Public Address - Southerly (Home)

If You Don't Hit Them, You Must Hate Them | Mar 30, 2007 09:49

On Wednesday, my neighbour Merv turned up at my front door, and invited me to attend a march against the amendments to Section 59 of the Crimes Act.

"If you're a Christian, you should be going," he informed me. "God's the only one who should be telling us how to raise children -- not childless Labour Party lesbians like Sue Bradford."

We discussed Merv's grasp on reality in terms of Sue Bradford's party affiliations, sexual preferences, marital status, and childlessness -- eventually concluding that I would not be accompanying him on the march.

But it's been interesting to read reports that many of the marchers appeared to share Merv's general viewpoint. A number of protestors carried placards which proclaimed the biblical basis for corporal punishment of children. Fifteen-year-old Carl Leenders -- who was given time off by his school to attend the march -- was quoted as saying: "If someone truly loves his children he will discipline them according to God's word, which is with the rod. If you don't, you hate them."

Craig Smith of the organization Family Integrity appears to have similar beliefs. He cites scripture such as Proverbs 22:15 ("Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of correction will drive it far from him") in order to prove to parents that they have a religious duty to use corporal punishment on their children.

He also cites Proverbs 22:19 ("A servant will not be corrected by mere words; for though he understands, he will not respond") as evidence that you cannot properly discipline a child simply with a good telling off.

In his pamphlet 'The Christian Foundations of the Institution of Corporal Correction', Mr Smith concisely explains why corporal punishment of children is so effective:

I freely admit that I do not understand the connection between a physical smack on the bottom and a rebellious spiritual condition of the heart, nor how the first drives out the latter. But the Scripture declares it is so, therefore I am obliged to believe and practice it.

Deep-thinking stuff, I'm sure you'll agree. But is this really the most detailed possible analysis of God's view on punishment of children?

I decided to ask Dr Michael Grimshaw, Senior Lecturer in Religious Studies at the University of Canterbury, if he could shed a little more light on the subject.

How would you describe Mr Smith's analysis of biblical doctrine with regard to punishment of children?

It's just blind faith. You often get this in closed sectarian communities who view the world through a particular lens which is intensely Biblicist.

Typically they would see themselves acting as God for their family. In essence it's a reduction down to a very patriarchal family model.

How far can Mr Smith carry his logic that: "... scripture declares it is so, therefore I am obliged to believe and practice it"? I'm thinking of other bits of parental advice in the Bible, such as Deuteronomy 21:18-21 which states that parents should put persistently disobedient sons to death; or Deuteronomy 13:6-9 which says that you must kill your children if they try to convert you to another religion. Wouldn't Mr Smith be obliged to believe and practice this scripture as well?

Yes -- in a strictly logical sense. But there is a distinctly irrational rationality that occurs with this particular viewpoint of the Bible. A selective literalism. So there will be some verses that they take literally, and then other verses that they say: "This doesn't quite stand up".

When scripture fits with what they feel is the correct response, then they say: "Scripture declares it so". When the demand of scripture stands against what they perceive to be the right action, then they say: "Well, that's analogy or metaphor; or that's something that only pertains to that particular time and place; or that's something which has been corrected by the New Testament."

Leviticus is a great example. Conservative Christians are always very keen on the prohibition against male-male [sexual] relationships. But it's actually a question about purity in Leviticus, so any mixing is an affront. Mixing fibres is just as bad as mixing genders.

If you're standing there ranting about corporal punishment of children in a polyester and wool suit, then -- in a strictly literal sense -- you're causing just as much affront to God as engaging in a gay relationship.

In the end you can get anything you want out of the Bible.

So Deuteronomy doesn't require parents to use corporal punishment on their children -- or kill their children in certain circumstances?

Well, as I said, you can make the Bible say whatever you want. The more interesting question -- and it's one that the news media hasn't picked up on yet -- is why conservative Christians are particularly activated by this issue.

What you're seeing here are two distinctly different groups. On the one hand you're getting the secular opposition to Bradford's amendment: the Gary McCormick side, if you like. And then you're getting the religious groups -- the Simon Barnett side -- coming together. But the groups are talking about two entirely different things.

