NS January 18th, 2010

Have you been wanting to give something to Haiti but have perhaps hesitated, not knowing which organisation to donate to and what they’ll do with the money? Do you like the idea of helping to purchase a specific item that you know will be put to good use?

Some fantastic bloggers have gotten together and started a Just Giving page to help raise funds for ShelterBox, an organisation that is incredibly vital in the aftermath of disasters such as the earthquake that has destroyed much of Haiti. As pictured above, each box contains a ten-person tent designed to withstand heavy rainfall, extreme temperatures and high winds and comes with partitions so private spaces can be created inside. It also includes other vital survival equipment like thermal blankets, water purification and cooking supplies, a wood-burning or multi-fuel stove, a tool kit enabling latrines to be dug, firewood to be chopped and basic repairs to damaged dwellings to be made.

The box itself is lightweight and waterproof and can be used to store food and water or even double as a cot for a small baby. A supply of colouring and drawing materials for a child, who will likely have lost all of his or her possessions along with family members, is also included. It may seem irrelevant, but it’s often the small kindnesses and distractions that can help a child cope and bring a smile to his or her face.

Please, I beg you: give whatever you can to this fantastic organisation. They need our help to get as many of these boxes to the families in Haiti who have suddenly found themselves bereaved, injured, ill, homeless, thirsty and hungry. Each box costs nearly £500 so the more funds we can raise to ensure as many boxes as possible are sent, the better. As I type this, over £2,000 has been raised so far by the Bloggers For Haiti campaign, in the short space of a couple of days. That’s four boxes, ready to be shipped out! That’s shelter and supplies for 40 people.

Let’s help another 40, and then another. Just give.

Donations can also be made to Save The Children and UNICEF, amongst many others.

Tags: Activism, charity, poverty

• Activism , In The News , Public Service Announcements
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NS January 15th, 2010

Do we really need to see photos of dead bodies in Haiti?

No, I mean it. Do we really need to see them to make us understand what’s going on there, how much devastation and human suffering are flowing through the broken, dusty streets? Do we need to see a dead schoolgirl crushed by concrete at her desk? Do we need to see a grieving, wailing father holding his dead child in his arms? Do we need to see bloody arms and footless shoes and a mother with her arms raised up into the air, knowing that at that exact moment her heart was being ripped from her chest, put through the wringer of tragedy and returned to her, broken and forever shadowed by her loss?

But now, particularly since I’ve had children, I find looking at photos like the one above, from the New York Daily News, very difficult and almost voyeuristic. Who am I that I should be seeing this man’s face as he holds his dead child to his chest? Then again, who am I to protest that I don’t want to see it?

If we’d just read the headlines, with no photos, would we care as much? If we hadn’t seen the faces of the people who survived, those who are homeless and injured and searching for missing loved ones, would we be digging into our pockets to give them whatever money we are able to?

I’m divided on this issue. As a journalism student at university, I sat through many an ethics lecture. I even took an entire class devoted to the ethics of covering tragedies and natural disasters. Every time we debated a controversial photo, the room was divided: half of us thought it was unethical, gratuitous, unnecessary, sensationalist; the other half thought they were a necessary, often useful evil. What better way to get people’s attention and make them understand what’s happening than to let the images do the talking? Why write three pages trying to describe the devastation when one picture says it all? Isn’t it a journalist’s responsibility to fully report and visually convey the situation they’re covering?

I used to think it was. I was in the latter group, the ones who, though saddened and disturbed by some of the more graphic photos, found they helped the public more fully understand the situation and emotionally connect to the subjects. Especially in incidents where survivors need help and donations, using photos to convey the urgency of the situation is appealing. And it works. Studies have shown that people give more when they are confronted with images of human suffering; they just aren’t as interested if what they’re presented with is an abstract thought, a far-away problem in some far-away place.

But that still begs the question: is it ethical? Is it right to put human suffering in all its raw immediacy on the front page, especially when a newspaper is making a profit from the sales of that image? Does it disgrace and dishonour those whom it portrays? Or does it tell the stories of those in the photos; let everyone know that they are there — hurting, bleeding, grieving, dying…but there?

