I Can’t Keep Quiet

A Cambodian Girl (source)

put on your face
know your place
shut up and smile

Have you read Half the Sky? It’s written by award winning journalists who had to tell the stories their publishers weren’t interested in running. Stories about the plight of women across the globe. Stories that were not ‘news’ despite women being roughly half of all the people living on this planet.  The stories highlighted to me how very far we are from the things fair-minded citizens have fought for ….forever.  From the beginning of time.  The book put me in mind of another author’s work, Xinran; The Good Women of China.

And here we are, thousands of years into human existence; fighting for simple human kindness. An agreed creed against injustice. Fighting even for awareness that these things remain to be fought for. Fighting to show the younger generations that these issues are not new. Trying to convince our young ones that each generational wave can build upon the work of generations previously. Are more people all over the world making a noise, speaking out? Is it wishful thinking? Traction is hard fought won.  In Science, we have been able to build on the discoveries of others, stand, as Einstein put it  ‘on the shoulders of giants’.  Perhaps not with regards to climate change, but still. Yet in matters of equity, true cultural advancement; can we, are we even brave enough to carry on the work of people before us?

I don’t know exactly at what point the fight for interhuman respect became a fight between genders, but it did. It might have been when those invading armies destroyed an entire extraordinary culture in Ancient Sumer and with it, the first documented rights of women.  It might have been when the industrial revolution and rise of capitalism rendered mothering a non-valuable industry. It might have been the first rape. Or the billionth. At some point, the marginalised, the vulnerable, the consistently downtrodden of the world noticed that most often, the oppressor was male.  Stronger, shrewder perhaps, more aggressive. Force triumphing over Fair.

Stop whining, say the modern day alpha males. Stop whining and accept it. It’s just the way of life, the law of the jungle, the status quo  -and what about our rights not to have to listen to you whine? So, life’s not fair, swallow it and shut up.

But I can’t keep quiet.

Lately, the burning in my brain about women’s issues has been tearing me up inside. I’ve been shutting up, being a good girl. Not making waves. I’ve been doing that for so long it is making me crazy. Then just the other day, my beautiful friend Chloe who is volunteering in Cambodia, shared a story that broke me. She wrote about a little twelve year old girl from their school who has been abducted for the sex slave trade in Thailand. She thought she was going to be taken to see her Mum. I think of my own twelve year old and my guts twist.

I know that little girl and her even younger sister have been taken to the brothels, because her abduction is the classic m.o of the organised criminals who run these rackets. It has long been documented discussed and dissected by Not For Profit organisations working in the region. Ignored by governments, the media and by people like us, comfortable in our busy workaday lives.

Those little girls don’t have parents who can shout. They don’t have countrymen who can take time away from the graft of survival to search for them.  Even if they did, they’d probably end up killed. It’s a one way ticket into the brothels of Thailand. Children are briefly valuable commodities in the sex trade of Thailand; sought by wealthy foreign men taking their criminal sexual preferences to a more permissive political climate. And when those girls are no longer children they become grist for the sex trade mill. And it is not just Thailand. Brothels, even here in New Zealand profit from sex slavery. Each person held captive, ‘just another’ nameless woman, no freedom, no voice.

No one knows me, no one ever will
if I don’t say something, if I just lie still

I saw my friend’s post about those little girls on a day that was full of my own personal challenges. And then I saw a facebook post from Milck, the artist who wrote the stirring anthem sung at many of the women’s marches around the world recently.  In Goteburg, women gathered to sing her song in public as the snow fell. It’s a beautiful clip. It made me cry.

I’ve been a blithering mess lately, crying at everything. Feeling the weight of the world’s injustices as if every one is my own. So I decided to take my sensitive and sore soul off Facebook. It hasn’t stopped me feeling upset. It’s not revolutionary, nor a political statement. It’s not helpful to anyone out there struggling.  My sensitivities are only useful if I do something with them. I just mention it here to explain it to you if you’ve been looking for me out there.  I’m here. And I can’t keep quiet.

