Bullying, and the Class of ‘87.

It’s been 30 years since the Mentone Girls’ High School Class of 1987 walked into our final exams for VCE. Wow. I can’t believe it’s been that long. And yet it also feels like a life time ago. For me, at least, it is another life ago.

As we celebrate and commemorate thirty years since our years at High School ended, it’s natural to think about the times spent and shared at MGHS; Friendships forged, lessons learned, mistakes made, and life paths set out ahead of us. Many girls started Year 7 with friendships from primary school, while others of us found ourselves at the corner of Balcombe & Charman Roads further into our educational journey.

I enrolled at Mentone Girls High School at the beginning of Year 10, as Sue, having moved from a co-ed school and another state. Going from a P-12 country school to a suburban single-gendered school was quite confronting. And it wasn’t an easy time being the new kid, and I guess, a “different” one at that. Some of my peers made my first year incredibly difficult. Between the verbal taunts, teasing, intimidation, and occasional physical altercation, 1985 was a year I barely survived emotionally and psychologically. Being a teenager, coping with puberty, dealing with parents, exploring sexuality, juggling school and social life; these are all normal things that make being a fifteen year old difficult. But being the target of bullying and social exclusion, makes life inside and outside school close to unbearable.

I could write for a long time about the Phys Ed classes I skipped to avoid being victimised, or the lunch times spent in sick bay in tears or crippled with anxiety and fear. But I’m writing this not for myself, but for all the Class of ‘87 victims of bullying at MGHS. The many who were targeted because they looked “different”, because of their culture, because they were smart or model students, because they were quiet, or just because they were new.

When I reconnected with many of the students at the 25th Anniversary event and through social media, I was heartbroken to hear of the girls who experienced a life of Hell as victims of bullying.

In 2012, when I tried to address my own experience of being bullied, two extraordinary things happened. Firstly, and most positively, out of the blue one class-mate approached me and apologised. With authenticity and a real sense of personal insight, she said she was sorry if she’d been a bitch to me. I acknowledged her apology, and told her I was intimidated by the social group she was part of, but that I never felt that she was a “bitch” to me. Despite the fact I didn’t feel personally bullied by her, I appreciated that she took time out to make amends.

The second thing that happened was that I was told by fellow alumni not to confront my bullies about the abuse. I never intended to make a scene or stir up trouble at the reunion, but what I did want — after 25 years of feeling helpless and voiceless — was to tell those girls what they did, and how it scarred me. “No”, I was told, “They’ve had a tough time lately”; relationships had apparently been damaged or broken, and other troubles in their lives had tested them. And so I was silenced, again.

In those brief moments of justification and excuse making, just like all those years ago, the bullies were protected, while the victims — once more — were ignored, and our feelings and experiences minimised.

Being a victim of bullying still carries a huge social stigma. Those of us who have survived don’t want to admit that we went through depression, self harm, and even suicidal thoughts and attempts. We haven’t felt able to voice these experiences because of the very culture of deflection, minimisation, and denial by bullies and their accomplices. Being bullied is not only traumatic and stressful at the time, but it changes who we are, who we become, and the relationship we have with and in the world.

We defend the bullies because life goes on, and they deal with their own troubles and trials. Sometimes school bullies grow up and become amazing, beautiful, and caring people. And other times their toxic behaviour continues on through their life, and they never really understand that what they did was wrong, or accept any accountability.

We can all still reminisce about the good and fun times and friendships at MGHS, and look back on the rollercoaster ride of high school that we (mostly) managed to survive. It was a time that shaped our teenage years, but the women (and one man) that we are now, have also been defined by our lives since our graduation year. But for some of us, the prospect of a 30 year reunion brings up feelings of anxiety, fear, and trauma.

So how can we celebrate 30 years when there is still hurt and harm felt among us? Is it ever too late for a community to stand up for the most vulnerable? Will we have the courage as a community and individuals to say it was wrong then, and it’s wrong now?

Sometimes, as with the culture of sexual harassment and abuse uncovered in Hollywood recently, it takes someone to speak out and give voice to the ugly truth. I hope, by my speaking out, that others feel safe and supported enough to tell their own story.

