Belief of Privilege

One belief I hold strongly and have held for as long as I can remember, is that I was born into a privileged society and should be aware of those who were not. This belief has developed through the years, beginning as a simple fact that I accepted and arriving at my current passion and involvement in politics and social organizations. Rhetoric has almost certainly played a role in my adoption of this belief, and has also been used by me in propelling this belief further.

This belief began when I was very little when my mother would read to my sister and I at night. Both my parents are very socially aware and, wishing to open my sister and my minds to as many different realities as possible, had a huge bookshelf of children’s stories and picture books from all over the world. While the stories contained the same types of things children are interested in, they often covered more mature concepts such as hunger, racism, patriarchal vs matriarchal societies, inequality, and struggling for survival.

I have also attended a Quaker Meeting for Worship for my entire life. The members of this faith group are very social justice and peace oriented; the songs we sung during worship and stories we read during “children’s meeting” deeply reflected that.

The grade school I attended was a conservative Christian Reformed school with a limited world view. During the first few years, I thought nothing of the fact that everything we learned in class expanded no further than the borders of Ontario, with the exception of our Biblical studies on the Middle East, during which we learned that the nation of Israel “rightly belonged” to the Jews (a view I quickly demolished upon entering politics). As I entered Grade 7 and became more rebellious, I began thinking of ways to “be difficult” and stir up a fuss. As it happened, I simply had to acknowledge the beliefs I’d had since childhood and apply them to school. Suddenly I was scolding every poor kid in sight for their “ignorance," arguing with my teachers for only teaching their own Christian worlds, and spreading the wise words of Hinduism, Buddhism, and Islam all over the school (the latter of which was a poor idea, since it was a fairly right-wing Christian school). While these were years of admirable passion for social justice and raising awareness, they were not exactly well thought out or considerate of the people around me. I’m fairly certain they heaved a sigh of relief when I graduated.

I attended a Catholic high school that was very globally aware, offering many different action groups and sponsoring a variety of speakers. It was during my high school experience that I went through two important experiences with regards to this belief: I developed a strong sense of guilt from the knowledge that I was born into a privileged society without having done anything to deserve it, and then I also decided that the only solution to that guilt was, and is, to dedicate my life working for justice in areas less privileged than that which I was born into. 

Finally, I lived in Thailand for eleven months with a native Thai family. While the family I lived with was clearly wealthy, being financially stable enough to sponsor an exchange student, simply travelling out the back door of their house allowed me to see firsthand the extreme differences between “the rich” and “the poor”. This experience changed all of my beliefs and social justice passions, that had formerly been just beliefs, into a reality that I saw right in from of me.

Rhetoric absolutely played a role in the initiation of this belief. While my parents never directly told me that we were wealthy compared to most of the world, or that I should become globally aware and passionate about the struggle for equality, the stories they chose to cover our bookshelves with were clearly intended to open our minds to other realities and the issue of inequality. The members of my Quaker group, being people I hold much respect for, also inevitably hoped to sway me into the path of justice and peace, which they eventually did. I don’t believe they did this in a manipulative way, but merely by voicing their own beliefs and perspectives, which coincided with mine.

The faculty at my high school also likely chose speakers with the intentions of inspiring the students to take action. The speakers used emotion and dramatic stories from their lives to inspire us to join their cause for social justice and equality. While I did not always join their cause directly, the knowledge that they and many others with similar stories exist was enough to help sway me in the direction I chose to lead my life.

While it is certainly true that I naturally have a strong passion for justice (being the middle child, there were quite a few instances where I fought for it, despite my so-called Quaker pacifism), many of the influential people in my life have the same passion and would be pleased to see me lead my life in that direction.

Organ Donation: Presumed Consent or Informed Consent?

The topic of consent with regards to organ donation is highly debated upon. Canada’s current policy regarding organ donation is one of informed consent, in which a citizen fills out a donor card in order to donate. Another option is presumed consent, in which a citizen is automatically considered as having given their consent to donate their organs, unless they inform the government that they do not. There are several factors that must be considered regarding a change in policy, and there have been many statements made against it. Some factors to be considered are the policy’s greater ease and efficiency in finding organ donors and it is already instated in many other countries. Some cases made against the policy are a reflection of religion as well as a concern for the taking of organs without consent of the patients loved ones.

