an email home in times of turmoil
"julia robinson" 14.08.2004 12:26
To:
julia.robinson@gmail.com
cc:
Subject:
a hasty retreat
Ask yourself, and think for a moment
‘Why is it bad to discipline a child by hitting them?’
What did you get?
Did after all of your ruminating did you come up with ‘It just is?’ It’s difficult isn’t it? It takes time to even formulate an idea against such a preposterous idea. It took me a while to come up with:
1) Violence causes emotional and psychological scars that can grow into debilitating emotional disturbances now in and in their adult lives.
2) The child closes down to real education and learns only how to avoid a perilously close, waving stick.
3) They stop sharing, fear of loosing a pencil and therefore being hit, is a stronger motivator than sharing pencils and learning together. A healthy society is one which shares and loves. One that with it’s own security can go on to develop, invent, organize.
And 4) and probably the most important, it hurts and feels bad.
But violence fits in nicely with the closed Nepali society here. Bound by religion, adults having been beaten as children, show zero emotion. I don’t know if they have feelings, or can’t relate to them, or simply can’t show them. They are closed books. So how can they relate to others emotions? They have in-scalable walls fortressing anything remotely personal. Maybe from living in such big families, or such a repressed Hindu society. Here, they state, as men walk around hand in hand, gays don’t exist. Those bad things only happen in the west. No one is unfaithful to their aggressive husbands, no one has sex before marriage, no one is permitted to marry again (or should I say, women aren’t).
No one is allowed to be themselves. Women are trapped into submission and repression. Men, frustrated, drink themselves to death and/or they give a good old whack to anyone close by defenseless enough not to hit back. Namely children.
So, it’s nice to live in an Ashram, which promotes spirituality and therefore peace and love.
Shanti..... Om......
Or is it? An institution relies on the founder being balanced. Not feeling trapped in an inescapable situation. Not resentful of the inability, through increased responsibilities, to advance spiritually. Not enhancing his own ego in constructing new schools, new buildings, new cow sheds, new empires and using the fact that he has children to raise funds.
So, the frustration and friction of spiritually deviating, of loosing track of his initial dreams, of giving up has left a huge gap:
humans in this ashram have stopped being respected.
The arrival of an Indian, Camal, to the ashram allowed the violence to increase. He walks around with a stick, sometimes whittled to a fine point. Unable to relate to children (he has serious psychological problems (but this is only my own unprofessional analysis) – grandiose schizophrenia, a little autism, pathological lying) he hits children for being
…children.
I lasted 2 months in the violence and aggression. Defending the children. I even hit him as hard as I could to show how the children feel. The teachers were horrified. They were scared I would begin hitting them. But they couldn’t relate the fear they felt, to the fear that the children have to live with daily. I tried the Gandi mode of ‘if you hit them, then hit me’. He wouldn’t. We stood up (the volunteers, there were 4 of us by then) and read a piece that the founder of the original ashram, Sri Aurobindo, had written about children’s liberation.
"Violence is absolutely forbidden." we tried to enforce... I told the children to come to me if they were hit. In response the adults said that the school was not an Ashram and therefore the rules of the Ashram were not applicable. The Ashram was 10 metres away. The school is a school. One timid teacher told me that if she hadn’t been hit in mathematics class, she wouldn’t have passed. I asked her if she remembered any. She did the Nepali thing. No answer, embarrassed stare.
As a result of our speech to the children about love and non agression, the teacher and founder, Ram Chandra, didn´t seem to reduce their agressive outbursts, but the children did respond by coming to me almost daily with bloody cuts, scars and wounds.
What to do against such a closed, brutal society?My friend, Chip, frustrated gave Camal a second personal violent situation. The teachers called a meeting. Violence against adults is wrong. We were all clear on that. I stood up, said all that I had to stay, knowing that my bags were packed, and the ‘guru’ the spiritual man, blew up in my face. He shouted so loud, which was unnecessary really because he was only centimeters away from my face. I wondered how a spiritually balanced man could come up with so much anger and hatred. Anger in the voice, means anger in the heart.
