Poornima Manco

Author

Uncategorized

The politics of hatred

by

I am not naive. I understand that not everyone can get along with everyone else, all the time. That’s a Utopian ideal. Yet tolerance, respect, and understanding is not too much to hope or ask for. Having been on the receiving end of racism (subtle or blatant), I can tell you it is one of the most humiliating, demeaning, soul crushing things that one human being can do to another. It makes you question your own worth and your place in society.

Post Brexit, there has been a rise in reported racist attacks. From terrorising mothers and children on the streets, to hate mail, to arson and death threats, Britain’s exit from Europe has been viewed by certain quarters of society as carte blanche to launch a hate-fuelled, bigoted vendetta against anyone who is perceived as “foreign”. That someone could be just as British as the person attacking them, but if they have an unpronounceable name or a different skin colour that is enough. Farage and UKIP have unleashed a monster that will be very difficult to rein, as years of hostility and simmering resentment has now found a voice and a direction. And it’s not pretty.

On the other side of the pond, Black lives matter are crusading against years of police brutality and discrimination.Leading from the assumption that all black men are thugs and criminals, the police shoot first and ask questions later. In most instances, they are never called into account for their actions. Racism is rife and protected.

Hatred and fear, more often than not, stem from ignorance. Different is construed as threatening. From perceiving a threat to a ‘way of life’ to then discriminating against those who ‘appear’ to be threatening this way of life is a short walk towards Xenophobia. A contagion that can affect the most educated to the most ill educated.

For all those who are truly appalled at the goings on, speak up. Speak for your fellow human, whether he wears a skull cap or she dons a hijab. Whether his skin colour is black or her eyes are slanted. Whether he struggles with your language, or she eats with her hands. Speak for them.

Amongst the many qualities that make us human, are the qualities of compassion and empathy. Let us put aside this fear and hatred, this self aggrandisement and reach out to those that seem different. How wonderful it will be to find that they are no different from you and I.

Br…..exits……

by

Let me clarify at the very outset: I am not a political commentator. This is not about facts, figures and economic summations. This is purely a layperson’s perspective on what has gone on since this referendum’s results were announced on Friday. What I have observed in the media, on social media, and also on the work and home front.

After having read and researched extensively, listened to debates, and spoken to people on either side of the fence, my vote was to remain. There were several reasons for this and I won’t enumerate them here, aside of saying that I felt that for economic and political stability, the UK was better off being a part of the European Union.

There were plenty that disagreed. Plenty that were fed up with the bureaucratic functioning of the Eurocrats. Plenty that wanted to regain their independence and sovereignty, and not be answerable to Europe for the voltage of their toasters and hairdryers. Amongst them were those as well who were fearful of being unable to carry the burden of mass immigration and the toll that it was taking on their public services.

On Friday morning, when the results of the referendum came in, it was the latter lot that had won.

Now, I wasn’t pleased about this. In actual fact, I was very despondent. Fearful for the future of our children, fearful that cutting ourselves off in this manner would send the markets into free fall (it did) and generate a wave of #gohomenow hashtags for foreigners (it did that too). But it was fait accompli. No amount of hand wringing or mud slinging could reverse the results that we had woken up to. Britain wanted out.

What I had not anticipated was the backlash that the Brexiteers had to face. Admittedly, it was not a decision I was happy with, but in a democracy, every person gets a choice. That’s what democracy is about. To label everyone that chose out as racist, xenophobic, small minded and inward looking is as unfair as labelling everyone that wanted to remain as a leftist bleeding heart. People had their reasons for making their choice, and if that choice was one that we disagreed with, then the debate should have centred on the ramifications of that choice, not on character assassination.

A nation was divided over this vote. It maybe further divided if Scotland asserts its independence via another referendum. This is not the time to name call and turn these cracks into chasms we are unable to build bridges over. The landscape has altered and we have to adapt in a way that takes us forward amicably and with the good of the nation and all its people regardless of colour and ethnicity, at the heart of our efforts.

If we truly want to put back great into Great Britain, then let us do so by showing solidarity and support for each other in the undoubtedly tumultuous times to come.

He said. She said.

by

Let’s face it – breakups are ugly. The emotions involved are ugly: Anger, resentment, frustration, acrimony. The fallout nearly always is ugly.

Now play this out on a world platform, and how much more magnified does everything get? Case in point- Johnny Depp and Amber Heard. When a 52 year old ageing superstar decides to wed an up and coming starlet, the longevity of the union is the least debated point. After all, with a two decade age difference between them, this is hardly a meeting of minds. Yet, there is always a tacit understanding that while she will bring excitement and a renewal of libido to the table, he will bring his vast fortune and Hollywood connections to it too. Prenup agreements notwithstanding, when things go bust, all these emotions are discreetly tucked away at the behest of their PR agents, and ‘conscious uncoupling’ with a byline of still being ‘good friends’ are the oft repeated mantras.

