Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Human rights and Immigration

Where does the line between what is 'right' and people's rights, overlap?
To put it another way, when what we - the western world - have defined as wrong: cruelty, oppression, sexism, racism etc, occurs, do we interfere?
And how does this change depending on where these 'wrongs' take place? Do we have more right to interfere when it takes place within our own countries? There is a strange and terrible line between what we think is right, and allowing everyone freedom as is their human right. What do we do when these two qualities collide?
It's a question we must all ask ourselves, as it is become a more and more prevalent issue in today's world.

The United Nations' universal declaration of human rights argues for a world where humans can
'enjoy freedom of speech and belief and freedom from fear', which indicates that everyone should be able to believe in what they wish. However it also unequivocally states the importance for 'equal rights of men and women'. Already this is problematic, as well we know that not everywhere in the world are men and women treated equally, and indeed in many cultures women have very few rights at all - patriarchal societies are not uncommon, even today.
When something is occurring that we deem wrong, is it our duty to step in? Or are we dancing too dangerously with the old concept of ourselves as the civilized people 'saving' the noble savage?
This question of course extends to many cultures around the world. As anthropologists, we are taught that we have no right to step in, only the right to observe. This becomes difficult for cases of ritualistic violence, systematic oppression or -something I have always found personally upsetting - female genital mutilation. Are we wrong to put our own values above others?

These are all difficult questions, however they are not the main issue I am wanting to talk about today. Today my attention was brought to the problem of Muslim immigration in Europe, and especially within France. This is an issue that graces the dinner tables of many in France, a discussion rife with contention and anger.
Are they being racist in that they want these people - who have a religion and set of beliefs they find offensive - out of their country or to change those beliefs?

On one hand, they have a point. What right do these people from foreign countries have, to settle in this homeland and not accept the French way of life? To cover their women and preach their own beliefs? But surely if their beliefs are not harmful, then they have this freedom, as the universal declaration of human rights clearly states 'Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; this right includes freedom to change his religion or belief, and freedom, either alone or in community with others and in public or private, to manifest his religion or belief in teaching, practice, worship and observance.'
However, when we go to Muslim countries, we cover up and adhere to their customs, out of respect. Therefore should this not be a two way road? Is it not insulting that they believe our dress to be indecent, that their way is the only right and good way? Is this oppression of women? Can it be if the women themselves believe in it? But what about those that don't, surely they should have the freedom within France to choose - a freedom they perhaps would not have had in their own country. 
One could argue they choose to move here, and thus must choose to accept our rules, and integrate into our society. 
But many of them are a displaced people, are immigrants with no home to go back to. Therefore do they really have any choice either?
Should we really be so offended simply because they have different beliefs from us?
This of course comes with its own problems today, the war on terror and the terror attacks that occur due to a tiny minority of the people accepted into Europe. Yet how dare we consider closing our doors to these people in need, how can we fight to not give them safety? How can condemn the many, for the crimes of a few? Should we turn our backs on those who need help?
Terrorism is a new and terrifying issue which is sweeping Europe. What is the answer to it?

There is fear here; this war is subtle, its soldiers invisible, and how can we fight what we cannot see? Best to not take the risk at all, many say. But will stopping immigrants from coming really stop the jihadists too? Or merely the innocents?
But surely if Muslims would integrate into our society, uncover themselves and embrace our culture, we would only have the extremists to deal with, and these would be far fewer. Would this be better for everyone? Or is it just what we want because it's easy for us - we aren't the ones being asked to give up our way of life.

Honestly, I don't know the answer. There is no easy way to solve this problem, I only know that not accepting these people is like turning the Jews away, back to Nazi Europe and the concentration camps - in many ways we would be sending them to their deaths. Perhaps a more intensive vetting system for who is allowed in? But it takes too long, it's too expensive, and it still doesn't solve the problem that the French people see before them - their country being moved in on by an entire people who refuse to accept the French culture, way of life, and everything they take pride in of their country. They fear they are losing their culture, the old ways and what makes their country french.