There's a particular conservative Christian response which says that being a Christian also involves corporal punishment of children. But their real point is to have their religious views not only taken seriously, but recognized by law.

So, despite appearances, the Libertarians and fundamentalist Christians were actually on two different marches?

Very different.

Underlying all of this is a question which has bubbled up recently -- is New Zealand a Christian nation or not? And you're getting religious groups in various ways trying to make a public statement that we are a Christian nation.

We've got Destiny Church and the Exclusive Brethren involved in this now. So we've got to see it against the background of what happened in Australia, where religious conservatives formed an interfaith alliance that basically returned John Howard to power.

These groups are very worried. They've seen the latest census figures which makes this country at least 50 per cent non-religious. And the conservative Christians traditionally expect more Christians with time -- not less.

So from their perspective the march wasn't so much about smacking, but more about whether there is going to be governmental legislative recognition of what these particular Christians believe is their religious right or duty.

Conservative Christians often emphasise the Old Testament. Is there anything in the New Testament which relates to corporal punishment of children? I think someone at the march had a sign asking: "Would Jesus smack children?"

The whole "what would Jesus do" question is deeply problematic.

It's like asking what Jesus would drive. Well, he expected the end of the world within his lifetime, he lived in a middle-eastern country with very bad roads, and he had twelve people to cart around. So he'd probably drive some dirty great four-wheel-drive like a Hummer.

As with the old Testament there's a concentration on different passages to suit different agendas at different times. Trying to answer the question "what would Jesus do" is just a reverse form of literalism.

I mean at one point Jesus says: "Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.". He also says: "Leave your family".

So you can selectively quote Jesus in a way that stands against the whole family values thing. Completely against the fundamental beliefs of the Christian conservatives.

The question of the Bible and smacking children is really a red herring. What seems like a simple question of right and wrong needs to be set against a whole host of other perspectives. Not least the motivation of Christian conservatives to have their religious beliefs reflected in legislation.

It's a real can of worms once you get into it.

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It's Sad that You're Leaving Us, Steve | Mar 22, 2007 22:01

Russell Brown recently commented that ever since he's known me I've been about to leave my job. On some occasions, this was because the dark angel of redundancy was hovering over my humble work cubicle. On other occasions, it was because I felt myself to be an excellent candidate for vocational self-euthanasia.

In the end, I decided to jump before the redundancy angel gave me a push. Ten days ago I said goodbye to the Crown Research Institute (CRI) that has been my home for the last couple of years, and set off on my own as a freelance writer. Yes, I am really that stupid.

Major life changes tend to make me philosophical, and looking back over my scientific research career -- such as it was -- I think my greatest achievement is the fact that I never took sick leave from my job. I may have solved a few difficult equations, and I may have patented a few good ideas, but I suspect that my glowing attendance record is what really made me an outstanding CRI employee.

Of course, as a newly self-employed writer, I'm keen to maintain this exemplary work record. I simply can't afford to lose money through illness. Domestic accidents are the leading cause of lost work-hours, and on this basis I spent my first employer-less Saturday morning sharpening all the knives in our house. I have been told many times that a blunt knife is more dangerous than a sharp one, and -- by that measure -- I judged that our cutlery drawer was an accident hazard comparable to a box of loaded revolvers.

While cutting an apple that afternoon I had cause to appreciate my foresight. A doctor's scalpel couldn't have made a neater job of slicing open the fingers on my left hand. I shudder to think how much worse it would have been with a blunt knife.

Later that same day, while attempting to operate a pressure cooker with my heavily-plastered digits, I somehow managed to immerse my other hand in boiling water. If captured on film, the subsequent cascade of events would earn a fortune on 'The World's Funniest Home Videos'. Suffice it to say that -- in my hilarious attempts to get my burnt hand to the cold tap -- I smashed my knee into the corner of our table so hard that my leg went numb for three days.

Over the next week, while hopping one-legged around our house with both hands in bandages, my dodgy spine became agonizingly painful. Then, as an encore, my remaining operational limb began to exhibit symptoms of an affliction that I dubbed 'throbbing pulse kneecap'. Nothing ever came of this ailment -- and it's stopped throbbing now -- but I thought I should mention it for medical completeness.

