Unbiased?

When I was studying my Masters degree, the unit on Peace Journalism had a significant impact on me.  Our lecturer, former BBC Journalist Jake Lynch, explained that wars are increasingly fought as much through the media as on the ground. How do journalists tasked with informing the public about war navigate truth telling amidst nationalist propaganda? How do they find the right balance of professional detachment and human compassion? And how do they decide when to provide analysis and when to simply present the facts?

We learnt that in war/violence journalism, otherwise simply known as Journalism, a situation is presented as having 2 sides or parties, both seeking to "win". It often ignores context and history, and tends to demonise the other, reports reactively on physical violence after it has happened, focuses on elite peace-makers and gives names of the "other" evil doers while dehumanising those most impacted. There is a convention in structuring war journalism where both sides should be represented in the article or media piece, so that the reader/viewer has the experience of: "On the one hand xx, on the other hand yy. In the end, who really knows. You decide. I'm Jake Lynch, BBC news".

One significant weakness of war journalism is that it ignores power imbalance, positioning two seemingly equal parties up against one another as if we are at a football game. When we had the marriage equality plebiscite in Australia, it was often considered "fair" to include both a LGBTQI+ advocate and a religious conservative in the same discussion panel. Seems "unbiased" to have both sides represented, right? But, in a country that ended up voting overwhelmingly for marriage equality, why did we need to continue to give equal voice space to religious conservatives who have historically held the microphone anyway, and have caused significant emotional harm to vulnerable people?  

With the current situation in Gaza, I see all the same hallmarks of war journalism cropping up again. The media in the first days since 7th October was using language that positioned Israel and Hamas as two seemingly equal parties, failing to acknowledge that one of the two has the support of powerful allies, and has the most military might. It was as if 7th October was the "start" of the war and nothing that happened prior mattered. There is also the "atmosphere of doubt" about who is to blame for the hospital destruction, and our own Government endorsing the flying of the Israeli flag colours on the Opera House. There was significant pressure to condemn the actions of Hamas, but not the same pressure to speak out about the lives lost as a result of decades long military occupation and brutality. One of my Palestinian friends shared the image below, pointing to the ways that the media can present only part of a situation to create a false impression. 

In contrast, Peace Journalism looks for context, history and nuance. It notices and names structural violence and gives voice to the voiceless. It names all deplorable actions and evil doers. It explores and highlights nonviolent solutions. Stories of churches, hospitals and schools and how everyday people are desperately working to protect and care for civilians remind us of the compassion and courage and resilience of our fellow humans, re-humanising them. I also appreciated this article from an Israeli perspective, which understands the actions on 7th October as part of a much larger context. Breaking the Silence also shared about what they, as former IDF soldiers, were sent to do, and why they have courageously told the truth about harm they caused. 

When I returned from Palestine, I tried to incorporate these same principles into the stories I told. I met so many people who were engaged in their own nonviolent resistance against the occupation; Dar Zahran who opened up his family home as a museum in Ramallah to acknowledge and increase understanding about historical Palestine, the Nawaja family who continue the vigil on their land despite the regular threat of violence and home demolition, Gibreen, who took his sheep out to graze on his land situated on the other side of a settler highway as a statement of sumud (steadfast resilience) and the children who do their homework alongside the family sheep and goats, huddled in a cave to protect themselves from regular army incursions into their isolated home. They are all heroes in my mind.

Toy story

Just as I'm wondering what gift to get my nephew for Christmas, a major debate erupts on social media about the gendered marketing of children's toys. If you didn't catch it, basically Greens Senator Larissa Waters backed the No Gender December campaign, which encourages people to think critically and carefully about the types of toys they buy children. Then the Daily Telegraph published a rather alarmist article about how that means the Greens hate Barbie or Christmas or something (interestingly enough, I can no longer find that article online). Then lots of people got annoyed, having read the Daily Telegraph article, saying "I played with trucks, and I turned out okay", thinking that the campaign was a critique of dolls and trucks. The next thing we know, politicians are jumping on the bandwagon, saying boys will be boys etc. And, I have to admit, lots of the progressive journalists went crazy too, writing immature articles about the Murdoch press.