Below I have listed a couple of organisations I trust, if you too feel galvanised by your inner distress to do something.  Join me. I’m not on Facebook right now, but I am still here. Fighting the stupidity of humans hurting humans by using my voice. Fighting by sending money and goods to the organisations who can help. Fighting by raising my kids to be aware, kind humans. Fighting for myself, by regaining the emotional energy I need to continue the fight.

A one woman riot,

I can’t keep quiet
For anyone
Anymore.

All lyrics in bold italics are by Milck. You can see her song here:

Organisations:

SHAKTI:

Shakti has four ethnic women’s refuges in New Zealand. You can donate using the details below, or credit card donations are possible through their website. Donations go towards ensuring safety to vulnerable women and children. Items needed include beds, bed linen, duvets, kitchen ware, groceries, sanitary products, toiletries, etc.

Direct Deposit: Shakti Community Council Inc (Donations)
ANZ Branch, Mt Roskill Branch
Account Number: 01-0183-0243434-03

AUCKLAND WOMEN’S CENTRE

Helps over 3,000 women a year by offering:

  • crisis intervention to women with complex needs
  • support, information, advice and referral for emergency housing, women’s refuge, rape counselling, child abuse reporting, abortion, parenting
  • links to AWC’s low cost community education programme and counselling
  • referral to the right service based on particular needs

UNITED NATIONS DEVELOPMENT FUND FOR WOMEN

Keep abreast of global issues for women.

HOUSE OF HAGAR, Cambodia
Chloe tells me this is absolutely the organisation making a difference for victims of sex trafficking in Cambodia. Immediately after the girls were taken, Chloe got in touch with them and House of Hagar are working with contacts to try to extract the girls and return them home.

HAMLIN FISTULA HOSPITAL, Ethiopia
The kids at our school knit peggy squares for these exceptionally brave women. I urge you to read more about them and their plight and consider donating or helping them in any way you can.

What’s in a word?

I’ve always loved word play. So when I started this blog, playing with the ‘chronic illness’ part of my title made perfect sense. I wanted to chronicle my life, a record of my thinking for my kids, a resource for other patients, a place where I could write through all the issues I was facing. So calling my blog The Chronic-ills of Rach was fitting and mildly funny.  I think even then though, I was hopeful. I didn’t reserve that name as a domain name, preferring to use rachelfaithcox.com instead.

And life, sometimes, does beautiful things and turns in directions you never expected. I’m in remission, I’m out and about. I’m working and being an active parent. I’m enjoying all the offerings of life in well-land! And it feels quite strange to have a blog called the Chronic-ills of Rach when right now, illness is not the all-consuming factor it used to be in my life. So I have amended my blog title. I wanted to do it this way, to pay homage to the places I have been.  But I’m no good at coding and my blog theme is too locked down.   This is what my title image would have looked like if I had those skills.

the CHRONICLES

It feels like it’s time to move and grow.  The Chronic-ills of Rach will become the Chronicles of Rach, and I will continue to write here.  About the full range of things that happen in my world. Maybe that will include things about remission, maybe relapse (but I really, really hope not!) and maybe there will be more about living life on the outside after a long time living on the inside.  Maybe you’ll come with me as I traverse these new paths? I’d love you to stay.

It’s been frankly quite weird going from mostly horizontal, to a job (plus size modelling) where my work is almost all standing. What a wonderful thing to get to experience the pampering and glamour of having my hair and makeup done by someone else! I’ve been learning all sorts of new tricks about how to make the most of my outward appearance. I feel like I have stepped sideways into a different dimension, into someone else’s life. And it would be a cinch to just drift away on the ease of feeling well, to take it all for granted and live the life that others seems to lead. It’s just that I can’t. I can’t forget and, well…
I don’t want to.

