault, the 16-year-old victim was punched, kicked, bashed with sticks and had her head slammed against the ground.
While the case is in every way horrific, what has made it so newsworthy is the fact that three of the 13-to-16-year-old perpetrators were girls. And what makes it even more sickening is that the 14-year-old’s mother helped plan the attack and then cheered on the children while taping the assault on a mobile phone for later broadcast on MySpace.
Also this week, 25-year-old Amber Cooper has appeared in the Melbourne Magistrates Court charged with the stabbing murder of a blind 65-year-old woman. The older woman was walking her two dogs mid-morning when she was stabbed in the throat, dying in a quiet Bairnsdale street.
Put the cases together and it would seem that we are witnessing an increase in violent attacks on girls and women, by girls and women. When did females become so nasty to each other?
Recent research out of the Queensland University of Technology reported that the rate of violent crime at the hands of girls tripled between 1989 and 2007. Violent crime by boys doubled in this period.
The causes of this trend to violence are undoubtedly complex and varied. Among the factors being blamed are TV, film, computer games and music, increased access to drugs and alcohol, changing attitudes to violence on a broader scale, and females trying to emulate male behaviour. Another widely touted theory puts cyberspace squarely in the frame.
Back when I was at school, girls could be incredibly mean and bitchy. Abuse took mainly indirect forms — name calling, gossip, perpetuating rumours and social exclusion. Today, technology is the new weapon in the bully’s armoury, giving them a whole more sinister approach.
Where our bullying would mostly stop at the school gate, with a click of a button today’s bullies can spread humiliating messages and degrading photos or videos throughout the virtual world. Bullying can be anonymous (which suits many girls who shy away from direct confrontation) and rather than be confined to school hours, the abuse can continue all day, every day.
In the case of the teenagers and mother mentioned earlier, it would almost seem that the technology has a part in driving the crime (although alcohol certainly played a role). Just have a look at the internet and it is clear that some girls are finding violence increasingly exciting and are showing off their skills in “bitch fight” videos online. The popularity of such clips on YouTube is staggering, with many videos indicating they have been played hundreds of thousands of times.
But it’s not just other teenagers who seem to find something intriguing about females who commit violence. At a broader level we condemn such acts and demonise the women involved, yet we happily lap up the stories in all their sickening detail. From Britains Moors murderer Myra Hindley to Australia’s own “black widow” Katherine Knight, and now Amber Cooper and the mother of the teenager in St Albans, their stories arouse a peculiar kind of morbid curiosity. Girls are meant to be gentle and protective. Mothers are meant to be incapable of such horrific acts.
On hearing of female violence, we gasp in collective horror — our anger and hatred not so much about the act itself, but about those girls and women defying the role we have created for them as soft, passive and conciliatory. If this most fundamental rule of our society falls over, it is as if all hell could break lose. Then begins the relentless speculation: what kind of woman commits such an act? What could possibly be her motive? What, we ask, does is say about our society that we created such a monster? Men who commit such acts, on the other hand, are spared the dissection. Familiarity with male-led violence means it sadly barely raises an eyebrow.
The rise in violence by women and girls is unquestioningly worrying and a bit scary. However, by getting hysterical, concentrating on the gender of the perpetrators and turning them into curiosities, we lose sight of the big picture. Females still represent the minority of violent offences and are at least 10 times more likely to be the victims of assault than males. Where we need to focus our attention is on the reasons why men and women, boys and girls use violent acts to assert power and resolve conflict. Only then can we begin to protect the most vulnerable members of our society.
Originally published at: http://www.crikey.com.au/2009/12/07/female-female-violent-crime-rate-triples/
The County Court this week heard the case of four teenagers who brutally and relentlessly assaulted a girl with an intellectual disability in St Albans. During the 30-minute assault, the 16-year-old victim was punched, kicked, bashed with sticks and had her head slammed against the ground.
