Author Archives: Therese Trouserzoff

Hell Hospital Episode 3

13 Friday Nov 2009

Posted by in Hell Hospital

≈ 62 Comments

morgue

....... and the clientele didn’t answer back… often!

ByTheseustoo

(Disclaimer: this series of stories is completely fictional and none of the persons, places or institutions in these stories are real, but figments of my own imagination. Any similarity to any real person, place or institution is entirely coincidental.)

Elaine had always liked working in morgues; they were so peaceful and quiet; and the clientele didn’t answer back… often! She usually felt in tune with the spirits there. Elaine had always loved the atmosphere of transience she experienced at railway stations or airports or at the dockside of some shipping port or other; and morgues had something of this transience about them too. All such places had the same fleeting and ephemeral atmosphere, as people rushed through the crowd, excited by the prospect of a new adventure in a strange and foreign land, perhaps a little afraid of missing their transport; whilst others made preparations for their journey or said tearful farewells to loved ones; and still others sat silently and self-contained in waiting-rooms; a million emotions mingled on the morning air and every one of them spoke of life.

That was where the similarities with the morgue ended, of course… the transience was there but the life was not. And though the eternal was present here too, nonetheless the morgue was not exactly bustling; only herself, her two assistants and an occasional cleaner ever came down here… and none of those would ever do so if they didn’t have to… Whenever they came down here even the doctors were all business; they never stayed to chat.

Usually Elaine and her assistants were outnumbered by stiffs; the ‘dearly departed’ as they called them in public for the sake of the recently bereaved. Even the porters who delivered the stiffs just dumped them, signed the paperwork in double-quick time and shot through as if their lives depended on their being elsewhere; heaving huge sighs of relief at being able to finally breathe freely… No one liked the morgue at St Helvi’s.

But not a single one of them would admit that it was because morgue spooked them; that the morgue was, indeed, a spooky place. But Elaine had learned how to read people just as easily as she had learned how to read the cards themselves, in the thousand and some tarot-card readings she had done to supplement her pitiful salary; and she knew they were all spooked by this morgue. There was something not quite right about this morgue…

Of course no morgue was a particularly pleasant place and people often found them spooky; Elaine knew very well that spirits often hung around such places until they figured out which way they were supposed to go, and this, she felt, explained any morgue’s ordinary or ‘background’ level of spookiness. Indeed anywhere the ‘recently departed’ had passed through on their final journey from the place of their demise to their final resting place was a bit spooky too, she realized.

But this was different. This was a deep and abiding presence; a lurking menace… As she extended her sensitivity, Elaine sensed a dark and brooding malevolence hovering just beyond the fringes of her awareness; an entity full of malice and spite. Sensing her presence as soon as Elaine’s mystical insight had turned towards it, the darkness instantly withdrew itself and hid from her sensitivity, but even so, in that briefest of glimpses, Elaine had sensed the darkness, the hideous evil, which, it seemed to her hyper-sensitive awareness, had always been there at the heart of St Helvi’s…

*****     **********     *****

“So you don’t believe in God then?” Loreen asked, and took another huge bite out of her hamburger ‘with the lot’.

“Nah… well… I dunno…”  Julie said, thoughtfully. As a psychiatric nurse she had seen so many people so obsessed by religion that it interfered with their ability to get on in ‘the real world’… some of them had even believed themselves to be the living incarnation of various deities… yet these were ‘crazies’ she knew, and even though some of them were remarkably charismatic and seemed relatively sane in other respects, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were all delusional. Medication usually rid them of their delusions along with their ‘divine voices’; and St Helvi’s Psychiatric Wing’s deprogramming programme usually helped them see the ‘error of their ways’ and eventually turned them into solid, if atheistic, citizens.

After a few moments thought she stuffed the final bite of her sausage roll into her mouth and, through a mouthful of crumbs, said, “Well… I suppose it’s always possible… anything is possible…”

“What about angels?” Loreen inquired, rather persistently, Julie thought.

