2013 Balance Sheet

Credits

• Having my oldest friend assure me (apropos of nothing) that she believes in me. 
• Having another friend still be here, when a year ago it seemed that another Easter would be impossible, let alone another Christmas.
• Seeing another medical student mentoree graduate as a doctor with a very bright future.
• Watching former medical students progress in their careers with confidence and aptitude.
• Having 3 new dogs come into my life, even though one lasted only six weeks (RIP dear Wynny - see below). 
• Finding out what it's like to take on rescued dogs - a lot to learn on both sides, but immensely rewarding.
• Discovering the joys of training a receptive and very entertaining puppy (daughter of my Mukela RIP - see below).
• Finding the perfect new home for "Lurlene", my treasured 1957 Holden car.
• Receiving heartfelt and treasured support from unexpected quarters during a time of great personal distress.
• Having a UK artist ask to use a photo of my rescued racer Rosie for her portfolio/gallery of oil paintings. And who could blame her - what a picture of serenity:

Debits

• Losing yet another friend (after the two last year), but in this case her death was what she wanted. RIP Julie - forever "DJ" in my thoughts.
• Losing two more dogs (after Thika's death in 2012). My dear old boy Mukela died a month or so after his daughter came to join us, and my first foster greyhound Wynny died just 6 weeks into a normal life after her racing career, as a result of the drugs given to keep her winning. Pictures of those precious six weeks and her unforgivable end can be seen on her site: Drughound Racing. This banner was kindly made by an overseas Greyhound Rescue site:
  
• Missing out on the chance to teach medical students - one of my most favourite jobs ever.
• Being knocked off my feet for months by a completely unexpected personal attack which destroyed my self-confidence and sense of worth in an activity I had loved for more than 20 years.
• Finding out (like countless other naive people before me) that some people will always prefer rumours to truth, even at the expense of friendship and loyalty.
• Discovering that getting through a truly awful year does not mean there'll be a better one ahead. My hopes for 2014 are therefore very conservative: 
  

Racing Greyhounds - You Bet They Die

NB All credit for the sadly clever title goes to a number of greyhound advocacy sites such as Greyhound Action International. Another group very kindly made this wonderful "postcard".

With my elderly Rhodesian Ridgeback still mourning the death of his lifetime companion, as recounted in my end-of-2012 "balance sheet", I faced the choice of getting another dog to help his loneliness, or a dogless house once he passed on.
I decided on a whim to take the short-term option of fostering a rescue dog, and applied to an adoption agency for ex-racing Greyhounds. Soon afterwards, Wynny arrived, straight from the trainer's kennels.

A mere 7 weeks later, after a harrowing few days and nights for all three of us, she died from long-standing liver disease - yet another victim of the Greyhound racing industry.

A great many people followed her album/story on social media while she was with me, so I made a tribute site for everyone to see the personal story of one lovely Greyhound, together with some sobering facts about the abusive and greedy industry which killed her. In order to raise awareness, I've also included links to adoption, welfare and advocacy groups around the world.

RIP Wynny, dear dog.

I hope "Drughound Racing" can save even one of your fellow victims.

Cyber-bullying - the new bowls or bingo?

We all know that some people use the internet to harass and intimidate people, and the results can be tragic, such as when the victim takes his or her life as a result of the attacks.

Cyber-bullying has obvious similarities to the bullying that goes on in so many schools, workplaces, and organisations, I wrote about institutional bullying 3 years ago, in "Leadership, Loutism or Blatant Bullying", with a follow-up post a few months later when I unexpectedly (and briefly) found myself in the role of victim.

But cyber-bullying has other "real-life" antecedents, including vicious and usually anonymous "poison pen" letters, where the perpetrator often hides behind a pseudonym to add an extra level of fear and uncertainty to their actions, which usually involve third parties to whom malicious insinuations are made.

An even less sophisticated form of harassment is hate-mail (or email), consisting of

"... invective and potentially intimidating or threatening comments towards the recipient. Hate mail often contains exceptionally abusive, foul or otherwise hurtful language. " [Wikipedia]

When researching this topic, I was wryly amused to find that bloggers should not consider themselves to have "arrived" in the blogosphere until they start getting insulting, spiteful, or just plain crazy comments. So I'm therefore delighted to announce that I've recently received my first hate-mail comments!
Let's see why they qualify:

• Personally insulting? ..... tick
• Randomly capitalised? ..... tick
• Poorly spelled and lacking sentence structure? .... tick
• Threatening? .... tick
• Malicious? .... tick
• Liberal use of expletives? ... tick

But in a bizarre twist which speaks volumes for the unstable mind of their author, both comments were completely unrelated to the posts where they appeared. One of the (I hope) random choices was so shocking as to be almost a parody of malign intent - a viciously rabid but irrelevant comment was left on the eulogy I wrote for the funeral of a dear friend! Of course if that were a deliberate ploy to increase my distress, it failed due to sheer transparency.