I would like to see, in 2017, the acknowledgment of harm done by the bullies in the class of ’87, and a willingness — by all of us — to make amends. Then, and only then, can we turn the page on this chapter of abuse, and feel truly heard as victims and survivors.


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The last ten minutes of the TV Week Logie Awards on Channel 9 last night was like a train wreck you couldn’t look away from. As I cringed and cowered on my couch, I still couldn’t bring myself to change channel and ignore the debacle that unfolded before mine and a nation’s eyes. As if Richard Wilkin’s ill-fitting suit wasn’t disaster enough, Ian “Molly” Meldrum’s drunken speech will now likely feature in a “Ten Most Awkward Celebrity Appearances” on YouTube or a Channel 9 special later this year.

But it’s Samuel Johnson that has my utmost sympathy. The talented actor won last night’s coveted Gold Logie for Most Popular Personality on Television 2017, edging out last year’s winner Waleed Aly, The Project co-host Peter Helliar, Family Feud’s Grant Denyer, and actors Rodger Corser and Jessica Marias. Johnson had earlier won Best Actor for his role as iconic TV presenter and personality Ian Meldrum in Molly, giving an emotional speech paying tribute to his sister Connie, who is dying of cancer. Johnson seemed genuinely surprised to win the Gold Logie, and as he started his speech, the vision cut several times to an emotional Meldrum in the audience. Then in the midst of Johnson’s down-to-earth, self-deprecating acceptance speech, a clearly intoxicated Meldrum made his way onto the stage carrying a gift bag. And that’s pretty well when Samuel Johnson’s night of triumph and accolade came to a screeching halt.

I grew up watching Molly Meldrum on Countdown; enjoyed his easy, unpretentious interviews with up-and-coming musical artists as well as superstars of the 70’s and 80’s. He continued promoting Aussie musicians and performers on Hey, Hey, It’s Saturday! often being the butt of jokes, and double-entendres by John Blackman and his alter-ego Dickie Knee. I remember seeing Meldrum back stage at HHIS in the 90’s when I did a stand-up routine on Red Faces, and I felt as if I’d been in the presence of Australian television royalty. And then there was Molly’s near fatal 2012 fall from a ladder, after which the TV icon was placed in a medically induced coma, with Australians hoping and praying for his recovery, and leaving the now 74 year old Meldrum with an ongoing brain injury. 

Molly is a legend. An institution. A national treasure. But… Last night’s win of the Gold Logie wasn’t his moment! While Samuel Johnson’s role in “Molly” ultimately won him the award, it was Johnson’s talent, hard work, and popularity as an actor that gave him the honour of receiving the plaudits from his peers in the industry and the television viewing public. It was Johnson’s time to shine, not Meldrum’s!

The Logies has long had a history of awkward and embarrassing moments, both on an off screen, with performers letting their hair down with a few too many drinks, and sometimes even coming to blows. Samuel Johnson seemed to defer to Molly Meldrum’s presence on the dais last night, handing over the spotlight to 2012’s Hall of Fame inductee. Meldrum spoke unintelligibly at times, rambling on about Johnson’s previous gig in the critically acclaimed series The Secret Life of Us, dropping more than a few F Bombs, babbling on and on in a drunken, self-serving monologue. In those minutes of intoxication, I wished that Bert Newton had been there to intervene, as he so artfully did in years past, with a quick witted jibe that would have diverted attention from Meldrum, and returned the focus to the man of the moment — Johnson.

Samuel Johnson has been a stand out performer on Australian screens for twenty years, winning awards from the AFI and AACTA. He’s philanthropic work for children’s cancer charity ‘Canteen’ and in more recent years the Garvan Institute of Medical Research and his own charitable foundation ‘Love Your Sister’, focusing on breast cancer research and awareness, led Johnson in 2014 to be awarded the Medal of the Order of Australia (OAM) for service to cancer research support organisations and to the performing arts. When Johnson stood on the stage to accept his well-earned Gold Logie he deserved better than to be upstaged by a blathering drunk in Meldrum. Clearly Johnson is a good guy, and probably took it all in his stride, and would be the first to brush off any suggestion his limelight was stolen by Molly Meldrum. That’s what nice guys do. They don’t make a fuss, and they don’t let temperament get in the way. But in my humble opinion, Meldrum owes him an apology. Molly described himself as an “old drama queen” last night, but that excuse really doesn’t cut it any more. He may well be known amongst friends and colleagues in the industry for enjoying “celebrations” a little too much, but that’s not really good enough. It wasn’t his award or speech to appropriate, and it wasn’t his moment of success – it was supposed to be Johnson’s.

