Max Davine's Blog - Posts Tagged "prejudice"
Heartbreaking
A tear-stained article, because I spent so many years running from the world, and have arrived on the far side of the abyss to find the same pit of bleak despair I ran from in the first place. But this is where my experiences lead me, and I feel it's only right to turn them into something to share. Having said that, I don't want to push an opinion or belief. Take from this what you will, but I implore you to read on, because one damaged soul sends a ripple into the great sphere that affects all of us, most painfully those who are receptive to it, and the events of the last twenty or so hours have moved, rattled and disturbed me, and yet I can't quite bring myself to forge any conclusion to deliver you.
As for my experiences, most folks go out and have a few drinks to wash off the burdens of the previous week, they meet people, they have fun, some get lucky, others retire none the less entertained by a fun night. The fates, however, have seen fit to give me a magnetism for the strange, the sad and the horrible. Last night defines the latter two.
I stepped out, not to drink but coffee and water, but to ease off the pressures and trials that bombard me throughout the week, as they do anyone. My idea of getting lucky is meeting folks with whom I can share a good conversation and maybe make a few friends, if the stars are particularly well aligned. It was a fun night; music was good and, in a rare blessing, the company was wonderful. I was taken in by a group of friends out celebrating something and they were wonderful people. Though it would not normally warrant a mention, I do so this time; two of them were in a homosexual relationship.
The first bar closed and, on insistence supported by me, we planned to retire back to someone's house. However, the majority ruled, and we went to a nightclub down the road, this is in Geelong, but really it could be anywhere. The nightclub was, as expected, a dreadful bore and I couldn't wait to get out of there, but I was getting along well with everyone and decided to stay. In many ways, they were lucky I did, because within a few hours three of our party, myself included, were getting thrown out. Not an experience new to me, but I was sober this time, and graciously requested the bouncer take his fucking hands off me or I'm going to bust his nose. Amongst us were the lesbian couple.
Outside, I asked what the hell prompted such an action. I'd seen the bouncers harassing one of the homosexual girls on the dance floor, and finding his conduct to be indecorous, I'd intervened, but I didn't, until then, know why he'd started on her in the first place. The reason? She and her partner were dancing “too lesbiany”. I'll mention that several girls were dancing quite lasciviously with one another, as drunk girls often do, but these two were thrown out, and I could see already how deeply hurt she was. She knew, as I suspected, that they were marked because, rather than being tipsy straight girls putting on a show, these two were genuine homosexual women, and wore it on their exteriors.
It was a cold night, and the women had been escorted out so quickly that they'd left their clothes inside. This is where things heated up; while one of the bouncers was saying he's “just got a job to do” - a job I'd choose welfare over – the other three were dismissive, and were hot on the police radio as soon as the woman began to show how upset she was. Frustrations grew, and the woman started to shout, while three big men surrounded her and smothered her voice. She couldn't complete an uttered word, let alone a sentence. Understandably, she began to lose her cool.
Knowing the police were coming, I was desperately trying to coax her and her partner and friends into my car to take them home, knowing that while her cause may be just, her enemies were too many. Pick your battles. Not after a few drinks and, obviously, a lifetime of alienation and prejudice, it would seem. Praise to her, however, she managed not to slur, not to stumble, and once the police arrived she and I managed to talk them out of arresting her on the spot. I bargained to whisk her off as soon as she had her clothes back, and it was quickly arranged. But the rude remarks and ignorant, incendiary vitriol continued, and tensions grew ever more. I stepped in, I tried to pull her away, off to my car, a mere five paces from the black mariah. Five paces, if I'd have had the strength I thought I had, things wouldn't have turned out the way they did.
Finally, surrounded and bullied to the brink, the woman struck out at one of the bouncers. It wasn't an assault. A shove, one in exchange for many needlessly given to her. I and the others were pushed aside by the police, and this woman, all of a slightly built five and four, was grabbed in a choking lock around the neck, and by three policemen hauled so violently into the wagon that her body cleared the rear bumper entirely, leaving her friends hysterical.
More police were called by the bouncers, and with screaming drunk girls around I had to shout and demand that they get in my car before they all ended up in the slammer. I took them home and retired, but I can't subside the ache in my heart. What did I just see? A drunk girl over-reacting? Or the straw that broke the camel's back? A life of being forced to society's limits because of the nature with which she was born, finally exploding, pushed that much too far.