So why have I entitled this post "Cyber-bullying - the new bowls or bingo?"?

Until recently I had more or less assumed that the majority of cyber-bullies were poorly socialised, probably unsuccessful in life, possibly with untreated psychological problems, with an infinite capacity for resentment and jealousy, and who found an outlet for their inadequacies by tormenting people they saw as vulnerable.  Certainly my previous personal experience with cyber-bullying supported this view.
However, my recent attacker, although of course posting here as "Anonymous", was sufficiently careless to use another (identifiable) account to send his vituperations as emails!

Thanks to this (almost) amusing oversight, I now know that cyber-bullies come in all forms, including urbane, amusing, well-educated and successful people in their 60's. I have known Robin Courtney for almost 30 years, although I met him only a few times, as he was a cousin of a family I knew well. I was always impressed by what I heard of his sense of humour, love of life, and wide range of interests, having transitioned from geology to semi-retirement as an accountant and finally to full retirement in New Zealand. After many years of no contact, he suddenly wrote to me in such an overwrought fashion, with words in red capitals, full of hate and personal bitterness, and all to someone he barely knows ... it is indeed disturbing, although not for the reasons he obviously intended.

The message: bullying and intimidation are always unacceptable, no matter who does it, nor how old or  otherwise respectable they are.

Bullies only win when we let them.

Another Slice of Life on the Midland Train

More glimpses into another world, thanks to the Midland train.

Tonight's journey was a feast for the senses ... and the soul.

A few seats away, a rather inebriated middle-aged man was playing unidentifiable but mournful-sounding tunes on his guitar, accompanying them in a loud, unintelligible warble, while his more sober friend sat cross-legged on the floor opposite, swaying to the music and performing yoga-like moves with his arms and upper body.

Next to me, a large and unkempt young man was hunched forward, muttering to himself and sloshing his can of soft drink over our feet as the train lurched. Every now and then he would undertake a vigorous exploration of an ear or nostril, wiping any discoveries on the leg of his liberally stained tracksuit pants. Even more memorably, he would lean heavily against me or his other neighbour every few minutes to lift a buttock and allow a very fragrant fart to escape. I'm at a loss to explain why the other passenger didn't move, or why nobody commented. It would have seemed "rude", I guess.

My reason for staying put was on my other side.

A young and heavily pregnant woman had struggled aboard with a young child in a stroller and holding another by the hand, and I'm glad to say they were offered the Priority Seats. Their clothes, shoes and the stroller itself were very well-worn but clean, and the mobile child remained fairly quiet and seated during the journey, in wonderful contrast to many passengers of his age who are allowed to swing on the poles, run around, climb on the seats, shout and generally do what they like. The boy in the stroller looked older than his brother, but it soon became clear that he had a major disability, with his head constantly lolling forwards and his hands picking aimlessly at his clothes.
But the image that will stay with me is of his mother gently stroking his hair away from his face every time he slumped forward, causing him to raise his head and flash a wide, delighted smile at her and the world in general. It simultaneously warmed and broke my heart.

So I could not possibly have moved from my malodorous neighbour without appearing to be moving away from this Aboriginal family, and I would have been deeply ashamed to appear so offensive.

It does us all good to suffer a little transient discomfort while being reminded of the infinitely more difficult path others follow every hour of their lives.

More Slices of Life on the Midland Train

About 6 months ago I wrote about some of my experiences on one of the suburban train lines here in Perth. I explained that this particular line  "runs from Midland, in the east, through the city to Fremantle, on the coast. It takes about an hour, with many stops, and along the way passes through suburbs covering a very wide range of socio-economic levels."

It continues to be a valuable source of learning about other lives ... and my own.

Firstly, a potential fairy tale.

There has to be a story here. I understand why someone might wear fluffy pink slippers to the station on a cold morning, but wouldn't you notice that one had come off?
Perhaps this is a Midland version of Cinderella. 

Back on the train:

     One day there was a disheveled middle aged person (common), 

                  of indeterminate gender (uncommon), 

                             muttering constantly (common), 

                                        and frequently spraying a powerful deodorant all over him/herself and nearby passengers (unique).

Another day, the train was in entertainment overdrive. 

• A very large man opposite (wearing only a vest and shorts) was listening to his very loud portable radio tuned to the racing. I bravely asked if he had earphones. Guess. 
• So I moved away, only to get hit on the leg by a ball being thrown back and forth between 2 very loud children standing on the seats. Apology from them or their mother (yelling angrily into her phone)? Guess. 
• My ears and temper were both suffering by now, so it was just as well a very loud evangelist was marching up and down, up and down, shouting that redemption was nigh. I could only hope.