I hope after the champagne and red carpets have been put away for another year, and the last reveller has rolled into a taxi as the sun rises this morning, that Hall of Famer Meldrum will review his behaviour from last night, do himself a favour, and give Samuel Johnson a call and say “Sorry!”

Congratulations Samuel.

© 2017 Benjamin MacEllen

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Privilege and the Hierarchy of Oppression

There is little doubt that even in 2015 girls and women all over the world face a disproportionate amount of discrimination, of verbal and physical violence, and a lack of recognition in gender parity. In Australia, as in many other countries, the glass ceiling is barely dented when it comes to female representation in government, big business, and academia. For women of colour the obstacles faced by a predominantly white patriarchal western world are even more difficult to overcome. And these ‘brick walls’ to equality become higher and wider when you’re a woman with a disability, or who is lesbian/bi/pansexual, and/or transgendered/gender fluid. Every day can be a struggle to be heard, valued, or even to just survive.

Men, more specifically white, heterosexual men, are predominantly the perpetrators of oppression and discrimination in English speaking countries. White, straight men hold most of the power, and wield the privilege. But being a white, heterosexual male doesn’t make one automatically an abuser or oppressor. There are good men who want to see gender equality, and those who even consider themselves feminists; just as there are white men who are fervently opposed to any form of racism or bigotry. Within the abolitionist vegan movement, many male activists see all forms of discrimination and oppression — against humans and nonhuman animals — as morally wrong. This is at the heart of abolitionism as defined by Gary L. Francione.

So how is it that, in the midst of this (seemingly) common ground between female, male, transgendered, and non-binary gendered vegan advocates, we have good people being accused of sexism and racism for expressing a difference of opinion or engaging in civil debate about human and animal rights?

Before I give my opinion on this question, let me give you a little background on me. I was born, forty-five years ago, a female, named Susan. I lived in a middle-class home as the youngest of four children to a minister of religion and a primary school teacher. I was sexually abused within my family as a small child, bullied at school for my perceived sexual orientation and difference, and suffered depression and suicidal ideation through my teens into my late twenties. I completed high school, but have been a university drop-out a number of times. I was sexually assaulted at age eighteen, and sexually harassed and physically assaulted in my work in the transport industry at thirty. I struggled with issues relating to my sexuality, and suffered with post traumatic stress disorder through my late twenties and early thirties. I was homeless for several years, living in caravans and short-term emergency accommodation, and often had to rely on food handouts, or pawning my belongings to get by. At thirty-three, after a lifetime of hiding gender-related issues (even from myself), I started to transition as a female-to-male transsexual. Despite rejection and push-back from some friends and family, I now live a more authentic and contented life, identifying as gay male. For the past eight years I’ve been on a disability pension with chronic fatigue syndrome, depression and anxiety.

Two years ago, this month, after a short period of being on a plant-based diet for health reasons, I stumbled across a video on YouTube of Professor Gary Francione giving a keynote lecture at a university. The abolitionist approach to animal rights, and reading ‘Eat Like You Care’, had such an impact that I pretty much went vegan overnight. I started to engage on Facebook abolitionist vegan pages, and tried to learn as much as I could about non-violent, unequivocal, vegan advocacy. I was already a supporter of many human rights issues, and could see that veganism was in line with rejecting all forms of oppression. 

