Looking at Political Hate

I’m on quite a different tack this time. I have a bee in my bonnet, around politics.

Back in the fifties and sixties, in my time of growing up and being molded, one rule around social graces was that there were three things never to be discussed socially. They were religion, politics and sex. And in my experience, they never were. Conversation was, and can be, stimulating, rich and vastly varied without these topics. It’s one of the amazing things of life, isn’t it, that human beings began to communicate, with grammatical language, only 20,000 years ago.

When people expound their views on politics at a social gathering, do they presume that everyone in the room is of the same persuasion? Elections are generally close, which suggests that 50 percent of the population are opposed to the other fifty percent. Do they think they are going to change the minds of people who have held the same beliefs and opinions for most of their lives? So what is the point? People get heated, angry, and even personally derogatory. Some are even putting up political posts on Facebook and other social platforms, inciting of course comments that grow into pages of diatribe.

I was at a Vintage Festival long table lunch the other day, and two of the guests became loud and obnoxious with politics. How unpleasant for the hosts who had put in so much joy and effort to make it a great experience for everyone there. Thankfully three quarters of the table were unaware of the bad energy up the other end of the table, and were blissfully immersed in the delightful situation of strangers coming together, exchanging life stories of work, family, travel, hobbies, enjoying food prepared with love and passion, and wines to suit.

Another bane of my life is media reporting. When I was in my final year of primary school, my head-master told me that I should pursue a career in journalism. I took his advice seriously. Later, at the age of seventeen, I applied for a cadetship with The Advertiser. Funnily enough, I hadn’t considered the fact that I would need to be able to type, which I couldn’t at the time. The man who interviewed me suggested I undertake a typing course and then reapply. I did the course, but before I could front up for another interview, I met Warren, fell head over heels in love, and went back to the Barossa to work as a secretary at a winery, and prepare for being the wife of a farmer.

I’m glad I didn’t go down the journalism path. Today, to see them chasing down newsworthy folk, almost assaulting them with microphones inches from their faces, turns my stomach. It seems to me that corporate news teams today trade in grief, fear, hate, tragedy. And the one that disturbs me the most is the hate, coupled with political bias. I see a headline that incites loathing, read the article, and think to myself ‘That can’t be true.’ So I research it, and nine times out of ten find that some-one’s words have been taken out of context and therefore misconstrued, and hate is born. The world seems to be full of it. The cafe talk, BBQ talk, pub talk is impassioned, angry, fueled by what people have read. Yes, we have to be informed, and there are wonderful people who work to right injustices, but I would guess that these people know the facts, and not what is served up to them by the corporate hate mongers. For me, I research what lies behind the headlines. I listen to the actual words, the full story, the straight story, not the twisted one. And I don’t try to change the political bents of people, especially at our age. Its futile. We are well established.

I am really saddened at the ethos of the world at the moment. So I try to keep positive and loving, and appreciate the beauty there is to find if one looks.

I found this little poem the other day. I wrote it back when I was learning to paint. My beautiful teacher – Flossie Peitsch – told us that if we wanted to become good painters, we needed to sketch for an hour a day. ‘Subject matter – just anything around you,’ she said. I remember one day sketching lots of my kitchen paraphernalia. And it looks like I followed the theme with a poem.

Timber panel
covered quickly
Woodgrain Contact paper
Veins of sworn-at plastic crinkles
Vintage timber shelf
Three brackets painted left-over grey

Letona peaches opened (I have to tell you here that in my original poem, I had the word Letona typed upside down, so)
Letona peaches opened
No ‘Open Other End’
Cardboard carton
blue
three eggs
Peanuts in a plastic bag
cascading over edge of egg
carton
Red
currant syrup
Butter
Muesli oats raw sugar
Salt
in pink pot
Chipped red dish
Dead matches
Enamel cooker called Cadet
A saucepan in a frypan
and a yellow kettle
Coffee cups on sink
one pink one blue
one every colour of the bush
with wildflowers dropping petals in the breadcrumbs

The poem ended abruptly. It was, I guess, an exercise in seeing what was around me. My kitchen is much tidier these days. Flossie had told us to sketch as soon as possible in the morning. So for me, it was straight after I’d dropped my kids off to school. The room sounds a bit messy, but I killed two birds with one stone – my daily sketching and a poem.

You are always welcome to comment below.

Enjoy this beautiful Autumn weather. Pray for rain for South Australia. Anzac Day passed without it.

Warmly as always,

Sue

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