 I don't have the answers, but we shouldn't be afraid to talk about it, to express our opinions, and whatever they may be, they should be listened to. One side or the other should not be more or less politically correct as so often seems to be the case. For surely it is only by talking about it that we can understand others opinions and  hopefully, reach compromises. 

But Words are Things

It is only in books that one can lose themselves so completely that just for a little while, all else ceases to exist.

Isn't it funny how getting sucked into a book can change your mood and play with your emotions?
Do other people get so lost in books they take on the main character's feelings? If they are sick I feel I am suffering, if they are sad I feel distraught without knowing why. If they are angry, my mood is black.

Worse still is when that book is over, and there are no longer any pages left to turn. It's like an entire world died, even though it's still right there, in your hands. I call them book hangovers, because you can't bring yourself to start a new one, when the last is still fresh in your mind, and the world feels useless and grey without that book to read, like suddenly everything has become pointless. 
How can I be angry over a world that isn't even real?
But that's the magic of writing I suppose, to have such a way with words that the author can communicate these people from their heads, their triumphs and losses, their laughter and deaths. We grieve with them, their words alive, even though their creators may be long dead.
In many ways I believe that authors are the ones who have transcended death, because their souls are still right here, within those pages. We hold them in our hands, innumerable treasures, and it is for this that the greatest sadness a book can have is to never be read.
Literature is a funny thing. A powerful thing.

Lord Byron himself words it better than me:

“But words are things, and a small drop of ink,      
Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces
 That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think;     
 ’T is strange, the shortest letter which man uses 
Instead of speech, may form a lasting link   
   Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces Frail man, 
when paper — even a rag like this, 
Survives himself, his tomb, and all that’s his.”

Sunday, October 12, 2014

Myself

How things can change in a year. It's not long, a year. 365 days. Yet every year now, I look back and everything is different.

Last year it was my 21st birthday coming up, I had a party planned with all my family and friends, I was about to graduate, I lived at home. Things were hard, I was full of uncertainty, but also hope. Sadness was just beginning to lose its hold on me, and I felt ready for this new adventure.

Now look at me. Its my 22nd in nine days, and I will be completely alone. I am adrift in Europe, with no direction. I'm braver now, more certain of myself.
It's an adventure, but a lonely one.

Perhaps that's what I need. I need this time to grow into myself, into the adult I want to be. Leave that child behind, her broken hopes, her naivety. She didn't know what the world would hold for her, and she was trapped because of it.

When you are free from expectations, you can do all the things you only dared to think about long into the night, and never voice. Who can judge you now, when no-one knows who you are?

I can be anyone, and maybe, just maybe I can finally be myself.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Romance is Dead

Not mine, someone who writes far more eloquently than I could ever hope to do. But reading her lines (and in my mind, it is a her, I wonder why) makes me wonder what bitterness she has gone through, to speak of romance so coldly. And yet the harshness of the words resonate with me, telling me there's no use pretending: this is real life.


 Tell me a story before it all ends
 Something that’s wonderful, something pretend 
Give it a moral and maybe a lie 
Fill me with laughter, then make me cry. 
You know how it starts; “once” and then “time”
 And don’t worry much if it doesn’t all rhyme 
Throw in some danger, then throw a rope
 Lace it with irony, dose it with hope. 
But don’t get caught up love, and don’t start to feel
 Remember, my darling, that none of it’s real
 The dragons and damsels are all in your head
 Real life hails no heroes and romance is dead.
                                                                         -Violet Matter

Europe

Europe, the beating drum within my chest, shuttered like wild thing within this cage of flesh. It thrums it's beat against my own heart beat, building within expectation.
One week. One more week. Am I running away? Or running towards opportunity? I still haven't worked it out. Regardless, with trembling timid steps, I'll board that plane, the one that will fly me to Europe, that mysterious continent that calls to me like a Siren, willing me home.

Will Europe be my place? The one that quells this wanderlust of mine?
I'm feeling so poetic today, on edge with excitement and fear the words are flowing from me with little thought or regard. I'm going, really going.

I'm leaving all my problems behind, the depressing job, the cold winter, my broken heart. It stays in New Zealand as I fly away to become a new person. Is this cowardice or bravery?
I could  be whoever I want to be, collect my best qualities in a jar and display them proudly at the forefront, saying 'yes, this is me!' A new name, a new attitude, a new person. Intoxicating ideas.

