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crime

The ubiquity of abuse

June 23, 2019 by Poornima Manco

I was having coffee with a bunch of ladies I didn’t really know. A common hobby had brought us together and as we met (some, for the first time) and chatted and ordered coffee and cake, the conversation veered off course as it inevitably does when you put women together. This wasn’t a business luncheon, it was very much a ‘getting to know you’ do. Our common hobby had brought us together, but we wanted to know if there was something else, beyond that, which could connect us.

As we talked backgrounds, languages, cultures, careers, husbands and children, we delved into each other’s lives, hesitantly at first, and then boldly, asking forthright questions and receiving some compelling and often hilarious answers. A sisterhood was emerging right there in that little coffee shop.

Interestingly, because we were, in effect, strangers to one another, there was a frankness and a candour to our conversation. There was no previous baggage nor was there any judgement. Each one was free to divulge as much or as little as they wished. Which is perhaps why some shocking truths emerged.

I have thought long and hard about writing this blog post. Am I betraying these ladies’ confidences if I do? Is this a kind of treachery to the very sisterhood I espouse? Am I worthy of being a confidante if I am unable to zip my lip?

However, upon reflection, I decided that yes, I would indeed write about it. No names or details of the women in question will be revealed here. That is not the purpose of this post. The purpose is to highlight the vulnerability of young children and how, it is so important for us as adults – parents and carers, to be vigilant about any possible signs and symptoms of abuse.

70% of the ladies at that table had been subject to some kind of sexual abuse as children. This ranged from an elderly relative using his trustworthy position in the family to inappropriately touch a child, to older children molesting a young girl in their midst, to a cousin leveraging his way into his sister’s affections to try and rape her.

Where were the adults when all this happened? Oblivious, too trusting or incapable of translating the traumatised child’s words and actions as a symptom of their ordeal.

Following on the heels of the #MeToo movement, the awareness of society’s ability to use and discard vulnerable adults has emerged strongly into the forefront. Yet, child abuse is so much more rampant and ubiquitous than anyone of us could have imagined.

All of these women were educated, erudite professionals who had carved out amazing careers and on the outside looked as put together as anyone else. Yet, fragments of their abusive past still lingered, making them feel ‘less than’ and handicapped in ways that even they could not articulate. If our pasts are the foundations to our future, it must have been doubly hard to build their future on the quicksands of trauma, betrayal and abuse.

I have spoken freely about the kind of sexual harassment I encountered growing up in India. Thankfully, because my mother was a very forward thinking individual, she was particularly circumspect about the adults who had access to me as a child. I had been told time and again to tell her if anything inappropriate was said or done to me. I was amongst the lucky few.

How many others had to stay ‘schtum’ because of the joint families they were growing up in wouldn’t tolerate any rent in its fabric, even if the casualty was a child’s innocence? How many parents believed that shrouding the truth or simply disbelieving the child were the only ways forward? How many ‘uncles’ or manservants got away scot-free because the ‘good name’ of the family was far more important than offering the victim love, support, understanding and challenging the perpetrator’s dirty deeds?

Too many.

Which is why it is so important that we talk about childhood sexual abuse. Children have nothing to be ashamed of. They are completely innocent of any wrong doing. It is the sick and depraved adults who choose and groom their victims alongside their families, that need to be brought to task.

I hope there comes a day when that coffee table conversation will not be limited to the tales of abuse suffered by young children, but will go on to elaborate the punishment society accorded to the abuser, and the counselling that was offered to the child to overcome that early trauma. As things stand right now, most children have to find their own coping mechanisms and unlike my ladies, can and do, spiral into self destructive behaviours.

I am not naive enough to believe that we will eradicate child sexual abuse completely. Wherever there is a power imbalance, abuse will exist and thrive. Sadly, there will also always be individuals with a sexual predilection for children. A multi-pronged approach that includes awareness, education, therapy, counselling, stricter laws and most importantly, a gradual erosion of patriarchy, may bring about the much needed change that will protect our children and ensure a safer future for them.

 

 

Filed Under: 2019, abuse, behaviour, belief, Blog, caution, child, child abuse, childhood, children, communication, crime, culture, Damage, Education, empathy, environment, identity, indie writer, life, patriarchy, rights, safety, social constructs, therapy, Writer

The Call of a Siren

March 29, 2019 by Poornima Manco

Life is full of its wonders and pitfalls. As a young adult in your mid-20’s, you commence the real journey of your life’s procession. Some are fortunate and exit this decade without anything as much as a blemish. The more fortunate ones will exit with experiences to help protect them against the inevitable misfortunes of the future. The following is one such incident. The lesson learned from this fraction of my life, has served as my moral compass to this day.