They all told me that the children had been spoilt since my arrival. They had become soft, undisciplined, almost, god forbid, childlike. He threw me the lot. If I was in America I would now be rich on a slander court case. But instead I’m not, I’m left with the doubt of if I’ve done any good or not.
We all left. All of the volunteers. We had no other option. Hopefully, by our actions Ram Chandra will begin to understand that children need to be respected, need space to grow, that they will give so much love, if only given the chance. Hopefully he’ll understand that he should stick to his spiritual principals. Live the same life inside and out. Inside of his mind and out of his body, inside his "ashra" where he preaches love, and outside of his ashram where he breeds fear.
And then maybe, just maybe, he’ll realize that hitting children under any circumstances can do no good.
So, heartbroken, we left the ashram, having hugged the children, knowing we wouldn´t see them again. And entered a week of mopsing (paseando) about Kathmandu’s Thamel. Sometimes it’s good to mope around, especially where the wine flows and the food is not rice. It’s imitation western culture. You can get eggs for breakfast. Needless to say, I’ve put on pounds. I began to crave rice. I missed the children. But on a lighter note, I’ve corrected my bad posture.
So, with a change of humour, I’ve been thrown back into Metropolitan world. Except this time without a bicycle. Which is fortunate really since Katmandu is one of the most polluted cities in the world. It also has the world’s second biggest water supply, which is ironic as it’s pissing down outside and the tap to provide the substitute toilet paper, runs dry. Apart from buying toilet paper I’m moving around Katmandu and taxis, a luxurious commodity, cost the same as catching Barcelona’s Metro.
So, of course I walk.
I collect smoke exhaust in my gums, ear drums and any available pore. So, what has this to do with my posture you ask. No longer am I the stooping Brit, eyes pegged to the floor four meters in front of my feet. Oh no. Now I look straight. I’ve realized I have the capacity to walk looking up, and in the process I’m actually noting things, without falling into every available pot hole, and without returning to the room, sole covered in dog wastage.
...Because if you don’t look out, you’ll get run over by a taxi, knocked down by a cycle rickshaw, or honked at by a passing motorbike.
You’ve got to keep your wits about you.The first time in Katmandu, if it wasn’t for Ram Paudel, I wouldn’t have had the balls to cross the road by the main bus stop to get anywhere. Road crossing is a technical skill and should be taught in all government run institutions, with ‘crash’ courses available in all tourist hospitals.
The technique involves
1. Take a tiger style pose by the curb
2. Hawk eyes, you watch the constant stream of traffic for your break.
3. You see it in the distance
4. You put on a stern, you-crash-with-me-you’ll-damage-your-car ‘stealy’ attitude
5. You step off the curb and begin moving
6. Gulp.In the middle of the road it’s hairy. You are forced to meet head on at least 5 lanes of cars coming at you, full speed, pelting it at the cars’ 40km/hr engine limit. You feel like an unlucky rabbit in the middle of London’s M25 Ring Road. It’s important at this point to not give in. Maintain a ferocious tiger frown, and continue walking in uniform direction and speed. The car drivers have been trained (presumably in the same governmental offices) to avoid people by sterring around them.
7. Arrive at the other side. Say hello to the chicken.
8 . Laugh, imagining doing the same, walking in front of cars at home.
The power is addictive.
...Until you try it on the Avenida Diagonal, or any major street in your town.
So, after living it up in Thamel, we moved to more rewarding ventures to a centre called ‘The Direct Help Foundation’. It’s run by a great guy, who’s Catalan, and habours both street children and women who have suffered injustices. It’s a completely different feel. It’s really helping Nepalese underdogs. The children are happy, and kiss and hug. I’m helping translate on a project called the ‘Pencil Revolution’ which is teaching women to read and write. Those who have learnt, say it’s as if their eyes have been opened. Suddenly they can read signs in the street that they walk past everyday. They can read a number and be able to punch it into a telephone. The can understand receipts and contracts. It’s real help.So, check out the web site if you’re interested, it’s in Spanish and English.
http://tdhf.ibernet.com/
The English is soon to be upgraded to the level demanded of any Top Class Manchunian English Teacher.I’ll be back in Barcie mid Sept. Got a few plans, plenty of ideas, and an empty caixa.Life is to be lived!!Besos a todos,Julia
To:
julia.robinson@gmail.com
cc:
Subject:
a hasty retreat
Ask yourself, and think for a moment
‘Why is it bad to discipline a child by hitting them?’
