The Silence + The Roar

[yinyangman69]

The Axis of Allies

CW: Straight white guy talking. So, not just any male feminist ally but the self-proclaimed king (yeah, red flag) of male feminist allies has been outed as a serial abuser and don't the rape-culture deniers just love it? Co-host of Citizen Radio, Jamie Kilstein, has been forced to leave the podcast that they co-founded with their ex-partner after the allegations (which I do not doubt) made their way to the daylight. Kilstein has gone dark in a shroud of non-apology and deflection, apparently citing self-care before the abuse evidence broke. The victims of these betrayals, and they are betrayals, are not assisted in any way by the rapturous joy being exhibited by the MRAs and other assorted ethical lightweights online who are using this individual's catastrophic failure to live up to the standards they championed in a kind of "disaster capitalism" of morality. No real surprise that the same people who would use society's marginalisation of the feminine experience against women would use further irrefutable evidence of the precarious nature of women's safety amongst men, even in "safe spaces," as an opportunity to attack the very idea of rape culture's existence. Dudebros and Joe Rogan devotees aside, the voices that hurt the most to hear right now are those of women who are saying never to trust a male feminist ally and those voices hurt because they are absolutely correct. Predators exist everywhere and the most cunning lurk in the clearest waters. It is not for me or anyone to tell another person, especially a person whose burden I can never fully comprehend, how to live. It's easy for me to scatter platitudes about the quality of life being greater when you take a chance or how nobody can really trust anybody anyhow so carpe diem, baby! Yeah. Nah. Doesn't cut it. I know. My privilege is showing in 10' high, blinding neon. Just as Kilstein's was right before it blinked out, leaving victims in the dark, the victims who had been convinced that there was a light that would never go out. The abuse of trust is devastating. For this reason, I want to make it clear that anyone who belongs to any marginalised group who chooses to trust any privileged ally has my utmost respect for the bravery required to believe, despite the consistent evidence to the contrary, that people do exist outside your experience that want the best for you, who value you and who know that it is YOU who show US the way. And, most importantly right now, that WE are sorry. I am sorry. I don't expect you to trust me.

[yinyangman69]

I recently bought a new (used) car. I have always wanted a PT Cruiser, since the first time I saw one on my way to work, years ago. When the engine on my beloved Moke died (again) a couple of weeks ago, I was looking for a van as a temporary, practical replacement but then I saw this shiny beastie and knew I was in trouble. I have heard much about the Cruiser's unreliability and expensive replacement parts so I was looking for any indication, any excuse, that I should do the responsible thing and find something plain and sensible. I trawled through forums, read various reviews and still couldn't find a good reason not to consider this purple temptation. Took it for a test drive. Pretty good. Felt like driving an old car but one that just rolled off the factory floor. It is a 2005 model but in immaculate condition. Lots of kms but the signs were that it had been well maintained. One previous owner, full service record, no sign of leaks where the forums warned they would be if not properly cared for... Almost annoyingly, I could not fault this car. So I started calling the mechanics in the service record to see what they thought of it. All said it was in great condition, it had no major issues (a few sensors had been replaced, pretty cheap) but they did say it was not a joy to work on. That's fine by me; I am more the "John Sutherland" type (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance) than a hands-on mechanic. I'll pay for someone else to treat my mech-animals. Last call to make was to the original owner, a lady whose address was a remote Tasmanian town where a 4WD ute was a more likely option than a mock hotrod. So I called, introduced myself and asked a few questions about its service history. The previous owner knew their stuff. They explained what had been done and why and what the difference was between this timing chain and the one on previous models and so on and so forth. I understood about half of what was said but enough to know the car was a bargain at the asking price, even with the miles on the clock. So I had to ask why a lady in a Tasmanian country town had chosen such a unique vehicle in the land of the utilities? Here is where the story takes a turn for the awesome. This lady, like me, had always wanted a PT Cruiser but her husband was not keen. I assume he was more attuned to the aforementioned utes and 4WD of farming towns. She didn't say that but she did say that he only drove it once in the 10 years she owned it. To make her dream a reality, she had saved the money until she could go to the dealer and buy exactly what she wanted. She told the man at the Chrysler dealership that she would like the new PT Cruiser Limited with the rear spoiler and moonroof which usually come with the GT, in deep plum. He asked if her husband was coming in. She said he was not and that she would like the PT Cruiser Limited with the rear spoiler and moonroof which usually come with the GT, in deep plum. He said it would be better if her husband came in to discuss whether that was the best choice for her. Disappointed and disgusted, she left and went to another dealership, ordered the PT Cruiser Limited with the rear spoiler and moonroof which usually came with the GT, in deep plum. She paid cash. When she took possession of her new car a few weeks later, the first place she drove it was to the dealership that had advised her to bring her husband in. She drove that Cruiser onto the lot, walked into the display room and let loose. In front of customers and sales staff, she told the man to look out the window at the $40,000 car she had bought at another dealership because of his male arrogance. She said that she wanted everyone to know the way he talked to female customers and how she was told she shouldn't spend the money she saved, working in her job, without running it past her husband. The manager suggested they discuss this in the office but she said that wouldn't be necessary. She had her car, exactly as she'd asked for, but that they had lost her sale because the man she spoke to was a sexist pig. And then she left. At this point in the conversation I was cheering and told her she was a legend. She told me she was happy to know that her car was now in the possession of someone who cared about it as she wanted it to have a good home. So now, not only am I driving a car that I think looks cool, but I am driving the car of an absolute feminist warrior. I drive that shiny, purple beastie with honour.