I have felt for a while that the gendered marketing of children's toys is problematic, and always try to think carefully about what to buy the children in my life. They seem to respond best to toys that are educational and that allow imagination. So I was surprised that there was such a ferocious reaction, and wondered how to respond. Then, I came across what is actually the best article I have found on the subject. I agree with the author's opinion that people have misunderstood the campaign. You see, I know girls who have Barbies and boys who have train sets. They're all great and "well adjusted" little people and their parents are lovely too. This campaign isn't about banning Barbie or trucks or trains as far as I can tell. Nor is it about blaming parents and relatives for their children's preferences. I am an avid supporter of my nephew's train collection and bought him the first set of tracks when he was a one-year-old. But I also bought him a vacuum cleaner, which, incidentally, he also loves. So there.

For me, this is more about being aware of how biased and problematic the marketing of the toy industry currently is, and what that says about society more generally. Regarding the marketing of toys, I reckon this little girl sums it up when she chucks a very controlled hissy fit in the toy shop because all the girls stuff is pink and all the boys stuff is to do with superheroes. As she articulates so beautifully, the marketing of toys is manipulative. Why have they branded all the toys along such traditional gender lines? Why shouldn't boys be allowed to buy pink princessy stuff if that's what they want? And why shouldn't girls be allowed to play with superheroes? More importantly, why arent there more female role models in the superhero range and more everyday male role models in the domestic doll range? There should be toys available to suit all children, not just those who fit into the stereotypical gender roles, and nobody should be made to feel that their choice of toy is somehow wrong. Life is pretty tough for children who are different. We shouldn't make it harder still by ONLY giving them toys that adhere to those narrow gender norms. We should buy toys that relate to the individual interests of the child, and ideally that are educational too.

Regarding society more generally, I think there is a problem in the way we "buy into" (excuse the pun) certain stereotypes and expectations to do with gender that are actually harmful. And the toys we buy are part of that culture. If boys are always given guns and other violent toys while girls are continually given submissive, domestic toys, what does that say about how we expect them to behave and the career aspirations they are allowed to have? Domestic violence is a major problem in Australia, the leading cause of death for Australian women under 45, says the article I mentioned above. And it doesn't just happen in "other" families. It is rife across the 'pretend it's not happening' families on the north shore, in upper middle bogan communities in the Shire and amongst the greenies of the inner west. And, whether we like it or not, research does indicate a link between traditional gender roles and domestic violence.

So, I bought No-no (my nephew) an elephant family puzzle this year. It's not pink or princessy and it's not to do with guns or superheroes either. You might call it gender-neutral. And it is meaningful because he loves to play with the elephant family at mum and dad's. Now he'll have a puzzle elephant family of his own. But more importantly, I will make it clear to him that he is a valuable human being regardless of the interests he chooses to pursue. And as we play together this Christmas, I will try to model for him the type of behaviour that is acceptable and respectful and establish firm boundaries around behaviour that isn't. He will know that real men can wheel prams, teach, nurse, be train drivers, work in early childhood, advocate for vulnerable people, build stuff, whatever! But that domestic violence is never okay.

Evangelism: exasperating or essential?

I recently read an article about a Christian woman disciplined on 3 counts of bullying and harassment at work for religious evangelism towards a Muslim colleague. She had invited the colleague to a number of church events and lent her a book about a Muslim woman converting to Christianity.

While the whole thing will hopefully turn out to be a big misunderstanding, I can see how such behaviour might make somebody of a different faith feel uncomfortable. At high school I had a few brushes with Christian evangelism (and fundamentalism). I remember one particular bible study leader who was very friendly at first, but then advised me that I was going to hell because I didn't agree with her interpretations of scripture. Invitations back to that church were increasingly unwanted.

Now, this might seem like an odd reaction from somebody who identifies as Christian. I guess I just prefer not to be pressured into anything. I get the same uncomfortable feeling when approached by cheerful brits with clip-boards on street corners asking me whether I care about the environment (or refugees) as a hook for relieving me of funds on a monthly basis, and from earnest young socialists entreating me to buy their latest newspaper...if I genuinely care about the state of the world. Then there are the endless emails encouraging me to get involved in the next state election campaign and those people who are adamant that raw food veganism or google documents will revolutionise my life!!