While the case is in every way horrific, what has made it so newsworthy is the fact that three of the 13-to-16-year-old perpetrators were girls. And what makes it even more sickening is that the 14-year-old’s mother helped plan the attack and then cheered on the children while taping the assault on a mobile phone for later broadcast on MySpace.
Also this week, 25-year-old Amber Cooper has appeared in the Melbourne Magistrates Court charged with the stabbing murder of a blind 65-year-old woman. The older woman was walking her two dogs mid-morning when she was stabbed in the throat, dying in a quiet Bairnsdale street.
Put the cases together and it would seem that we are witnessing an increase in violent attacks on girls and women, by girls and women. When did females become so nasty to each other?
Recent research out of the Queensland University of Technology reported that the rate of violent crime at the hands of girls tripled between 1989 and 2007. Violent crime by boys doubled in this period.
The causes of this trend to violence are undoubtedly complex and varied. Among the factors being blamed are TV, film, computer games and music, increased access to drugs and alcohol, changing attitudes to violence on a broader scale, and females trying to emulate male behaviour. Another widely touted theory puts cyberspace squarely in the frame.
Back when I was at school, girls could be incredibly mean and bitchy. Abuse took mainly indirect forms — name calling, gossip, perpetuating rumours and social exclusion. Today, technology is the new weapon in the bully’s armoury, giving them a whole more sinister approach.
Where our bullying would mostly stop at the school gate, with a click of a button today’s bullies can spread humiliating messages and degrading photos or videos throughout the virtual world. Bullying can be anonymous (which suits many girls who shy away from direct confrontation) and rather than be confined to school hours, the abuse can continue all day, every day.
In the case of the teenagers and mother mentioned earlier, it would almost seem that the technology has a part in driving the crime (although alcohol certainly played a role). Just have a look at the internet and it is clear that some girls are finding violence increasingly exciting and are showing off their skills in “bitch fight” videos online. The popularity of such clips on YouTube is staggering, with many videos indicating they have been played hundreds of thousands of times.
But it’s not just other teenagers who seem to find something intriguing about females who commit violence. At a broader level we condemn such acts and demonise the women involved, yet we happily lap up the stories in all their sickening detail. From Britains Moors murderer Myra Hindley to Australia’s own “black widow” Katherine Knight, and now Amber Cooper and the mother of the teenager in St Albans, their stories arouse a peculiar kind of morbid curiosity. Girls are meant to be gentle and protective. Mothers are meant to be incapable of such horrific acts.
On hearing of female violence, we gasp in collective horror — our anger and hatred not so much about the act itself, but about those girls and women defying the role we have created for them as soft, passive and conciliatory. If this most fundamental rule of our society falls over, it is as if all hell could break lose. Then begins the relentless speculation: what kind of woman commits such an act? What could possibly be her motive? What, we ask, does is say about our society that we created such a monster? Men who commit such acts, on the other hand, are spared the dissection. Familiarity with male-led violence means it sadly barely raises an eyebrow.
The rise in violence by women and girls is unquestioningly worrying and a bit scary. However, by getting hysterical, concentrating on the gender of the perpetrators and turning them into curiosities, we lose sight of the big picture. Females still represent the minority of violent offences and are at least 10 times more likely to be the victims of assault than males. Where we need to focus our attention is on the reasons why men and women, boys and girls use violent acts to assert power and resolve conflict. Only then can we begin to protect the most vulnerable members of our society.
Originally published at: http://www.crikey.com.au/2009/12/07/female-female-violent-crime-rate-triples/
Ditch the Jesus sandals, save the world
This article was published in Eureka Street magazine in November 2009
and again in the 'Best of 2009' edition in January 2010
Earlier this year, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) announced their list of the sexiest vegetarians for 2009. Portia de Rossi, Russell Brand, Christie Brinkley and Orlando Jones were among those nominated, and are all undeniably sexy.
So why is it that when most people think of vegetarians, it conjures up images of shapeless hemp pants, brown turtleneck jumpers and long unkempt toenails? Why is vegetarianism still so unfashionable?
