1960s Cowards Award Winners!

Heard this infomercial on domestic violence aired on the Malaysian radio recently - The award for "Heavy Hands" goes to......; the award" Devil's Advocate" goes to......; and ...... (I forget the rest of the script). A good infomercial and as usual, it triggered a past memory.

It brought me back to 1969 and to the time when I returned to school after my almost near death experience. (Please read my "Face in the Mirror", if you have not already done that!) Bruises take time to fade and cuts take time to heal and while the body follows nature's timing in healing, the bruises and cuts are significantly noticeable, especially when one is a rather fair Chinese.

So, there I was back at school, after my near death experience, with a bruises, cuts and bumps all over and children being children, do ask questions. My 9 year old classmates were shocked to see me in that horrific condition and naturally wanted the whole story. After I told my side of it, two of them - intelligent creatures, were so indignant. At such a young age, they could not possibly make sense of what was happening, but their hearts and minds told them that what happened was seriously wrong. They told me that I needed to report this matter to the school authorities and the best way was to tell my class teacher who was a Christian. I refused because I was afraid of the repercussions that would occur once my foster mother knew that I had blabbed.

These two friends of mine then spoke among themselves and without a word, they grabbed me by the hands and sandwiched me between the two of them. Before I could protest, I was just taken to my class teacher. They spoke to my teacher and insisted that she listened to my story.

I know that what I told my teacher put her in quite a dilemma for I still remember how she turned ashen and unsure of what to do. I can understand what she must gone through for in those days, it was common for people, even the police to turn a blind eye to cases of domestic violence or abuse was concerned.

Often, cases of domestic violence or abuse was considered a "family" matter that was expected to be resolved internally among family members. The only time it became a police case was when there was a death by suspicious circumstances or a "runaway" case.

So, there was my teacher unsure of what to do. Should she champion the cause of this one child? Was it worth the effort or would she get flak for this? I am not saying that this is exactly what she was thinking but the possibilities are real. For she told me that she felt for me but she did not know how to help me. So, what did she do?

She passed the "buck" - she sent me to my headmistress. A nice Indian lady and a Christian to boot. She listened to my story again (which was pretty draining for me emotionally, because each time I had to relate it, it was always done in between a great many sobs ). Patiently she listened to me and asked some questions to check that I was consistent and telling the truth. Then she inspected my bruises, cuts and marks carefully. Finally, she sat silent for a long time.

I stared at her and she looked at me for quite a long while. When she spoke, she said that she was sorry that I had to endure so much pain. Yet, there was nothing she could do. This was my family matter and she had no right to get involved. My heart sank at her words because the message that I received was that I truly was alone. No adult wants to champion my cause and my pain. There was no one who could rescue me from my living hell. I was fated to live my life with abuse.

It was so painful to realize that while others emphatized with me, they were also powerless to do anything. My headmistress had also told me that it was useless for her to report the matter to the police or the education authorities because both governmental bodies would not interfere in such a domestic matter.

So, if there were awards to be given in 1960s for domestic violence, I would certainly nominate my headmistress for "Devil's Advocate" and my class teacher for "Hands Off" and if I was a judge for such awards, they would certainly win them hands down. In addition, I would give my headmistress an additional award - "Get Involved Only When It Suits You!" Why?

The same Christian lady who told me that she had no avenue to help me, finally spoke her mind. The incident happened when I was 11. Let me tell you about it.

One day, I followed one of my friends home. I did it because this friend always had so nice things to say about her family. I knew from what she spoke about that she belonged to a loving family. I followed her home so that I could have the chance to experience firsthand myself what seemed like a norm to her. It was everything as she said and more.

The warmth that emanated from that family was like fresh spring water to my dry desert existence. I just could not inhale enough of the aromatic fumes of welcome and comfort in that family. I wanted to stay so badly that I lied to this good family. Yeah, I know that it was bad and I caused quite a lot of pain and trouble for the good people. That was my sin and I acknowledge it.

So, I hinted to my friend, how nice it was to have an impromptu sleepover party, just she and I. My unsuspecting friend fell for my ploy. I told her that I needed to get permission from my foster mother. I made the call home, knowing full well that there was no one at home at that time. I pretended to request for permission to sleepover, all the time, speaking to a ringing tone than to my foster mother. When I hung up the phone, I told my friend and family that I had permission to sleepover. Since the next day was a Saturday, my friend and her family had no problems. We were both about the same size, so I could borrow her nightgown, towel and toiletries.