“Well, like I said, I suppose anything is possible!” Julie began to suspect Loreen’s sanity now… it seemed like she really wanted her to believe that religion wasn’t really all just a bunch of fairytales held together with bullshit. She didn’t like to be impolite, but then she wasn’t about to be converted either. You couldn’t convince a crazy person that their delusions were just that simply by telling them they were wrong; one had to be much more subtle than that.

“What would you say if I said I knew someone who’d seen an angel?”

Julie thought, ‘I’d say they were totally nuts!’, but kept the thought to herself. To Loreen she said, “Well… I dunno… I’d like to see some evidence… You must realize it does sound a bit crazy?”

Loreen had expected this answer, “Hmmm…” she said pensively, “I suppose so… but my friend… the one who’s seen the angel… she seems really like a sane and sensible person otherwise. She doesn’t seem nuts at all.”

“Well…” Julie said, conscious of the need for tact, “Many delusional people seem quite normal when discussing any other topic but the one which concerns their delusion… I suppose they’re not really counted as ‘nuts’ until their delusions start to interfere with their daily life; their work and family… We shrinks only ever intervene when these become totally chaotic and out of control. Then, of course, we must do something!”

“Oh, I see…” said Loreen thoughtfully, as she sipped her coffee. “Well… thanks for that. Do you think my friend needs to see a shrink?”

“Dunno…” Julie responded, careful to appear casual and offhand, “Maybe… couldn’t hurt, could it?”

“No… I don’t suppose it would… Well anyway, thanks again… see you later, I’ve got to get back to work now…” She did not add that she needed to find a convenient closet to hide in so that she would be on hand to prevent Paula’s next disaster, which an angel had warned her about. But she did think that the accuracy of St Helvi’s predictions about Paula’s stuff-ups could only indicate that she wasn’t really crazy at all. After all, that was eveidence, wasn’t it? Nonetheless, she thought it would probably be a good idea to make an appointment to see a psychologist… not a psychiatrist, or else she knew she would be instantly drugged, sedated and zombified to such an extent that any kind of coherent thinking would be quite out of the question.” She drained her coffee, stood up and, now lost in her own world of thought, drifted out of the canteen. Julie shrugged, puzzled by the encounter but determined not to let it get to her… instead she turned her attention to the question of whether or not her diet would allow her another sausage roll… they were unusually good today.

*****     *******     *****

Cyrus Chapter 13 Part 1 – A Surprise for Croesus

08 Sunday Nov 2009

Posted by in Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 35 Comments

halys_gulsehir

The river Halys at Guleshir - when Croesus crossed the river it meant war with Cyrus

 

By Theseustoo

Sandanis looked troubled as, seated on his horse in the centre of the front rank of Croesus’ massed forces, he surveyed the enemy’s ranks. Cyrus had arrived the previous evening under cover of the new moon; and had occupied the same position above the city, to observe it prior to attacking, as Croesus himself had done only a few days earlier. This however, did not surprise Harpagus in the least; for the low hill was the only piece of high ground in the broad and otherwise level plain which surrounded the small coastal city of Sinope on the landward side.

But the incredible speed with which he had mustered his forces and arrived even before winter had properly set in, had surprised both him and Croesus, neither of whom had been expecting to have to face Cyrus until the following spring, when their allies would be there to support them. As soon as the huge dust-cloud which indicated the position of Cyrus’ army was spotted Croesus immediately responded with a show of force by having his army parade in battle formation between Cyrus’ army and the city, demonstrating his willingness, if not his readiness, to defend his newly-seized Syrian territory.

The Persian horde, however, was also much bigger than Sandanis had imagined it would be; the momentum this revolution against Median suzerainty had gained was quite staggering, he thought. His spies had reported to him that Cyrus had given all of the cities he’d passed through an opportunity to levy a troop of volunteers to join his ranks and swell the size of his Persian army or else face subjection and enslavement. Many of these were the previously Median-dominated states and had joyfully welcomed Cyrus, seeing in him their liberator from the cruelty and oppression of the tyrant Astyages. Seeing now a potential threat rising from Lydia, such states had joined him willingly; and even eagerly; and had quickly supplied Cyrus with all the men, equipment and supplies he had requested for this expedition.