What has made Amber Heard wander so far from the script? Is she really the gold digging, foul mouthed, riding-on-the-coat tails diva she is being portrayed as? Or, is there something more sinister at play here? From the demands for spousal support (since withdrawn) to the temporary restraining order against Johnny Depp (since extended), her accusations of domestic violence have been viewed with cynicism. No amount of photographic evidence of her battered face or her friends vouching for the veracity of her claims seem to have swayed public opinion in her favour. On the flip side, Depps’ ex partner, his daughter and his friends have time and again reiterated what a good guy he is, consciously reinforcing the message that he is incapable of the sort of behavioural abuse charges that are being levelled at him.

Where in all these murky waters does the truth lie? That, with any luck, will emerge in the court battle which will no doubt find an airing in every rag mag there is.

More pertinently, let’s examine our own reaction to this case. Amber Heard is young, beautiful and famous. She had one of the most famous movie actors in the world, wrapped around her little finger. Jealous yet? Moreover, she managed to snatch him from right under the nose of the stunning French actress, Vanessa Paradis, his partner of several years. How dare then, she turn around and accuse him of domestic violence? Didn’t she make her own bed? Shouldn’t she (quietly) lie in it now? What is this, if not a blatant attempt to extort as much money as she can, to bankroll her own lavish, party lifestyle? What a lying, two faced, bisexual cow!

Hmmmm.

Now, let’s transpose this to a more everyday setting. That lovely young couple that lives down the road. That handsome husband who always says hello, and helps take your groceries out of the car. One day you hear that his wife has called the police in. He hit her. He’s been verbally and physically abusing her for years. Do you believe it? Or, is your first instinct, your knee jerk reaction, one of disbelief and incredulity?

Domestic violence is an everyday reality. It happens to women all over the world. From the richest to the poorest. From the most famous to the most inconspicuous. Why then, do we as a society, prefer to discredit the claims of the victims, driving them further into the shadows? It takes an enormous amount of courage to come forward, and to declare that you have been abused. That your self esteem has been eroded, your sense of what is right and what is wrong, completely skewed and that you have stayed in the relationship for years, for the sake of your children or society or whatever other pressures you felt were stronger than your own well being. It takes courage, and we must acknowledge and support that.

Whatever Amber Heard may or may not be, we must take her claims seriously, unless proven otherwise. She has a long road ahead of her, and aside of the notoriety this case has brought her, she is likely to gain little. Money aside, she will possibly become persona non grata in Hollywood. Johnny, on the other hand, will continue to get multimillion dollar vehicles to showcase his star power. So, regardless of the outcome of the case, Amber Heard stands to lose more than she stands to gain.

Sadly it seems, in the court of public opinion, she has lost already.

The beauty impediment

by

Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, they say. But what if the beholder(s) are unable to look beyond the beauty? What if the person gets defined, slotted, pigeon holed by that beauty? What if that very beauty becomes a stumbling block towards character development? This is not everyday attractiveness I am talking about. This is the stop-you-in-your-tracks beauty. The kind that only very very few women are naturally (without the aid of cosmetics, surgery or camera jiggery pokery) blessed with.

My daughter has an incredibly beautiful friend. The sort of friend that gets offered modelling contracts by strangers on the street. This girl is also whip smart. Unfortunately, in the intensely competitive teen milieu that is much too much of a fortunate combination. So she downplays her intelligence, and sails by on her looks. She is popular and well liked because of it. More’s the pity.

A man can be drop dead gorgeous and super intelligent, and no one ever questions it. Look at George Clooney. Or better still, Justin Trudeau. Yet a woman needs to forever hide her intellect under a bushel, or Heaven forbid!

Hedy Lamarr, an Austrian actress from the 40’s was well known for her breathtaking beauty, and the added glamour quotient she brought to the silver screen. Less for the fact that she was also the inventor of the Spread Spectrum Technology. A pioneer in the field of wireless communications, that would become the bedrock of cellular technology. This fact was only recognised and celebrated towards the end of her life. Frustratingly for her she was typecast by her singular beauty.

Now don’t get me wrong. Beauty is a wondrous thing to behold. Beauty and youth are a potent combination. And I can’t think of one single woman who would turn down the chance to be both. If only it were not so limiting!

Charlize Theron, the Amazonian South African actress, with the endless legs would probably say the same. Her Oscar winning turn in the movie “Monster” wasn’t just due to her acting chops.It was also the remarkable transformation that she embarked upon, making herself look downright ugly, so that the focus could be on her performance and not on her face.

Why is it so difficult to accept that a woman can be preternaturally beautiful, and also possess the attributes of intelligence, wisdom, talent, aptitude, ability and ambition? Is this a narrow view that is subscribed to and cultivated only by men, or are we women just as guilty of it?