The system of presumed consent is already in practice in over twenty European countries. Statistics show that these countries have a significantly higher organ donation rate than countries who use informed consent (Mulholland, 2012). As Canada has a reputation for peace and kindness, it is disappointing to discover it has one of the lowest organ donation rates in the world and hundreds of people die yearly while on waiting lists. This is damaging for Canada’s reputation. Were Canada to adopt this method of presumed consent as well, the amount of donations in Canada would inevitably rise.

More importantly, the implementation of a presumed consent system would be much easier and more efficient than the current system. Currently, 80% of Canadians support organ donation, yet only 20% sign up to be a donor (Busby, 2010). The act of initiating a presumed consent policy would remove the step of signing up. As most Canadians support organ donation yet have not taken time to sign up, this would cause a positive effect for most people. While there are still people who are opposed to organ donation, these people may choose not to donate as they please. Rather than supporting the small portion of the population who opposes donation of their organs, this policy proposes supporting the much greater portion of Canadians who want to donate their organs after death. There are also likely to be a significant amount of people who are undecided or have no opinion on the matter. In this case, their non-opinion would impact society in a much more positive way than if the current policy remains.

Religion is not an acceptable means to apply a policy on an entire population. Currently, a large reason for opposition to the presumed consent stems from religious causes. In one of Pope John Paul II’s speeches, he stated that organ donation must be a free act of donation and a presumed consent system would destroy that (Wang, 2013). A presumed consent policy, however, would not be obligatory. It cannot be understated that, even if this policy were enacted, one would still be able to opt out. As there would be no fee imposed for doing so, it would still be a donation if not opting out. Furthermore, different religions have many different views on the matter and there is no one policy that can satisfy all religions.

One concern is that a presumed consent policy will allow the repeat of an incident that occurred at Alder Hey Hospital from 1988 until 1996. The incident resulted in the unauthorized removal, retention, and disposal of children’s organs, particularly hearts (Wang, 2013). This created a fear that hospitals all over the world were storing children’s organs without parents’ consent and the informed consent policy seemed a solution; it would be strictly illegal for any part of a child to be reserved unless permission otherwise was given from the parent. However, in a policy of relaxed presumed consent, the parents of the child, and relatives of the deceased in any other case, would still be given final say over whether or not to donate the organs of their loved one(s). Especially for such a young age as a child, it would remain illegal for a doctor to remove the young child’s organs without the parents’ consent.

The most significant factor in deciding what form of organ consent is the understanding that organ donation determines whether someone survives or dies. As so many Canadians currently support organ donation yet are not signed up, they are all potential donors who could saves lives. However, they will not be because they have not taken the time to sign up and our government is not doing it for them. The current policy allows hundreds of people to die who could be saved by a simple change in policy that would have no effect on most people. This is the primary reason why a presumed consent system would be of much greater benefit than our current system.

Due to these reasons, a change from informed consent to presumed consent in Canada would have a strong, positive impact. It is already practiced in many nations, is much easier and more efficient than our current system, many oppositions can be easily resolved, and, more importantly, it would prevent countless unnecessary deaths. As one may easily decide not to donate their organs while under the presumed consent policy, it does not deny a person their right to choose what happens to their remains after death. Unless we enforce this policy and a surprise setback occurs, there is no reliable reason why this could not work.

References:

Busby, C. (2010, October 16). How a simple policy change could increase organ donation. Toronto Star. Retrieved January 17, 2014, from http://www.thestar.com/opinion/editorialopinion/2010/10/16/how_a_simple_policy_change_could_increase_organ_donation.html 

Mulholland, A. (2012, May 25). Should all Canadians be automatically considered organ donors?  InCTV News. Retrieved January 17, 2014, from http://www.ctvnews.ca/should-all-canadians-be-automatically-considered-organ-donors-1.831544

Wang, S. (2013, July 4). The ethics and implications of ‘presumed consent’ organ ‘donation’ in Wales. In Bridges and Tangents. Retrieved January 17, 2014, from http://bridgesandtangents.wordpress.com/2013/07/04/the-ethics-and-implications-of-presumed-consent-organ-donation-in-wales/