The few city-states who chose to resist the Persian horde soon realized the futility of their actions when they found themselves besieged by Cyrus’ vastly overwhelming forces. Faced with such overwhelming odds, even those city-states who resisted him; mostly those who were still tributaries to the Assyrians in Babylon; very soon capitulated. Individually they were just far too small to do more than put up token resistance anyway; and Cyrus had moved so swiftly against them that they had no time to coordinate their efforts. Those cities which still obstinately persisted in their resistance were quickly and thoroughly defeated; then their walls were torn down and reduced to rubble; and their inhabitants reduced to slavery.

Sandanis had not counted on this surprising willingness of the other states to join Cyrus’ cause; and he was especially surprised by the almost complete lack of resistance to his imperial claims and ambitions. Croesus’ advisors had also informed him that there was a prophecy which concerned Cyrus in an obscure century-old Hebrew text, the Book of Isaiah, which they said, named Cyrus as the Anointed One. In the light of recent events, however, he thought this could safely be ignored; Croesus, he firmly believed, was the true ‘Anointed One’; the true ‘Son of Heaven’…

But it troubled Sandanis somewhat that so many states had so willingly joined Cyrus’ cause. This Cyrus it seemed, was at the very least a man of charisma; and apparently very popular among his own people, as well as the people of many other nations. This spoke well of Cyrus’ character, he thought, grimly realising that it would make him a formidable enemy too. His master, Croesus, he now realized, was just about to commit himself irrevocably to an extremely bold and very dangerous course of action.

Was it possible that it had been a mistake to pick a fight with this fledgling Persian Empire in the first place? He could not help but wonder; and yet, thought Sandanis, at this point we could still retreat to Sardis without having to face Cyrus; although he realized that it would represent an embarrassing loss of face for Croesus to so easily relinquish a recently captured city. Even so, the general thought, at this moment it could still be done without any other serious losses; and they could always return in spring with their allies. With this in mind Sandanis turned to Croesus,

“Your majesty,” Sandanis said gravely, “before we commit ourselves irrevocably to this war, it is my duty to remind you that you are about to make war against men who wear leather trousers; who have all their other garments of leather; who do not feed on what they like, but on whatever they can get from a soil that is sterile and unkindly; who do not indulge in wine, but drink only water; who possess no figs nor anything else that is good to eat…”

Croesus appeared not to understand what Sandanis was getting at; he regarded his general quizzically; did he really think Croesus was such a coward as to retreat so easily at the first sight of the enemy? The puzzled frown with which Croesus now sternly regarded his general silently demanded further elucidation from the now embarrassed Sandanis, who coughed, a little nervously, and then continued quickly,

“So, if you conquer them, what can you get from them, seeing that they have nothing at all? But if they conquer you, consider how many precious things you will lose: and if they once get a taste of our pleasant things, they will keep such a hold of them that we shall never be able to make them loosen their grasp. For my part, I thank the gods that they have not put it into the hearts of the Persians to invade Lydia…”

Croesus was used to circumspection in his general; and he knew that Sandanis was not normally one to question his king. However, it is true, Croesus thought as he regarded the Persian host on the hill, that Cyrus’ army is much larger than either of us anticipated; and they have somehow managed to march them here much sooner than we expected; but he had never seen Sandanis quite so reluctant to fight.

Croesus knew from long experience that his general was anything but a coward; indeed, had he not been so confident of the gods’ goodwill himself, even he might have considered a cautious retreat to be the better course of action; at least until the spring, when their forces would be augmented by their allies. But now he knew for certain, he told himself, that the gods are on our side; and this is perhaps simply the first test he faced on his path to demi-godhood; after all, heroic feats, he reasoned, were always demanded of demi-gods.