Helen of Troy, another mythic beauty, was ‘the face that launched a thousand ships’, and the Trojan war. Men fought to own her, and sadly, that is her legacy. How much more interesting it would be to exhort a 21st century Helen to build some ships instead?

To set store by something as transitory as beauty, is to ignore (to our detriment) those qualities that are far more valuable in the long run. Warmth, empathy, grit, loyalty, compassion, intelligence – all of which are just as, if not more beautiful, than a genetic accident.

These are the qualities worth celebrating. This is the wisdom we need to pass down.

“Beauty should be the icing, not the cake” – Unknown.

A day in Waiheke

by

We amble towards the ferry station. I’m too caught up in my conversation with my friend to notice what a glorious day it is turning into. Not so my children, who practically gambol on, excited at the prospect of visiting an island, and enjoying the sunshine they are so deprived of in England. Excitedly we board, rushing up to grab seats on the open upper deck.

Auckland is a world away from home, and it has taken us several years of girding our proverbial loins to make the journey. The last time was sixteen years ago, pre children. It was the start of the Millennium, and all I can recall of that trip was the pregnancy nausea that dogged me through out, allowing me to enjoy very little of Down Under. This time it’s proving to be a different trip.

Melbourne was cold and blustery. Their Autumn had just started, and ill prepared in our denim jackets, we shivered our way determinedly visiting all the landmarks, hopping on and off the free tram that circles the heart of the city.

Auckland is warmer, not just in temperature, but also in the love and hospitality our hosts and our friends have extended to us. Arousing us from our jet lagged stupor is no easy task, but they are enthusiastic, and soon we are too. Up until now we have been to see the Auckland museum where we got an insight into the Maori culture amongst other interesting historical and cultural information. We’ve walked up to Mount Eden, a dormant volcano and the highest natural point on the Auckland isthmus. We’ve strolled on the beach at Mission Bay, loving the water lapping at our feet.

Today we are setting out on our little adventure to Waiheke. Even as we board the ferry, there is a palpable sense of excitement. Not just because we are in such beautiful surroundings, but also because it is a shared experience with our friends. We are all too used to it being just the four of us, and having company adds that extra bit of enjoyment that we rarely get to savour.

A 35 minute ferry ride away, this incredibly beautiful island is a treasure trove of exotic flora and fauna. This is fiercely safeguarded by various conservation societies. However, on a day like today, we have little on our minds but some wine and food and a lazy day watching the waves beat upon the many unspoilt beaches we intend to explore. To that end we board a local bus that chugs along at the same somnambulic pace as the islanders. There is no frenetic rushing around that we are accustomed to in our daily living. Slowly our worries and our tensions drop away, as we gaze upon vista upon verdant vista.

Famous for its many wineries, our friends tell us that some of the wines we have been imbibing are made upon this very island. All at once, we are keen to sample the wares, and alight at a supermarket. A trolley dash ensues, with each member of our party choosing an item for the picnic we are planning on the beach. The result is a somewhat chaotic mix of food and drinks. No matter. We are just too chilled to care.

Another bus drive with a friendly Maori driver ends up in a photo call, with him as the somewhat bemused celebrity in our midst. He cannot imagine why this motley bunch of Indians want a picture of him and his bus, but is kind enough to oblige.

Laden with our packages, we make our way down to the picnic spot on Onetangi beach. There is a public barbecue that is already in use by another family, and the man nods congenially in our direction. With the smell of sizzling sausages, our tummies rumble, signalling that it maybe time for some refreshments. Out come the wine, the pizza, the crisps, the salad and the assorted sundries we’ve brought along. The children dig in with relish, while we laugh and chat and bask in the rare luxury of al fresco dining in such fine surroundings.

After lunch, the children run off to play in the water. We sit and soak in the sunshine, reminiscing about our own childhoods. Our memories are tinged with nostalgia, and a sense of just how fleeting time is. From college to marriage to children turning into teens, to parents we have lost, and an impending sense that someday not that far away, it will be us. We clutch on to the joy we are feeling in the here and now. Moments like these that will carry us through the troughs that inevitably mar every life. Moments like these that will remind us that life gives just as much as it takes away.

Afternoon turns to dusk, and we drag our reluctant children back to the bus stop that will take us to the ferry station. We have time for one last drink. I order a Mai Tai at the bar, and whimsically place the flower garnish in my hair. The sun is setting in the horizon, and the myriad hues it lends to the sky are a painter’s delight. The water has borrowed the colour orange, and like molten lava the waves roll forward and backward, fierce and magnificent, speaking a language all of their own.

On the ferry ride back we are quiet and reflective. A glut of beauty is sometimes too overwhelming to process all at once. Added to that is a sense of sorrow as we are to depart the next day for Sydney. Our short trip has been so full of love and laughter and beauty and wine (always some wine) that it is a wrench to return to civilisation.

No matter. As long as there is a will, there is a way. And our will will find us a way back to this Paradise.