The Story that Made Me Famous

When I was younger, I loved to write stories; hand-writing stories as soon as I learned the alphabet, typing the stories before we actually took any typing classes in school. However, in Grade 3, when I was eight, my first ever "official story" (aka one that I actually finished; still one of few today) was made and called I Went to Calamuzzu. Since it was written in my "Creative Writing" notebook in school, my teacher saw it, who then gave it to the principal, who then read it to the class and created a certificate for me, which then gave me a reputation across the school as "the writer". After this, I wrote more; some just for the class, some published some in The Link (our school's "special" newspaper?), some for my family, and many more just stored on our home computer. In Grade 5, I would stay at school after hours to write on the computer program Storybook Weaver and get rides home with Mr. Huls, one of my favourite teachers who always told me he'd buy my first hard-cover novel one day. In Grade 6, I wrote a page-long essay on why hockey should not be considered a sport and posted it around the school, which caused bit of a frenzy among the many hockey-obsessed students. In Grade 7, Miss Bechtel (a wonderfully talented teacher who I still have so much respect for) asked me to write a story for the Thanksgiving Assembly, which she helped me to do. My story-writing slipped massively once I reached high school, but recently I've been writing again. I've also inherited the family computer since we acquired a new one (10 years later; well done, family) and was able to go through all these old stories. I thought it might be interesting to post that first major story from Grade 3 that triggered my entire story writing "persona".

It's so weird; I love it.

I Went to Calamuzzu

          I went through a wardrobe to a city. The sign said "Welcome to Calamuzzu". The next sign said "Hippity Hop Circus" and underneath that in smaller letters it said "Apple Valley St.". I turned around to go back the way I had come. I was going to get the others, but the wardrobe was gone. How could I get back? I started down the street to find Apple Valley St. When I found the street, I saw everything was covered in snow. As I walked, I started to freeze. I found nothing but snow. I began to cry. I couldn't bear the snow any longer. I was going to die. I made a little bed of snow, took off my sweatshirt, then laid my scissors on my pants and cut them so I had shorts on. At last, I laid down on my bed of snow and waited for me to die.

          "Get up, you might get frost bite. Snow doesn't keep you warm, you know," I heard someone say.

          "I know that," I answered.

          "Then come on," the lady said, "We ought to get you bundled up into some warm clothes, don't you thing?"

          "Yeah," I answered.

          The lady was wearing blackish, bluish, greenish, turquoise pants with a greenish coat, and a headband in her blond hair. "Oh yes, and my name is Kemp. Katy Kemp,"  she said.

          "Oh, mine's Anneke, but people call me Anni," I answered.

          "Last name? I'm sure it wouldn't be Anni," she said impatiently.

          "Oh. Narnia," I answered.

          "Anni Narnia? Something is peculiar about you," she said rudely.

          "Like what?" I asked.

          "Your last name," she answered.

          "So?" I asked.

          "So - just look up at the sign," she answered sarcastically.

          The sign said "Welcome to Narnia."

          "So who cares if I have the same name as the town?" I asked, "And besides, I thought this was Calamuzzu?"

          "Well, it was, but it's not anymore. Well... you see, um, well, that, you see, that was the last town, kind of," she stammered.

          "Uh huh, and why does it matter?" I asked.

          "Oh, just because, and you're asking too many questions. Now you've lost the answer for this one," she muttered.

          "Whatever," I thought.

          We started going home (wherever that is). Now I thought my life really was based on the book of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. A magic wardrobe, snow and everything, a wicked witch (or at least she seemed really mean) Weirdest of all, the town's name was Narnia. How weird is that? When we got there, Katy got to the door and when she opened it, all I could see were children. There were children everywhere.

          "Now, we mustn't waste any time. There's too many children," Katy said.

          "For what?" I asked.

          "Their names," she answered.

          "Oh, but there's so many kids, Katy," I begged.

