And Mother Makes Three

Family Portrait

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It's Remembrance Day: Some Thoughts & a Poem for Them All

Where have all the Flowers Gone? (Adelaide Australia November )

To say I have a complicated attitude towards days like today, Remembrance Day, is a massive understatement. I was born with a predisposition towards pacifism, a tendency that was strengthened by experiencing the damage done to my father from his time in the army and especially his time with the Australian army in Vietnam during the war. Then there was the impact on my family of his time there: the family basically imploded, with the subsequent effects on each of us.

Then there is my knowledge of military history, both as it is lived by the people doing the actual fighting and from the broader geo-political perspective of historical movements and imperatives, as well as the reasons for going to war. Not to mention my acute awareness of the lies we are told to justify war and the hiding of the real reasons a government will wage war.

At the end of the day it is these lies told by politicians and our so-called leaders and their manipulations of events and the revision of history, that has me now saying no to all wars.

At the same time from deep in the core of me I feel a love and affection, a pride, for the people we send (yes, we) to do the fighting, killing and dieing; I feel for and care about those who return from the fight wounded in body, mind and spirit.

Whatever the individual’s reason for ‘joining up’ to fight, they have all done the dirty work their society has demanded of them. Their efforts—their sacrifices—need to be looked at as completely separate from their governments actions and reasons for sending them to fight and what they have done must be looked at separately from any outcome of any given conflict.

I have always been deeply revolted and disgusted to the core by those who place blame and then abuse or attack those who have only been doing our (yes our) bidding in war. Anti war should and does not mean, anti those who have done the fighting.  To not make this distinction is to abdicate one’s own responsibility as a member of society.

On days like this, Remembrance Day, and all other commemorations that purport to remember and honor those who have died in war, there is a militarization that in many ways excludes an honoring of the dead by people who do not wish to, at the same time, promote or celebrate a culture of war and conflict. And that makes me sad.

My father (who had served as a Major in Australian Army Intelligence before, during and after the Vietnam War) died in 2000 as he ran for a train on a hot summer’s day. I don’t think there were too many moments in the thirty odd years between his time in Vietnam and his death that he was happy; not too many times he was at peace.

PTSD; Depression; violent mood swings and behaviours; constant and consuming distress and an ongoing inability to settle into any semblance of what we call a ‘normal life’. These were his rewards for doing his ‘duty’, for doing the things we (yes, we) asked him to do.

No need to go on. Suffice it to say, my siblings and I are the children of a Vietnam veteran, and to some degree or another we have inherited that legacy of suffering. Just like so many others, in so many wars, all over this benighted planet and through time.

About ten years ago I wrote a poem about my father and his post Vietnam life and death. Here is it as my offering at the memorial to all who have had to suffer as a result of all wars everywhere.

Lest We Forget to not only oppose war in all its guises and disguises, but let us always remember to create peace in our lives and in our communities.

Peace to you all.

IT’S A ’NAM THING

My father, many times he hit me.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father hurt my sisters.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing

My father, he beat my mother.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing

My father had a shrink at 150 an hour.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father tried to get sane.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father, he kept his demons.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father used to run for trains.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father, one day thought he was late.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father ran hard for his train.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing

My father caught that train, of course.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father, his heart attacked him.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father, on that train he died.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing

Hobart Australia

?2004 or 2005

A Moment Shared with a Happy Dad

Happy Chatter Shares the City Square with the Birds 

(Parramatta Square Sydney Australia April 2015)

Strolling around the public square in the "suburban" city of Parramatta in the west of Sydney today, I came across this guy who seemed to be all alone, although the square was actually quite busy (the sun being out after several days of heavy rain). 

At the distance I was from him I couldn't see the expression on his face, but I liked the scene and made the picture. As I walked past him, he looked up and actually laughed. In such cases I always speak to the people I've shared a moment with. Here is our little conversation.

Me: Thank you (pointing to my camera to tell him I had made the photo)
I just loved the way you looked as if you were concentrating hard on your phone" (mimicking his pose).

Him: (laughing some more) I am just having a chat with my daughter"

Me: Well thanks for the photo, and have a good chat with her"

Him: (laughing again) Thank you

Nice eh? A great little moment shared with a dad who was so happy to be talking to his daughter, and was so proud to let me, a stranger with a camera, know about it.

One of the reasons I am a street photographer.

Peace

Bali: My month on the island of dreams has just begun

Hanging Out with Dad (Ubud Indonesia March 2014)

So many people dream of spending time on the island of Bali. And we were among them. But now we are here. In fact, we've been here four days so far. At this very moment we are in the central town of Ubud, an even more evocative site of dreams for some. First impressions are very mixed.  On the one hand there are the people. I don't ever like to stereotype people, so all I will say is that thus far we have been treated by every person (and I am not exaggerating. I do mean every person) we have encountered, with courtesy, kindness and a helpfulness and hospitality of a sort I have never in many many years of travelling experienced.  And there is the architecture; it is extraordinary. I mean it really is. For example, every house has its own family temple and the front gate to every home looks like the entrance to a temple with lovely statues (always including my favorite, the elephant god Ganesha), floral offerings and even incense. 