And, he thought to himself to steady his nerves a little, that elusive goddess Fortune, though often fickle, usually favours the brave! In any case he was determined not to turn tail and flee like a whipped dog or a cringing coward, just because an unknown and hitherto untested enemy had suddenly put on an unexpected turn of speed. Yet he also knew that to allow himself to look weak by retreating, before even putting the enemy’s army to the test, could also be to invite disaster by starting to sow the seeds of a suspicion of cowardice among his own men; he must engage the enemy, he thought grimly.

“Thank you for your concern, Sandanis,” Croesus coolly replied, “but I assure you it is quite unnecessary; the gods are on our side in this battle; the oracle at Delphi said my kingdom will last forever; we cannot lose! As soon as we have won here we shall march on Media and Persia.”

Then, turning to address his other officers and the rest of the host in general, he grimly declaimed, in his loudest voice: “Now, gentlemen, you all have your orders; let each man do his own part nobly and you will all be rewarded with positions of honour in my new domain.” Then, turning to the trumpeter at his elbow, he ordered, “Trumpeter, sound the advance!”

*** *****   ***

The Little Red Hen

06 Friday Nov 2009

Posted by in Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 31 Comments

JuliaChookGillard

Story and Mischief by Warrigal

Farmer Rudd called all the farmyard animals into the barn for a good talking to.  This farm has gone to the pack under the old farmer.  I’m going to make it all better!

He handed out tasks to all the animals and it fell to The Little Red Hen to produce the farmer’s “Education Revolution”.

“Who will help me put this revolution together?” said the Little Red Hen. “Not I.” said Farmer Rudd.  “I’ve got more important things to do and a number of photo ops to attend”

“Oh…”, said the Little Red Hen, “Well, I better get sitting on this thing!”

Yes children, even in the best fairy stories your most favourite characters sometimes get the poopy end of the stick.

Sadly after two years in government all that the Little Red Hen has been able to do is lay an egg.

Hussein’s Story

06 Friday Nov 2009

Posted by in The Public Bar, Travels

≈ 20 Comments

Hussein - Reuben Brand

Hussein (photo by Reuben Brand)

By Reuben Brand

It was the middle of summer, the middle of Ramadan, most of the country was fasting, all of the country was thirsty and there was not a drink in sight for miles. “It’s so bloody hot!” I said aloud, as my friend and I trudged wearily beneath the 40 degree Syrian sky towards the ancient citadel in Aleppo.

Parched, we arrived and quickly found refuge in the shade of one of its giant walls, “there he is again,” I said, pointing to a little boy we had seen the day before. His big eyes seemed to be overflowing with an unquenchable sadness as they followed our every move.

He once again walked sheepishly back and forth, just as he had done the previous day, as if he was studying us as part of a school project – all the while, never taking his gaze off us.

He tentatively made his way closer and finally perched himself on the wall beside us. “Hi, my name is Hussein,” he said in Arabic, as a smile broke his solemn stare and lit up his now bright face.

We sat talking to Hussein for some hours, he was a skinny little thing and looked about eight years old, although he assured us he was 11. His tiny hands were covered in dirt all the way up to his long fingernails which were stained red from henna, his shirt and trousers were as dusty as the hot surrounding landscape and in need of a good wash, but despite his circumstances he seemed overjoyed to just sit and talk.

“Where do you live?” we asked, he told us he lived in a house and pointed vaguely towards the city.

“There are eight of us in my family, but I didn’t go home last night, I slept out here under the stars,” he said with a grin. Hussein later told us that he had run away from home and hadn’t been back for a long time, so every night he was on his own.

Hussein lives on the streets along with a motley crew of other young vagabonds and runaways, but he is different, not like the rest of them, who, as we sat, darted in and out of conversation – little Hussein possesses a strength of character and integrity the likes of which some people take years to acquire.