I’m still not sure. My journalism roots say we need to see this, we need to care. But then I find myself, in the last few days of doing my day job (in which I have to look at dozens of newspapers’ front pages), doing my work with tears streaming down my face and my stomach churning. Another foot. Another arm. Another parent’s child, crushed by chaos. Another man’s struggle to clear debris while looking for his wife or sister, furiously digging with his bare hands, looking for a scrap of clothing or an inch of flesh that he recognises.

This is death, as viewed through a lens. Should we put the cap back on it and leave those mourning in Haiti their privacy, or should we continue to stare down the tragedy telescope in the hopes that it convinces others to donate?

What are your thoughts?

• In The News , Miscellaneous Missives
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NS January 12th, 2010

Warning: may be triggering to sexual assault survivors

Imagine you broke up with your boyfriend, a US Marine, and some time later found an ad on Craigslist that he has posted, pretending to be you, in which he said that you wanted to be raped and were looking for a man to fulfill your ‘fantasy.’ Imagine you got the ad taken down and reported it to police and though undoubtedly disgusted and shaken, thought that was the end of it.

Now imagine that before the ad was removed, a man contacted the email address it had listed, offering his services in fulfilling your ‘rape fantasy. ‘ Your ex and this man then carried out lengthy instant messaging conversations in which the man posing as you, the one with whom you used to be in a relationship and you once cared about, gave explicit instructions on how you wanted to be assaulted (“humiliation, physical abuse, sexual abuse”) and told this stranger where you lived.

Then, imagine your worst nightmare comes true. A stranger breaks into your home:  binds, blindfolds and gags you; and then rapes you while holding a knife to your throat, as instructed by your former lover from where he lives, on a military base in California.

Sound like a plot from a soap opera or a bad porno movie? Oh, how I wish I could tell you it was.

This actually happened, just last month, to a 25-year-old woman in Wyoming. Her attacker faces charges of first-degree sexual assault, first-degree burglary and first-degree kidnapping. Her ex-boyfriend is being charged with first-degree conspiracy to commit sexual assault.

Not surprisingly, her ex, Jebidiah James Stipe, 27, was in the process of being dismissed from the military for an “undisclosed pattern of misconduct” at the time of his arrest, Marine Corp officials said. I would not be surprised at all if that “pattern of misconduct” included threats, intimidation, insubordination, physical violence, sexual assault and/or sexual harrassment; most likely towards females he worked with and for. The kind of hatred towards women that would allow a man to arrange the brutal rape of his ex-girlfriend would undoutedly be hard to keep hidden from other females who crossed his path.

But what I find so disturbing about this story is not only the incredibly heinous and illegal actions of Jebidiah Stipe, but those of the man who agreed to carry out the sexual assault on his behalf. I know that there will be some who say: “But he was just answering what he believed to be a legitimate ad! He thought he was just fulfilling this kinky lady’s fantasy! He only did what ‘she’ asked him to!” and I’m not sure if legally this guy will have a leg to stand on with that argument (though I wouldn’t be surprised if it held up, given some of the ridiculous defenses rapists and their attorneys have used in the past), but this much is clear:

This man, Ty McDowell, 26, was only able to believe that this woman ‘wanted’ to be raped because he believes that those two things are able to mutually exist. Only in a culture that excuses and diminishes all but the most overt, violent forms of sexual assault was McDowell able to convince himself that he was merely fulfilling a not-all-that-uncommon fantasy; one that many women are too embarrassed or scared to admit they harbor. ‘No’  doesn’t always mean no, apparently; it also sometimes means ‘Yes please, and do it harder!’ according to popular myth.