It wasn’t long into my vegan advocacy that I noticed something, not peculiar to veganism, but rife on Facebook and other social media forums: the fact that engaging in lively debate and reasoned criticism were often labelled as “attacks”, “bullying” and “oppression”. Of course, I recognise that whether or not someone uses abusive or patronising language, comments can be belittling and negative. However, this characterisation of criticism as bullying has led, in some quarters, to good advocates not being able to express their differing opinions without being accused of ‘sexism’ and ‘racism’. A hierarchy of oppression has been created that rates each person based on how many privileges they possess or are denied. It may be recognised that a gay, transsexual man with a disability faces prejudices and discrimination, but not as much as a woman of colour. It then follows that a gay, disabled transman cannot criticise or question a woman of colour’s point of view, and that if he does he must therefore be sexist and/or racist. 

A person’s colour, gender, sexuality, gender identity, physical ability and/or mental ability does not naturally confer goodness or evil, rightness or wrongness on them. These attributes in a world of otherness do mean that some groups of people experience difference as excluding them from moral consideration. But implying (or directly saying) that some people are discriminatory merely by being born a certain gender or race is reinforcing the very “otherness” that divides humans and excludes some from having a voice.

About a year ago I joined in on a conversation on a vegan forum, where, as is sometimes the case, there were differing points of view. I made a comment, expressing my opposition to the opinion piece, and was immediately called out by the author of the article for my “straight, white, male privilege” and for attempting to “mansplain” and “silence” women and women of colour. There were several nasty comments that followed, echoing the author’s position, to which I made no further reply and left the discussion. I returned later to the page to express my frustration, and to explain that I was a gay identified transsexual male, who had experienced oppression as a female for more than thirty years. The author’s presumption that I was being oppressive, apparently by virtue of my male name or bearded profile photo, was exactly the kind of dismissive and prejudicial behaviour of which the author was accusing me. The administrator of the page refused to weigh in, as they felt no responsibility for the sharing of a third-party’s article, despite being well aware of my history of issues surround my sexuality and gender identity. After the author back-pedalled, giving me a qualified apology and justification, the whole post was deleted from the page, and the apology — such as it was — was also removed. My civil, reasoned, and ‘on topic’ comments were silenced because of my perceived privilege. And when that privilege was proven to be only half accurate, and blatantly unfair, I was again silenced for pointing out their hypocrisy. 

This position of “get them before they get you” or preemptive self-defence may not seem unreasonable. When I first dealt with my history of childhood and adult sexual abuse as a female person, I was so traumatised and emotionally triggered all the time, that I saw 100% of men as perpetrators/abusers. Every father with a small child, every husband with his wife, every male that crossed my path, I saw not only as a prospective abuser, but — by default — an actual perpetrator. This skewed view of men was understandable, but not commensurate with reality. 

While some forms of privilege are a birthright, and there is no doubt that without any further action those born with that privilege are given special treatment, there are also forms of privilege which we can acquire: economic, political, academic, and social. The power that flows from these privileges can be wielded against those who do not fit the mould, or who are deemed “less than” or “other”. 

Excluding any member of the moral community is wrong. Silencing any person because of their actual or perceived privilege or lack of privilege is also wrong and discriminatory. All manner of humans, of all genders, ethnicities, cultures, sexuality, gender identity, and age — including “straight, white males” — must have the ability to have a voice, and for that voice to be one of agreement or dissent. It is not automatically ‘sexist’ for a man to disagree with a woman, or ‘racist’ for a white person to disagree with a person of colour, or ‘transphobic’ for a cisgendered woman to disagree with a transgendered woman. 

I am no more “right” for having an opinion as a white male, than I am “wrong”. While women and people of colour have been and continue to be oppressed and silenced by those with privilege, being born white, male or heterosexual should not preclude a person from being an activist against racism, sexism, heterosexism or transphobia. 

We have a community of abolitionist vegans, virtually and in real life, who are doing their best to fight for the rights of animals, and to help shift the paradigm towards a vegan world. To directly state or tacitly imply that some members of that community are oppressive or bullies, simply by virtue of their expressing a different point of view, and based only on a superficial and essentialist perception of their identity, is detrimental to the animal rights movement. It’s dishonest and manipulative at worst, and misguided and deluded at best.

© Benjamin S. MacEllen 

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When Boys say F.H.R.I.T.P: the conversation we must have with our sons.