We live in a time when most of us want to be (or at least want to appear to be) environmentally conscious. Forget to take your reusable shopping bags to the supermarket, and you risk being spat upon by your fellow shoppers. Install some solar panels and buy a Toyota Prius, and most people expect to find their Australian of the Year nomination in the post soon. When people buy large, flashy and preferably expensive environmentally friendly products it is seen as a wonderful act of benevolence, a gift to the world.
Tell people that you are vegetarian (probably the single most potent thing you can personally do to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and water consumption) and you are somehow seen as antagonistic and self-centred.
You'd think vegetarians had made a deeply selfish decision purely to sabotage dinner parties. 'Well what do you eat?' the host will ask, exasperated. When surely we should be getting a pat on the back, we vegetarians are more likely to encounter defensiveness, endless 'conversations' demanding we justify our beliefs, and sometimes even palpable hostility.
In answer to your questions: no, I don't think we have a duty to our ancestors to eat meat; no, I don't hanker for a nice juicy steak; no, carrots don't have feelings too. I can't help thinking many of you protest too much.
But who or what is to blame for vegetarianism's image problem?
Partly we have to blame the celebrity chef, food porn, gourmet-at-home culture. High-end restaurants, prime time TV and over-priced celebrity chef cookbooks celebrate meat as the central ingredient in any successful meal. Vegetables are mere bit players.
And it seems the more icky the meat, the better. Nothing says sophistication like a bowl of goose intestines. And if veal and suckling pig aren't young and succulent enough for you, how about duck embryo still in the egg?
It seems that food preparation is no longer about sustenance or even tastiness. Instead it has become a challenge — and the most challenging of ingredients is surely meat. If you get the wrong cut, fail to slow roast it for the requisite nine hours or, God forbid, forget the thyme sprig garnish, all you'll have is a plate of inedible gristle. Get it right and you might have your husband tipping his head back, scratching his chin thoughtfully and delivering you a cheeky smirk of approval, Matt Preston-style.
Vegetables, on the other hand, are consistent, easy to cook and inexpensive. Where's the fun in that?
But perhaps vegetarianism has failed to win people over because of the widely-held assumption that it requires so much personal sacrifice. If the kind of sacrifices I have made include lowering my risk of getting cancer and reducing my grocery bill, then I'll take the chickpeas please.
As a bonus, I am saving thousands of animals from a life and death of suffering, and helping the health of the planet. In a 2006 UN Food and Agriculture Organisation paper, it was reported that farming for meat generates 18 per cent of the Earth's greenhouse gas emissions, whereas all the cars, trucks, planes, trains and boats of the world combined account for a mere 13 per cent. How many Priuses will you need to buy to counter that one?
Then there is a prevailing view that vegetarians are somehow morally superior. It is an uncomfortable admission for someone who has always been apologetic about their eating habits, but maybe the truth is that we actually are morally superior. What else can you call it when carnivores put their own laziness ('But it's so easy to just cook a piece of meat and three veg') and selfishness ('But I really like the taste of meat') above the needs of the planet and all its inhabitants — animal and human.
So perhaps us vegetarians are to blame for our own image problem. Sexiness shouldn't be the issue — after all, the meat industry has Sam Kekovich spruiking its wares while we have Sadie Frost. Maybe vegetarians have been too polite, too careful not to offend carnivores. In the current climate change climate, maybe we should be wearing our ethical and environmental credentials loudly and proudly to shame those who still eat meat?
Still, I can't help thinking that it wouldn't hurt to throw out those turtleneck jumpers and Jesus sandals if we really want to win people over to our cause.
Originally published at: http://www.eurekastreet.com.au/article.aspx?aeid=17434 and http://www.eurekastreet.com.au/article.aspx?aeid=18575
and again in the 'Best of 2009' edition in January 2010
Earlier this year, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) announced their list of the sexiest vegetarians for 2009. Portia de Rossi, Russell Brand, Christie Brinkley and Orlando Jones were among those nominated, and are all undeniably sexy.