For me, all this outward beauty stuff is truly delightful. It’s a treat. It’s what so many little girls dream of.  Playing dress ups for a job! But I am keenly aware of the fact that outward beauty is ephemeral. There is smoke an mirrors, there is photoshop. There are skilled artists who sculpt and paint and tease and curl. It’s all very beautiful, but it is not soul sustenance. True beauty, the beauty I care about, is soul deep. And that kind of beauty is accessible to everyone, even without a team of hair and makeup and the skills of talented photographers!  True beauty shines out from the insides. And it is only created through experience.  Through living all of life’s highs and lows.

chroniclestitlechangeimage

So, from a girl-all-at-sea, into a fast world of action and busy-ness, I stop and survey the terra-firma. I hope to keep one eye at all times on the things that matter most. People. Connection. Communication. Kindness. These things easily get lost in the cut and thrust of everyday life. Mine is a strange shift of fortunes and I want so badly not to lose the lessons that washed up with me on this shore. I will gather them. I will continue to write about the things that matter.

So, welcome to my new/old blog!  Will you be hanging around?

The Set Up

I’m around seven years old. My big sister has a collection of dolls that break my heart every time I look at them. They are perfectly groomed, dressed and arranged. Whenever she deems to play dolls, she spends time getting them just so, a complete change for all, a new tableau. And then abandons them until the next time.  

By contrast, my dolls are in various states of undress.  Some have been iceskating while the others jazzercise.  It’s hard work getting all those tiny legwarmers onto their vinyl legs. Over in the corner of my haphazard doll house layout, a small blonde family wearing Woodstock styled outfits coo over their blue eyed baby. The mother is wearing an apron over her floral maxi dress; the father’s wide collared, embroidered shirt is open to the waist. His plastic abs shine in the filtered light through our bedroom window, his brown eyes stare at me, unblinking. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

I’ve been playing this way for hours; my dolls are ready for bed, but there is only one bed, made from a cracker box and covered with various fabric scraps and beddings. I strip Sandy and Mandy off and share the peach nightie and bed-jacket combo between them.  I console myself that once in bed, no one will be able to see that Mandy has nothing on her bottom half. I hide Mindy and Sindy in the wardrobe wrapped in a t-shirt because there is no room in the bed for them. Meanwhile, the happy trio in the corner settle down under a fluffy facewasher. That’ll do.

As I get up to leave my dolls to their dreams, I look across at my sister’s perfect tableau. I’m not sure if her dolls have ever even spoken to one another. I ache for them.  How can they be happy if no one ever gives them voice? I send them a comforting thought,

Don’t worry, one day I might inherit you. We’ll make up some great stories, you’ll love it.

And I bounce out to the kitchen for a slice of Mum’s banana cake.

__________________________________________________________

The hubster and I were having a chat today about actors. I was telling him all about being at a rehearsal with Zed the other day and how something really struck me. It occurred to me as I watched these talented people working and re-working their scenes, that acting is a noble craft.  Ancient and important.  Those who have the talent for it are able to communicate so much through acting.  Dramatisations and enactments have passed our histories and culture to the wider community since time began.  And not being an actor myself, it was quite a revelation. I saw how clever, and how important it is that human beings have always done this.

And it made me quite proud of my wee boy, following that inner drive of his up onto the stage.  Up there with the professionals, listening to direction, pondering before a serious nod and “Got it.” Then doing it,  a nuance of difference here, a grander gesture there. He’s been cast in a play by the Auckland Theatre Company.  His first paid acting gig. We’re all a bit star struck by him.  He gets his acting passion from his Great Grandmother.  But in the generations between, none of us have travelled very far into the thespian realm, for me, it began and ended with my cast of dolls.  It is a kind of inner force he follows; undaunted by audition after audition, never knowing if this one might be the one.  I admire his ability to take rejection and keep trying. Mostly, we sit back and watch his acting interests unfold.  What will be, will be. Seeing him act is such a joy for me.