And another fairy tale to finish ...

I was on the last train to make it through before a fire closed the line, so I knew nothing about it and went to work as usual. 

Many hours later, on the way home, I arrived at a darkened station with no-one in sight, but as I stood there wondering what was happening, a train pulled in to the platform, so I got on. 

In fact it was the first passenger train to get through in the whole day, so I had my own private carriage for the 40 minutes to Midland, even though it stopped conscientiously at all the intervening (and completely empty) stations.

I confess that I narrowly resisted the temptation to move to a different seat every 30 secs, or to swing my way along the hand rails, and contented myself with waving regally to the non-existent bystanders, a bit like this:

Everybody Needs a Cubby

I'm not sure how well the term translates outside Australia, so first let me explain that a cubby house can be any sort of fully enclosed, private play area for a child, usually involving make-believe games.

It can be as simple as a large cardboard box or an assortment of blankets draped over a table and chairs, although some parents buy astonishingly elaborate constructions which serve exactly the same purpose.

Unfortunately, as we grow older and more cynical, many simple pleasures lose their magic, and the humble (or even grandiose) cubby house usually stops being special.

I think that's a great shame.

A cubby provides you with a  private, safe and secure place in which to play, relax, plan, daydream, and spend time alone or with friends (real or imaginary). Doesn't that sound appealing?
In fact it is so appealing a concept that we have devised all sorts of more sophisticated substitutes.

• Some of us find physical seclusion in places like the "man cave", the study, the sewing room, the garden or the workshop.
• Others look for metaphysical seclusion through prayer, meditation, yoga, music, books or exercise.

I am lucky enough to have a mobile cubby. 

It was bought many years ago with the intention of taking joint holidays into remote areas, but after only a couple of such trips (although not because of them), my co-traveller became a less significant part of my life, and the idea of solitary camping was a bit daunting. However, last week on my birthday I decided to celebrate by undertaking a very non-adventurous (but therefore non-stressful) expedition ... to a coastal town less than an hour's drive away.

Feeling unjustifiably intrepid, I loaded the dogs and a very few supplies into the car and set off with my cubby in tow. To my immense personal satisfaction I managed the drive, the reversing into the caravan park site, and the setting up without too much difficulty, despite the wind and rain. Yes, of course it was wet and windy - we seasoned campers expect such tribulations.

After an afternoon dodging showers to walk along the beach (a rare pleasure for those of us who don't live near the sea), I prepared my birthday feast: fish 'n' chips 'n' champagne. The entertainment was provided by a UK crime show played on my laptop, the canvas proved entirely waterproof, and to put it simply, I was as happy as a clam.

Get a cubby, or if you already have one, whatever form it takes - use it.

It's good for the soul.

Slices of Life on the Midland Train

One of the cross-town passenger rail services in Perth runs from Midland, in the east, through the city to Fremantle, on the coast. It takes about an hour, with many stops, and along the way passes through suburbs covering a very wide range of socio-economic levels. In addition, the train itself sometimes serves as temporary accommodation for the disenfranchised, who somehow manage to avoid the ticket inspectors and stay on the train for many hours. Finally, in common with all public transport services, the train carries its fair share of the drunk, the drugged and the disturbed.

As a result of these factors, there is frequently something noteworthy to be seen or heard on a journey to or from work, and I have gathered a selection here. I have tried to maintain a non-judgemental tone, to avoid giving offence, but if I have failed in that, please accept my apologies.  Everything that follows is true and unembellished, and all happened in daylight hours in moderately crowded carriages.

1st Slice
A loudly drunk man (mid 30's) boarded the train, accompanied by two women of similar age, and 4 young children under 10. He proceeded to walk up and down the aisle near them, yelling obscenities and repeatedly threatening the women with the most disturbing physical and extreme sexual violence, all described in graphic detail. Upsetting though this was to watch and listen to, the passivity of the women and the complete disinterest of the children was even more shocking. Obviously the whole scene was very familiar to them, and the fact that it was happening in public did not seem to bother any of them.

2nd Slice
A teenage girl sitting opposite me was yapping loudly on her mobile phone about another friend of hers who had recently "lost her virginity" (I didn't even know that phrase still existed), and who had subsequently posted all the details of the occasion on Facebook. I instantly realised I needed more interesting (or at least indiscreet) Facebook friends.