So being self-employed isn't as easy as you'd think.

On the bright side, I've used my recuperation time to build this website. The intention is to advertise my writing wares so that people will hire me to produce articles for their newspapers and magazines. If you know a publisher who likes to throw money around then ask them to contact me.

I must admit that it's annoying to have spent so many years studying to be a scientist, only to wind up doing something entirely different. But I've discovered that science in this country is just too dependent on the whims of bureaucrats for my tastes. You need continuity to do proper research -- it takes many years of consistent funding to build a world-class science programme. It's not something that can be achieved by changing direction every eighteen months at the behest of pen-pushers. Sadly, many of my former colleagues have poured years of their lives into brilliant projects only to have them inexplicably cancelled in mid-stride. I've found myself particularly haunted by the comments of one senior scientist, who told me: "When I look back on my career all I see are decades of wasted effort".

That's just too depressing for me. Of course, I know other people have much less satisfactory jobs, and I know I should stay and fight the system. But you only get one life -- and I don't want to fritter it away on form-filling and scientific make-work.

Nevertheless, my last day as a scientist was somewhat emotional. There are only thirteen full-time employees at my office, but we are a reticent bunch and spend most of our working lives huddled alone in our cubicles. I have colleagues only a few metres away with whom I have exchanged barely a dozen awkward words over the past two years.

Surprisingly, it was one such colleague who presented me with a farewell card on my final afternoon. The card was inscribed with a simple but heartfelt message: "It's sad that you're leaving us, Steve. We will miss you. Good luck for your future endeavours."

I was almost reduced to tears by this testimony to my qualities as work-mate. And if only my name were Steve then it would have been really beautiful.

Thus a new and exciting chapter has opened in my life. I have enough paid writing work to provide a starvation wage for the next three months. If the work dries up then I begin auctioning off my body-organs to the highest bidder.

So if you're visiting Christchurch in six months time, and you see a particularly shabby-looking tramp with surgical scars -- perhaps holding a sign which reads: "My name is Steve, I solve differential equations for food" -- then please give generously. It will mean that self-employment hasn't really worked for me.

Postscript

Several people have emailed me to ask if I was serious in this explanation of last week's post. It speaks volumes for the wonderful world of Cultural Studies that such questions are even possible.

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By Popular Demand: Another Night to Remember with Alan Bollard | Mar 08, 2007 19:52

So I'm sitting on the front steps of my house having a beer with Alan Bollard and his mate Darfield Charlie.

And Bollard is going: "Look, it couldn't be simpler. We're all having a nice barbie. Charlie is cutting a bit of meat. The knife slips, and -- whoops-a-daisy -- off comes one of his fingers. The finger falls in the barbie, and up it goes in flames. Everyone's happy."

And Darfield Charlie goes: "Accidents happen all the time, mate. Who's to say my finger wouldn't have got cut off anyway -- sooner or later?"

Of course, I remember what happened the last time I got involved in one of Bollard's schemes, and so I'm like: "Well, why can't Charlie cut off his finger at his own house?"

Bollard stares at me like I'm stupid. "Charlie's pregnant girlfriend is a born-again Christian, you dick. She's not going to let us rip off the ACC at her house."

Then Bollard goes into this long explanation about how accidents are part of Gross Domestic Product, and how Darfield Charlie should be encouraged to contribute to economic activity. And then he's like: "Look, don't be such a pussy!"

I hate it when Bollard calls me a pussy. So we fire up the barbeque, and I get the knife from the kitchen.

Five minutes later, and Bollard's shouting at me: "For fuck's sake, why don't you sharpen your knives?" And I'm like: "Because they might cut someone, dude." Darfield Charlie is groaning with pain -- and Bollard still hasn't managed to chop off any of his fingers.

So then Bollard goes: "Okay, change of scenario. What if Charlie has an accident when he's cutting firewood for the barbie?"

I get my axe out of the garage, and Bollard doesn't waste any time. The next thing blood is spraying all over the place -- and Darfield Charlie is running crazily around my backyard and shrieking like a steam-whistle.