These photos are from when he acted with a troupe of older actors.  He played the young Astynax in the Trojan Women (a Greek Tragedy) opposite his Great-grandmother as Hecuba.  He is pictured below with his on-stage mother, and right, playing dead.

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So there we were, Hubster and I,  talking about that ‘thing’ actors have, the way they can travel outside of their own self and adopt other personas.  The way they can make that so believable.  Hubster lamented his lack of ability to do that, even when playing as a kid. He said that as a child, he preferred setting up his Action Men to playing with them.  It reminded me of my sister’s dolls. For me, it was always the opposite.

I would race through the boring old set up; using hardcover books for dolls house walls, positioning furniture so that it would hold the walls up.  And boom, straight in to the most recent episode. Would Sandy ever forgive Mandy for wearing her striped velour tracksuit?  And would another male doll ever join the action? (The answer to that was no.  The only man-doll I was allowed was a Mr Sunshine doll, because he came boxed with his legally married bride and infant child).  Mr Sunshine got to play more characters than just his own; given the scarcity of males. He was far more diminutive than the Amazonian’s living in my makeshift dolls house, but he didn’t mind.  He was good like that, generous with his affections.  It was perhaps not quite what my mother was hoping to achieve with the introduction of a safely married gentleman doll.

But the action, the playing, the creating of the story!  Oh, I loved that bit!  I wish I could still play like that.  Hubster commented on how these days, I like the kids to have their toys ‘set up’ and ready to go before a playdate, to maximise the amount of time they can be ‘in the story’ with their buddies. Likewise, I like things assembled before they go under the tree, because spending Christmas day fiddling with tiny screws and batteries drives me crazy. For him, that spoils all the fun. For him, the set up, the assembly, is the most fun part.

Go figure. I guess it is like so many of the personal preferences we have.  Are you a ‘set up’ kind of person, or a ‘play’ person? Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?  Sweet or savoury foods? Summertime or Winter wonders? Indoors or outdoors? Toilet roll over or under?

And what are your thoughts on acting? Have you ever done it?

 

The Lament for the Numb

Listen to Dave Dobbyn singing his Lament for the Numb. 

Dave Dobbyn: Album Cover. Beside You. 30 Years of Hits.
Dave Dobbyn: Album Cover. Beside You. 30 Years of Hits.

Life is so busy.  I know. It’s nicer, warmer and safer to cocoon ourselves into the business of each day and shelve the big issues.  Maybe you’ve been hurt, or you are over it all.  Maybe there is nothing left after you’ve dealt with your day. But if you could pause and think about it, what are the things beyond your daily life that you care about? Deeply? What are the things that worry at the back of your mind, the things you wish you were taking some action about?

I care about kids abandoned to poverty, poor choices and the cycle of violence.  Kids who don’t even get breakfast before they start the school day. I have seen the fallout from that first hand when I was teaching in low decile schools, it worries me for the future of our country.

I care about the 27 million human souls trafficked as slaves, their voices screaming into the void, unheard.  I can’t even comprehend the enormity of what a number like that means in human terms.  Twenty seven million individuals, as important as you and me.  

 

She is a survivor of sex slavery. Kidnapped by an armed group at the age of 13, she spent the following three years under its control. Her life depended on the will of her commander, who forced her to transport dry minerals during he day and raped her nightly as his "wife." Forced marriage and its connection to enslavement remain poorly understood.  Source: freetheslaves.net
She is a survivor of sex slavery. Kidnapped by an armed group at the age of 13, she spent the following three years under its control. Her life depended on the will of her commander, who forced her to transport dry minerals during he day and raped her nightly as his “wife.” Forced marriage and its connection to enslavement remain poorly understood. Source: freetheslaves.net

I care about educating girls about how powerful and significant they are for our future.  In some countries girls have no voice and no choice, but even here in our pocket of peace, where we have no wars, no corruption, no excuse; we are not doing nearly enough to empower young women who do have choice. Why do we continue to diminish and reduce them to a two dimensional image of value, until poor self esteem boxes them into small lives?