**Graphic Language Warning**

You know you’re getting old, and possibly out of ‘the loop’, when you see an acronym on the internet, and you have to turn to Google Search to understand it. I needed to do this today after reading a Facebook post. 

My best friend’s fifteen year old daughter announced she was in a relationship, and the second comment, posted by one of her male school peers, was “F.H.R.I.T.P.” My search quickly informed me that it means “Fuck Her Right In The Pussy”. My initial response – disbelief, disgust, then anger.

This comment “Fuck Her Right In The Pussy” is not a subtle one, so I apologise in advance that my response to it is neither subtle nor equivocal.

I have only recently come across this phrase, and the wide-spread use of it, after watching a video of a female reporter interviewing a group of soccer fans in Canada. During her interview, one of the fans interjects with “Fuck her right in the pussy!”. She stops the sports related interview to ask the interjector whether he had been waiting specifically for an opportunity to say “F.H.R.I.T.P.” His response is ultimately ‘boys will be boys’, and ‘it’s funny’. Another fan includes himself in the interview and rejects any suggestion by the reporter that calling out that phrase is sexual harassment or wrong.(1)

I’m not going to go into the history behind this phrase – you can do your own research on Google – but suffice to say it’s been around a couple of years, and it’s considered a prank or something funny to say, particularly in the background when on television live-to-air interviews. All manner of men, and boys (as young as nine years old), call it out, share memes about it, and of course, post it as a comment on Facebook threads. 

Today, when that fifteen year old school boy typed “F.H.R.I.T.P.” on a relationship status post, he was saying, or at the very least implying, one of following things:

  1. He thinks women/girls are ‘things’. They are only sexual objects and it is totally reasonable, and desirable, to suggest “fucking her right in the pussy”.
  2. He believes female sexuality is for males to possess as they see fit. A female’s anatomy, in this case “pussy”, is a disembodied play thing, effectively a piece of “meat”, for male’s to enjoy/use.
  3. He has little, if any, connection with seeing a whole person – with feelings, needs, and desires. He can easily disconnect from that person as a woman, a sister, a daughter, a friend, and reduce her to merely a sexual object.
  4. He doesn’t get it. It’s something he’s heard said, seen written, and because it’s “funny” or lots of people do it, he has no concept of how harmful or hurtful it is.
  5. He is inciting abuse. At best he is objectifying a female body; at worst he is encouraging rape. 

Let’s be clear here – men and boys out there are saying, thinking, and believing this stuff. It’s not some harmless prank or joke, it’s degrading and it’s dangerous. As much as we can feel protective of our daughters, sisters, girlfriends and mothers, and empower them against this sort of sexual objectification and harassment, what we must really do is educate our boys. 

“Fuck Her Right In The Pussy” is the language of abuse, oppression, and violence. It’s out there on YouTube, Facebook, and other internet sites. It’s being accessed, often innocently, by young impressionable boys who don’t understand the gravity of such words. Many of the boys that will yell out on live-to-air television are not bad boys. They are misguided, and like with many stupid actions, they have not thought it through. 

What are your sons, brothers, nephews and friends saying on the internet (or in person) about women?

Please. Have a conversation with the boys/men in your life about “F.H.R.I.T.P”. When you ask them if they’ve seen it, ask them not only what it says, but what it means

Let this be an opportunity to educate our boys, that these words – and others like them – are not acceptable. Explain to them why it is not acceptable. Let us teach our boys the worth of every human being, regardless of gender or sexuality. Teach them that good citizens – male and female – build each other up, not tear them down.


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The true value of experiences.

When I was about fifteen years old, I wrote a story about a young pianist who was blinded in a terrible car accident. As you may well imagine, this tragedy changed her life, and she had to come to terms with her disability. As a teenager, I hadn’t had many experiences. I had felt the cutting wound of rejection; the upheaval of a couple of moves – from Bendigo, to Albury, and then Melbourne; and the death of a grandparent and a dog. But I had only my imagination to call upon to begin to understand what being vision-impaired might be like. I remember, quite clearly, spending about an hour sitting in one of the music rehearsal rooms at school, blindfolded, trying to get a sense of even a fraction of the experience of blindness. I sat silently and alone, just like the heroine in my story, listening to every sound around me. Even in that short time, my hearing became more attuned, my remaining senses compensating for the temporary loss of my vision. 

