Pants on fire

Koko the gorilla, famous for communicating with humans via a 1000 word sign-language vocabulary (and infamous for her nipple-fetish and subsequent involvement in a sexual harassment lawsuit), apparently has another trait in common with her relatively hairless cousins: After a particularly violent tantrum, in which a sink in her enclosure was ripped from the wall, Koko was confronted by her handlers. At this point she gestured to her tiny pet kitten and signed: ‘Cat did it’. Koko’s apparent penchant for untruths, reminiscent of Bart Simpson’s adage: ‘I didn’t do it’, is in turn is echoed throughout my year 7 English class. Therein students swear to their innocence so vehemently that I often doubt my own senses, despite the peashooter still dangling from their lips, and the spitballs stuck to my forehead. I have often lectured along the lines of ‘The Boy who Cried Wolf’; however the concept that blatant and obvious lying to my face in the past has damaged their present credibility remains seemingly foreign.

While lying seems to be universal, the question of whether it is OK to lie is an age-old conundrum. For the religious amongst you, the Bible and the Koran both prohibit lying. However, Jesus himself arguably told a porky – “Go ye up unto this feast: I go not up yet unto this feast; for my time is not yet full come… But when his brethren were gone up, then went he also up unto the feast, not openly, but as it were in secret” (John 7:8-10). Saint Thomas Aquinas spoke in depth about lying, dividing lies into three categories: the humorous, the useful, and the malicious. All were deemed sinful, but humorous and useful lies are only venial sins. So go ahead and tell the one about the chicken in the doctor’s office – you’ll only get a bit of extra time in purgatory. Though I’d think twice about starting a rumour about the new girl in the office’s inflatable breasts - unless you enjoy the smell of brimstone and long for an eternal lease on lake (of fire) front property. But here we begin to spiral off into the perpetual problem with any analysis lying – the problem with which we were undoubtedly going to rendezvous: that of semantics - what may be humerous to some may be malicious to others. Also, to define a lie, we must define the truth, and truth is inexorably linked with the observer. If not as dead as post-modernism would have us believe, objectivity is at the very least enigmatic. Absolute truth does exist, but is a golden thread weaving throughout the fabric of this reality, only detectable by the patient and those with a keen mental eye (and mental patients) – kind of like a cosmic Tasmanian tiger. As for the corporeal world, it is as Nietzsche said: “There are no facts, only interpretations” (which, paradoxically, is itself stated as fact). So, before we fall into a dauntingly lengthy missive on the nature of reality, I will leave this examination of lying - so nascent, so half-arsed - and move awkwardly to the topic that originally prompted these thoughts on the concept of lying – the Australian government under Prime Minister John W. Howard.

Our cuddly PM’s lies are well documented, and delivered with such aplomb that, like my year 7 class, they are difficult to refute. Blatant lies won him a third term after the ‘children overboard’ affair, and the “never, ever” to be introduced GST is now are rarely thought-of part of everyday life. Justified by lies, Mr Howard led us into a conflict that has resulted in tens of thousands of civilian deaths, left a country ravaged by civil war, further destabilised the most volatile region on Earth, increased oil prices dramatically, and has solidified the previously pencil-sketched bullseye on our collective foreheads – colouring it in with the big red texta of foreign policy. The 2004 election was won, in no small part, thanks to lies (‘useful’ for the government, ‘malicious’ for many others); canny lies via implication, that interest rates would not rise under a Howard government, and omission - no pre-warning of the now-infamous Workchoices policy. People voting for Howard based solely on economic performance remind me of Krusty the Clown, when rationalising his decision to vote for Sideshow Bob - “Well he framed me for armed robbery, but man I’m achin’ for that upper-class tax-cut”. And the result for those traditional Labour voters who dreaded the thought of an extra $50 a week on their mortgage? Two interest rate rises in 18 months and ‘Workchoices’ now law.