3rd Slice

Two dishevelled men in their late 30's boarded the train and sat down together, obviously knowing each other, but not speaking. One of them had the wild-eyed appearance of someone suffering from a mental disorder or substance abuse, and he had a zipped-up sports bag which he placed carefully between his feet. In common with most regular train users, I try to avoid eye contact with anyone looking a bit "disturbed", but when he unzipped the bag a few inches and a small dog stuck its nose out, I must have looked a bit surprised, because he leaned over to talk to me. He told me that everything he owned was in the bag, and the dog was his constant companion. He was usually homeless, unless his friend (the fellow next to him) happened to be living somewhere with enough room for him. He could not stay in any of the city's homeless shelters because they didn't allow dogs, and he could not leave her. Fascinated despite myself, I asked how old the dog was, and how she coped with life in a bag. He said he'd found her on the street several years ago, and she didn't seem to mind being zipped up in the bag for most of the day. Certainly she looked to be in no distress, gazing about her with interest for a few minutes and then quietly withdrawing into the bag again. I can't imagine what their life is like, but I guess at least they have each other.

4th Slice
Sitting opposite me was a mid-20s man with a toddler. He chatted amiably to a younger man next to me, comparing notes on various prisons they'd recently been in. Both of them had 2 young children, all under 5, and they agreed that's the worst thing about getting caught. (!!) The fellow opposite was taking his daughter to visit an uncle who was dying in hospital after hanging himself the previous day - "they're deciding whether or not to pull the plug".

5th Slice
Simultaneously confronting sights: an approximately 6 months pregnant woman who smelt strongly of alcohol (mid-afternoon) and had her cigarette lighter ready to light up as soon as she got off the train, and a 20ish man in an electric wheelchair, with extremely stunted arms and legs. He managed fine, but after sitting next to the expectant "mother" for 30 minutes, I felt so sad that he had done nothing to contribute to his condition, whereas ...

6th Slice

Midland Train Station

A sad and ugly scene at Midland train station. Following the aggressive robbery of an elderly passenger on the platform, the young offender was pursued by two policemen. The police finally caught the boy, but it was very disturbing to see many people yelling encouragement to the boy and very crude abuse at the police. Obviously, none of these onlookers spared a thought for the bruised, frightened and badly shaken victim.

7th Slice brings a smile
Something you don't often see on the train: a middle-aged man in tight lycra bike shorts (eww) with a racing bike ... and carrying an electric guitar. Good for him!

And finally, a crumb of comfort to reassure me that all is not lost
After an hour on the train, I arrived at my destination to find myself without my wallet, which meant I had left it on Midland station. From the above accounts you can guess how sure I was that by this time my credit card would have been put to excellent use. But no, someone getting off the train I boarded had noticed the purse and handed it in to the station guard, all intact. They did not leave their name, but I thanked them through the local paper, and the episode still gives me comfort every time I witness something distressing on the train. There are many good people.

Hacking hacks under attack

It is almost shamefully satisfying to watch the unravelling of a tabloid empire whose "journalists" and "news"papers have intruded so relentlessly into other people's lives. The fact that in many cases this intrusion was not only amoral but also (we now learn) completely illegal is more than justification for the finger-pointing and name-calling currently taking place around the world.

But the apparent involvement of top level Scotland Yard policemen and politicians is less risible and more depressing, because their job is to uphold the law and protect the rights of individuals, whereas we all accept (however reluctantly) that tabloid hacks are unscrupulous when it comes to getting a scoop. The flood of denials continues, even as those who stoutly reject the very idea of involvement one day are rushing to fall on their swords the next. It's become a ghoulish guessing game, wondering who'll be next.

Conspiracy theorists are having a field day, of course, especially with the as-yet unexplained death of one of the first whistleblowers. Even without the sensationalist conjecture, what faith can we place in an investigation by a police service whose own reputation has been severely tarnished by the revelations which he set in motion?

Let us sincerely hope that when the dust finally settles, all those who should be brought to account have been exposed and suitably dealt with. It would also be satisfying if all those whose tragedies were made worse by the actions of the greedy and unprincipled receive something a little more tangible than a PR-spun apology from one of the world's richest men.
If not, I think many of us will be seriously hacked off!

Anonymousey

There have always been people who feel that the hard-won right to Freedom of Speech entitles them to be as insulting or hurtful towards others as they like. Sometimes they are sufficiently proud of their "candour" that they are happy for their identities to be known, but the more craven or cautious among them have always hidden behind anonymity.

In previous times, the anonymous "poison pen" letter was used to attack, frighten or villify someone, and was usually rude, insulting, or downright malicious about a person's life or character.
In the case of my own thoughts and opinions as expressed in this blog, one of the posts which has attracted the strongest response (as I expected it would) is "DMOZ Editor Corruption Shock". However, that post is now almost two years old, and has been updated twice since then (in August 2009 and July 2010), but I continue to receive nasty comments on the original post, obviously by people who have not noticed that it is now rather dated.