[yinyangman69]

We asked this woman if she could think of a single word to describe Australia's Minister for Women, Tony Abbott. We believe she said she could not. #SingingInTheRain #auspol

[yinyangman69]

The Very Important Job

There was this person who had a job. It was, they were told, a very important job. Every day they woke up before their alarm clock and leapt out of bed. They had a very important job to do. They made toast for breakfast. Their toaster was shiny. It was new. They made a pot of coffee in their shiny, new coffee maker. The smell of the coffee was intoxicating. The beans were expensive and of the finest quality. They could afford very nice things because they had a very important job. They always took a fresh cup of coffee to their partner who was still asleep in bed. They awoke their partner with a kiss and a whispered, “Good morning, my love.” They then showered and dressed in their uniform. The uniform was smart and crisp as befitted someone with a very important job. They spoke briefly but tenderly with their partner who now sat upright in bed, drinking fine coffee. They kissed and they parted. They made their way to the bus-stop where they chatted amiably with the other people waiting for their bus. They did have a car but it was nice to catch the bus with people, to give them a chance to see the smart, crisp uniform. They received compliments on their uniform most mornings and were sure to accept them graciously. They were indeed fortunate to have such an important job. They arrived at their building, bade their fellow travelers a good day and made their way to the tall, glass doors. The doors slid open like electric sorcery. Like the building knew that someone with a very important job had arrived. They exchanged smiles, nods and pleasant words with their colleagues. Everyone knew that the person with the smart uniform who was now riding the elevator had a very important job. They stepped out of the elevator on a floor high above the earth. The floor they worked on was carpeted and warm. They had a door with their name in shiny silver letters. They had a comfortable chair. They had a desk. They had a window out across the sky. They could make out people working below. They had jobs too but they didn’t have very important jobs. … They heard the single, clear chime which signaled that it was time. They began their very important job. … A blue light blinked above a shiny handle on the office wall. They walked across the lush carpeting, turned the handle three times, slowly. The light blinked out. They walked back across the floor and sat down in the comfy chair. They had done precisely what was expected of them. They did this every day. Sometimes ten times a day. Sometimes a hundred times a day. Always at least once. Making sure that the handle was turned three times, slowly, every time the blue light blinked was a very important job. If they didn’t turn that handle, everything else could stop. Everything. No more shiny toaster. No more fine coffee. No more crisp, clean uniform. … The blue light blinked. They turned the handle, three times, slowly. … At the end of the day, a single clear chime rang out. They had finished their very important job for another day. They finished the paperwork because very important jobs have very important paperwork. They stood. They left. They went home to their beloved. They had a delicious dinner. They snuggled together on a comfortable couch in front of a large television. They grew weary. They went to bed. They slept. … Not all days are identical. Some days it rains. Some days the wind blows. Most days are the same though. The blue light blinks and the handle turns and a very important job is done. One day was very different though. One day the blue light blinked and they walked across the lush carpet to the shiny silver handle. They turned the handle once, slowly… The handle stuck. They felt their heart stop. The handle stuck. They tried to turn the handle by using more force than usual. The handle started to move but then… The handle snapped. The shiny silver handle fell to the carpeted floor and the high pitched ping told them that the other end of the handle had fallen to a concrete floor on the other side of the wall. They felt their heart start again but faster. They had a very important job but they needed the shiny silver handle. There was a hole in the wall where the handle belonged. They saw a faint orange glow coming through the hole. They bent down to look through the hole. They had to find the handle. On the other side of the wall was a table. There was a person strapped to the table. They were moving. The handle turned an axle. The axle turned a drill. The drill was boring a hole into someone. There was blood. There was pain. There was an orange illuminated sign on the wall that said,