As a young adult, having already completed four years of military service and self supported myself through four years of university study, I was inclined to think I knew most everything and all else was probably fallacy. Then, after graduating, I encountered some vulnerable years. During such times you can be prone to making decisions that could unwittingly alter the course of your life. One such incident follows.

Living in a major metropolitan city that flaunts all the trappings of success can leave an ambitious, struggling new graduate feeling ‘lesser than’, thus becoming easy prey to the temptations of fast money.

I received my university degree in Mass Communication/TV production. Shortly after graduating I managed to clench a coveted position in a major television studio as a stage manager for a weekly televised show. It was beguiling, fast-paced and professionally gratifying. However, it was also a position that garnered paltry wages.

While working on the job I was befriended a lovely young co-worker named Andrea. She worked in the Sales and Marketing department for the studio. She was a fusion of style and sophistication, married to talent and ambition. We had a mutual admiration and appreciated the unique quirks in each other.

In time, Andrea and I  became fast and furious friends. We shared the same sense of humour, were equally quick witted and could unleash sparkling repartee upon demand. I’d found my stride on the studio floor and Andrea was surpassing her sales goals. The future seemed favourable. Then… suddenly on a Friday afternoon, a company email was released announcing that our parent company was sold and most positions in the company would be eliminated. Andrea and I would be unemployed soon. We were summarily introduced to the cruel reality of corporate downsizing.

The few remaining weeks were were punctuated with commiseration and angst. Personally I wondered if I would find another job like this, having had such little experience and no contacts in the industry to call upon? Would I be able to maintain my apartment? And what of our fledgling friendship?

Just before our last week with the company Andrea told me she had a proposition to make some quick, easy money. She assured me there would be little or no risk as she had already accomplished the act twice before. To have any details revealed I first had to agree to become the third person in this scheme. I said Ok, count me in and the plan was revealed.

Andrea had a friend named Lynn. They had become very good friends while attending university. They shared similar social backgrounds and both had fathers who were prominent local politicians in their respective cities. Lynn had a middle management job in the wire transfer operations of a bank on the opposite coast. Andrea confided that she had made eight thousand dollars very easily with Lynn’s help. So, “Are you interested in making an extra few thousand dollars with me?” This sounded alluring and rewarding.

I was blinded to the obvious. I was a kid raised in a very traditional, moral, religious family. Never in trouble, not even a traffic ticket; served in the military, supported myself through university but I was blinded to the obvious. As Odysseus, I succumbed to the siren call of my own Calypso and said, “Yes…” and in an instant any obvious criminal implications were obliterated by the prospect of making a few thousand dollars.

The plan would be initiated by Lynn who would issue four bank money orders amounting to seven thousand dollars and then send them via the post to Andrea. Lynn was able to reconcile her sections figures to conceal any amount she decided to take (when I now consider all of the federal crime implications involved, it’s almost paralysing!). Andrea would cash the bank cheques and distribute the proceeds. I was young, vulnerable, too trusting – all for the possibility of a financial windfall. Whenever I began to waver, Andrea would reassure me that everything would proceed seamlessly. She had already accomplished the same deed two weeks prior without any snafus.

Within a few weeks the day arrived and our plan was put into action. Andrea and I were to rendezvous at a cheque cashing office she’d  previously used. She had in her possession five cheques (two for 3 thousand dollars and three for 1 thousand) which she would cash-out over a one week period. I simply had to accompany her to the cheque cashing store and pose as a lookout to get paid. Seemed easy enough. In reality, I was aiding and abetting, amongst other things.

We arrived at the place, trying to look as nonchalant and inconspicuous as possible. Andrea was, as per usual, Vogue chic and even had the movie star dark glasses. I wore a crisp white shirt paired with Levi jeans and a dress jacket. Our amateur attempt to go casually unnoticed… in one of the poorest parts of city! We were certainly not seasoned grifters.

Andrea entered the store alone and I followed soon thereafter. I was situated close to the door, acting as the lookout while waiting for her to conclude the day’s transaction. When she was about sixth in line I experienced an intuition akin to a wobble or a flutter in time. Even though all was serene inside the room, I instinctively felt something was slightly amiss.

By now my senses were highly acute. I thought I could hear a faint buzz of a distant helicopter, however this was a common sound at any given time in major metropolitan areas. I could feel those tentacles of dread and remorse coiling around my limbs. “What am I doing here?” It was at this point the sensation of mild panic began to rise and every one of my senses became more attuned. Then suddenly, the level of intensity rose to alarm. Every molecule in my body was screaming, “IT’S NOW OR NEVER… GET OUT NOW!!” But what to do about Andrea? I couldn’t simply abandon her… How could I warn Andrea without incriminating myself? And, of course, we had no established signal of “abort”!