He began to tell us that he had been subject to some kind of medical operation, or something else which he didn’t really want to talk about, the meaning of which was either lost in translation or obscured by embarrassment and shame. I can only imagine that it must have been something of a terrible nature to make him run away.

At that point a man on a bicycle rode up and angrily chased Hussein off as if he were nothing more than a stray dog, to which Hussein responded and darted off at top speed. The man saw that we were foreigners and thought that he could sneak a quick cigarette with us away from the prying eyes of the rest of the people who were fasting during Ramadan. “Be careful of these street kids,” the man said gruffly, “they will try to trick you and steal form you.” He nervously finished his cigarette and went on his way. “If only he would talk to some of these kids and give them a chance, maybe he would learn a thing or two,” I thought to myself.

Not a moment had gone by when Hussein’s smiling face returned, he asked if we would like to come and see his garden and led the way to a small patch of grass behind a nearby mosque.

It was getting late and was time for us to go, we said our goodbyes but Hussein didn’t want to leave us, his big eyes became foggy and it seemed that a tear would strike his cheek at any moment.

“Are you hungry?” We asked. “No, no I have already eaten,” he told us. But we insisted and invited him to join us for dinner, again he declined saying that he had eaten a sandwich sometime earlier, today? Yesterday? He wouldn’t say. Finally the promise of an ice cold Pepsi was too good to resist and we all made our way up to one of the local restaurants.

We were a sight for sore eyes, little Hussein, my Italian friend Daniele and my unkempt Aussie self, quite the unusual trio. Curiosity got the better of all the waiters, other patrons and even the manager, but nevertheless we were seated and treated to a lovely meal, the waiters and manager giving special attention to our young friend.

We asked Hussein if he went to school, he said that he didn’t want to because if he completed his school diploma he would be sent into military service. I couldn’t believe that at such a young age Hussein was already worried of being sent into the military and would forgo any form of education just to escape it. Most other kids of his age are only concerned with playing soccer, the latest Playstation game and watching TV.

Conscription is a dread that faces every young male here, it reminded me of a conversation I’d had the night before with a young man who worked at the hotel we were staying at. “It is one of the toughest armies in the world, some people die just in the training – I really don’t want to go, it takes two years of your life away from you. The only good thing about it is that you go into the military like a mouse and if you survive, you come out as strong as a lion,” he said.

We urged Hussein to go back to school, and told him the importance of a good education and the opportunities that lay ahead for him if he studied hard. He said he didn’t know what he wanted to do when he grew up, but agreed none the less to go back to school and try.

With a full belly and a smile from ear to ear it was once again time to go. After a strong handshake from such a small hand he looked up at us, smiled and slipped away into the night. I stood and watched as his tiny figure disappeared into the darkness, wondering if I will ever see him again.

Adoption crossed my mind many times as I walked home, “Where is UNICEF? Where is Save the Children?” I thought to myself.

God only knows what will happen to little Hussein and the countless others like him, for my part, I will do all I can to make it back to Aleppo to check up on my new little friend as often as possible.

Reuben Brand is an Australian Freelance Journalist currently based in the Middle East. For more information please visit his website at www.reubenbrand.com

OK, it’s just a phone clip but it’s a start

04 Wednesday Nov 2009

Posted by in Emmjay, Travels

≈ 6 Comments

Hi folks.

I finally got a video to work.  Sadly it was incredibly windy so I had to silence the audio track.  Next step will be to put some proper sound in there.

This was my favourite sculpture by the sea captured on a crappy phone camera – but hey….. it is between Bondi and Tamarama – filmed last Sunday evening.

 

Runs for 27 seconds in case you have to dash out for a cuppa….

Dymocks Online Digital Books is a Customer Service Joke

04 Wednesday Nov 2009

Posted by in Emmjay

≈ 20 Comments

07192008_customerservice5

Thanks for Nothing.......

Dear Dymocks Online Customer Service

I have been struggling with your online digital download facility since Thursday last week.