I'm wondering if we'll be able to catch him, but after a few circuits around the lawn he falls to the ground and has convulsions. So we pick him up, and lug him down the driveway to Bollard's ute.

Of course with Bollard at the wheel there's no way I'm getting into the back. So I offer to drive, but Bollard goes: "Fuck you, it's my ute." And then I'm like: "Well I'm not coming if I have to sit on the tray." And Bollard goes: "So how am I supposed to get him out at the other end?" And I'm like: "That's your problem, dude."

And then Darfield Charlie starts moaning: "I'll ride in the back." So we tip him over the side of the ute, and he lies on the bottom of the tray and bleeds over everything.

We get in the ute and Bollard floors the accelerator. Everything's going fine until we're on Woodham road. Then we see a police car coming from the other direction, and of course Bollard can't resist giving them the fingers.

I just have time to go: "Bloody hell, Bollard, don't be such a marnus." And then the cop does a U-turn, and flicks his siren and lights.

So we pull over, and Bollard is like: "I'll handle this." And when the cop comes up to his window, he goes: "Hello officer, I was just pointing at those two ducks perching in the tree. I hope you didn't misinterpret my gesture."

And the cop asks: "Who's the guy bleeding in the back of your ute?"

Two minutes later we're getting a police escort to the hospital. We go down Kilmore street like a bullet. I can hear Darfield Charlie's head hitting the tray as we go over the judder bars into the hospital parking lot.

Bollard drives the ute right into the ambulance bay. I'm like: "Dude, should you be parking here?" And Bollard goes: "If the hospital can't handle where I park then fuck them."

We open up the tail-gate of the ute, and Darfield Charlie is lying there all white and drowsy because I guess he's got hardly any blood left. So we drag him through the doors to the Accident and Emergency department. Bollard goes up to the counter, and he's like: "Excuse me, I'm a doctor and Darfield Charlie needs urgent medical attention."

The whole waiting room goes very quiet at this, and then someone asks: "Hey, aren't you the stupid dick who keeps putting up our mortgage rates?"

Bollard turns around, and I can tell he's a bit pissed off. But he keeps his cool, and he goes: "Who wants to know?"

And someone points to this nervous-looking guy with his arm in a sling, and so Bollard grabs a crutch from a kid with a broken leg, and he's like: "You're the dick, you... dick." And he whacks the nervous-looking guy on his bandaged arm and knocks him over.

The next thing the whole waiting room has erupted in a huge brawl. The mother of the kid with the broken leg is trying to strangle Bollard. Bollard is trying to beat the nervous-looking guy to a pulp with the crutch. And a couple of patients have taken advantage of the confusion and are giving one of the registrars a good thumping. I can see that no good will come of this -- so I leg it out the door and catch the bus home.

Bollard gets out of jail the next week, and we go down to the pub to celebrate. But I can tell that something's bothering him. He's barely touching his beer, and finally he's like: "Dude, I don't know about human nature. That thing with Darfield Charlie couldn't have been a bigger success. It turns out that his wounds get infected, and they have to amputate his whole hand. Charlie's absolutely rapt! He's up for this massive compo payout -- enough for a holiday on the Gold Coast. He told me it was better than Christmas."

And I'm like: "Well, that's great, I guess..."

And Bollard goes: "But then Charlie's pregnant girlfriend visits him in hospital. And those born-again Christians, dude, they're so suspicious. She's full of questions: 'It was a gas barbeque, Charlie -- why were you chopping wood? Is there something you want to tell me? Don't you think it's important that we have honesty in our relationship? I want to know the whole story, Charlie. We can't build our relationship on lies.' And so in the end he comes clean with her."

And I'm like: "Dude, don't tell me that Darfield Charlie is back in prison."

And Bollard goes: "It turns out that the ACC offers a reward for dobbing in false claims. She says that God told her to do it."

And I'm like: "Dude, that like totally sucks."

Note:
David Haywood is willing to sell the exclusive rights to this true story to New Idea, Investigate Magazine, North & South, or similar publications.

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