I wanted to telepathically will Andrea to simply turn and look at my panicking eyes, but with her back to me, her concentration was solely on the act at hand. By now she’d made her way to the window and was initiating the transaction. What choice could I make? How strong was my fidelity to the siren call of Andrea? Could I save the both of us or just myself? All these thoughts and more, poured through my body like molten lead from an erupting volcano, while simultaneously the hovering sound of the helicopter grew closer and closer. I quietly stood up and without any further procrastination exited through that fateful door, thus abandoning Andrea to her fate.

Once outside, as hastily as possible, I had to create as much distance between myself and Andrea and the cheque cashing place. This was when my own harrowing ordeal began to take place. Countless scenarios careened through my mind. What were my options? I dared not run, as I knew for certain this would attract attention from the, by now overhead, hovering helicopter… and I was not going to wait outside whilst the situation unfolded inside… So I steeled myself and extinguished every temptation to panic. I walked away, as calmly as possible, from the building, resisting the temptation to look up at the hovering Medusa. I continued walking calmly towards my freedom.

As I was walking, it occurred to me, that the worker in the cheque cashing place had alerted the police and provided a description of the culprit. I immediately removed my jacket and shirt as I walked. I now wore my jeans and a t-shirt. Then, to my utter horror, I noticed two people walking directly towards me. They were two uniformed policemen dispatched to arrest us. I was in their direct path. Suspecting they already had a description of me, inwardly I became petrified with fear. As they approached me, I thought my my heart was going to explode. Any attempts of evasion would be to no avail. I deliberately walked towards them, all the while imagining  the pitiless grip of steel handcuffs clasping around my wrist. Inconceivably, as we brushed pass one another, I said “Hello” and they smiled and responded in kind. Then, with not so much as a second glance, they continued on their mission.

Now, I walked at a slightly more quickened pace, as I was desperate to put distance between myself and what could have been a horrendous fate. As I slipped around the corner, they entered the building and Andrea was apprehended.

I skulked into a back alley hiding amongst the rats and the rubbish of those giant green trash bins used by the shopping mall stores. All the while I was hearing the whirring of helicopter blades and the piercing blare of the police car sirens on the front side of the building. At that very moment I made a solemn oath to God and myself. I said  … “GOD, IF YOU INTERVENE AND FREE ME FROM THIS MAYHEM, I PROMISE I WILL NEVER EVER SUCCUMB TO THIS SIN AGAIN…”

I remained quivering there until the evening fell and the din of police noise had long dissipated. I eventually summoned the courage to venture out to the nearest public telephone and made the most succinctly urgent call of my life to my best friend. My words were simply this, “It’s me… please come and rescue me. I’m at Grand and Lincoln Street… I’ll explain later and bring a bottle of the strongest alcohol you can find.” He immediately sensed the severity of my situation. My saviour of a best friend was there in 10 minutes and ferried me to the refuge of my home.

As he sat before me in a state of stupefied amazement, I recounted the entire saga step by step. I still don’t know what astounded him more… the astonishing details of my misadventure or the alacrity with which I was consuming straight vodka directly from the bottle… lol. I sheltered in my apartment for five days. During this self-imposed incarceration, every minute of every hour I expected a visit from the police and thanked God when it didn’t come to pass. Eventually, I returned to my daily life. However, things turned out differently for Andrea and Lynn.

Lynn was dismissed from the bank and because the bank didn’t want to court such negative publicity, all charges of local and interstate felonies were dismissed. I had heard, following Andrea’s arrest, she was jailed for a short period of time and released on bail. There followed a court trial, she was found guilty, convicted and later exonerated due to her family’s political connections, and her father’s ability to afford the best attorney in the area. I still harbour a small but nagging sense of having betrayed her.  But, I never spoke with or saw Andrea again.

I wasn’t afforded such family connections or financial indulgences. If I had not listened to my instinct, and but for the grace of God, in all likelihood, I would have been jailed for a number of years and my life would have been forever adversely altered. In reality though, it is altered, as I became a finer, higher quality man.

As I reveal my secret saga, rivers of remorse, betrayal, incredulity wash over me. Why was I too afraid to call out to Andrea and offer her a last chance out? Why did I not see the obvious crimes and consequences associated with this action? Why did I chance my fate at the behest of someone I barely knew?

I am forever thankful that I survived this scandalous lapse of judgement. From that day onward, I believe, anything not generated through honesty, should be avoided at all cost.