I ordered two books.   Lakatos downloaded

The other – Theories of Scientific Progress was the most important one for an history and philosophy essay due (now) in two days.  It stubbornly refused to download – and then your web download server went guts up and coughed error messages all over my screen.

I sent a message to online support last Friday.  No reply.

Yesterday I phoned George St – since there is no published online support call number.  They put me through to Charlie’s answering machine.

Four hours later Charlie phoned me and apologised.  I asked if he could simply Email me the PDF file that I have already paid for.  He said he would get back to me within one hour.

But there has been no return call and no resolution of the problem.

So I went back to the Email below and tried the link for the second download.

Miracle – it worked !

No.  Just kidding.  It downloaded the first book a second time.

Then I noticed that the link in your Email is the same for both files.

Nice.

I will offer you two options:

1.  The preferred option.  Please send me the PDF today at the latest, or

2.  Cancel the transaction, refund the money and see the whole episode posted up on my website tomorrow.

You can find us at www.pigsarms.com.au –

It’s a website for people who typically like to read books – we get between 300 and 600 visits a day.  We have had over 4,000 comments since we went live in May.

Over to you.

Mike Jones

Trick or Treat ?

02 Monday Nov 2009

Posted by in Entertainment Upstairs, The Public Bar

≈ 44 Comments

Peter Andre

Andrew Peters - or something to do with Katie Price - whoever she might be

by Jayell

Just to get a better perspective of this glam affliction that the newspapers have. Here is a short note to go in tandem with the Unleashed story that has just appeared.

It is a constant observable  phenomena that the public are obsessed with celebrities. It has been that way for centuries. But of course with instant transmission of digital photographs by satellite, for instant publication, it is a frenzy that produces frantic ‘nowism’. I can almost imagine youngsters running to the news stands, newsagents or ipods to get it first.

However in this story we have one-upmanship on Unleashed.

Peter Andre was a student with my kids at a local Gold Coast School- and a pupil of  my other half to boot.

He was/is a good singer and was in the Rock Eisteddfods’, Dracula Spectacular, a local production- and a show put on by his family at the local Arts Theatre- where local kids performed.

His family are friends and our kids were always in each other’s houses.

So why am I writing this?

Well obviously the  ABC article prompted me. And…

….And, it is Halloween, a celebration that is new to me. I always thought that it was American. But it goes hand in glove with the topical (Halloween)references that I have included here.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1224261/Katie-Price-gets-Halloween-spirit-Peter-Andre-trick-treats-kids.html

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1224452/Scary-stuff-Alex-Reid-dons-stockings-suspenders-Katie-Price-vamp-Halloween.html

Peter is a down to earth lad and the publicity surrounding his ex-wife, will hopefully leave him untarnished. His character is the antitheses of hers.

In fact my Mother has fond memories of the band of friends; my sons, alias JL juniors; Peter; Cardiff; Craig and Shane gardening on her acreage years ago. They used to wear bandanas in the summer and get stuck in with lawnmowers and scythes, quenching their thirst with lemonade and juice.

Of course they graduated to beer and nightclubs later- and are still all great friends today But more of that another day.

Last time he was here, he confided to my wife (when they shot a scene for a doco, or something….which we haven’t seen),that it was all razzmatazz to keep the business income stream running.

And of course that is the crux. As someone said on Unleashed, “It’s all about the feelthy lucre”.

Why are we lured here? It can’t be the money (well yet Emm).

Do we crave notoriety and do we suffer from celebrity anxiety?

Or, are we unrequited artists, frustrated artisans, feeble writers cloistered in our expanded dot?

Neocon Tank Thinkers say Climate Change IS Brain Surgery

02 Monday Nov 2009

Posted by in Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 9 Comments

The Larry, Mo and Curly Joe of Australian Politics

The Larry, Mo and Curly Joe of Australian Politics

Digital Surgery by Warrigal

As the deadline for the climate change debate looms large, conservative politicians are, by their deliberations, proving that finding a sensible response to climate change is definitely more difficult than brain surgery.  Unfortunately, instead of recruiting rocket scientists, they unwittingly rolled up their sleeves and enlisted the assistance of the notorious space cadet Steve (Curly Joe) Fielding.