I do not censor sensible comments, even if I disagree with their content, or even if the writer wishes to hide his/her identity. But in my view (and it is my blog, after all) I don't see any value to anyone in publishing anonymous rants which are usually pointless and frequently illiterate.

Of course I have experienced my share of hurtful criticism in several areas of my life, some of which was undoubtedly justified, but I absolutely refuse to take seriously the accusations and criticisms of

• those who abuse a position of authority to belittle people "beneath" them
• bullies of any type 
• those who are purely self-interested (ie with their own unacknowledged and unrelated agenda)
• those who have shown themselves to be deceitful or manipulative
• ... and certainly those who send anonymous "hate mail" or blind criticism  

So, Mr/Ms "Anonymous", if you wish me to take note of your emails or publish your comments, please ensure they indicate some thought on your part, are relevant to the issue in question, contain at least one original opinion or observation, and are written with some semblance of grammar and syntax, rather than being just a string of miss-spelled invective.
If you can't manage that, save yourself the time.

'Tis the Season To Be ...

Forgiving towards those who cause us distress, pain, and hardship. Let's assume that they did so through ignorance, inattention, or misunderstanding, rather than from malice, greed or envy.

Generous towards those whose lives would be improved by some small effort on our part. Give unwanted presents and other items to a charity, sell them and donate the money, share your good fortune by regular contributions throughout the year, or become a volunteer for a worthwhile cause.

Understanding of the foibles, fears, hang-ups and other "issues" that affect everyone, and which sometimes result in actions and reactions which are inexplicable or inappropriate.

Gracious towards those whose talents, skills, fortunes or relationships seem better than ours.
Resolute in the face of misfortune, injustice, and other calamities not of our making. Not being responsible for causing a situation doesn't mean we can't be responsible for fixing it.

Honest about our mistakes and errors of judgement. Trying to cover it up or, worse, shifting the blame to someone else is often tempting, but always makes the situation worse in the end, and adds to our own burden of guilt.

Patient with those who seem to be "wasting" our time. Rather than getting irritated and frustrated, let's assume that they are trying their best, or that they have other things on their minds.

Optimistic that the above virtues can be sustained just a little longer than they were last year. Perhaps even into the second week of January?

Realistic about success in this and all other endeavours. All we can do is our best with what we have.

Above all, let us be kind to ourselves and others, regardless of achievements, and certainly despite a lack of them.

Happy New Year everyone.

Forebears and Bugbears

Ancestors
Having grown up knowing almost nothing about my extended family, due to the disinterest of my parents in their relatives, it has been a great surprise for me to suddenly develop a passion for genealogy. Unfortunately I have left my investigation rather late, because most people from even my parents' generation have died, but thanks to the intrusive internet it is possible to unearth the sorts of facts previously found only in family stories or possibly the Family Bible.
Disappointingly, I have not yet discovered anyone particularly newsworthy or infamous among the 750 or so leaves of the family tree I have so far identified, but the exercise has given me several points to ponder:

• The general expectation of a young woman in the 19th century must have been that she would bear 10 or more children, usually at intervals of a year or two. 
• She would expect several of her children to die at birth or in infancy, and that she herself would probably die before she was middle-aged, most likely from infection, often as a result of pregnancy or childbirth.
• Young men would expect to leave home in their mid-teens and then to spend almost all of their time working, often away from home. They usually married young, and began almost immediately to produce as large a family as possible.
• It was very common for one parent to die while some of the children were still very young, and the remaining parent usually married again, often starting another family.
• Any parent who managed to survive into old age always went to live with one of their children, usually an unmarried one.
• Hardly anyone got divorced (although there is no reason to suppose that marriages were generally any happier or unhappier then than they are now).
• Young orphans were far more common than today, leading to more formal or informal adoptions.
• Families sailing from the UK to Australia not infrequently lost or gained a child during the voyage.

None of these are fresh or insightful observations, but the point is that these people were my family. They are not characters in a novel or part of a sociological treatise on "19th Century Life in the Colonies". My own (extremely unusual) middle name pops up at least once in each generation, tying me firmly to these women whose lives were unimaginably different from my own.

So one question is foremost in my mind as I unravel these histories ... "Could I have coped with lives like theirs?" Of course that is impossible to answer and therefore pointless to ask, but nevertheless I feel ashamed to say that I doubt it very much indeed.

Incensors

(as in "things which incense me", not "things for waving incense about")

I am implacable about fairness, and this frequently gets me into trouble. My friends charitably call this behaviour "standing up for what is right" or "speaking out against injustice and deceit".

Just as accurately, my critics label me as a "troublemaker", 

or to use a more vivid expression, a "shit-stirrer".

Keeping out of trouble, avoiding confrontation, minding my own business, not fighting other peoples' battles for them, letting things be, remembering my (inferior) position, sticking to battles I can win ... these are lessons I seem to be unable to learn.

