Justice, not so much

In class we were looking a paradox. In Sierra Leone, war criminals- the bosses, those deemed responsible- are tried in front of the Special Court (SC). Accordingly, while detained they are provided with what are deemed to be human rights- clean water, food, max three people per bathroom, the right to lawyers. As the SC is held to the UDHR (UN Charter of Human Rights), the war criminals are guaranteed to survive, as the death penalty is seen as in violation with HR.
Meanwhile, down the road in Sierra Leone is another jail. This is for the foot soldiers, those recruited by the bosses in the fancy jail up the hill. They are often desperately poor and undereducated. The jail in which they are held is for 300, but it holds over 1000. These men have no chance of getting a lawyer, and- as it is a local jail, with no accountability to UN charters- every chance of being sentenced to death.
The men who created and perpetuated the war are being tried by the SC because, as everyone agrees, it force them to account for their actions. Justice, supposedly, will be done.
Yet in life and death, their sentences will be less severe than those who were only following their command. It would be impossible to enforce the standards of HR at the local jail, so does this mean the war bosses should be treated exactly like the foot soldiers? If so, what does this mean for HR? If not, what does this mean for justice?
It sucks balls when there's no right answer.

A half-arsed attempt at revival.

Well, my blog crashed and burned in a style far from spectacular. I suppose I will make occasional and feeble attempts to revive it, whenever I have the hankering.
The last few months have been marked on a micro scale by returning from Curtin Detention Centre, which literally turned my life around, and an election, which thus far has turned nothing around.
Sadly, I cannot post about the Centre, which is one of the reasons I haven't bothered even looking at this blog for a while, because it's all I think about these days. Australia's a very beautiful country, and I'm breathtakingly lucky to have grown up here, but sometimes things all go a bit racist.
The refugees I met are beautiful- sharing, dignified, thoughtful, selfless. Sometimes angry and upset. Sometimes hilariously funny. Thinking about their families, friends, each other, us. The kind of people I would be grateful to have in any country I live in.

For those who've come across the seas
We've boundless plains to share;
With courage let us all combine
To advance Australia fair.

-From the Australian National Anthem- Advance Australia Fair.

A Recourse of Events Happened This Day

I'm so tired that my eyes are droopy in the manner of a crack addict, but damn it, I said I'll post every day and I'll be damned if I go back on that already.
Today I did the rounds; mum's house, then dad's. My mum regailed me with stories of a recent date she went on, which to me seemed deeply unneccessary. Maybe this is me alone, but I would rather never think about my mum dating or kissing. Probably because it would make me face the uncomfortable truth that she's getting some and I'm not.
My dad and I had an impassioned debate about the burqa. One of those debates of fierce, deeply held beliefs and passionate senses of justice that are unique within the white upper-middle classes who have no personal association with the issues involved. We both argued our own opinion, refused to consider the other and left with a quiet but innate sense of being right, and thus, superior.
Good day all round then.

A Celebration of Sporadity

Is sporadity a word?

I have waved a cheery farewell (and by that I mean a sweaty, sweary, exhausted farewell) to the semester, going out on a bang by beginning my final essay, of a few thousand words and forty percent of the mark, on the day it was due. Still, such horrors are now behind me, never to be repeated again, said America, after the invasion of... everywhere. And yet, as US soldiers continue to force the uplifting and inspiring message of democracy on all and sundry, so I will find myself, mumbling swears and banging like a mad thing on the keyboard, with forty minutes to go. Such, as they say, is life.
This semester has certainly been energetic, with uni five days a week, work three days a week and.... no, actually, that's all I did. Ever.
I am all but reeling from the effort and I think some of my brain has actually given up and died (I keep forgetting what things are- I called a wooden spoon 'the brown stirry device' and a watch 'the circular time machine' yesterday) but now I have four happy days of... nothing. No work, no uni, just happily waiting to head off to Western Australia. I will attempt in this period to write a blog daily, just to ensure that I remember words.
Words like... smithereens.

On Time Passed... Or Not.

Goodness gracious, I look back and it's been a semester since I last peppered this little page with my musings. Since I last posted, I've moved out of home and out of a relationship, fallen in love with my degree and steadied my focus on my future. That's as specific as I'll get on all that, so for now I'll just leave you with a few little bits which mean things to me.

"Under the Refugee Convention, which Australia has signed, all people have the right
to seek asylum in Australia.22 They may be found to be genuine refugees, and they
may not – but seeking asylum is not illegal under Australian law or international law.
The term ʻillegal immigrantʼ, just like the term ʻqueue jumperʼ, is designed to make
asylum seekers seem alien and unworthy of sympathy."
- GetUp! factsheet... full sheet can be found here.

"She said it over and again before the line went dead. And that is what they were all saying down their phones, from the hijacked planes and the burning towers. There is only love, and then oblivion. Love was all they had to set against the hatred of their murderers."
- Ian McEwan, after September 11, here.

"Political language is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to the pure wind"
- George Orwell, most famously seen at the beginning of this WikiLeaks video.

A Visual Encapsulation

I just finished this book:



By this (delicious) man:




and it made me:






and




and made me think about





and





and





and with all my heart I could not recommend it enough.

A Re-Examination Of A Literary Form And All The Delights Said Re-Examination Brought Forth

As my blog perhaps attests, I'm rather fond of a spot of poetry here or there. A form of poetry that has been vastly neglected by me is the haiku. I suppose it's because it seems a bit like the cheaters poetry- anything can sounds profound in 17 syllables or less. Thus, I spent less time appreciating haiku's than I did traffic jams, or salad.
I have been sadly misinformed.
My recent discovery of Godzilla Haiku has been one of great joy. The pathos, the existentialism, the desolate eloquence- I can't get enough. I proudly present my 'Best of Godzilla Haiku'