          "No buts - and call me Mrs. Kemp. Now the kids on the left side are Kassy, Luis, Jen, Jennifer, Paul, Xavier, Lusy, Mary, Kami, Kam, and Lisa. Over here on the right is Lexi, Jon, Jamie, Stephen, Tyler, Candase, Morgan, Michelle, Polly, Reuben, Ruben, Kyle, Rachel, Jordan, Jessie, Courtney, Jason, Alexandra, Cody, Makayla, Crystal, Jade, Suzie, Rebecca, Hannah, Zachary, and Kyla. And over here on the west side is Darian, Kisha, Lila, Lily, Lia, Linsy, Loren, Tish, Lore, Carver, Tino, Freddy, and Luther. Now the kids on the north are Kate, Katy, Kelsey, Karmen, Marin, Megan, Leendert, Roger, Jeanette, Maria, Mandy, Kelly, and Nisa, and the kids on the kitchen table are all triplets with weird names that are Dotty,  Lotty, and Moxy. And the kids on the cabinet who are not supposed  to be up there are Tammy and Tommy. Guys, get down from there," said Mrs. Kemp.

          "Wow, there's about 60-something people in here," I said.

          "Yes, and you're the next one," she said.

          "No, I'm not. I never said that. So there. We're even and I got a little more proof than you," I declared as I ran out the door. She ran after me yelling, "Stop, stop. I'll catch you. Your last name is Kemp now, anyway."

          "Fat chance," I yelled. I ran all the way to Calamuzzu. And right into a door. When I found that I was going through a tunnel, I stopped.

          "Get in here quickly.... she's coming," a voice boomed. I ran faster by the thought of her catching up. When I finally saw something, it was weird. It was a huge opening in the tunnel and there was an old man.

          "You coming or not?" he asked.

          "Yes," I answered.

          "Then come on," he said.

          I ran over. I saw a flying machine.

          "Come on, get in," he said. I ran in.

          "Where are we going?" I asked.

          "Are you kidding? We're goin' home," he answered.

          "Y-Y-Y-You mean you know me?" I asked.

          "Yup. I knew your grandma and grandpa pretty well in college. Now they were love bugs. Oh yeah, and I taught your dad," he said.

          "Oh, you get back here," yelled Mrs. Kemp, running and shooting fire bullets out of an evil wand.

          "Oh no," the old man said.

          "What?" I asked.

          "If that wand goes into the wrong hands, this machine can't run," he said.

          Just then, an evil bullet shot into the flying machine.

          "Ah-h-h-h-h," I yelled or screamed; I don't fully remember. Now back to the story. The machine split in two and he and I landed on our butts.

          "Stop. Stop. Why are you doing this? What do you want of us, you wicked Witch of the East," he said.

          "Oh, not so quickly," Mrs. Kemp said, "You think I am the Witch of the East, but I am the Witch of the North. Oh, yes and I will call Elda here. She's the Witch of the West. I know how you all fear her. And about why I'm here and who I want? I am here for a new member of my family and I want Anni. I would be surprised if you would want her. You're so clumsy, you can barely keep yourself alive," she snarled.

          He fainted.

          "He can so," I yelled.

          "Can not."

          "Can too."

          "Can not."

          "Can too."

          "Can not."

          "Can too."

          "Can no...." He voice got interrupted by a girl's voice.

          "Thop it, you meanie," the voice yelled. It sounded like a 5-year-old. Well that's because it was, except a 4-year-old, which is even worse.

          "Polly, what are you doing here?" asked Mrs Kemp.

          But before she could answer, I yelled, "Watch out, Polly, get over here. She's lifting her magic wand."

          "So?" asked Polly.

          "So?? If she shoots out bullets of fire and she's aiming at you, which she is, then....," I snapped my fingers "...you're dead."

          "Fine, then I'll get you first," snapped Mrs. Kemp.

          I ran behind the biggest rock in the cave. Polly ran after me.

          "Okay, on the count of thwee, we will wun out and thing 'I wuv you, you wuv me, we're a happy famawy, with a gwate big hug and a kiss fwum me to you, won't you say you wuv me too.' We'll let her know that we willy like her," said Polly.

          "No way. You do it," I said.

          It may have been a stupid song from Barney, but it was smart in a way. It would help make Mrs. Kemp go wacko, I thought.

          Just then, I saw two doors and one had the shape of a hand carved into it and inside the hand there was a silver button right where the palm would go. The hand was about Polly's size. I could still hear her singing "and a kiss fwum me to you. Won't..."

          I interrupted her and said, "Polly, come here."

          "Why?" she asked.

          "Just come here," I yelled.