What did you get?
Did after all of your ruminating did you come up with ‘It just is?’ It’s difficult isn’t it? It takes time to even formulate an idea against such a preposterous idea. It took me a while to come up with:
1) Violence causes emotional and psychological scars that can grow into debilitating emotional disturbances now in and in their adult lives.
2) The child closes down to real education and learns only how to avoid a perilously close, waving stick.
3) They stop sharing, fear of loosing a pencil and therefore being hit, is a stronger motivator than sharing pencils and learning together. A healthy society is one which shares and loves. One that with it’s own security can go on to develop, invent, organize.
And 4) and probably the most important, it hurts and feels bad.
But violence fits in nicely with the closed Nepali society here. Bound by religion, adults having been beaten as children, show zero emotion. I don’t know if they have feelings, or can’t relate to them, or simply can’t show them. They are closed books. So how can they relate to others emotions? They have in-scalable walls fortressing anything remotely personal. Maybe from living in such big families, or such a repressed Hindu society. Here, they state, as men walk around hand in hand, gays don’t exist. Those bad things only happen in the west. No one is unfaithful to their aggressive husbands, no one has sex before marriage, no one is permitted to marry again (or should I say, women aren’t).
No one is allowed to be themselves. Women are trapped into submission and repression. Men, frustrated, drink themselves to death and/or they give a good old whack to anyone close by defenseless enough not to hit back. Namely children.
So, it’s nice to live in an Ashram, which promotes spirituality and therefore peace and love.
Shanti..... Om......
Or is it? An institution relies on the founder being balanced. Not feeling trapped in an inescapable situation. Not resentful of the inability, through increased responsibilities, to advance spiritually. Not enhancing his own ego in constructing new schools, new buildings, new cow sheds, new empires and using the fact that he has children to raise funds.
So, the frustration and friction of spiritually deviating, of loosing track of his initial dreams, of giving up has left a huge gap:
humans in this ashram have stopped being respected.
The arrival of an Indian, Camal, to the ashram allowed the violence to increase. He walks around with a stick, sometimes whittled to a fine point. Unable to relate to children (he has serious psychological problems (but this is only my own unprofessional analysis) – grandiose schizophrenia, a little autism, pathological lying) he hits children for being
…children.
I lasted 2 months in the violence and aggression. Defending the children. I even hit him as hard as I could to show how the children feel. The teachers were horrified. They were scared I would begin hitting them. But they couldn’t relate the fear they felt, to the fear that the children have to live with daily. I tried the Gandi mode of ‘if you hit them, then hit me’. He wouldn’t. We stood up (the volunteers, there were 4 of us by then) and read a piece that the founder of the original ashram, Sri Aurobindo, had written about children’s liberation.
"Violence is absolutely forbidden." we tried to enforce... I told the children to come to me if they were hit. In response the adults said that the school was not an Ashram and therefore the rules of the Ashram were not applicable. The Ashram was 10 metres away. The school is a school. One timid teacher told me that if she hadn’t been hit in mathematics class, she wouldn’t have passed. I asked her if she remembered any. She did the Nepali thing. No answer, embarrassed stare.
As a result of our speech to the children about love and non agression, the teacher and founder, Ram Chandra, didn´t seem to reduce their agressive outbursts, but the children did respond by coming to me almost daily with bloody cuts, scars and wounds.
What to do against such a closed, brutal society?My friend, Chip, frustrated gave Camal a second personal violent situation. The teachers called a meeting. Violence against adults is wrong. We were all clear on that. I stood up, said all that I had to stay, knowing that my bags were packed, and the ‘guru’ the spiritual man, blew up in my face. He shouted so loud, which was unnecessary really because he was only centimeters away from my face. I wondered how a spiritually balanced man could come up with so much anger and hatred. Anger in the voice, means anger in the heart.
They all told me that the children had been spoilt since my arrival. They had become soft, undisciplined, almost, god forbid, childlike. He threw me the lot. If I was in America I would now be rich on a slander court case. But instead I’m not, I’m left with the doubt of if I’ve done any good or not.
