Sunday, August 30, 2009
Grave Injustice

Note: This entry has been in draft since April, so I'm leaving it exactly the way it is.

Okay, so last month we celebrated International Women's Day. How, I'm not sure. I think with lectures about domestic violence and probably a display or two at the national library. I did get a "happy international women's day :)" text from a guy I know, though. That made me smile.

Last month was also a month of a lot of bullshit that made my inner knight of justice rear up on her white horse and wave her flaming sword about. Really, for a while now, I've been wishing that I could be a superhero. Like Susan B. Anthony Man, or Doctor Mom, or the Pantsuit Avenger. Maybe my backstory would be that I'm the reincarnation of the goddess Inanna and my job would be to go around defending prostitutes and battered wives or something. But my problem is that my sense of justice tends to override my self-preservation instinct, so I'd likely get killed in the line of duty. ANYway, yes, the bullshit: one of these issues I'm taking up affect the nation at large, and the other is an instance of personal victimisation. Why? Because, of course, the personal is political. Dumbasses.

First off, I'd assume that many Trinidadians would have read the newspaper story about the wife of a politician being attacked in a mall by some bandit. This guy had the woman in a headlock and she was crying, but when passers-by tried to intervene, Bandit told them that the woman was his girlfriend and it was none of their business. And you know what? The people walked away. So what if she even was his girlfriend? You have the woman in a headlock in a public place and she's struggling to get away from you. I for one think that is grounds for intervention by able bystanders. But people still seem to have the attitude that what goes on between men and women behind closed doors (and by this I mean domestic violence) is none of their business and not their problem. Eventually somehow this unlucky lady managed to break away from Mr. Bandit, and bolted at top speed through the mall, with Bandit in hot pursuit shouting, "Stop my girlfriend! Stop my girlfriend!" Already I want to kill this guy. It was only through the action of a discerning security guard, who asked no questions when the woman cried and gesticulated to her "boyfriend", that she managed to be free of the guy. What exactly is it with us as a people that we can see this kind of thing happen and not do anything about it because we feel it's not our concern? Clearly we all need to realise that gender-based violence is all of our concern.

This second incident highlights not only sexual harassment and contempt towards women but also what seems to be an ever-increasing instance of pathological disrespect for schoolteachers in this country. Granted, many teachers are not doing their jobs, but you'd think that rolling out of your bed every single morning with very little monetary incentive to try and preserve some form of order in a classroom full of teenagers who would rather be anywhere else than where they are deserves some sort of credit. As I was returning to my place of work, a secondary school, with my lunch, I was confronted by a group of schoolboys. They began with the tired Vybez-Kartel-esque opening line of the Trinidadian adolescent Casanova: "Babyyyy…" I turned around and said, "Excuse me. It is Miss." Evidently unimpressed, Master Schoolboy replied, "Nah. Is bitch." So first of all, WHY did I not report this? As I was telling the story, horrified, in the staff room, I was repeatedly made aware of the fact that I don't "look like a teacher". What exactly does a teacher look like anyway? I'm not in my thirties, and don't wear spectacles, or pencil skirts, or high heels, or a bun. But do my age, ballet flats, A-line skirts and ponytail make me any less of a (substitute) teacher? And in any case, so what if I don't look like a teacher? I'm pretty damn sure I look like a human being! I've been through this point already, of course. So I didn't report it because I was made to believe that my claim would not have been treated seriously. I wonder how many schoolboys get berated sufficiently for pathetically attempting to woo young, attractive assistant teachers from different schools.

Though they're not all bad. I do very occasionally get the enthusiastic "Afternoon, Miss!" from students of the boys' college across the street. Or even "I like your bag, Miss. Can we switch?" Maybe it was the handbag with the skull on it. But why should it matter?

Posted at 10:14 pm by Kaze-Heathen

October 1, 2009   12:45 AM PDT
Forgot to leave me name!
October 1, 2009   12:45 AM PDT
My mother was mugged once on Piccadilly Street. I saw the guy a few days later and kinda glared at him. When I told my mother, she started to carry on about how if he hold on to me and start to beat me or manhandle me saying he was my man, no one would help. I was rather disturbed by this titbit.

Apparently, after decades of being told, "it's not your business," humans seem to have adopted it as their motto. Almost as disturbing, is that had it been a woman abusing a man she was claiming to be her husband, EVERYONE around would be laughing their shallow asses off.

I'm sorry to say that there is a terrible state to be existing in. Can you run a small survey over in Scotsville and tell me what would be happening there?

(You'll note I completely skimmed the fact that Trinis are stupid, lazy and do not want their hands dirty with ANYTHING except their own sneeze.)

Omataseishimashita..... *bows*

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