After a prolongued search for an idea, the best that the Three Stooges of Australian politics could come up with was “Nyuk, Nyuk, Nyuk”, prompting Penny Wong, the Minister for a Double Dissolution to suggest that at a time when the environment was calling for a massive transfusion, all the conservatives could come up with was type E negative .

In late breaking news this morning, Larry was quoted by the ABC as saying “”If after about four years you continually deal with unnamed sources in the paper and those unnamed sources say that the source of all their problems in life is you, then you say if you want to make yourself public and you are at the appropriate level, I’ll leave,” he said.

The lack of an anaesthetist would leave the coalition in an extremely painful condition, except that there is no evidence that Curly is capable of feeling pain and on the contrary it appears that he is routinely completely insensate in the Senate.

Sources close to Mo Heffernan were also struggling to find a pulse.

Orwellian Policy Leaves Indigenous Australians with Nothing to Say

01 Sunday Nov 2009

Posted by in Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 11 Comments

Yirrkarla Primary

Yirrkarla Primary

By Warrigal Mirriyuula

There’s a kerfuffle going on at the moment up in The Northern Territory and like a lot of things Territorian it seems this one is also a fundamental disconnect between the whitefellas and the blackfellas.

You see, as part of Rudd’s much-spruiked but as yet unseen Education Revolution it has been decided, in consultation with the NT Parliament, that the kids of blackfellas are effectively illiterate because English is their second language and they don’t do so well on standardised tests used to determine literacy in white schools. Hardly surprising you say and of course you’d be right.

Age appropriate tests in their indigenous languages shows the kids to be just as bright and eager to learn as white kids in eastern schools. Funny that.

So what’s the kerfuffle about? Well it’s now been decided that the previous policy of bi-lingual language classes will be scrapped and all indigenous children will be taught in English exclusively for the first four hours of the school day. For those students for whom English is entirely foreign, and that’s lots of NT blackfellas, there will be indigenous interpreters to help students with little or no English skills. Not so radical you might say, given that if those kids want to integrate into the broader Australian society they’re going to need substantial English language skills.

Early indications however are that in those schools where this policy has already been implemented the children are voting with their feet. By the end of those four hours the classrooms are almost empty. In those schools, which are resisting the introduction of the policy, attendance is up

Where the children are taught in their first language and English is only taught after the kids have a sufficient grip on the grammar, vocabulary and narrative development of their own language, the literacy outcomes for both their own languages and English are improved significantly with students fluently using both their own language and English better. Sounds “win/win” to me.

So why, as Professor Charles Grimes and The Australian Society for Indigenous Languages suggest, has this anti intuitive course been charted. Beats the shit outa me, and the good Prof. too. Apparently it also caused Marion Scrygmour, The former NT Education Minister, some trouble. She admitted to Dr. Brian Devlin of Charles Darwin Uni.’s language department that the policy was made too quickly.

She said, ‘Look, I fucked up’,” Dr Devlin reported, but apparently not so badly that this dumb and damaging policy be dumped and the former bi-lingual process be reinstituted.

” I think what she was referring to is that there was a lack of consultation beforehand and that the application of her four-hour English directive of October the 14th had many unintended consequences.”

“It had certainly put her offside with traditional Indigenous people out in the communities.” the good Prof went on to say. Scrygmour is an indigenous woman herself, so this just gets curiouser and curiouser.

There is a groundswell of opinion suggesting that there are many factors not related to education including health and home conditions that affect school results.

“You could say as a ballpark figure that 80 to 90 per cent of the kids at this school would have a hearing impairment of the middle ear, infections or perforated eardrums at some time in their school career,” said the acting principal of the Lajamanu school, John Lane.