And, well, the truth is that I am a bit of an evangelist myself. I think the world would be a better place if everyone shared my political and social views and I spend a fair bit of time on social media and elsewhere trying to educate the political and social  "pagans" in my life about what I consider to be "the truth". I guess that might be annoying for some people as well.

In spite of the challenges, I do think there is a place in the world for evangelism. Whether convinced and passionate about religion, the environment, human rights or politics these people are go-getters. They make things happen; raise funds, recruit members, win seats in parliament, save forests and hold oppressive regimes to account.

So, what's to be done? I think there are a few lessons in this story for the evangelist in all of us. While our enthusiasm is admirable, we can perhaps be more respectful of differences of opinion. We can learn to back off when our advances are unwanted. And, as one Quaker advice suggests, it might be wise occasionally to "think it possible that you are mistaken".

Budget boo hoo

Last night Joe Hockey announced the budget. You all know what happened. There were cuts to health, education, overseas aid, and welfare, and except in some cases it really seemed to be the most vulnerable who are being robbed to subsidise the rich. The winners were big business, medical research, the military, road infrastructure and subsidies for fossil fuels. There was no mention of renewable energy, climate change or innovative transport solutions like high speed rail. The offshore detention of refugees on Manus Island alone will cost $8.3 billion while there will be $7.9 billion cuts to overseas aid. I felt very sad.

Then another thing happened. This morning I went for a walk along the Cooks River. I feel better when I am near water. On the way I passed an elderly man. We nodded and smiled. On the way back, there he was again. I nodded again, and this time he wanted to connect. He called out to me after I had passed him by and asked me my name, and I'm ashamed to say that I paused, looked at him, then kept walking. I had panicked, and decided not to engage.

After a few paces I started to feel really bad. What if his wife had recently died and he just wanted to connect with another human being? Maybe he had something really important to tell me. Would it have cost me so much to stop on my day off and talk to somebody that I didn't already know? What was I really afraid of? That he would rape me in broad daylight? Or that he might ask me a favour? I started to weep with shame as I walked.

So, what's the connection between my non-interaction with this stranger on the path by the river and the budget from hell? I think the link is that we've lost touch with our common humanity. One friend was saying that anthropologically we can only accommodate a certain number of people into our immediate circle. And sometimes I think we are more able to empathise with those who are in our immediate circles.

I wonder how many of the socio-economic groups that will lose out in this budget Tony Abbott and Joe Hockey have had meaningful interactions with? How many of their close friends are ex-soldiers who struggle daily with the psychological and emotional scars of fighting wars on our country's behalf and can't hold down a job of any kind? How many grew up in housing commission arrangements? How many have struggled throughout life due to disability or mental health issues? How many fled war and persecution, torture and rape and then lived in poverty stricken conditions in refugee camps before ending up on our shores? How many currently live in countries that have been aid partners for the past few decades, with limited opportunities for basic health services, free education or employment opportunities? I can honestly say that I count all these groups amongst my friends, and maybe that makes it easier for me to understand their circumstances and why we need a budget that is just as well as sustainable.

But it's not just me and my bleeding heart friends who think it's important to be compassionate as well as fiscally responsible. The United Nations has set out standards for countries to follow when it comes to refugees, Indigenous Peoples, development aid and action on climate change. Australia already falls embarrassingly short on all four accounts, yet the rhetoric that is believed by many Australians is that our finances are in a mess, there is no urgency on climate change, we already take too many refugees, Aboriginal people have been given too much already, and that our own backyard is more important than those of our neighbours. Yet, if the SBS program "Go back where you came from" tells us anything, it is that even the most poorly educated, hard-hearted, red-neck is capable of changing their mind when they come face to face with another human being who tells their story.

So, what do I think we should do? I think we should organise and we should start to engage. While the Government might not be changing its mind any time soon, I think we can educate those who voted for them, introduce them to the facts and the real people who might open their minds and give them a broader perspective. We can provide examples of other countries that have great high speed rail, renewable energy programs, and recognise their international human rights obligations while still managing a stable economy. We can encourage the other political parties to get their act together and provide real policy alternatives at the next election. We can encourage one another to speak up about what it is we don't like, so that we can move towards a country that we're all proud of.

Do you hear the people sing?

I spent a lovely weekend at the National Folk Festival over Easter this year. It's become a bit of a habit for me. I catch up with friends who perform, those who sit with me and enjoy the music, and those who are kind enough to have me to stay. I also get to see some of my favourite performers live. This year a highlight was seeing Archie Roach in concert.

