Tuesday 17 September 2013

Beating the (so called) odds in ones life

Initially this post was going to be about bad music, and how it influences the younger, and current generation, by giving the wrong message, in all ways.

This however, is a post about something far worse. 

It is about violence at home.

Before I begin, let me preface the songs I wanted to showcase, all heard over the course of this summer on the radio, and we can all have a collective headshake in despair. This is however, no means a suggestion to ignore the enormity behind the intended message.

First up, a song about the state of the world and the generally perceived adolescent ignorance about responsibility:


There was a diatribe ready to go on the back of this ditty, but, as it turns out, the Google suggestion when I typed in "maxing out my..." (on the back of it being the only lyric I remembered), brought up "maxing out my 401k", which, as it turns out in my limited understanding of American government codes, is far worse than getting absolutely wasted on a joint composed of oregano which you'd just handed over your weeks worth of student loan for (that story may follow in another post).

Secondly, there is Social Media gone way beyond the call of merely "following" someone:


The video itself is hilarious from an anthropological viewpoint. We first heard it driving back from berry picking, and our initial reaction was, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?! After all, which of us hasn't been obsessed with the object of our (then) affections, wanting to be with them day and night, to want to be the one that the object of our affections finds the most satisfaction with? With social media, however, this pastime is now available to be done from the privacy under ones bed covers, while at the same time with the world knowing what one is doing, if indescretion is the weaker part of your valour, on said platform.

Prosteletysing warning: one generally gravitates towards the personality that complements our being, mostly without realising; that which balances us (without our knowledge), and the same one who does not indulge our neurotic behaviour, beyond necessity.

I digress, however. 

The song I wanted to preface this whole post with was a hit of the summer. Having lived in Switzerland for the last 7 years, one is used to the lag in pop culture and chart hits. When OH and I discovered Icona Pop 20 months ago, we were so excited to find we were actually ahead of the curve in our discovered 'coolness', when as we set out for our summer holiday in this summer of 2013, it was blaring across the continents. We were smug in our advanced mutual appreciation and discovery of the song that spoke to girls and women, empowering them to sing along and admit that they'd had enough of folding the socks and playing the docile pawn in the game of male/female relationships. However, while a catchy tune, we cannot vouch for the overall empowerment that the tune conveyed.

(Don't get me wrong, relationships are mirrored in every case, and in every situation.)

So, I come to the point I wanted to get to. More precisely, the song that sparked this all off:


There are a number of synopses out there on the suitability of the lyrics of this song, and the permission it deems to give young men in interacting with womenfolk: the language they use, or the message that is assumed to be conveyed in general. It also doesn't help that shortly after the song's release, it is documented that the singer himself would like to live by his lyrics, much to the the purposefully feigned ignorance of his so-called wife. Not to mention the fallout of Miley Cyrus' twerking to these lyrics, that frankly, make "One Two Buckle My Shoe" seem more instructive. 

Seriously, almost 90 years to the fight for women's liberation, and the spawn of the one having crooned "Achy Breaky Heart" is gyrating energetically to a tune that even her mother would have doubts over the positioning of where the party and business was meant to be. This, however, is not a post on the Junior Cyrus' misdemeanors. 

It is about the nuances of the lyrics to which she so energetically gyrated to.

Take one of the opening lines before the chorus, in mumbled delivery, to set the scene:

OK now he was close, tried to domesticate you
But you're an animal, baby, it's in your nature
Just let me liberate you
Hey, hey, hey
You don't need no papers
Hey, hey, hey
That man is not your maker


I do not need to explain further.

What prompted this post, is more a dissection of the existing, and, after effects of what an approximation of the perception of popular culture should be perpetuating, and that which continues to reinforce and contribute towards the positive aspect of interaction towards the young of humankind, rather than the expected collective overall, and the immediate reaction to the supposed intention of the above said lyrics. 

It is acceptable for men to call women that they are supposed to have conquered, in the universal term of endearment known as 'sluts', and pat each other on the back in congratulatory tones amongst the other members of the same sex, however with a woman's bitchy undertones of submission that is received in far from savoury language. Conversely, from a woman's perspective, the situation would be conveyed in hushed tones of admiration for stature/penis size/general disdain/arrogance that the man would generally be exhibiting in their primal dance in establishing their Alpha status.