Now, I never ever actually wished or wanted to be blind, but I did recognise – even as a young person – that the authenticity of my story’s character depended on my having some understanding of her experience. My fleeting foray with being in the dark couldn’t begin to replicate what a vision-impaired person experiences, but it gave me an insight. Those brief moments taught me a lesson, broadened my understanding, and allowed me to be a more empathetic and well-rounded person. That’s what experiences do. And so in my (nearly) forty-five years, I have come to believe in the value of experience, whether it be difficult, triumphant or humbling; joyful, heartbreaking or frightening. I don’t particularly believe in a universe set up to teach us lessons, but I do recognise the value of seeing each of life’s happenings as a positive, even if it is ultimately a tragedy or tumult.  

It is this vein that I believe in authenticity and honesty. Do I believe there are circumstances to tell a little white lie or omit the whole truth? Absolutely. But I feel strongly that many of us miss out on genuine human experiences because we consider difficult or challenging situations as something to avoid. We often shield people from having to deal with a event that is either sad or confronting, and this is particularly true for older people, and very young people. We, as family or friends, withhold information from an elderly person about their grandchild being gay, or their son going through chemotherapy, or an old friend experiencing depression, because we don’t want to burden or overwhelm them. At some point, we seem to consider them to be unable to cope with the true nature of life around them. We wrap them in cotton wool, and protect them from any possible heartache or worry. The same is true with what we choose to impart to young children. We tell them that the dog ran away, grandma’s gone on a long holiday, or Uncle Jeremy and David are just best friends. Some things don’t need to be shared, but we do miss an opportunity to allow children to have real, healthy feelings and experiences when we misdirect or flat out lie to them. Older people miss out on the experience of growing and learning when we deceive or misrepresent the truth, and once we stop developing and evolving as humans, we often stop living – figuratively and literally. 

I had the experience a few years ago of meeting my high school bully, after twenty-five years. Leading up to the reunion, I was urged by several of my peers not to confront her about it, despite them knowing that the experience of being terrorised and degraded by her was emotionally crippling for me, and caused another classmate to be suicidal. “Whatever you do,” one girl said, “don’t mention about how she bullied you. She’s just gone through a terrible divorce,” she lowered to a whisper, “and even spent some time in a mental institution.” I complied with their request, despite the fact that on meeting Sarah the bully, she behaved in the same belittling, bitchy and hurtful way as she had a quarter of a century earlier. Was a school reunion the place to set the record straight? Probably not. But was there an opportunity to compassionately, thoughtfully and constructively explain the truth of her history? I think so. By sugar-coating the past I was complicit in not only invalidating the trauma of every girl who was tortured by Sarah, but also preventing her from knowing a truth about herself and her behaviour, and possibly, learning from it. It may not be our job to teach someone a lesson, but it seems that by withholding information, we may also deny an experience of growth. 

I don’t think anyone on the planet wants to have cancer, have a partner die, go bankrupt, have their home wiped out in a fire, or face any number of difficult or life threatening experiences. But these events do occur, and for the most part, we survive them. We may look back and say, “If I had a time machine, I’d change that,” or we might wish we’d never had to live through sickness, grief, disaster or heartache. But along with those negative experiences, often comes positive ones. We meet someone who changes our life for the better; we learn a new hobby to get through the long lonely nights; we find an inner strength and determination to go on. And that’s what gives life fullness; that’s what gives our lives meaning; and how we grow, learn, and become whole, compassionate, authentic human beings.  

© 2015 Benjamin S. MacEllen

(Image courtesy of expertbeacon.com)

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On Glenn McGrath’s recent fall from grace

I am somewhat surprised by the level of vitriol and anger aimed at Glenn McGrath at the moment on Facebook, Twitter and various news feeds:

“Well he’s just killed another thing..the McGrath foundation!”
“Just lost all respect I had in him.”
“Can I shoot him for his teeth please?”
“W A N K E R !”
“I wish I could wipe that stupid smile off his ugly face. Sicko.”