My life now is better than I could have ever imagined. I have a wonderful occupation, possessions, homes, and the freedom to travel. All of this would have been inconceivable, had I succumbed to that one stupid and immature decision.

I urge you to Always follow that small voice inside of you that encourages you to never deviate from doing the right thing.

Live well and Love well. Thanks for reading…

XX

 

Because of the subject matter L.H. has chosen to remain anonymous, however, this is him in a nutshell: in late 40’s, in a relationship, starting a property developing business, and still living in a major metropolitan area.

Filed Under: 2019, acceptance, adventure, ambition, behaviour, Blog, career, caution, crime, experience, identity, inspirational, life, life lessons, outlook, punishment, scam

Lone Wolf

April 6, 2017 by Poornima Manco

So what makes them do it? What makes an ordinary, quiet, seemingly normal teenager fire an automatic at his school friends and teachers? What makes a man drive his car into innocent pedestrians on a sidewalk? What justification is there for these lone wolf attacks?

Wolves are pack animals, just as humans are by nature socialised beings. Lone wolves on the other hand, prefer their own company. They live and hunt on their own. They are outcasts by temperament, by circumstance and sometimes of their own volition.

Nearly always after another chilling attack, emerge the clues that led to it. A social misfit, a dysfunctional background, a lack of love, a propensity for violence, vulnerability to ideological brainwashing. Taken alone, each of these qualities may perhaps lead a person to a solitary existence, a criminal career or even a mental institution. Together, however, they become so much more dangerous.

Can we, as responsible citizens; parents, neighbours, co workers, pick up on any of these clues, and report them to the relevant authorities? Do we, as a society, have a duty towards these social outcasts? Is it possible in any way to intervene and diffuse a potentially fatal situation from developing?

These are amongst the many questions that lie at the heart of the modern dilemma of home grown attackers. Are killers born or made? Are terrorists just victims of circumstance and conditioning?

Reflection and responsibility. Two things that might lead us to answers. Uncomfortable truths of the part we play in marginalising these peripheral pariahs, whose only moments of recognition and glory lie in death, terror and destruction.

Then, and only then, will we vanquish this multi headed Hydra.

Filed Under: anxiety, attack, belief, Blog, crime, Death, discrimination, displacement, jealousy, loneliness, politics, radical, terrorism, violence

The mood in Delhi

December 16, 2014 by Poornima Manco

This is another short piece I had written a few years ago. Strangely I think it still holds true.

The Mood in Delhi

Delhi, as I knew it, has changed so much in the two decades that I have been away. Yet it never fails to astound me every time I return. This time is no different.

I am a tad worried as we deplane at nearly midnight. “Is it safe to take a taxi?”, I asked my father over the phone. “Yes, as long as it is pre paid”. Strange that I should worry so, considering I have my rather strapping husband and young children with me and am not travelling alone. We have taken taxis from the airport as long as I can remember. However, things have altered dramatically in the last six months. Crime rates have shot up, particularly after the horrific rape of the 23 year old medical student, and the mood is sombre as well as cautious in the city.

We drive home in our luggage laden taxi, encountering a few desultory police check posts along the way. There is still a fair bit of traffic at that hour of the morning. I feel relatively safe, constantly assessing the young driver to see if we could take him on, if the need arose. I have always felt rather churlish on previous occasions refusing to let the driver’s mate ride with us. In hindsight, I am glad. This time, we weren’t asked and I know I would have refused again.

The driver is rather put out that he has to take the longer route to get to our house. The gates leading in are all locked at night, and there is just one way to get in and out. My husband points out that if there was a medical emergency, there is no way an ambulance would make it in.

Our taxi parks outside, and immediately the watchman comes over. He sees us and smiles and nods. Familiar faces that pose no threat. My daughter giggles. At 12 she is taller than him. We find out later that there was a break in next door while he was ostensibly on duty. So much for security.

All night, the locality’s stray dogs bark in a chorus, allowing us very little sleep. My father says this is quite normal. The local stray dogs association has provided them with collars and feeds them regularly. They are rather like the street gangs of East London. No one messes with them.

We acclimatise slowly to the time zone. Delhi is heaving, buzzing, pulsating. People go about their business as usual. Yet I feel there is a definite change in the air. Friends we meet for dinner confirm this. “We rarely travel alone at night anymore”, Manoj volunteers. “It’s just not safe.” There are reports every day of girls being attacked, abducted, raped. The Government makes all the right noises, but very little is being done. The laws are outdated and offer more protection to the perpetrators than the victims.

I am rather sad to see the city of my birth thus reduced. I cannot wait to leave. Albeit, a piece of my heart stays behind.

Filed Under: Blog, crime, delhi, india, rape, safety, security, travel

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