She will always be a part of me, that sad solemn timid girl who's heart is lying smashed at her feet. She still is me in many (too many) ways. But I don't only want to be her anymore.

 I want to be someone more. I want to be something more.

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Coriolanus

My new favorite Shakespeare line, though I don't know why. It just flows so well and rolls off the tongue. It brings to image that of a worm, blind and writhing in the dark, to something greater, a serpent to be feared. Or maybe it's time for me to go to bed.
 Regardless, here it is:

This Coriolanus is grown from man to dragon: 
he has wings;
 he's more than a creeping thing.
                                                 Act V-Scene 4

Thursday, May 15, 2014

I Did Not Die

This piece of poetry. Wow. The more I read it the more it means to me and the more I love it.
In some strange way it gives me hope in this deep fear of death which plagues my mind too often. I am insignificant. I know that; simply one more person in a world of seven billion. They say that 107 billion people is the number of those that have ever lived (since we begin considering ourselves modern humans, way back in the mists of time). And we remember almost none of them.
It's a frightening thought, and yet in our insignificance, are we not also significant? To those around us whose lives we changed, we were the world. Our footprints still marked the earth, and even though they have long since blown away, is it simply the fact that they were there at all that is important?


Do not stand at my grave and weep 
I am not there. I do not sleep.
 I am a thousand winds that blow.
 I am the diamond glints on the snow. 
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
 I am the gentle autumn rain. 
When you awaken in the morning’s hush 
I am the swift uplifting rush 
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
 I am the soft stars that shine at night.
 Do not stand at my grave and cry; 
I am not there. I did not die.
-Mary Elizabeth Frye 

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Europe

Accepted to the dig in Italy. Accepted. Funny how that one word can change your life.
I leave soon, in barely over a month I am away, flying over countries and seas to Italy. To Europe. Mysterious, dangerous, beautiful Europe. I'm terrified, I'm elated.
This is the bravest thing I've ever done, and I'm doing it alone.

I feel like I am accomplishing things finally, my limbo has an end in sight, this waiting, numbly going through each day is almost over.
 In the past few weeks I passed my full driver's licence, I graduated the best university in my country (although that isn't saying too much) with a degree, and now this.

I don't know where I am going, what I'll do, where I will be a year from now. All I know is I want to immerse myself in Europe, in the culture, the history, the food, the language. I want to forget myself and be completely free, be whoever I want to be.
I truly feel like the world is mine in this instant, and the line from J.R.R. Tolkien keeps going around and around my head and I take heart from it;

Not all those who wander are lost.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Thought Was Me

Too many tears I’ve shed
And not a single thing has changed
Tears make you weak he said,
His smile twisted and deranged
I tried to be strong and wear the mask
To still my beating heart with iron fists

And yet here again I've failed at my task
In tears again for all I’ve missed
You’ve left me in disgust
And destroyed all we could have been
An ideal now turned to wretched dust
Disappointed with the shreds of who you thought you’d seen
The girl that I could never be
The girl that for a while, I thought was me

I wrote this a while ago, and it's interesting to look back to. I'm still sad, still hurting, still lonely, and I want someone, but I'm beginning to realize that someone isn't him. 

I am not that girl 'I never could be' but maybe that isn't a bad thing. Perhaps I don't even want to be that girl. 
I am me, and maybe that's good.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

History



History isn't about dates and places and wars. It's about the people who fill the spaces between them.”
 - Jodi Picoult, The Storyteller

Monday, February 17, 2014

Words


Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts.”
 - Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

Thursday, January 23, 2014

2014

Happy new year. Happy 2014.

What a strange, heartbreaking thing last year was.
 This year I have no one to hurt me, I have hopes and dreams and no certainty, and I truly believe this year will be better. This year will be my year.

Europe. That's my great plan, a job, savings, and then the Europe and the wild beyond.

I've applied for an archaeological dig in Italy, I'm trying to learn french, i'm not buying a return ticket.

I'm young and free.

It's 2014, and the world is mine.