 

Source: a girlsrighttodream.tumblr.com
Source: a girlsrightto dream.tumblr.com

Why can’t we all be kinder?  I care about the numbers of people ending their suffering through suicide.  The immeasurable sadness left in their wake. I want to gather all the sad, suffering people up into an enormous embrace.  Why can’t we look out for each other better?  What stops us from helping people who are in pain? Why don’t we ask… are you okay?

 

source: herphany.tumblr.com
source: herphany.tumblr.com

And I care about all the people suffering from poor health.  It’s everywhere you look, hideous epidemics like cancer. Such an insidious enemy, robbing people of their loved ones. I care about finding a cure. If we had a cure, I’d still have my beautiful mum.

And I care about the millions of people like me, suffering from ailments that are poorly understood by Medical Science.  Chronic illnesses are long term, vitality sapping problems without adequate research funding to create studies that will improve our quality of life. For every patient who languishes in a health system that cannot help, bowled over by their diagnosis, there is a family, suffering alongside.  There are kids, husbands, siblings, grandparents and dear friends, required to take on more than they can.  There are sacrifices and prices to be paid that will be felt long after the patient has gone.

 

Source. amf.com.au
Source. amf.com.au

I feel passionately about these things. What are your deep concerns in our world?
Pia, one of the fellow students of my blogging course, is running something called a link-up.  She sent out the call for us to write about something we care about, providing links for taking action.  The power of social media is bigger than just making connections.  So I resolved to write this post about that something I really care about, with some useful information and ways you can help, if you want to.

But I care about a lot of things.  And my magic wand is broken.

So, here are the ways that I am doing what I can about the stuff I care about.   Until that wand is fixed, doing something is better than doing nothing.  If you want to join me, here is some information and links.

To donate to or provide sponsorship to the wonderful programme that is helping impoverished kiwi kids to get breakfast and basic clothing, have a look at KidsCan.

To learn more about the horrific realities of contemporary slavery, watch this TED talk, please watch all the way until you see the images of what a reunion after liberation from slavery really looks like, look at those beautiful mother faces, I dare you.
To
 
find organisations working to help those caught in the human trafficking trade, see this directory.

For a website aimed at empowering young women in first world countries, check out this phenomenal resource:  AMightyGirl

To help raise money for Ovarian Cancer Research, you could host a “morning teal”, you can go here to find out more.  Or to join the community of people in New Zealand with Familial cancers related to the BRCA mutations, go here.

To donate to the only Australasian research that is currently happening in the field of Dysautonomia, go to my friend Michelle’s fundraising page.  Help me to do my bit for Dysautonomia awareness and research.  We are a small number of patients, but each one of us is a precious human being who is desperate for more answers.  Maybe your bit will help?


And I care about YOU with all my heart.  You have a battle on your hands, no matter who you are, no matter what your life’s story is.  You are human.  It is a pretty raw state, it hurts sometimes.  Sometimes you feel so numb. Even if you can’t see the hands reaching for you, they are there.  Take action. You can grab hold of a hand, or even just let one grab yours instead of pulling away.  Connection is what keeps us all together.  If you have been feeling like leaving, please don’t.  Grab hold of a hand, or ring for help, set the wheels in motion.   Look here, or call these good people, or talk to the people you love.

And if you are reading my blog because you too suffer from a chronic illness, here are some things you can do to practise some self-care  I have them on good authority, my Health Psychologist gave me a chapter to read for homework last week.  It’s called “A Caring Hand” from this book; The Reality Slap by Russ Harris.  My Psych is a good ‘un, so I am passing on these nuggets to you.  I wish it were my own, real caring hand that could rest on your shoulder today… do know that my heart is with your heart.

Thanks Pia, for your wonderful call to action.