Big Brother Blair

This BBC news story reads like something out of a dystopian nightmare.

Mr Blair said it was possible to spot the families whose circumstances made it likely their children would grow up to be a “menace to society”…

…”If we are not prepared to predict and intervene far more early then there are children who are growing up – in families which we know are dysfunctional – and the kids a few years down the line are going to be a menace to society and actually a threat to themselves.”

Help had to be offered, but “some sense of discipline and responsibility” had to be brought to bear, he said.

How much you want to bet that the families targeted will be poor? How much you want to bet that no rich family, even if they are a bunch of alcoholics, drug addicts, or (gasp!) single parents, will have to deal with something like that?

Of course, single mothers are already being demonized. No word on single fathers. No. They’re angels, doing “a woman’s work” and all that.

Not to mention the fact that labeling children a “menace” before they’re even born is going to be so, you know, helpful in including them in society and all that.

The D-Word

The Happy Feminist’s recent post about the positive effects of divorce (someone in the comments even pointed out that no-fault divorce may have increased women’s physical well-being, diminishing suicide and abuse), has inspired me to pontificate (I love this word) on the way the spectre of divorce is being used by wingnuts and other assorted freaks in discrediting the women’s rights movement.

Divorce bad! Patriarchy good! Think of the family!

I believe the main concept of the evils of divorce is propped up by the notion that a woman must suffer through a bad marriage no matter what, even if she’s unhappy, or threatened, or even beaten to a bloody pulp on a regular basis (something that happened to my mother with her first husband). For some reason, children who witness their mother (or father) getting abused and/or degraded are supposedly “better off” with the status quo. Women who stay in abusive relationships “for the benefit of the children”, are regarded as heroes. The idea that children might internalize the whacked-out relationship between their parents, and even go as far as seek out exactly this sort of abuse later in life, is completely beyond these people’s grasp.

I don’t think that divorce is an easy solution to anything. I don’t believe that an easy solution to a failed marriage exists. Either way, people are going to suffer. But in an abusive household, the suffering is ongoing.

My mother’s first husband, her high school sweetheart (it was customary in those days, and even now, on some level, to marry right out of high school), started drinking and beating her up. She fled. Her second husband told her that the higher ups at his job would not let him marry the woman he wanted to be with (this was also quite normal for the Soviet Union). He ended up having an affair. She grit her teeth. He left anyway.

My father’s first wife had affairs that hurt him deeply. He fled. His second wife pretended to be pregnant, so that a quickie marriage was arranged. When he confronted her about her lie, she became hysterical and nearly scratched his eyes out. She threatened to have him killed. She succeeded in getting him fired from his job. My father would have been an idiot if he stayed with her. He was also an idiot for getting together with her, but she was an actress (very pretty, I’ve seen her on TV) and so bubbly and vivacious, that my father, fool that he was, threw all caution to the wind.

You shouldn’t stay with a person just because you’re used to the routine. He’s suffering. You’re suffering. Your kids are suffering. Do a trial separation. Do somehing. Figure out how to fix this. Stop worrying about what people might think.

Assuming that staying together is automatically better than a divorce is bull. Assuming that it’s automatically worse is also a crap-idea. I think everyone knows at least one couple that struggled through personal problems, and emerged victorious. I am not an advocate of shrugging off responsibility and boldly going forth. In fact, if I hadn’t seen children screaming and crying as two “responsible adults” throw things at each other, I would not be on the divorce bandwagon.

The high rates of divorce have exposed what we’ve suspected all along – marriage is not a perfect institution. People are prone to make mistakes. Committing yourself to spend the rest of your life together with another person can be a daunting task. The idea that someone (in most cases that someone is a woman, surprise surprise) ought to sacrifice their entire existence for the grandiose symbolism of marriage is revolting.

If marriage is necessary, then encouraging people to go to marriage counseling before and after they are married is a good solution. Encouraging people to stop and think before they tie the knot is another fabulous idea. Demonizing divorce is total bollocks.

Welcome to My Golden City

I’ve begun to write about Kiev. It’s not a particularly rewarding process at this point, because my purpose is as of yet extremely fuzzy and unformed. Kiev looms large in my mind, always has, always will, but what I am actually trying to articulate about it and its denizens (ones I know, ones I have had to imagine, ones I heart, and ones I’m severely allergic to) is obscured by the muddy waters of emotion at this point. I also have no plot. I like plot. I don’t understand the snobs who balk at the mere hint of a plot. I think they all need a spanking.

In the meantime, the Kiev (Kyiv, in Ukrainian) group on Flickr is especially rewarding. Never mind the fact that I have recently been posting hysterical comments about how I want to go home on practically every photo. Thankfully, if you don’t read Russian, you won’t be subjected to my wailing.

Kiev is famous for its golden domes, but really, there is so much more to it. Bums, Bentleys, museums, cobblestone, ghosts, flowers, trash, my relatives walking around (I feel as though I am looking down at them, watching them rush to university, to work, to the corner shop for calamari and beer. It’s a good time.).

I want to go hoooooome. I want to go hoooooooome! Who wants to lend me money to go hoooooooooome?

Maintenance

Since moving to WordPress and starting my new job, I have not stayed in touch with as many people as I would have liked. If I am not linking to your blog and yet ought to, or something, don’t pout, let me know. If we don’t know each other and you want me to link to your blog, holla. Send me a link, I’ll check it out, and if it’s fun and un-creepy, if you’re not a serial killer or a raving lunatic, I would most likely be delighted to link. I am always looking for cool new blogs. I am well aware of the fact that 99% of blogs out there far surpass my own in coolness. Or maybe it’s more like 1%, but who’s counting?

A little birdie also told me that some of my old professors are reading this blog. Hello. See? Although this blog has my name on it, it is un-gossipy (yes, I know I am butchering the English language). It is quite dignified, actually. Or about as dignified as I can make it. Am trying.

I have received several complaints about Girgione’s “Venere Dormiente,” but, much like the Confederate flag in some circles (a certain West Virginia gas station comes to mind), she ain’t coming down. There. If you feel the urgent need to masturbate or otherwise involve yourself in “sinful” activities upon coming face-to-face with this delightful piece of Renaissance art, introduced into my humble existence by an esteemed professor, it’s not my problem. Like a nude Kate Moss, this Venus is innocent, not prurient. You’re the pervert. Not Girgione. There.