So why is it that when most people think of vegetarians, it conjures up images of shapeless hemp pants, brown turtleneck jumpers and long unkempt toenails? Why is vegetarianism still so unfashionable?
We live in a time when most of us want to be (or at least want to appear to be) environmentally conscious. Forget to take your reusable shopping bags to the supermarket, and you risk being spat upon by your fellow shoppers. Install some solar panels and buy a Toyota Prius, and most people expect to find their Australian of the Year nomination in the post soon. When people buy large, flashy and preferably expensive environmentally friendly products it is seen as a wonderful act of benevolence, a gift to the world.
Tell people that you are vegetarian (probably the single most potent thing you can personally do to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and water consumption) and you are somehow seen as antagonistic and self-centred.
You'd think vegetarians had made a deeply selfish decision purely to sabotage dinner parties. 'Well what do you eat?' the host will ask, exasperated. When surely we should be getting a pat on the back, we vegetarians are more likely to encounter defensiveness, endless 'conversations' demanding we justify our beliefs, and sometimes even palpable hostility.
In answer to your questions: no, I don't think we have a duty to our ancestors to eat meat; no, I don't hanker for a nice juicy steak; no, carrots don't have feelings too. I can't help thinking many of you protest too much.
But who or what is to blame for vegetarianism's image problem?
Partly we have to blame the celebrity chef, food porn, gourmet-at-home culture. High-end restaurants, prime time TV and over-priced celebrity chef cookbooks celebrate meat as the central ingredient in any successful meal. Vegetables are mere bit players.
And it seems the more icky the meat, the better. Nothing says sophistication like a bowl of goose intestines. And if veal and suckling pig aren't young and succulent enough for you, how about duck embryo still in the egg?
It seems that food preparation is no longer about sustenance or even tastiness. Instead it has become a challenge — and the most challenging of ingredients is surely meat. If you get the wrong cut, fail to slow roast it for the requisite nine hours or, God forbid, forget the thyme sprig garnish, all you'll have is a plate of inedible gristle. Get it right and you might have your husband tipping his head back, scratching his chin thoughtfully and delivering you a cheeky smirk of approval, Matt Preston-style.
Vegetables, on the other hand, are consistent, easy to cook and inexpensive. Where's the fun in that?
But perhaps vegetarianism has failed to win people over because of the widely-held assumption that it requires so much personal sacrifice. If the kind of sacrifices I have made include lowering my risk of getting cancer and reducing my grocery bill, then I'll take the chickpeas please.
As a bonus, I am saving thousands of animals from a life and death of suffering, and helping the health of the planet. In a 2006 UN Food and Agriculture Organisation paper, it was reported that farming for meat generates 18 per cent of the Earth's greenhouse gas emissions, whereas all the cars, trucks, planes, trains and boats of the world combined account for a mere 13 per cent. How many Priuses will you need to buy to counter that one?
Then there is a prevailing view that vegetarians are somehow morally superior. It is an uncomfortable admission for someone who has always been apologetic about their eating habits, but maybe the truth is that we actually are morally superior. What else can you call it when carnivores put their own laziness ('But it's so easy to just cook a piece of meat and three veg') and selfishness ('But I really like the taste of meat') above the needs of the planet and all its inhabitants — animal and human.
So perhaps us vegetarians are to blame for our own image problem. Sexiness shouldn't be the issue — after all, the meat industry has Sam Kekovich spruiking its wares while we have Sadie Frost. Maybe vegetarians have been too polite, too careful not to offend carnivores. In the current climate change climate, maybe we should be wearing our ethical and environmental credentials loudly and proudly to shame those who still eat meat?
Still, I can't help thinking that it wouldn't hurt to throw out those turtleneck jumpers and Jesus sandals if we really want to win people over to our cause.
Originally published at: http://www.eurekastreet.com.au/article.aspx?aeid=17434 and http://www.eurekastreet.com.au/article.aspx?aeid=18575
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