Glaringly, the explanation would be that the difference is that men, for the most part, only think for the moment, and women react accordingly. That often-times men think ahead, in a male-centric 'action/reaction' format, rather than a female-centric 'action/reaction/after-action' parallel. 

It is the former which is cyclical and cultivates the ongoing imbalanced accepted culture of men vs. women: where men feel they are entitled to have, and own, women, and at the same time, exhibiting or mimicking the demeaning and backward behaviour that is deemed acceptable to use towards members of the fairer (not opposite, mind you) sex, as suggested by pop culture as highlighted.

Take, for example, the ongoing videos filling the time slots on an otherwise defunct channel called MTV. I'd like to think that the images have run out now, and we are stuck solely with the aural cyclical regurgitation from the graveyard of said songs on the Singaporean radio stations.

Again, I digress. 

The point is worse still: it is because of these multiple perpetuations, that are deemed acceptable by the mainstream media editors, and therefore is perceived as suitable for society overall, and generally unquestioned by women. This, on average, translates to a twice weekly (without a fixed schedule) event. 

I hear the distinct sounds of domestic violence: glass smashing, screaming, crying, black eyes shielded from sight in the common lift.

All from the apartment below mine.

The reason for these interactions? I will quote verbatim: "You're a nothing whore that came here because I brought you in", "You are here because I brought you here". What, pray, is the independence this woman able to look forward to?

The irony? He's not even of the region. He's 6'2" and white. She's 5' nothing. And Asian. Who hears the screams of the underclass, though?

After a number of incidents, I finally took the courage to ask OH about the right course of action. After procrastinating over yet another couple of incidents, I finally asked my father for the correct legal approach, and how it would affect my ongoing standing and situation if I were to report such an event. 

The message was clear: Such behaviour cannot be ignored.

Dear readers, I was once a victim of such violence (yes, it happens in gay relationships too), and while majority of the cases are generally waved away by virtue of the influence of alcohol/stress/generalities etc., the bottom line is that it is frankly, unacceptable: a travesty, and an affront to the evolution of humankind. I, personally,  was strong enough to call an end to said relationship, (decision taken after a rescue on Waterloo Bridge by David Hasslehoff, to be told in a separate post). Overall, it is documented that around 22.1% of women, and 7.4% of men alone in the US are subject to such treatment on a regular basis. Generally, such events take place at home, and the results are carefully hidden behind suitable coverings: long sleeves, long trousers, hats, sunglasses, and other attire appropriated to shield us from the elements of weather. 

Not those inflicted by fellow humans.

Furthermore, having embarked on (and decided it was too inane, and thus stopped watching) the HBO serialisation of the novel bestseller series of A Game of Thrones, this does not do any more to give women the impression of empowerment, that being on top, sexually, and grinding down on a penis, would ultimately give one control over the overall situation in general. Fucking television.

I do not know how to carry this thread to a suitable conclusion, because, as one knows, there isn't a  suitable conclusion. I am re-opening up a Pandora's box for discussion, but ultimately, that box has been opened millenia ago, without anyone taking charge and trying to wrench the lid shut. 

Nowadays, women may think they have liberation and a platform for voicing out dissent, but at the end of the day, these women only represent a small number of a fraction of the total who are suffering in silence. 

My point is, as well as straight relationships, there are instances where gay men, women, and all under the LGBT rainbow flag have similar problems. However, these minorities are less likely to admit the suffering they face, for fear of the ongoing perpetuation of LGBT negative stereotyping.

I could go on with regards to the situation that other people are subject to, but, in the end, if one can pick up on sounds of adult discontent, what parallels can we draw, even if it were only sounds of a child crying out in anguish of an event which we could not see?

En fin du jour, this is about the general empowerment we owe to ourselves, and to have the strength in saying: enough.

Good Night.

I will go to bed tonight, however, with the knowledge that someone, somewhere, is not going to be able to say "Good Night". 

Please, if you know of someone, or yourself, in a domestic situation, call someone before you, or they, get hurt. 

Forever. 

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