Most people very sensibly prefer a quiet life, and try to avoid situations which will cause them distress. Of course that doesn't mean that they are any less fervent about injustice than people like me - they just have a more self-protective way of dealing with it. And if someone else seems not just willing but actually eager to go into battle on their behalf, why not let them?

I have previously described two of my futile battles this year, but no sooner had those wounds healed than I was hurling myself pointlessly back into the fray. The same two "Goliaths" continued to raise my ire throughout the year by persisting in their shabby treatment of students and volunteers respectively, so after a very short period of meekly acknowledging those in "authority", I resumed my doomed campaign on behalf of those they treated with such disrespect. 

Of course the natural reaction of anyone to a persistently annoying pest is to swat it, which is precisely what happened (again).  

Will I ever learn not to keep trying? 

Probably not.

Beastly Backstabbing

There are few blows more shocking and painful than the betrayal of a "friend".
Being lied to by someone you trust is one of the most lasting and hurtful of all experiences.

It not only demonstrates one's own poor judgement, but highlights the widespread dishonesty and self-interest that we so often try to overlook.

Today I spent a happy hour or so chatting easily to an old friend, enjoying our shared interests and generally finding pleasure in each other's company.

Or so I thought.

How galling,

how humiliating,
how absolutely infuriating to discover just a few hours later that the conversation was a complete pretence.

This so-called friend had carefully refrained from mentioning a recent promotion that meant my "friendship" was now nothing more than a chance to gather information to my disadvantage.

What a despicable trick.

The deception is all the more distressing because of the years of friendship and trust that were so rapidly and carelessly discarded in the cause of self-glorification.



Loyalty? Honesty?


What a naive fool I am to assume these things are as important to others as they are to me.

Down with FUD! (2)

As I posted a couple of years ago, this is a useful acronym, usually taken to represent "Fear, Uncertainty, and Doubt".

It is a sneaky but very effective way of undermining or discrediting others, and to quote from my earlier post,

• In marketing or politics, the advantages of changing the direction of someone's loyalties are obvious ...
• In other areas of life it can be used in a more subtle way, by gradually isolating someone from former associates ...
• Sometimes it may achieve nothing more than intellectual satisfaction, or a sense of having influence.

Having seen this technique used to great effect in recent months, in both work and hobby situations, I can now pass on what I have learned. It won't help me, of course, but it may allow others to see what is coming.

FUD Primer

1. Gain a position of authority.
It can be as spurious as you like, but must allow you to humiliate and/or harrass those "beneath" you, without fear of censure.

2. Find a suitable target (or targets, if you have plenty of experience)
Desirable characteristics are an eagerness to contribute, a strong work ethic, and high levels of energy. Such people are easily ridiculed as "needy" - which starts the undermining process.

3. Fear is the Key
Start by demonstrating your "power" in as many subtle ways as you can manage. Ideally, these should be directed at your target in such a way that they completely understand that you hold all the cards.

4. Introduce Uncertainty
Once you have made your target sufficiently apprehensive, you and your colleagues can bombard them with contradictory instructions. If you have made them anxious enough, this will create the pleasing effect of complete confusion, as they will not know which way to jump without landing in trouble. Your work is nearly done.

5. Doubt and Despair
Your victim will be unable to juggle all the conflicting information they receive, and they will inevitably drop one of the balls. This is your cue to act in a suitably decisive manner, humiliating the target in a way that serves as a warning to others.

6. Follow through
It is essential to maintain complete solidarity with your colleagues after such a campaign, in case of tiresome repercussions or even a challenge to your authority. Such insubordination can usually be overcome by subtle harassment and warnings about further punitive actions.

Anti-FUD Tactics

1. Be Brave
Remember what your mother told you about sticks and stones? This stuff hurts, but it does not actually injure you.

2. Retain Your Values
Nobody can take these away from you. These people can ridicule and criticise as much as they like, but only you can revise your ideals.

3. Use Humour
A sense of humour is rare among those who rely on FUD to achieve their goals or justify their positions, so this can be a powerful defence. It could well be seen as insubordination, and punished as such, but a cheery smile can be an unnerving response, and it will make you feel better.

4. Learn to Cope

Remember:

nil desperandum illegitimi carborundum

Life is Like a Pickle Jar

An uncharacteristically short post today, and possibly a little corny, but I'll put two cartoons at the end to make it worth your while stopping by.

I've had a pretty rough couple of months, one way and another, with my health, enthusiasm, self-worth and energy taking a beating in a number of areas in my life, all at the same time. So when this parable was related to me by a colleague who has experienced more than his own share of setbacks, it certainly struck a chord. Apparently it is known as "The Pickle Jar Theory of Time Management", but I think it has a wider application in terms of keeping balance in life, and "not sweating the small stuff" (another useful cliche).