“TELL US WHAT WE WANT TO KNOW” … The door opened behind the person with the very important job. There was a person standing in the doorway. Their uniform was smarter and crisper. They held out a new, shiny silver handle. … Everything else could stop.

[yinyangman69]

A vegan explains things to hostile FB friends.

I recently had to post this on Facebook following some flak I was catching for posting articles depicting animal cruelty. I'd noticed a few people saying the next time someone posted something about animal cruelty on their wall, they were going to unfriend them. I unfriended them first then posted this in a way of an explanation. It was hastily written and a bit messy but it gets my point across. It's received a good reaction from my non-vegan friends so I post it here (with minor grammatical edits) in the hope it may be of use to others in a similar situation. "So here's the deal; I'm 45 years old. My first 22 years were as an omnivore. I do not blame nor judge any person for growing up omnivorous in an omnivorous society. There are hugely influential corporate interests that invest a shitload of time and money into keeping us omnivorous and I would never discount that influence. I was vegetarian for about 20 years before choosing a vegan lifestyle. If I was going to judge anyone for anything it would be myself for 2 decades of somehow convincing myself that I could claim to be compassionate for eschewing meat while turning a blind eye to the cruelty and basic injustice of the dairy and egg industries. I'd still be blind to that cruelty if I'd not had conversations with people that knew more than me. I am forever grateful to those people just as I am forever grateful to the people in my life that introduced me to art, music, nature, love and every other facet of my life that expanded my being beyond the walls of the self. I know there are people who, when confronted with their limitations, who toe the line of their self-imposed expectations, feel reticence and impending doom at the thought of taking that next step. That's your programming playing it safe. It's a throwback to the days when stepping out of the cave before you've checked for predators could result in a sudden, savage demise. That's fine. That instinct is to be expected and it can be, if you've ever nearly stepped in front of a bus you'll realise this, a powerful ally in the right circumstances. But what about in the circumstances surrounding your personal ethics? The basic test for anyone in any circumstance is older than plagiarism; "Do unto others blah blah blah..." or "An it harm none do as thou wilt." I like that. It's simple yet allows for complexity and nuance. What IS harm? Who are THE OTHERS? Nobody can harm nothing. It's impossible. Anyone who wants to catch me out in a gotcha style question could do so easily. I walk on grass. I prune trees. I eat yeast extracts. I take antibiotics. I would cut out a cancer. What I CAN do is aim to do as little harm as possible. Most people would say that sounds reasonable but they don't define what is not only possible but simple to achieve. It is hard to avoid walking on grass. It is not hard to avoid milk. But it is hard to WANT to avoid milk when you refuse to accept the fact that all commercial milk production is packaged and presented as though it is natural, delightful and that the cows give freely of their milk just so we humans can grow up big and strong (actually the cows love it so much that they smile big cow smiles and, as one recent Cadbury ad shows us, they float upside down suspended by udders full of bubbly love-juice) when in reality it is the product of inhumane conditions, violence and death. Now, given the propaganda necessary to paint a fairy tale landscape of what is actually more closely related to a holocaust, I understand the rejection of any attempt to educate milk consumers on the reality. That is the result if corporate brainwashing multiplied by a neurological process known as the backfire effect. It's another one of those ancient brain processes which evolved during our earliest animal existence. So shoot the messenger. Step back from that scary line. Drink Coke. But later, consider it for yourself. Why do we do that thing? If the roles were reversed and I was a sex slave, my children stolen at day 1 so I could continue to suckle an alien species until all I was good for was soup, would I consider it fair? What if that whole process were avoidable if only the alien species simply chose to replace the product of my suffering with bean juice? What if the aliens said, "Nahhh... This is just what we do. Beans sound gross. Now give me your child, we're having toddler cutlets tonight cos only gay aliens eat tofu..." ..? So say those things. Be that alien. That's your choice. I was that alien too and because I'm not perfect I'm well aware that there will be mistakes I make that you could point your finger at and admonish me for. But know this. I'm not admonishing you. I'm just tired if being told that I haven't thought my position through. I'm tired of being told I lie about the reality if the situation or that what I'm talking about can't be undone. I have. I don't. It can. It's your choice as much as mine and I know that. What you don't get to choose is the facts. Animals live horrific lives for us. They die for us. They don't have to. Nanu nanu." @yinyangman69 Peace.