We all left. All of the volunteers. We had no other option. Hopefully, by our actions Ram Chandra will begin to understand that children need to be respected, need space to grow, that they will give so much love, if only given the chance. Hopefully he’ll understand that he should stick to his spiritual principals. Live the same life inside and out. Inside of his mind and out of his body, inside his "ashra" where he preaches love, and outside of his ashram where he breeds fear.
And then maybe, just maybe, he’ll realize that hitting children under any circumstances can do no good.
So, heartbroken, we left the ashram, having hugged the children, knowing we wouldn´t see them again. And entered a week of mopsing (paseando) about Kathmandu’s Thamel. Sometimes it’s good to mope around, especially where the wine flows and the food is not rice. It’s imitation western culture. You can get eggs for breakfast. Needless to say, I’ve put on pounds. I began to crave rice. I missed the children. But on a lighter note, I’ve corrected my bad posture.
So, with a change of humour, I’ve been thrown back into Metropolitan world. Except this time without a bicycle. Which is fortunate really since Katmandu is one of the most polluted cities in the world. It also has the world’s second biggest water supply, which is ironic as it’s pissing down outside and the tap to provide the substitute toilet paper, runs dry. Apart from buying toilet paper I’m moving around Katmandu and taxis, a luxurious commodity, cost the same as catching Barcelona’s Metro.
So, of course I walk.
I collect smoke exhaust in my gums, ear drums and any available pore. So, what has this to do with my posture you ask. No longer am I the stooping Brit, eyes pegged to the floor four meters in front of my feet. Oh no. Now I look straight. I’ve realized I have the capacity to walk looking up, and in the process I’m actually noting things, without falling into every available pot hole, and without returning to the room, sole covered in dog wastage.
...Because if you don’t look out, you’ll get run over by a taxi, knocked down by a cycle rickshaw, or honked at by a passing motorbike.
You’ve got to keep your wits about you.The first time in Katmandu, if it wasn’t for Ram Paudel, I wouldn’t have had the balls to cross the road by the main bus stop to get anywhere. Road crossing is a technical skill and should be taught in all government run institutions, with ‘crash’ courses available in all tourist hospitals.
The technique involves
1. Take a tiger style pose by the curb
2. Hawk eyes, you watch the constant stream of traffic for your break.
3. You see it in the distance
4. You put on a stern, you-crash-with-me-you’ll-damage-your-car ‘stealy’ attitude
5. You step off the curb and begin moving
6. Gulp.In the middle of the road it’s hairy. You are forced to meet head on at least 5 lanes of cars coming at you, full speed, pelting it at the cars’ 40km/hr engine limit. You feel like an unlucky rabbit in the middle of London’s M25 Ring Road. It’s important at this point to not give in. Maintain a ferocious tiger frown, and continue walking in uniform direction and speed. The car drivers have been trained (presumably in the same governmental offices) to avoid people by sterring around them.
7. Arrive at the other side. Say hello to the chicken.
8 . Laugh, imagining doing the same, walking in front of cars at home.
The power is addictive.
...Until you try it on the Avenida Diagonal, or any major street in your town.
So, after living it up in Thamel, we moved to more rewarding ventures to a centre called ‘The Direct Help Foundation’. It’s run by a great guy, who’s Catalan, and habours both street children and women who have suffered injustices. It’s a completely different feel. It’s really helping Nepalese underdogs. The children are happy, and kiss and hug. I’m helping translate on a project called the ‘Pencil Revolution’ which is teaching women to read and write. Those who have learnt, say it’s as if their eyes have been opened. Suddenly they can read signs in the street that they walk past everyday. They can read a number and be able to punch it into a telephone. The can understand receipts and contracts. It’s real help.So, check out the web site if you’re interested, it’s in Spanish and English.
http://tdhf.ibernet.com/
The English is soon to be upgraded to the level demanded of any Top Class Manchunian English Teacher.I’ll be back in Barcie mid Sept. Got a few plans, plenty of ideas, and an empty caixa.Life is to be lived!!Besos a todos,Julia
posted by www.intenselypersonal at 4:04 AM
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