And who can blame him for making this mistake, really? McDowell has undoubtedly grown up watching violent, degrading pornography in which women’s bodies are ‘taken’ and men are the ones ‘giving’ it to them, as if female sexuality and autonomy were commodities as common and worthless as coffee mugs or scented candles in the office Secret Santa gift exchange. He’s undoubtedly heard his peers make jokes about sexual assault and seen rape trials unfold where the victim’s character and whether she really said No (and forcefully enough, to boot) were called into question and made her out to be a woman who, in the end, didn’t want to stop the unwanted sex badly enough or who wanted it all along but felt too ashamed to give in and say Yes outright.

Ty McDowell grew up in a culture that objectifies women to the point where we can’t even buy running shoes without making it all about tits and ass and how fuckable we are to men. He grew up in a society where a sizeable portion of the population think a woman is at least partially (if not totally) at fault for her rape if she had been drinking, had flirted with her assailant before the attack or was wearing ‘revealing’ clothing. He grew up in a place where a ‘sex robot’ can be invented, constructed, demonstrated and sold by ‘normal’ people and publicised in mainstream media markets without a disturbed eyelash being batted [I won't post a link to the video here but needless to say it is grotesque; not only is it misogynist but also plain creepy, with references to the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center and with one of the robot's 'personalities' describing her death].

Though it would be easy to dismiss this as just another bizarre, one-off creation, that this kind of thing is only a ‘joke’ or for ‘losers’, it shows just how inconsequential and disposable some men think women’s bodies are and what little importance they place on our thoughts, feelings and rights to ourselves. That some would rather have sex with a doll than bother to do the work in forming an authentic, consenting sexual bond with a real, live woman is exactly the kind of view that contributes to the dehumanization of women and, in turn, the proliferation of  rape culture. It leads to a world where a man can, with the mere placement of an ad, leave a woman’s body violated and her life in pieces. And that kind of world scares (and angers) the hell out of me.

• Feminist Fury , Objectification , Rape , Violence
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NS January 8th, 2010

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked The Noble Child a couple days ago.

“A princess! A horse! Or a doctor. Ooh, I know, a fire fighter!”

“Fantastic! All great choices.”

“And what do you want to be, Mummy?”

If only I knew, my child. If only.

I’m 30 and rapidly approaching a fourth full year of unemployment outside the home. For the past year I have been doing  a small freelance job, every day for about 1.5-2 hours in the afternoon, but aside from that all my child and house-related work is done pro bono. Aren’t I charitable?

So it’s time. 2010 is the year of Returning To Work, I’ve decided. Certainly by the time TNC starts primary school in the autumn, I will either be employed in some capacity or actively searching.  Line up childcare, get job, forge new career, meet new people, be intellectually challenged and pull in some extra cash so my family can do things like go out for the occasional meal or take the odd holiday without it being a bank-balance-busting exercise in stress and futility. Sounds simple, right? I wish.

Because as ‘simple’ as it might be to just go out and get a job working for someone else, I’d still like to give working for myself a try. Working for someone else won’t allow me any time to develop my writing skills or run my websites or work on my book proposal. Working for someone else, on their terms and schedule and pay scale, is a daunting and almost frightening prospect after all these years. Interviews, commuting, office politics, office gossip, Christmas parties where you get drunk and embarrass yourself (or is that only me?)…these are things I haven’t done since I was in my mid-twenties, footloose and fancy-free.

Mostly, my apprehension is because I know what people say about working mothers behind their backs and sometimes even to their faces. I know that even once I’ve gone through the arduous task of getting a job, made all the more difficult by my gender and parental status, many of my non-parent co-workers will grumble and roll their eyes and think it highly unfair when I have to take the day off to care for a sick child or leave early once a week to pick them up from childcare. I know that I will likely be passed over for promotions and special projects because I can’t commit to the longer, extra hours. If I were to decide to have another baby, I’d have to deal with sorting out maternity leave, time off for antenatal appointments and the inevitable physical ailments and discomforts of pregnancy, knowing that my risk of being sacked or made redundant would grow along with my belly, plus the feeling of being a ‘disappointment’ or a ‘liability’ to the company’s bottom line because of my reproductive choices.