Archie Roach in concert

One folk festival veteran, who is also a life long activist, was complaining to me that the new generation of folk singers (as in my own generation) don't touch on political issues in the same way that their parents did. They have veered away from the radical themes that their parents would bravely sing about in the '60s and '70s like the Vietnam war or Apartheid, she says, and only sing about mundane, safe things like going for a walk or odd socks.

I started to wonder about the official definition of folk music. After a perusal of wikipaedia, it seems the exact meaning is not altogether clear. Some say folk music is anything sung in the oral tradition, like folk tales. Some said it was the music of the uncultured class, which is probably still accurate if you think of the high number of folk festival goers in animal onesies, pyjamas or blunstone boots teamed with tie dyed rainbow skirts! But one widely accepted definition appealed to me: "folk music is what the people sing".

"Charlotte Raven" creating beautiful personalised poems

I guess this final definition comes closest to explaining what folk music is for me. Some of my favourite performers use music (or poetry or art) to express their passionate feelings about subjects that affect us as people; love, loss, war, injustice, and racism. Many of these themes are the songs of angry women and men; of activists. After all, wasn't jazz born of the struggle of African American people for their civil rights? Didn't the Irish sing about oppression by the English and doesn't Archie Roach sing about the racist policies inflicted on his people by us newcomer Australians?

While Archie Roach could never be accused of not being political, he is of an older generation. Thankfully, there is evidence that our generation is not completely apolitical. The Riff Raff Radical Marching Band is pretty politically radical and made up of at least three people that I know, and who are around my age. Many of my friends who perform sing of their anger about local, national and international issues; the wastefulness of a 50 metre pool in a town of 350 people, the destruction of the Jabiluka Uranium mine, shame at living in a racist colony, and reconciling feminism with the bible. But they also sing of love, friendship, loss and laughter.

Riff Raff Radical Marching Band

So, while I agree that some of the folk music of today might seem trivial and less radical than that of earlier generations, I think our radical, political themes are there if you look. We should encourage those folk singers of our generation not to be afraid to explore the political and social themes that make us angry these days. But I hope they don't stop singing those delightful ditties about everyday matters like wondering about the things one's guitar has seen, choosing to wear yesterday's clothes again or drinking too much gin. They are as much about the people that we are today as is our anger about modern manifestations of slavery, injustice and war.

Gender, peace and politics

The other day I came almost face to face with my political hero. I was in Hobart with family and had wanted to catch up with my mate Peter sometime during my visit. Given that Peter is such a very busy man, and doesn't have a mobile phone or answering machine and is never home to answer the landline anyway, it was agreed that we'd just meet at the anti pulp mill rally and go for lunch afterwards. As I glanced around the Parliament House Gardens looking for Peter, I noticed Bob Brown, casually leaning against a garbage bin at the edge of the crowd. I had to do a double take because he was in disguise - a blue baseball cap was shielding his face from the sun. Of course I was too shy to go and say hello, but it was very comforting to know that he was there.

Me and Peter at the rally. Bob Brown is somewhere in the vicinity.

I've been reflecting on why I am so fond of dear old Bob and why I finally joined the Greens last year. I guess I can blame Peter to a certain extent. The whole time we have been corresponding (since I was about ten), he has been modelling for me a life of activism and integrity; riding his bike to work, refusing to own a car or mobile phone, writing angry letters, teaching literature from a social justice point of view, handing out greens leaflets and generally encouraging every young person in his life to take a global perspective. He worked for Quaker Senator Jo Valentine when I was in primary school and took me on a private tour of Parliament House.

Skip forward a decade or two to my late twenties, and I was right in the thick of leading a Peter-approved life. I worked for an NGO, was vegetarian, didn't own a car or a mobile phone and was completing a Masters in Peace and Conflict Studies. In a course entitled "Gender and the development of peace" I found myself writing an essay about the feminisation of politics in Australia. I could have written about anything from female genital mutilation to the Grameen Bank, but I chose the feminisation of politics in Australia. It was an odd decision in some ways, but I got a pretty good mark for it!