“The UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People says that Indigenous people, minority people, have the right to decide the way that they have their own education, including the role of their own language in that.” Says Prof. Grimes. Pity policy makers haven’t read that declaration recently.

As any one who has ever had to learn a language will tell you, learning a foreign language is difficult because you have to understand it by deconstructing your understanding of your own first language. If, however, you have little or no understanding of the structure and dynamics of your own language, learning another will be effectively nearly impossible

At this time there are very few surviving indigenous languages that are used in a traditional cultural and social setting on an everyday basis and most of these are in the NT. Recent studies have shown that at this time indigenous languages are just managing to hold their own against English, but there can be no doubt that if this “English First” policy continues the number of languages and the speakers of those languages will decline.

As well as being comprehensively ill informed, this policy is simply racist. It’s more “pillow softening” and seems to assume that indigenous languages are somehow second rate. It constitutes a fundamental attack on what it means to be indigenous in this country. It is Orwellian in that it seeks to limit and control the language tools available to describe the complex relationships in indigenous society and the relationship between indigenous society and the broader Australian society. Something which their own languages do very well, certainly better than English ever could.

There are many aspects of indigenous life and experience, religion and cosmology, let alone their prodigious understanding of Australian ecology, that simply cannot be translated directly into English without losing depth and complexity. Should the day come when there are simply no indigenous speakers left we will all, whitefellas and blackfellas, be forever and irrevocably separated from that experience and cosmology, that understanding. Its meaning and utility will be lost forever.

The indigenous people of this continent have, over more than 60K years, made Australia penetrable, open to understanding and it is in their languages that the last vestiges of that understanding are to be found. To allow this policy to contribute to the continuing decline of indigenous diversity and self expression would seem an act of the most heartless and stupid “ethnic cleansing by neglect”, and the very people so cleansed would have no means to critique their circumstances, except of course in English.

What would it then mean to be a blackfella, if you had no way of accessing the fundamental tools that make that meaning real and define who you are?  By making English the de facto indigenous language we are saying that there’s nothing worth saving and keeping in any of the remaining indigenous languages struggling to be heard against the white paradigm; and that’ll break blackfellas hearts all over again, all over the country.

Like I said, it just beats the shit outa me.

Pyne Sets New Standard – Poodles in Shadow Cabinet

01 Sunday Nov 2009

Posted by in Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 16 Comments

StandardPynePoodle

Poodle loses face in shadow cabinet reshuffle

Warrigal gives Pyne a pounding….

Well, it was red faces all around in the shadow cabinet pack this weekend as the alternative government’s latest parliamentary tactic unravelled.  Sources close to the Opposition Leader revealed that his desire to “find out how Kevin does it” had been mistranslated by the shadow cabinet into a plot to infiltrate the Rudd household by insinuating another dog therein.

The plan apparently was for the member for rolling over and having his tummy rubbed to bound up to Kevin and …. roll over and invite Kevin to rub his tummy …. and then follow him home.   All went well until the Rudd’s cat Jasper took exception to an additional canine in the fold.  Jasper was quoted as saying ” No more f*cking mutts under my roof, Dad”.  Which suggests that the Prime Minister still needs to be more particular about his choice of words in front of the pets.

As the poodle bounded across the lodge linoleum, Jasper sunk his claws into its trailing bits, resulting in a sudden loss of face….. and another sudden loss of face…. and a third loss of face with the Opposition leader denying all knowledge of the plot and mumbling something about Godwin Gretsch.  Dissenting witnesses insisted that the Opposition leader was in fact complaining about testicular discomfort.

Poodle breeders were aghast and accused the member for  rolling over and having his tummy rubbed of lowering standards.  This point was echoed by the Opposition whip who rolled up a newspaper, smote the member for rolling over and having his tummy rubbed on the muzzle and told him that if he ever made another poodle in the shadow cabinet, it would be off to the vets for the big sleep.

Dogged Neocon numbers men are reportedly circling and sniffing arses in search of a new leader for their pack.