The stress of working somewhere else all day and then having to rush around to pick up the children, get them home, fed, bathed and to bed before I could even begin to think about doing anything for myself, my other interests, the household or my marriage makes my blood run cold. I see and hear and read about tons of other women doing it, and incredibly well to boot, but I suddenly feel incapable, inept and insecure when I contemplate doing it myself. I then accuse myself of being pampered, lazy and cowardly, despite knowing full well that staying at home with my children and running one or two independent businesses concurrently has its own special set of hellish stresses and responsibilities that perhaps women who work outside the home would view with the same mixture of dread, jealousy and awe with which I view theirs.

Does it all have to be so complicated?

More options begin running through my head. I could spend this month and next launching my new website, get everything up and running smoothly and work on getting myself back into the blogging groove after my long Christmas-period break. Then come March, I could really give freelance journalism an earnest try, despite the warnings from more seasoned pros that I probably have a better chance of being struck by lightning while driving an SUV to a Miley Cyrus concert (i.e. highly bloody unlikely). It couldn’t hurt to try, right? But again, that little voice in the back of my mind whispers: But what if you fail? What if you’re not good enough, or experienced enough, or can’t even get your foot in the bloody door (the editor’s inbox)? How will you justify all that money spent on your two days of paid childcare, just frittered away on a hopeless pipe dream? How crushed and humiliated will you feel if you don’t sell a single article in those few months? How will you face your husband when he comes home after a 12 hour day and you’ve not made a penny? How long can you keep kidding yourself that you’re ever going to become a successful journalist?

That voice is annoying. And pessimistic. And horrible. I know this. But still, it comes, usually at night when I’m lying in the dark trying to fall asleep and a thousand thoughts and worries are racing around and colliding in my head.

Then I tell myself that on the positive side, if by June or July the freelance thing looked like it might bring in some income, even if not substantial, I could go ahead and do the doula and childbirth educator training I’ve been thinking of doing for the past couple years so that I’m ready to begin teaching classes and attending births (and earning money) by the end of the calendar year. That way I’d have two different careers, both done independently and from home, one of which would hopefully pick up the slack when clients/jobs were lean. This would allow me to stay at home, even if I needed to pay for part-time childcare, and a) be more present for my children, b) earn some money for our household and c) keep writing and working on my personal projects while pursuing my career ambitions until I’m ready to return to the kinds of jobs that require so much more of me than I think I can give right now.

Just to complete the wishy-washiness trifecta, I then waver back the other way and think that I should just forget about all of this freelance and doula malarkey and just get a job when TNC starts school and have the stability of a steady, known income and someone else to worry about covering for me when I’m sick and figuring out how much tax I owe. If I knew I could get a decently-paid and interesting job at an activist organisation doing something that I’m passionate about, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But I’d be competing for the kinds of jobs that usually go to graduates fresh out of university, willing to do unpaid internships and work until the job is done, no matter how late, and to attend parties and functions to woo clients and donors or persuade MPs. Who is going to hire a 30-year-old mother of two who has been out of the workforce for 4-5 years and who only has as much work experience in her field as someone who was born a decade later; someone willing to work for less than the living wage just to get their foot in the door because they’re still living with their parents and aren’t paying a mortgage, bills, school fees, pension plans, etc..?

See? It’s never-ending. Each pro has two cons and vice versa. I can’t seem to make up my mind what I’d like to do most, or what is most realistic. And I struggle with focusing on one choice and going for it instead of considering three or four and never doing anything about them because there are too many options.

This is why I pour a large glass of red wine every Friday night and fold myself into my cosy armchair, full of dreams, fears, possibilities and uncertainties. I usually reserve these thoughts only for my personal wallowing sessions, but tonight, in desperation, I’m pinging it over to you. If anyone has any light to shed, experiences to share or suggestions to give, I’m all ears!

Photo credit

• Career , Family , Miscellaneous Missives
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NS January 6th, 2010

This is what the London Eye looks like, as viewed from Waterloo Bridge after a bottle or two of wine.

• Londonista , Wordless Wednesday
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