I understand people have a knee-jerk reaction when seeing someone posing triumphantly with an animal they have just killed in the name of “sport” or “entertainment”. Ending the life of any sentient being for the thrill of it, or for fun, is both repugnant and mind-boggling. This isn’t the kind of world we think we live in, or at least that we want to live in. But for all the criticism of McGrath, he has actually not done anything legally wrong. He was taken out on a legitimate licensed expedition to hunt Zimbabwean wildlife, and like hundreds and thousands of hunters throughout the world, every day, he had photos taken to show off his “trophies”. So why are some people so upset? I think the reasons say more about our expectations and perceptions than it does about Glenn McGrath’s character for two reasons. But first, some background.

Glenn McGrath was an Australian champion cricketer, some may even say a legend of the game. He bowled for his country at a time when our Aussie team was the best in the world, and his bowling prowess was one of the reasons we were number one. He was not only a skilled and disciplined bowler, but unlike other’s from that era, he was a hard but fair player. His star shone bright, and his reputation was broadened beyond just the devotees of cricket by his courage when supporting his wife Jane as she bravely fought, but ultimately lost a ten year battle with cancer. We felt a tremendous sense of pride to watch Glenn pick himself up after her death, and continue with Jane’s charity ‘The McGrath Foundation’ in raising awareness of breast cancer, and the foundation’s support of thousands of women fighting the deadly disease.

So why are we disgusted and outraged about this particular series of photos, above thousands like them posted on the internet every day?

Firstly, he’s a hero. Our hero. Not only as a sporting figure admired by men, women and children alike, but he has shown qualities of humanity that people from all walks of life find admirable. Courage, compassion, strength, and determination to honour his late wife’s legacy. While the vast majority of people are turned off by the sight of majestic wild animals cut down in their prime, this story wouldn’t have made the headlines and had thousands of Facebook and Twitter comments had it not been a high profile, well-regarded celebrity. We thought we knew him. It goes against everything that we thought we understood about the character of Glenn McGrath. But again, we must remember his actions whilst morally questionable, were not actually illegal. We have found fault with our hero because we imagined him to be a paragon of love. We, as Australians, and even in the broader world stage, put McGrath on a pedestal, and the aching feeling of disappointment we feel is only amplified by how high we held him in our regard. We are angry that he isn’t what we thought he was, or that we expected him to be. And this anger goes beyond the proportionate response we generally have towards others who have made dubious choices or shown poor judgment.

Secondly, we have an imbalance in our feelings towards wild animals, such as those McGrath is pictured and reported to have killed. We hold lions, elephants, giraffes, rhinos, zebras, dolphins, orangutans, chimpanzees and others similar, in high esteem. We see them as grand and magnificent, and we even elevate them to royalty. In other animals we see great intelligence, their ability to communicate, and even a familial connection. We have only to see a gorilla nurturing her baby, and we are filled with empathy. We point out the endangered status of such animals, which makes the death of one so rare, so unique, a tragedy. But animals being categorised as “endangered” is a human construct. It may be factual to be able to present a graph that shows the decline of white rhinos and that there are only ‘x’ amount left. But for every single non-human animal on the planet, when they are faced with death, they are endangered. By it’s very definition – “threatened with danger” – any sentient being who’s life is about to be taken is endangered. Our quantification of the term “endangered” means nothing to the individual animal. All that animal cares about, is the preservation of his or her own life (and possibly the life/lives of family members). Whether there are one billion buffalo, or only one, that sense of impending danger and the possibility of life ending matters to that one individual buffalo. And regardless of what we’ve be told about the humane way animals in agriculture are treated in their life and death, every single sentient being – the mouse, the cow, the chicken, the pig, the fish, the dog or buffalo – wants to live without being abused, without being enslaved, and without having their life taken from them for the whim of humans who wish to do so for the trivial reasons of palate pleasure, entertainment or convenience.

