This article was first published on The National Times (20/09/2010)
As my daughter approaches 18 months of age, everyone is suddenly interested in the question of my weaning her. It seems that I am about to step over an invisible line where breastfeeding becomes weird, inappropriate and unappealing.
You've got to feel sorry for new mothers. When a baby is born, the pressure to breastfeed is intense. Women who do not, through either choice or necessity, might as well leave their newborns out in the woods for the wolves, such is the scorn heaped upon them by everyone from hospital midwives to sanctimonious friends and family.
But the breastfeeding window is only open for a short period. Choose to do it beyond a certain age and you'll be regarded as strange, selfish and a bit disgusting. By a certain point in time, breasts are expected to be back on the public market, not being monopolised by a selfish child.
A study released last month from the University of Pittsburgh found that mothers who breastfeed are less likely to develop Type 2 diabetes. The research adds to an already long list of breastfeeding benefits — from the promotion of sensory and cognitive development and protection against infectious and chronic diseases in infants, to lower rates of breast, uterine, ovarian and cervical cancers, heart attack, stroke and cardiovascular disease in mothers. Much of the research has also indicated that the protective effects of breastfeeding increase with its duration.
While the World Health Organisation recommends that women breastfeed for up to two years of age or beyond, in Australia it has been reported that only 14 per cent of women were breastfeeding their babies at six months. A Newspoll study in 2009 found that one-third of Australians believe that breastfeeding should stop at six months, with an additional 39 per cent believing it should cease by 12 months. Both in public attitude and in practise, it would seem that Australia is way out of step with the leading advice on public health.
It is difficult to pinpoint why we feel so confronted when we see, or even think of, women breastfeeding older babies or toddlers. There are some who are always going to be unreasonably bothered by the idea of a woman ''whipping out'' a breast in public. Interestingly in the Newspoll study, most people objecting to public breastfeeding were not the old fuddy-duddies you'd expect, but people in the 18-24 year age group.
One of the most common reasons cited by people objecting to sustained breastfeeding seems to revolve around the idea that it is unnatural or creepy if a child is old enough to walk up to its mother and ask for a drink — or, in other words, if they have developed any movement or language skills. Other commonly given concerns include suggestions that the child will become too dependent, an objection that seems particularly strong if the child is a boy, or that the mother is prolonging the practice in order to fulfil her own emotional needs.
At the heart of these thinly veiled criticisms is a fundamental clash between the idea of breasts as objects of lust and ones with an intended biological purpose.
We have no problem allowing images of breasts to be plastered all over TV, billboards and online media. However, many people are horrified at the mere thought of a woman daring to use them publicly, or even in the privacy of her own home, to feed a two-year-old. For many, there seems to be an irrational concern that if we encourage all this breastfeeding business too much, the sexual potency of breasts everywhere will be somehow diminished.
It's worth remembering that breastfeeding doesn't always come easily. Please, can we not make it any more difficult for women by vocally, and sometimes viciously, attacking their choices about if, where, when and for how long they choose to do it.
For the record, I don't plan on weaning my daughter just yet. I feel fortunate to be in a situation where I can still feed her and will continue to do so while it remains convenient, cheap and provides us both with unparalleled health benefits. I can't see anything unnatural or creepy about that.
Original article at: http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/contributors/breast-is-best--for-longer-than-you-may-think-20100917-15fcs.html
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Could a 21-hour working week work?
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
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
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
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