[yinyangman69]

Introduction

What is this?

It is what it is. I began writing a blog back in 2000 but life tackled me away from the keyboard after a couple of years. A partner who didn't understand why I spent so much time hunched over in the dark, typing to nobody in particular, and an increasingly hectic work and union schedule conspired to draw me away from the glow of virtual community and into the harsher glow of "reality". Prior to that, I had started sending a regular email to most people I knew named "yinyangman's cosmos", wherein I brought together links to interesting, under-reported news stories punctuated by my opinions on them. Some of the people I sent them to asked to be taken off the list, many probably just deleted or ignored them but quite a few people responded, discussed and forwarded the email off to other friends. I got the idea that this new "internet" thing could be what we needed to bypass mainstream news filters and choose our own agendas as a society. 12 years later, it appears to be picking up steam. Back then, however, there was a blanket dismissal of this new form of communication, especially by the old guard but also by most media consumers. My blog was on livejournal. It was a brief experiment and less satisfying than the emails. None the less, it was therapeutic to have an outlet. I regret putting away the keyboard for so long.  I don't recall exactly how I came up with yinyangman as a working moniker but I had just recently read The Tao Of Jung and On Having No Head and I've always liked the idea that within everything exists the seed of it's opposing force. Two of my all time favourites are Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and the Tao of Pooh so there's obviously something about Zen that appeals to me. Calling my online identity yinyangman creates a problem because it is misconstrued as being the whole of my identity. Anyhow, I feel like I'm stuck with it now. It would be disloyal to change. My relationship with this yinyangman guy is the longest I've had outside of family. The name does make me cringe at times. Too bad; it's part of who I am.

So... Who am I?

My other name is Danny. You'll have to tell me the rest. Everyone is the eye of their own personal storm so it's probably easier for others to decide according to their observations from afar. I think I'm pretty sane, normal and balanced but then I'm sure Charles Manson doesn't wake up in the morning and think, "Woo! I'm batshit!"

And so...Let the observation begin.

[yinyangman69]

I spy with my little eye, something beginning with 'be".