Here's how it was explained to me:

A teacher places a large empty pickle jar on his desk at the front of the class, and puts in as many rocks as he can.

He asks the class if the jar is full, and of course they reply that it is.

He then picks up several handfuls of pebbles and adds as many as he can to the jar. The class again agrees that the jar is now full.

Next, he pours in some sand. Quite a lot of sand, in fact, until it reaches the top of the jar. "Is it full now?" "Yes!!"

But no, because he picks up a big jug of water and proceeds to empty it into the jar.

I'm sure you get the point: make room for the big things in life first (health, happiness, family, friends etc). Less important things will just have to fit around them, and if there ends up being enough room for some of the really unimportant stuff, fair enough.

But if you start with the sand, there simply won't be room for all those rocks.

And now those cartoons I promised, either or both of which may or may not apply to me.

Leadership, Loutism or Blatant Bullying? (2)

When I discussed this issue 3 months ago, I was speaking more or less in the abstract, because it is a subject about which I feel very strongly, and a behaviour I witness far too frequently, in all its many forms.

However, since writing that post, I have unexpectedly found myself in the position of victim, whereas I have always considered myself strong enough to withstand and even expose this sort of unacceptable behaviour.

But as I wrote:

In such situations we all have a responsibility to stand up to bullies and those who similarly misuse their authority. If someone stands alone they are likely to be harassed, ridiculed, or even dismissed from the organisation.

Unfortunately I seem to have an unerring instinct for undertaking battles I can't possibly win, usually on behalf of people less foolhardy than myself. In popular mythology it is frequently possible to defeat overwhelming odds, but the reality is more prosaic, and Goliath usually wins.

Nobody likes to lose - it is always unpleasant and frequently humiliating, but when the winner is a bully and a person in authority, there is a shameful tendency for them to continue kicking the person who is down, knowing there is nobody who can stop them. It's hard to believe that they derive any pleasure or satisfaction from this (although anything is possible), so this post-victory intimidation is presumably in order to make it even more clear to everyone that any similar opposition would be very ill-advised, and the consequences deeply unpleasant.

Unfortunately for me, such a reprehensible misuse of power makes me even more determined to fight back, even if Resistance is Futile.

ODP/DMOZ and NDU: Goliaths 2, David 0

In common with other conscientious people, I always try to fulfil my responsibilities to the people I serve. The trouble is that these people are almost never the ones who have been put in charge. This leads to constant battles with "management" as I try to represent the interests of the people I believe I actually work for.

In the case of the Open Directory Project, my efforts have always been for the benefit of fellow volunteer editors and the average web surfer, and at Notre Dame University, my sole motivation is to provide the medical students with the best education possible.

Unfortunately these goals, simple though the y are, frequently run aground on the treacherous sandbanks of bureaucracy and self-interest which characterise the management of most large organisations.

This has happened twice in the last 2 weeks, and in both cases I have had to concede defeat ... for now. I have been variously ignored, ridiculed, and (in the case of ODP/DMOZ) comprehensively stomped on for my impertinence in insisting that those in management positions actually, you know, do something useful to help their organisations.

Unfortunately, when my wounds have healed, I will no doubt take up the battle again, because I simply cannot accept that people with so little respect or consideration for those "beneath" them are entitled to the benefits and privileges of their positions, without being called to account.

One closing comment: while it is heartening to receive a lot of private support from friends and colleagues who have similar concerns about mismanagement, it is somewhat disheartening that they are not prepared to speak up.

That hurts a bit, but it's completely understandable, of course, when they can see the consequences of doing so!

However, I hereby publicly salute two of those friends and colleagues who were bravely conscientious enough to make a stand.

Jim and Keith, you have long been heroes of mine for your aptitude, dedication, honesty and steadfastness.

In these opinions, if no others, I was absolutely correct.

Selective Listening: A DMOZ case study

Why are those most in need of constructive advice the least likely to listen to it? [Rhetorical]

This phenomenon is not confined to DMOZ management, of course (although that is a great place to start). The same principle applies to any situation where someone's high opinion of themselves exceeds their capabilities.

The Open Directory Project has recently been granted the dubious benefit of a third group of volunteer administrators (NB that page is seriously outdated, by many years!), the first and second groups having mostly mysteriously disappeared.

Due to self-imposed (and self-protective) restrictions, I am unaware of the details of these new promotions, and of the reactions of the volunteer community, but I can guess. The appointments are likely to be as inexplicable and idiosyncratic as previously, with scant regard for the needs and concerns of those volunteers who do the actual work.

This is particularly unfortunate for those landed with the role, as they almost certainly believe they can effect the necessary changes.