On the other hand in all those many many years of travelling, often in the world's largest cities, I have never before experienced the intensity both in terms of noise and congestion, traffic like there is here in Ubud. I have after two days yet to come to terms with the reality of it. If that makes sense. Ubud is a set of villages now more or less running into one large town, and there are only a few very narrow roads lined with buildings. So, what you get is a lot of  cars, bikes, trucks and pedestrians in a confined space which makes for maddening noise and chaos. Well, as I said, I've never seen the like in my life.

But, having said that, I am excited by the possibilities here in Ubud  for street and documentary photography. It's a very colorful place, with friendly people, lots of tourists and travelers. And there are so many wonderful streetscapes. This aspect of the town I love already.

I know that after a few days I will adjust to the negatives and relish the positives (I forgot to mention the great food. And then there is the tea! Best I've ever had, and what a relief that is after travelling to some very tea impaired places in the last year or so). So, to begin my positivity: I am typing this post which I will soon share with you all, on my laptop with my feet up in our very comfortable hotel room and can't hear a sound. Well there is the air-con! I think that, once I get out and into the street a few more times, this place will start to feel like home. I actually got a little hint of that vibe when out today for an hour.

So, stay tuned, for more posts from Bali.
Peace to all

PS I should point out that we have yet to explore outside the town. The traffic really does, from what we're told, affect only the central business areas of the town. I am also prepared to admit that my reaction could be a result of a bout of extreme sensitivity brought on by tiredness and travel weariness. As I say, stay tuned!

PICK OF THE WEEK: Remembering

Remembering

(Armadale Western Australia February 2014

I'm always drawn to war memorials. I guess it has to do with my father being a career soldier in the Australian army. Among other things, he did two tours in that horrific war on Vietnam as part of the Australian commitment to its "friend" the United States. That service led eventually to his death and to the destruction of our family. That is not a story for this blog, I know. What I want to reflect on here is why I'm drawn to the places and sites that memorialize war.

I was involved for a few years in an organisation with other sons and daughters of Vietnam veterans. But, in the end, I didn't like it at all. What bothered me most was that there was too much focus on and too much glorification of military exploits, of battles fought and won. And there was too little emphasis placed on the concept that war itself is the problem. War is the evil that caused so much of our pain.

And, of course, memorials like this one in my photograph, are venues for gatherings such as Anzac Day and Remembrance Day services, battle commemorations and the like. So, what is it that pulls me in every time I encounter such a place in my travels? As I said, it's personal.

I think at some point I made a decision as to what these "war memorials" represent to me. I have come to believe they are places which honour the memory of the victims of war. I ignore the battle names carved on them, and choose instead to think upon the names of the dead and their lives, as well as the families they have left behind. For me they have become anti-war memorials.

There is nothing naive about me. No,not at all. I do not for a second think that war is going to ever be "a thing of the past". Sadly it does not seem to be in the nature of the human animal to find other solutions, to not covet the land or resources of others. No, war is a permanent fixture. But I don't have to like it. I do not have to support it. I do not have to celebrate victories or (and this is even more perverse) defeats in which some seem to find so much to glorify.

So, what of this photograph? I had thought to call it "Some Remember while Some Forget", based on the man who looks like he is remembering or trying to remember something, and the person walking away as if not even noticing the memorial. However, I decided that the simple title would be better: Remembering.

And we should always remember. Not, as I say because that's the way to put an end to war. It isn't quite that simple. But remembering, not forgetting, is important because it can help us realize that in the end it is all of us who are responsible for war. Yes, I know, I said that war seems to be in our nature. So, you might ask, how can any of us as individuals be responsible? Perhaps it's a good question. All I can say in response (and in a rare display of naivety) is that maybe the question posed by the title of a movie from 1970 might be an even better one to ponder:

Suppose they threw a war and nobody came

An Ode to Family: A slideshow of some families found on the street

An Ode to Family comes at a good time as I reconnect with my son here in England after not seeing each other for eight years. What a joy it is and will be for a while to come yet. And as Mr Bowie says in the marvellous song I've chosen for the soundtrack, we are all Absolute beginners when it comes to family relationships. And as long as we remember that single fact, we shall always be capable of being family

I Just Act Like I Don't Remember and Mary Acts Like She Don't Care

I come from down in the valley where mister when you're young
They bring you up to do like your daddy done
Me and mary we met in high school when she was just seventeen
Wed ride out of that valley down to where the fields were green

Wed go down to the river
And into the river wed dive
Oh down to the river wed ride

Then I got mary pregnant and man that was all she wrote
And for my nineteen birthday I got a union card and a wedding coat
We went down to the courthouse and the judge put it all to rest
No wedding day smiles no walk down the aisle
No flowers no wedding dress
That night we went down to the river
And into the river wed dive
On down to the river we did ride

I got a job working construction for the johnstown company
But lately there aint been much work on account of the economy
Now all them things that seemed so important
Well mister they vanished right into the air
Now I just act like I don't remember, mary acts like she don't care
But I remember us riding in my brothers car
Her body tan and wet down at the reservoir
At night on them banks I'd lie awake
And pull her close just to feel each breath she'd take
Now those memories come back to haunt me, they haunt me like a curse
Is a dream a lie if it don't come true
Or is it something worse that sends me
Down to the river though I know the river is dry
Down to the river, my baby and I
Oh down to the river we ride


Thanks Bruce, for the music and the lyrics that are truly poetry