Workchoices. This is the sunny little number that has removed unfair dismissal laws for companies with less than 100 employees, and has left decidedly more tenuous the ability to live relatively comfortably on a low income. The advertising campaign promoting the introduction of Workchoices was pure propaganda – happy families, more choices, better for everyone, happy, happy, happy. The reality? People are being fired, and then offered their jobs back at severely reduced pay; some apprentices are being paid six-to-seven dollars an hour; workers are pressured into signing away their breaks, holidays, and overtime rates, and being fired if they don’t comply. As reported in the Melbourne Times, a security guard applied for compassionate leave to care for his dying father and on his return to work was fired. The reason given was that compassionate leave is only available to an employee ‘if a relative has died’ before the application is lodged. With no recourse via unfair dismissal, the guard is now unemployed. The path this country is on, when you throw in the government’s disdain for Medicare, leads to sad little place where the cycle of poverty becomes ever more inescapable. And if you feel that poverty is not your concern, seeing that you are university educated, earning a comfortable wage, and working for a large company, consider this: As the ‘class’ division grows, so will drug and alcohol abuse, and mental illness. Concordantly, so will the crime rate: violence, theft – already petrol station ‘drive-offs’ are up 45-odd % this year. These things will not only cost the country millions, but will render many public areas, and transportation, unsafe. We may well end up with our very own ghettos, right here in Melbourne. Well, at least we’ll be more like America.

Speaking of which, the lowest income earners in the USA can work 60+ hours a week in multiple jobs, and still live below the poverty line thanks to a criminally low minimum wage. A short hospital stay can cripple an uninsured family. Their politicians lie too, but there’s one major difference: While Vice President Dick Cheney - like our own Johnny-boy - is a calculated, manipulating liar (read: excellent politician), President George W. Bush seems to genuinely believe most of his lies. This is particularly scary when you consider some Klassic Kwotes from the leader of the world’s most powerful secular nation:

“I don't see how you can be president at least from my perspective, how you can be president, without a relationship with the Lord.”

"I feel like God wants me to run for President. I can't explain it, but I sense my country is going to need me. Something is going to happen... I know it won't be easy on me or my family, but God wants me to do it."

And (reportedly):

"God told me to strike at al Qaeda and I struck them, and then he instructed me to strike at Saddam [Hussein], which I did, and now I am determined to solve the problem in the Middle East."

A Fundamentalist Christian who takes Revelations literally, believes himself to be in direct communication with God, and in charge of the world’s biggest nuclear arsenal. Oh dear.

Many of my students are those that will find themselves on the side of the wealth divide that holds naught but burger-flipping jobs and dial-up internet. I am trying to teach them to identify subtle lies and manipulations, those that bombard us via the media and advertisements, those that lead to them voting for a government that will in turn screw them over, but they are less than receptive; When I spoke to him about the techniques advertisers use to get people to buy things they don't need, one boy offered, in a moment of Zen: "But... I like buying stuff." I am trying to teach them the lesson of ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’, but I sense they are learning an alternate moral from this story, much like Garek in Deep Space 9; they are simply learning to “never tell the same lie twice”.

An eye for an eye...

At the age of ten, I was involved in my one-and-only fistfight. At the time, my family and I lived in a small country town where, it seemed, fistfights were all the rage. For example: two towns over, a football team was kicked out of the local league after an exceedingly violent clash between that town’s residents, rival supporters, and the game’s umpires. The reaction in my town was not one of disgust and dismay that our near neighbour could display such hideous base instincts; rather, an atmosphere of self-conscious shame settled over the town – as we were seemingly no longer the toughest town around.

During these winsome days, a friend had devised a jolly game to play with one of the other boys in our Grade 5 class; he would offer the boy a choice - ‘five dollars or a fight’. The boy, despite being involved in many a round of fisticuffs in his time, would always acquiesce, promising to supplying my friend with the remuneration required to avoid a violent encounter - much to our amusement. No money ever actually changed hands (although I can imagine my friend now readily employed as a standover man); the whole production hinged on the boy’s agreement to pay five dollars, and our subsequent mirth – “Did’ja see that jerk?! He’d rather pay five bucks than fight me! What a loooo-ser!” Indeed, champagne comedy. Yes, fun was had by all, until one day I decided to take a more active role in proceedings – it was my turn to initiate the entertainment: “Five dollars or a fight!” I said to the boy, already looking over at my friend and waiting for his laughter at the inevitable reply.
“OK: a fight,” came the unexpected response. Oh, snap.
My ten-year-old world began spinning – a fight? I looked to my friend for help, but he had (for the first time all day) discovered that schoolwork was fascinating. He was sitting right next to me, but could have been battling giant space beetles on the planet Nebulaar for all the acknowledgment he gave my plight. (Note: if you even think of writing a movie about a young boy battling giant space beetles on the planet Nebulaar, prepare your arse for a lawsuit.)
What was I to do? Though this may come as a surprise, at the age of ten I was less than physically intimidating. Scrawny, bookish… undersized, shall we say. But, I couldn’t back down, because less than undersized was my mask of confidence, ego, and general superiority. So, much to my sub-mask horror, I heard myself squeak: “Fine”, and subsequently arrange a meeting place. It was done.