          She ran over a bit frightened. "What are we doing?" she whispered.

          "Go put your hand in that one," I pointed at the door.

          "Why?" asked Polly.

          "Because I said so," I yelled.

           Quickly, she ran to the door with the hand on it. When she put her hand in the door, it opened. She walked in.

          "Mommy. Daddy," I heard her say.

          Then a bigger hand appeared. Mrs. Kemp ran to the door. The hand was the same size as hers so in she put her hand. She ran through a hallway. "What? A jail?" I heard her yell.

          I put my hand in the next one. Suddenly I saw coats. "The wardrobe," I yelled. I would have imagined even the old man heard me.

          I ran through the wardrobe and into the living room and saw my sister reading.

          "What you readin'?" I asked.

          "Chloe's Diaries," she answered.

          "Cool, what's it about?" I asked.

          "Here, I'll read the back to you. 'I have just gotten the popular guy in school to notice me, but he doesn't want to tell, but what good is it if nobody knows cause then I won't be popular.' There, that's what it says. Now, can you just leave me alone?" she asked.

         "Cool, can I read it?" I asked.

         "Uh... Anneke, you don't even read love stories," she said.

          I laughed out loud. "It's so fun getting you confused," I said as I walked out of the room. Oh yeah, and did I mention that was Amy? She's sixteen ad her boyfriend's name is David.

          "Anneke."

          Oh, that was Amy. I better stop talking about her. Now, let's go see Jacob. He's thirteen years old.

          "What are you reading?" I asked.

          "Night of the Flaming Sword," he answered.

          "What's it about?" I asked.

          "An evil man with a flaming sword. If a man gets touched by it, he's cast into the Dark Ages," Jacob answered.

          "What are the 'Dark Ages'?" I asked.

          "Medieval times," he answered.

          "Oh," I said. I walked out of the room. I walked into my mom's office and there was my meanest sister, Marije. She is eleven years old and in Grade Six. "Here it goes," I thought.

          "Hey, Marije," I said, "What are you doing in here? I thought Mom told you to scram."

          "Even if you bothered the others, I'm not gonna let you bother me. Now go," she yelled.

          I did. (Now my mother did not really say "scram", she said "go".) Now here's my twin, Ponnika.

          "Hey, Ponnika," I said.

          "Hey," she said.

          "What are you reading?" I asked.

          "Cool Barbie," she answered.

          It doesn't really say "Cool Barbie", it just says "Barbie", but she thinks Barbies are cool. I'm reading Lizzy McGuire. My youngest sibling, Gwen, is in preschool and she's 6.

          "So you're reading Winnie-The-Pooh and the Honey Tree?" I asked.

         "Ya," she answered.

          Last there's Marco. He's really 18 but he acts like a baby. We adopted him. I don't really think he deserves to be in a story-book.

          Well that's the end of my story.

          Good-bye.

THE END

And those are workings of my 8-year-old mind. Poor Marco :(

Anywho, the reason for posting this is because I'm hoping to do much more writing. My Great Grandma Falb passed away this past Fall and, while cleaning my room recently, I found all the Christmas/birthday cards she'd sent me over the years. In each one, all the way up until the last, she asked how my writing was going (which, since the last 5 years, has been pretty much nowhere). This primarily, along with a general desire to "get my creativity back" has triggered a massive guilt trip that I think is sufficient enough to start writing again.

Stories are being produced again :) I'm so happy about this.

Thanks for sharing my journey,

Anneke

Aftermath of Creepy Thai Guy, Brief Period of Misandry Combated with Feminism

Aftermath of Creepy Guy

Last May, I posted a story on my blog (Read it Here) that initiated a whirlwind of events. One post triggered the involvement of friends, family in Canada, family in Thailand, both Goderich and Lamphun Rotary clubs, both Central States and Northern Thailand Rotary districts, and my school counselors.

Most people and Canadian Rotarians were extremely helpful and sought only to solve the yet unresolved problem. When word reached my host family, my counselors translated the blog post to them and they did everything in their power to solve the situation; removing all contact with the creepy man, apologizing that the situation ever arose, and being much more critical of who I was to travel with. They're angels.

