Man's inhumanity to man. (Part 1)

Huge topic, I know but my observations of this started when I was four years old. There are two strands to this post. I noticed how people were mistreated by others but then I also saw how my Mum dealt with people in really difficult situations. And I realised from her actions that there was a humane way to deal with others. I wished to follow in her footsteps because her way seemed the right and just way. The way my dad treated me did not even come into this equation. That was just something he did. I did not understand at that age that my life should be different. I thought that was just how all fathers were. It took me a long time to realise that my friends' dads treated them with tender loving care and not rage and hard hitting hands.

At times we would need to drive north to a different city. Now I was terrified of going to this place as my Mummy had told me that was where the government was; the place where they ruled the country; the place where all the really nasty people were. I could not understand why we would actually want to go there. It felt like we were going into the lions' den. [Ironically, we use to go to the circus or the zoo there sometimes. The circus would give schools free tickets to hand out to their families. I enjoyed the sights, sounds and smells but I hated the animals being hit or being in cages.]

Anyway, every time we went there, we went past the prison. The prison at that time was a huge, imposing old dark red brick building. [Very similar to the red brick buildings in the city I have now made my home.] It seemed to my young self that it was a scary place that I would not like to ever enter. My Mummy had also trained me to learn the Bible as much as I could as she had told me it was likely that I would be thrown in jail for my views at some time in my life. As would my parents. And she explained that knowing the Bible would get me through these punishing times.

I deviate. So we always seemed to have to wait at these traffic lights before we turned right to drive past the prison on the left. Every time. I hated this wait. I hated it because my anxiety was already in a heightened state due to visiting this place but then something else frightened me too. To the left of us while we waited, were fields and a lay-by right next to our line of traffic. In this lay-by there would be a large number of 'cattle trucks'. These were filled with men in khaki outfits. They were prisoners. I was a little girl sitting in a car looking out of the window up at them. They were high up in cattle trucks looking down at me through the mesh. You can imagine the range of reactions I would see. Some smiled gentle smiles or waved little waves while others grimaced, shouted or raged at me. My Mummy would tell me to wind up the window so I could not hear what they were saying. But I could still see their faces.

I wonder what look they saw on my face. I preferred it when we were further back in the queue and I could see the golden fields shining in the sunshine. When I first saw all the cattle trucks, I wondered where the cattle were going as there must be a lot of them. My Mummy had not explained that to me yet. But a feeling of horror surged through my body when I realised it was men in those trucks. I asked my Mummy why they were in there and she said they had been very naughty. My dad was present at the time but he just sat there boiling in his own stew of frustration regarding the traffic jam.

How could you put men in cattle trucks? They are not animals. I did not even like seeing animals in those trucks. I did not think it was right. So why would men be squashed into those trucks like sardines in a tin? I asked my Mummy where they had come from and why they were also waiting in a queue. She explained they had worked in the chain gangs on farms and fields like those next to us but now they were coming back to the prison for lock up. You mean that horrible building was where they all lived? I really felt for them. My Mummy had told me about prison and how nasty it was. That was these men's life.

That made me really sad. This city was definitely a horrible place. There was the nasty prison. There was that huge building on the hill looking down at the city. Mummy said that was where all the nasty people worked who wanted to do horrible things to my parents and our friends. It must be a horrible place. The only beauty there were the jacaranda and mimosa trees in blossom.

A few years ago, I told my outdoor therapist about this, the image which is still in my face as I write. We were standing in a woodland clearing at the time. And she asked how close the image was. It was in my face. We talked through the process and she said she wanted me to 'place' that image into the clearing about twenty metres away where the luscious green trees glittered with raindrops. I tried, I really did. But I could not do it. I got a bit frustrated as I was desperate to minimise this image that has always impacted on me so deeply. She told me to breathe and to try and find another way of shifting the image. She suggested maybe trying a creative activity when it suited me. I was not sure. Something did not sit right in my mind.

As I have previously mentioned, it takes me a while to process stuff. As I was mulling it over through the following week. It clicked. There was a mismatch. Prisoners in khaki outfits in khaki trucks with a backdrop of golden fields bathed in sunshine did not fit in an English woodland clearing with wet, green, sparkly trees. Lightbulb moment. I needed to match the image with a hot, dusty afternoon in the sunshine of an African scene. I thought about painting the image but I have held on to it for some reason. I still have not let it go. I wonder if the reason is because it is an underlying part of my foundation, of who I am.