The time and place was soon upon me; I found myself alone, behind the netball club, awaiting destiny. My solitude was testament to the strength of my friendships in those days – one of my closest friends couldn’t come to support me because his mum had hired Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, and he needed to watch it (again) before it went back to the video store. Conversely, the boy arrived with three buddies – with whom I’m sure he still associated today, whether they have adjoining stools at the local pub, or adjoining cells in the local prison. And so, with my heart pounding so hard my ribcage petitioned for respite, the fight began. The boy threw a punch. I managed to block it – my tae-kwon-do lessons were paying off. Another punch came at me – I blocked again. Instinctively I threw a front-kick, which landed in the middle of the boy’s chest, pushing him backward a few feet. “Hey! None of that tae-kwon-do shit!” the boy barked indignantly.
“Okay,” I replied. After all, I was told repeatedly only to use my yellow-belt level powers for self defence, and since I’d started this fight, it seemed unfair to evoke such an advantage.
The boy swung again, connecting with my upper arm. Ow!
“Uh… when does this end?” I asked, imagining the two of us raining blows on one another, onwards into eternity.
“The first one to get blood on his face loses,” the boy replied.
That made sense as an endpoint; we would trade punches until blood appeared, then cease hostilities. As such we briefly continued, until a combination of my lack of anger – I had no desire to hit the other boy – and a sharp whack to the side of the head prompted me to initiate negotiations. All my bravado from earlier that day was spent.
“Ah… can we stop?” I asked. “I… I’ve never been in a fight before.”
The boys reacted in an unexpected way. For an endless split-second, scenarios rushed through my head – the boys, perhaps all four of them, giving me a bit of a beating, berating me all the while for being such a wuss. But, they simply laughed and walked away. And that was that. I never heard about the situation again. No name calling at school. No snide comments. No surprise dackings, or wedgies, or wedgie/dacking double-plays. My pathetic surrender was seemingly satisfaction enough.

Unfortunately, contemporary aggression between countries, particularly those in the Middle East, lacks a similar endpoint. It is not ‘blood on the face’ of the opposition – a relatively minor, reversible sign of superiority – that will signal the end of the theistic conflicts that threaten the world today. Indeed, adult fistfights often don’t end until someone is in hospital, or even dead. Likewise, protracted destruction and copious innocent deaths is the norm in the Mid East. Also, for one of these opponents to ask: “Can we stop?” is tantamount to them exclaiming: “Your God is first! Ours is the worst!” And of course this is despite Muslims, Jews, and Christians believing in the same God. With religion at stake, no side is simply going to laugh and walk away.

Another troublesome (or perhaps ‘terrifying’) aspect of modern warfare is the phenomena of disproportionate escalation. What if I had refused to curtail my ‘tae-kwon-do shit’? Would the other boy have counteracted my advantage by finding a weapon such as a rock or a piece of wood? Would he have had his friends join in? Both may have seemed to him to ‘even things up’, but would actually have provided an even more lopsided battle. Would I have escalated in response? (No, I would have run away, but that’s beside the point.) Hezbollah (operating out of Lebanon) kidnapped two Israeli soldiers. Israel responds by destroying Lebanon. Hundreds of civilians dead, including dozens of children, infrastructure destroyed, cut off from the rest of the world, over half a million people forced to leave their homes, many with no homes to which to return. Escalation on the part of the Lebanese seems unlikely, until you consider the thousands of potential terrorists created by the destruction, and the fact that Lebanon’s mates, Syria and Iran, could potentially ‘jump in’ at any moment. The Israeli response in this conflict, as Daniel Gilbert of the New York Times has said, is less “an eye for an eye” than “an eye for an eyelash”. I prefer to think of it as ‘a kick-in-the-nuts for a Chinese-burn’. But when Lebanon’s groin is sufficiently iced, what will come next?

I deserved the situation in which I found myself all those years ago – I was cocky, superior, and probably needed a punch in the head to learn some humility. In this current conflict, Lebanon – and especially its civilian population – surely does not deserve the aggression expended by Israel. But, with neither side likely to be satisfied with a bloody nose, with Israel and the USA unlikely to laugh and walk away, and with Lebanon’s mates standing at the ready, the situation is exceedingly dire. Throw in a twitchy, nuke-totin’ North Korea, and we can just hope that netball isn’t cancelled due to the mushroom cloud rising from behind the clubhouse.