Glenn McGrath ended the lives of several wild animals in Zimbabwe for sport and entertainment. He wasn’t in mortal danger and defending himself, and he wasn’t in a situation where there was any necessity to kill and eat the animals for his survival. But, however objectionable it is psychologically to see the photographs and know that McGrath slaughtered those animals, morally there is no difference in what he did to what non-vegans do day in, day out. Every single year, worldwide, we kill more than 56 billion land animals (not counting over a trillion aquatic animals) for the trivial reason of palate pleasure and convenience. “There is no necessity; no compulsion. We do not need to eat animals to be optimally healthy and animal agriculture is an ecological disaster,”(1) says abolitionist vegan and animal rights activist Professor Gary Francione, “The best justification we have for imposing suffering and death on those billions of animals…is that they taste good.” Moreover, animals killed for food have had lives far more hideous than the animals that Glenn McGrath slayed.

Rather than looking at Glenn McGrath, in all our disappointment that “he’s not the man we thought he was”, let us take this opportunity to look at ourselves and examine our own cognitive dissonance. We are appalled and outraged by the death of one animal in one instance, while continuing to happily consume the butchered body of another. “Ironically, we already believe everything we need to believe to reject animal exploitation altogether. It’s just a matter of coming to see there is no morally relevant difference between shooting a lion for fun or eating a steak because you enjoy it. In both cases, we have taken a life for no good reason.”

Put your morals where your mouth is, and go vegan!

© 2015 Benjamin MacEllen

(1) http://www.abolitionistapproach.com/thoughts-melissa-bachman/#.VOlaBYY8bCS

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Busting the bullying stereotype

When we think about and discuss anti-social behaviours, stereotypes abound. Perhaps most strikingly obvious is the once widely accepted profile of a child molester as a stranger in a trenchcoat luring little kids into the bushes or enticing them into his car with lollies. Like any stereotype, there is a grain of truth. There are child molesters who are strangers who trick children into their control. But statistically speaking, most child molesters or pedophiles are adults known to the child – parent, priest, teacher, neighbour, uncle, coach, etc. We have come some way in dispelling the myth that crimes against children are committed by strangers, but we still have a way to go.

Other anti-social and criminal behaviours similarly need to be unmasked from stereotypes. A small amount of rapists are men who break into houses and assault women at knife point. But many rapists are known to their victims, as they are their dates, boyfriends, husbands, colleagues and social acquaintances.

When it comes to bullying, stereotypes flourish, both about bullies and their family life. We often characterise bullies as physically dominant, like Nelson Muntz from ‘The Simpsons’. They are thought of as thuggish, often from socioeconomically disadvantaged homes, and/or they have parents who are bullies, who have passed on their physical and verbally dominating behaviour. This is simply not accurate. Bullies come from all sorts of home lives, and all manner of socioeconomic backgrounds. With the increase in social media and internet use, bullies are now everyday kids and adults, often hiding behind their smartphone screens or computer keyboards. Bullies can be everyday people from stable homes and good neighbourhoods.

So, if anyone can be a bully, every parent must consider the possibility, even likelihood, that their child engages in bullying behaviour/s. When we address the issue of bullying we must *all* consider both victims and perpetrators. Yes, we should supply our children (and ourselves) with information about dealing with being bullied, addressing self-esteem and self-confidence issues, ensuring there is support and other resources in place, and sitting our kids down, talking with them and helping them feel they can come to us and share their feelings/worries. But we should also be having conversations with them about *being* bullies and bullying behaviour. These discussions can easily come about in the course of hearing about their day. What are their interactions like with their friends, classmates, and peers? What sort of language do they use in conversation with their contemporaries and about them? Do they understand that exclusion is a form of bullying? Open and non-confrontational discussion is important, allowing kids/teenagers to be honest and candid without feeling judgement or fearing punishment. But we need to be clear with our children, and each other, that bullying is not okay. Bullying is never okay. We should not dismiss the possibility that our kids are bullies, merely because they don’t fit the stereotype. We must not “pass the buck” and think antisocial behaviour is something outside of our family or social circle. Bullying is a destructive behaviour, and it can cause long term issues for victims, and can be the cause of suicidal ideation, self harm, and too often death. Let us be proactive about, and responsible for the behaviour and language we model for our kids. We not only *should* talk to our children about being bullies, we *must*!

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