Thailand Rotary was not so wonderful, but due to my high level of respect for Rotary in general, it'll be left at that. I never saw that creepy man again until the final dinner party on the last night. So on that area of the Rotary's role, they did well and I thank them for that.
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Period of Misandry

It was supposed to end there and the potential of the experience having an after-effect never occurred to me. It's also not characteristic of me to acknowledge I have a problem; neither to myself nor others. Upon returning home, however, I was not in a "good place", even though I never admitted it to myself. Unfortunately, I developed a strong sense of misandry.

Here are some strong contributors to it:
- Strong reverse culture shock and resisting re-adaption (huge story; another day, another post).
- Strong disappointment, disagreement, and rocky relations with males in my immediate family.
- Feeling let down and abandoned by two closest male friends who I'd formerly spent the majority of time with.
- Resisting Canadian culture and people, resulting in too much time spent alone thinking about these things.
- The primary reason for this misandry though, occurred around mid-November to one of my closest and oldest friends. She was completely manipulated, drugged, and raped by two boys we'd both known in my small town of 3000.

....Um... WHAT?!?! Yeah. It was and is indescribably tragic, sick, and awful. Her ability to overcome that makes her one of the strongest women that I am so proud to know. For her respect and privacy's sake, that's all that will be said regarding that matter.

However, this primarily instigated the overall disappointment in the entire male gender. This is wrong and I do feel ashamed it affected me that way. It wasn't a true hatred, however; I've never been a hateful person at all. It was just raw disappointment and complete loss of faith in all men.

How did I overcome it? Men. Just as to overcome misogyny, one must be open and willing to talk and listen to women, misandry can also be solved by talking and listening to men outside of the ones causing the misandrous emotions. By allowing myself re-accept my own culture, I become more involved and was able to remember the kind, open-minded, genuine, and intelligent men I knew before as well as meet new ones from various places such as in our Quaker community, the political party I'm involved with, my extended family, some wonderful boys in my classes, neighbours, and others that I came in contact with again.

Most of these people likely had no idea of the effect they had. Most guys I know are wonderful people. There are clear misogynistic views out there, but most of them are a result of culture, which must change, and not the fault of the individual. So, certain Huron County guys out there, you "cured" me just by being genuinely good people. Thank you so much for that. Through you, it was possible to re-accept that the cruel actions of few men in no way reflect the mindset of everyone. This goes the same for women. Most people are "good"; I believed that before and now believe it again.
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Feminism

With respect for men restored, my passion for social justice issues took a focus on gender equality. Our culture does not have gender equality. There is a strong negative stigma attached to femininity that effects both men and women unjustly.

This negative stigma is why our culture calls men to be "manly", chivalrous, and tough, so as not to look "weak". Many of these "weak" characteristics are those characterized of women, such as compassion, sympathy, ability to show emotion, fear, or weakness, which men are taught they must not show.

This negative stigmas is a strong reason why....
- women's bodies are highly sexualized
- women can wear more traditional "men's clothes" and look pretty sexy in them,

but men wearing traditional "women's clothes" look slightly silly from a western perspective.

- many TV shows and movies display many different types of men dating women of one body type and similar personalities
- women rarely occupy political positions or high offices
- women's bodies are sexualized to sell products and used in background images
- there are male words such as "actor" and "hunter" which can also be used for women, but their female counterparts such as "actress" and "huntress" could never be used for a man.

This current system abuses men as well. It's a huge contributing factor as to why:
- homosexuality is seen as strange and unnatural
- men are required to be "manly" and strong
- it is more difficult for men to show emotional weakness than women
- there's the idea that men cannot be physically abused by women
- the idea exists that a man who has a respectful relationship with his partner can be seen as "whipped"

Feminism is the fight for equality. It contains the word "feminine" because it's a statement that the characterized "feminine" characteristics such as compassion, emotion, sympathy, and the ability to show weakness and fear are a normal and acceptable part of humanity. Feminism argues that both misogyny and misandry are equally wrong.

So when people criticize feminism for being misandric, then yes, it is quite frustrating. History is a massive story of masculinism. Even the name "his story" reveals that. A movement reminding the world that femininity is okay too, is for the benefit of both genders. Everyone has traits of both masculinity and femininity; it is not acceptable that one is more socially acceptable than the other.

*Should be noted that some of the later points about feminism were inspired by this video*