In my essay I critiqued the adversarial nature of politics in Australia, describing it as patriarchal and violent. Our political climate was and still is dominated by men and operates in a culture of competition. I was writing at the height of the Iraq war when, as now, we had a conservative government that was trying everything it could to divert resources away from basic needs such as health, education and humanitarian aid in order to justify military interventions in places where we should have been offering development aid and diplomatic support.

What was needed, according to feminist theorists was a feminist approach to politics. Anne Summers was amongst those arguing that increasing the representation of women in parliament would transform the nature of politics. There was the discussion of whether quotas were important, or needed. Bronwyn Bishop was saying we didn't need quotas, since she had made it. Joan Kirner was arguing that we do, because greater numbers of women will break down the male dominated factional leadership. Yet, the fact remained that in spite of quotas in the Labor Party, very little had changed in the way the game was played. After all, people like Amanda Vanstone were asserting that the system ain't broke: "Look Susan. It’s an adversarial system, and you’re never going to change that...it’s probably my legal training, but I think the adversarial system is the best way to get as close as possible to the best result, to what the truth is" (from "The Scent of Power" by Susan Mitchell).

In a mentoring session with Meredith Bergman, she told us essentially the same thing - to power dress and act more like men if we wanted to be taken seriously in male dominated arenas. I have taken on board her advice to introduce myself by both names but feel uneasy about changing aspects of my personality or wearing shoulder pads in order to fit in. Rejecting the notion that for women to succeed they just needed to be more like men, and play the political game, I was drawing on feminist and nonviolence theory to argue that this didn't need to be the case. Women have strengths to offer politics, and, I argued, the political system could do with a bit of an overhaul and this required more than an increase in representation of women in parliament.We needed to challenge and replace the patriarchal and violent structures that underpin politics in Australia.

One theorist (Rod Cameron) was arguing that feminisation of politics would not only involve greater representation of women in leadership roles, but also a change to our definition of strong leadership. Leaders of the future would be increasingly judged on their humanity, intelligence, honesty and creativity. We will be looking for leaders who are in touch, honest and direct.

As I read further, it became clear to me that there were in fact alternatives to the existing model already being tested. It was our friend Jo Valentine and my beloved Greens party that were actually exploring different, more feminised, if you like, ways of doing politics. Jo Valentine told me all about her attempts to model nonviolent behaviour when interacting with other politicians. Using her background in nonviolent civil disobedience, she cited times when she had changed hearts and minds through taking a more patient, listening and collaborative approach to points of difference.

In a book co-authored by Bob Brown entitled "The Greens", society is condemned for being selfish and consumer-driven, and not meeting the needs of the current generation, let alone the needs of future generations and non-human species. They describe the Greens party model as non-hierarchical, networking and alliance-building. Decisions are made by consensus and women were equally represented within the membership and leadership, not because of quotas, but because the greens arose out of activist and community groups where women are already well represented. Policy positions, decided in consultation with members, seemed to reinforce values of cooperation, compassion, integrity and a concern for future generations. The qualities traditionally associated with feminism seemed to be lived out and considered valuable and important qualities in future-thinking politics by the Greens.

Whenever I have heard Bob Brown speak since, he has lived up to the values that are now so important to me - integrity, compassion and a participatory approach to democracy. He always modelled a style of leadership that is in touch, honest and direct. Women and men in Australian politics could learn a lot from Bob. Although he has now left politics, and so was wearing his "concerned citizen" cap rather than his "Leader of the Greens" hat, I admire and thank him for his contribution to Australian politics.

As I sat down to lunch with Peter and a bunch of our activist and Quaker friends, I felt reinvigorated. While the situation we find ourselves in today is pretty dire - even more dispassionate approaches to asylum seekers, reductions in overseas aid, funding cuts to basic needs, and a female Prime Minister who was treated appallingly - there is hope. Since joining the Greens I have met so many gorgeous, charming, welcoming, committed, passionate and intelligent people to add to the list of pretty amazing Quaker friends, flatmates and colleagues who will be part of making this clunky old political system of ours into one that is more community based, nonviolent and future thinking. All of them are my political heroes too.

Swimming goggles, lemons and a clanging noise

During a recent visit to Istanbul, I found myself closer to the action in Taksim Square than I had expected. Although it was just after about a month of regular protests and police involvement leading to some violence, the previous week had been very calm, and the hotel staff assured me that everything was fine. So, it seemed that I was still "exercising extreme caution" in DFAT's terms if I merely ventured across the Galata Bridge and into town to meet some friends at a cafe.