We had a great time, I more than my friend. The dinner was great and then we watched some TV, played some board games with her two younger brothers before we climbed into bed at 10pm. I slept almost immediately, truly satisfied and exhausted by the day's events.

At about 3am, I was awaken by my friend's mother. She told me to change into my own clothes as my mother was here to take me home. Outside, I saw my friend's parents in their night clothes and they were not pleased. They did not scold me but told me that I should not have lied to them. Outside, at the end of the porch, stood my foster mother, two policemen, a police car and the family car.

I was trembled with great fear when I saw them. Ohh...ohhh! I was truly in trouble this time around!

I knew that my foster mother was keeping tightly controlled when she greeted me. She thanked my friends' parents and apologized for the intrusion at such an ungodly hour. Then, she turned around and thanked the officers for their help. Quietly, she ordered me into the family car. We drove home in total silence. I was silent with anxious fear of what would happen when we got home. She, I guess, was silent with fury because she had lost face.

True enough, when I got home, she let me have it. Mr Cane was extra swishy that night and after the screaming and caning, I was made to kneel the rest of the night on my knees and contemplate my sins, off she went to bed as she had to teach the following day.

That weekend, she made my foster brothers keep an eye on me and piled on the household chores on me until the wee hours of the morning. On reflection, it was as if she was trying to cleanse the "runaway" spirit from my life through the scrubbing and washing of the entire bungalow.

When Monday came, I still had the chore of facing my girlfriend, who was for obvious reasons, not my close friend anymore. Apparently, her parents gave the poor girl a "shelling" over the weekend and forbade her to be a friend to me anymore. I really do not blame them one bit. I did cause so much pain and trouble to them. Anyhow, I did the right thing and explained myself to her. She forgave me but it was not the same between us anymore. My fault really and I accepted responsibility for it.

What I was not prepared for, was a summons from my headmistress. My friend and I was called in and she gave us a piece of her mind. Apparently, in searching for me, my foster mother made a police report and the police came a knocking at my headmistress's home at 1 am in the morning. I know that other people, like my class teacher was also rudely awaken but the details are sketchy. So I won't speculate here.

I defended my friend and took full responsibility for the matter. My friend was released from the interrogation while I was forced to explain myself. I did amidst much tears to my headmistress, reminding her that I had been in her office 2 years ago and how she did nothing for me then. I related my unhappiness and gave her examples upon examples. At the end of it all, she just stared at me and sighed sigh upon sigh. Finally, she told me to return to my class. I did.

Apparently, she decided that she needed to do something. My foster brother tells me that she actually summoned my foster mother to the school. Then, my headmistress shared her findings and issued a threat to my foster mother. She said that if my foster mother did not stop the abuse, she would report my case to Child Services of the Social Welfare Department. As I was an adopted child, my case would be throughly investigated and if found guilty, my foster mother would be in great trouble.

I know that the threat worked because my foster brother told me, my mother returned ashen white. She still continued to abuse me but she stopped beating me. Her abuse was more verbal and to pile on the housework.

As a Christian myself today, I know that the Bible talks about standing up for those who cannot speak out for themselves and to defend those who are weak. This is a command from God. Christians are called to a higher calling - to go beyond themselves and to rise to any opportunity thrown their way. To reach out to the needy and to save the marginalized, desperate and lost. To demonstrate that there is a loving God - the same one who created all the beauty of this world.

It is sad that my primary school teacher and my headmistress did not heed that command. They had a chance to save a life from further misery but they did not. My headmistress spoke up finally but only after she had been personally inconvenienced. Nevertheless, in the spirit of graciousness, I thank her for being later which is better than never.

However, my friend, do not be like them. Do not wear the cloak of apathy. For the spirit that comes with that cloak destroys the wearer's compassion and concern for others. It makes the wearer a selfish being. He or she becomes one who counts the cost to him rather than the cost of giving to a fellow human being. It causes the eye to be blind to injustice, numbs the mind from hearing the voice of godly conscience and freezes the heart from feeling compassion. Don't be like that. Reach out and extend your hand. Your little may just be an oasis in another's wilderness.
God bless.