Sadly, this is patently impossible, but we do wish them well.

Seriously.

It is needed.

Leadership, Loutism or Blatant Bullying?

Leadership: inspiring others in "the accomplishment of a common task"

Loutism: acting like a lout - "awkward, stupid, and boorish"

Bullying: being "habitually overbearing and intimidating"

It is a short step from loutism to bullying, because both groups have no respect at all for others, and a very high sense of their own importance. The lout acts in a selfish, non-personal way (like yelling obscenities or spraying graffiti), but I have a particular disdain for people who feel the need to boost their self-image through the repeated use of threats and intimidation against other individuals.

However, when such tactics are used by those already in positions of authority it is not only unacceptable but a complete misuse of their position, and brings the whole management/leadership process into disrepute.

• Surely the fact that they have "power" over others would be enough to satisfy their need to feel more important and influential? Why on earth would they need to threaten and belittle their subordinates?
• Their role is to manage, lead, direct, encourage, or otherwise exert their authority for the benefit of the organisation or community.
• If there is a need for discipline, they are expected to carry this out in a firm but respectful manner, and only in the interests of the community or organisation as a whole.
• Personal piques and prejudices are completely unacceptable reasons for unfair treatment of those "below" them.

Such behaviour is seen everywhere of course, with petty-minded, disturbed or ignorant people being ill-advisedly placed in positions of authority, where lack of supervision and monitoring allows them to indulge their greed for power over others. Prisons, detention centres, police forces, armies, schools, business corporations, nursing homes ... the scope for such people is depressingly wide.

All civilised people deplore such behaviour, of course, but most of us see it every day without doing anything about it. Sometimes a bullying culture is so ingrained that it is seen as normal, or perhaps even justified, as in the case of prisons, the army or even big business. It is much harder to excuse the situation in schools, hospitals, and other organisations where the primary goal is not punishment, discipline or profit.

In such situations we all have a responsibility to stand up to bullies and those who similarly misuse their authority. If someone stands alone they are likely to be harassed, ridiculed, or even dismissed from the organisation. Not an appealing prospect for even the bravest souls. But if everyone makes it clear that those in charge are expected to behave in a fair and respectful manner, without resorting to personal attacks, threats and intimidation, then there is a far better chance that message will get through.

Remember: bullies are simply insecure cowards who lack the talents and personality to succeed on their own, and therefore have to put others down in order to raise themselves up.

"A Gate by Any Other Name ..."

There's nothing new under the sun, apparently.

As a result of a news item today about the explosive-packed underwear of the would-be terrorist on the Christmas Day flight, I wondered how long it will be before someone comes up with a Silly Season name for the inevitable investigation into how he managed to avoid detection at two major airports.

Of course a front-runner would be "Undiegate", but I was disappointed to find that it's already been taken, back in 1997, when a New Zealand MP was publicly humiliated for spending $89 of taxpayer's money on a pair of boxer shorts for himself.

My next brainwave was "Budgiegate", in deference to the grand Australian tradition of referring to tight men's underpants as "budgiesmugglers".

But that's already been used as well, darn it, when a pet bird was smuggled into a high security prison in Ireland in 2007.

Looking at the picture of the terrorist underpants, it is easy to imagine the very localised effects of even a tiny explosion, so this opens up a new line of thought, such as "Knackergate" or "Castragate".

Perhaps we should simply return to the "Gate" which started this whole rather derivative naming trend. So this scandal could be "Watergate II", because of the obvious connection between the two, er, "Dicks".

Viva Volunteers!

Have you noticed that people who don't volunteer for things are very quick to criticise those who do?

I suppose it's driven (at least partly) by guilt, but it seems incredibly shallow to complain about someone who is doing something you are not willing to do yourself!

Not only are many people depressingly quick to criticise the efforts of volunteers, but it seems that some of them can't even grasp the concept. These people refuse to accept that someone might choose to give their time, effort, expertise or whatever, without expecting anything in return.

According to these cynics, nobody in their right minds would do something for nothing, and even if they can't find any evidence of payment, they simply refuse to believe there is none, and frequently accuse the volunteer of accepting "secret" payment for their services.

Regular readers might guess that I talking about the deluded individuals who stridently accuse volunteer DMOZ editors of accepting bribes, without ever providing any evidence, and certainly that is a classic example of this misguided behaviour.

However, I recently came up against a similar attitude in my local community, where an offer to create a website for a local arts and crafts group was met with suspicion and distrust. Having done the same thing for several years (absolutely free of charge) for our community learning centre, I was astonished to be suspected of ulterior motives, but apparently the whole idea of volunteering is simply foreign to them.

To all such people I recommend this wonderful photo.

Hint: think "gift horse".