Street in Istanbul pre-gas

Given that Istanbul was the only city on this trip where I literally knew nobody, I was very grateful for the contact, and to be able to hang out with locals. I ordered a lemony drink and began asking my new friends all about their jobs and what brought them to Turkey. As we were talking, I glanced at the shelf behind, and noticed a pile of leaflets announcing a rally to be held the next day. I took a flyer, noted the place and time, but contrary to my usual practice, it was in order to avoid being there. My new friends agreed that I could do more for the cause by staying safe and joining in the online campaign than getting physically involved.

Then, as we were wandering down the cobblestone street and considering where to go next, we came across some people running down the hill quite quickly, in the way that I imagined a stampede might begin. I didn't know which way to turn, and was reminded again that I am not good in emergencies. My new friends ushered me into a nearby bar, but not before I was exposed to a faint gassy smell, and my eyes began to water. Police had begun to spray tear gas on protesters again and we were in the firing line.

Once we were safely inside the bar and things had quietened down, my new friends started telling me stories about the situation so far. They lived very close to Taksim Square and had heard the events unfold quite literally before their teary eyes. One guy reckoned he had been gased by proxy about 20 times in the past month. As we sat there, small groups of people walked past the window with mouths and noses covered by gas masks, handkerchiefs, and interestingly enough, swimming goggles. We did wonder where all the swimming goggles were coming from, and whether any suppliers thought it odd that they were suddenly in such high demand. They also mentioned that within a few hours of the first incidents, enterprising street vendors were spotted selling gas masks, lemons and other useful items that one might wish to purchase post-protest, in much the same way that there is always somebody selling umbrellas the minute it starts to rain. 

protest flyer

Stories of creativity and humour started to emerge as well. Apparently the government had been making some comments about people "making noise for no reason", so people had decided to do just that and began clanging pots and pans randomly as they went about their everyday business. Even when people were running past us with tears running down their faces from the gas, nobody turned on each other. There seemed to be an overall feeling of good-will, and I couldn't help being reminded of classes in Nonviolence with Stuart Rees, who talked of historical figures such as Gandhi and King using humour, creativity, and retaining their *human-ness* in the face of oppression or violence.

I spent the next day taking ferry rides and exploring the less touristy parts of town. It was great fun, particularly as Sunday is family day and "day off" in Istanbul, so everybody was out and about enjoying the sunshine and parks. As I reflected on this, I realised why access to a park in the centre of town was so important to people. As the hotel manager told me, the police also have families, and enjoy parks, so it is perplexing why they respond with such vigour to essentially non violent protests about an issue they themselves would most likely support, if they thought properly about it. 

In the eye of the storm

I've grown up going to protests. As a child in the 1980's I have fond memories of the rainbow banners of the anti-nuclear campaign. In the 1990s it was Indigenous rights culminating in the hope and togetherness we felt during the Bridge Walk  for Reconciliation. After 9/11 and the invasion of Afghanistan I was busily engaged in the anti-war movement and got involved in refugee action groups. Throughout all those years I had never had a problem with the police and generally believed that they were there to protect us... until the other week.

Recent rally in Sydney

I was recently in a picket supporting the National Tertiary Educators Union to call for fairer working conditions. The riot police had been called in, and as soon as any negotiations began to take place between protesters and those wishing to enter the university, the police took it upon themselves to get involved, and quickly set about pushing protesters quite aggressively, and grabbing those who were seated on the ground. I was quite shocked by these displays of what some would call police brutality. I hadn't seen it up close before. There was a look of what I can only describe as hatred in their eyes as they pushed, shoved, and strangled their fellow human beings for nothing more than voicing an opinion and then sitting down at an inconvenient time and place. My impression was that it was also a blankness there in their eyes, as if they had put aside their humanity in order to do their job. I've been told that blank look is in fact part of what they have been trained to do, in the same way that soldiers are taught to kill without emotion.

I have been thinking about this in relation to other protests around the world. I know we are lucky in Australia that, if you're white the police are generally there to protect you. Indigenous Australians have born the brunt of racism, inhumane treatment, incarceration without reason, and death from our so-called justice system for more than 200 years. Palestinian colleagues have told me about the endless Israeli checkpoints they have to go through, even just to get from home to work, and the discrimination that they face daily from Israeli authorities simply for being of a different nationality. I was aware in Turkey that the use of tear gas on protesters seemed an extreme reaction to an essentially peaceful protest about ideals that police would probably themselves support, if they thought long enough about it - access to public parks, and a democratic government.

Flyer in Istanbul

So, with all these situations, I have been asking myself whether some people are naturally evil, or whether these behaviours are just a result of violent structures, inappropriate training and propaganda. The other week, I got into an interesting discussion about the Palestine/Israel situation. A woman was asking me whether the Quaker belief that there is "that of God in everyone" leading to a history of impartiality during wars and conflicts (the Quakers provided an ambulance service to both sides during the first and second world wars) is in direct conflict with our pursuit of equality and justice, particularly in situations of human rights violations. Are we failing to stand up for the oppressed when we attempt to negotiate with the oppressor?

It is a topic I have been considering myself over the past few months, and I don't think the two are mutually exclusive. I think it is possible to call for justice and to stand alongside the oppressed while still believing there is something of God in everyone. There is a Quaker query that asks "Do you respect that of God in everyone though it may be expressed in unfamiliar ways or be difficult to discern?" The belief in this goodness in the 'other' enables us not only to look at conflicts in terms of two or more parties with needs unmet but also to see oppressive regimes as made up of human beings who are capable of good. Speaking to their human-ness, I hope, gives the oppressor the space and opportunity to change their behaviour.

An activist friend who has more experience than me of police interactions through his involvement with the occupy movement was telling me of a time when a protester had spoken so passionately to a line of riot police about the inhumanity of their actions that one of the officers had broken down in tears. While probably a rare occurrence, I think it shows that beneath the tough exterior and emotionless eyes of riot police in Australia, or Israeli soldiers at checkpoints in Palestine or police administering tear gas in Istanbul there is an innate humanity. Perhaps if we can patiently search for that humanity, we can encourage them to see alternatives to violence for achieving their objectives, recognise the humanity in their 'other', and over time, begin to see justice for those who have suffered as a result of violence, injustice and oppression.

Let's be fair dinkum

Last night's debate pissed me off. And I'm being fair dinkum when I say that. When Tony Abbott began by mentioning his wife and kids, it didn't just feel like a dig at Julia, it felt like a dig at anyone who doesn't fit into the conventional mould. Julia herself isn't much better, taking any opportunity to be photographed with children, presumably in the hope that she will appear "family-friendly". I don't give a rats arse about how many children a policitan has, or how many they say hello to in one day, I just want to know what their policies are on parental leave, abortion rights and gay marriage. But, sadly, it feels as if good policy plays a poor second to election victory - a goal made easier by fuelling the fears of "everyday, hardworking, Australians".

And that brings me to the whole border protection issue. It seems that, whichever way the polls go on election day, asylum seekers risk again being treated as illegal terrorists at worst and opportunistic economic migrants at best. The fact that the number of people who sought asylum in Australia in 2009 was way less than 1% of our total population and when finally processed were found overwhelmingly to be legitimately fleeing persecution due to race, religion, nationality or political persuation seems irrelevant.

I wonder whether the latest Government is "losing its way". I was proud when the Rudd Government ratified the Kyoto Protocol, I was proud when they made the formal apology to the Stolen Generations and I felt I could finally hold my head up high in international circles when Australia gave support to the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Now I'm feeling almost as despondant as when Howard was in office.

During the Howard era I was friends with asylum seekers who had not only survived torture in their home countries, followed by the soul-destroying experience of detention, but then waited on temporary protection visas for the length of that Government's term in office. With no access to medical support, legitimate employment or housing, they were dependant on the charity of non-profit organisations to maintain their dignity and sanity during the long wait for an answer.

So, what do I want to happen on election day? Well, ideally the Greens win government and we all live happily ever after in our sustainble houses and electric cars, but failing that, I would hope that the next Government is one that is not only able to tackle the challenge of climate change with leadership and a longterm vision, but is also able to put the national interest in perspective and give equal consideration to the interests of the world's most vulnerable people, thereby making me fair dinkum proud once again to be Australian.