I've seen violence, some that would make your skin crawl. I've seen raids, arrests, gang bashings, weapons, and more than once and ambulance to accompany the black mariah, but nothing has hurt me more than last night. But I have no answers. Naturally there is an element of self-blame, I'm the sort of guy who'd blame himself for a meteor hitting Earth; had I just asserted myself that much more I could have spared her that last humiliation. Had I never stopped drinking I'd have flown in to the police, fists flying, and taken the arrest in her place. But I don't think any of that would have changed the way I feel about what I've seen. The violent arrest, and the words excessive force to come to mind, was only the last line in a long transcript of heartbreaking exchanges that night.
The attitude of the bouncers, the open aggression against two people in love and expressing themselves, the crass and overtly imposing behavior of the front door security, they all contributed...but I think what hits me the hardest is that I saw these two on the dance floor; holding each other in embrace, swaying gently from side to side, while others rubbed genitals on each other and sucked on one another's tongues, the display of these two was extremely moderate by comparison. Yet they were targeted.
At the end of the day, the only send off I have on this note is that...my heart is broken.
As for my experiences, most folks go out and have a few drinks to wash off the burdens of the previous week, they meet people, they have fun, some get lucky, others retire none the less entertained by a fun night. The fates, however, have seen fit to give me a magnetism for the strange, the sad and the horrible. Last night defines the latter two.
I stepped out, not to drink but coffee and water, but to ease off the pressures and trials that bombard me throughout the week, as they do anyone. My idea of getting lucky is meeting folks with whom I can share a good conversation and maybe make a few friends, if the stars are particularly well aligned. It was a fun night; music was good and, in a rare blessing, the company was wonderful. I was taken in by a group of friends out celebrating something and they were wonderful people. Though it would not normally warrant a mention, I do so this time; two of them were in a homosexual relationship.
The first bar closed and, on insistence supported by me, we planned to retire back to someone's house. However, the majority ruled, and we went to a nightclub down the road, this is in Geelong, but really it could be anywhere. The nightclub was, as expected, a dreadful bore and I couldn't wait to get out of there, but I was getting along well with everyone and decided to stay. In many ways, they were lucky I did, because within a few hours three of our party, myself included, were getting thrown out. Not an experience new to me, but I was sober this time, and graciously requested the bouncer take his fucking hands off me or I'm going to bust his nose. Amongst us were the lesbian couple.
Outside, I asked what the hell prompted such an action. I'd seen the bouncers harassing one of the homosexual girls on the dance floor, and finding his conduct to be indecorous, I'd intervened, but I didn't, until then, know why he'd started on her in the first place. The reason? She and her partner were dancing “too lesbiany”. I'll mention that several girls were dancing quite lasciviously with one another, as drunk girls often do, but these two were thrown out, and I could see already how deeply hurt she was. She knew, as I suspected, that they were marked because, rather than being tipsy straight girls putting on a show, these two were genuine homosexual women, and wore it on their exteriors.
It was a cold night, and the women had been escorted out so quickly that they'd left their clothes inside. This is where things heated up; while one of the bouncers was saying he's “just got a job to do” - a job I'd choose welfare over – the other three were dismissive, and were hot on the police radio as soon as the woman began to show how upset she was. Frustrations grew, and the woman started to shout, while three big men surrounded her and smothered her voice. She couldn't complete an uttered word, let alone a sentence. Understandably, she began to lose her cool.
Knowing the police were coming, I was desperately trying to coax her and her partner and friends into my car to take them home, knowing that while her cause may be just, her enemies were too many. Pick your battles. Not after a few drinks and, obviously, a lifetime of alienation and prejudice, it would seem. Praise to her, however, she managed not to slur, not to stumble, and once the police arrived she and I managed to talk them out of arresting her on the spot. I bargained to whisk her off as soon as she had her clothes back, and it was quickly arranged. But the rude remarks and ignorant, incendiary vitriol continued, and tensions grew ever more. I stepped in, I tried to pull her away, off to my car, a mere five paces from the black mariah. Five paces, if I'd have had the strength I thought I had, things wouldn't have turned out the way they did.
Finally, surrounded and bullied to the brink, the woman struck out at one of the bouncers. It wasn't an assault. A shove, one in exchange for many needlessly given to her. I and the others were pushed aside by the police, and this woman, all of a slightly built five and four, was grabbed in a choking lock around the neck, and by three policemen hauled so violently into the wagon that her body cleared the rear bumper entirely, leaving her friends hysterical.
More police were called by the bouncers, and with screaming drunk girls around I had to shout and demand that they get in my car before they all ended up in the slammer. I took them home and retired, but I can't subside the ache in my heart. What did I just see? A drunk girl over-reacting? Or the straw that broke the camel's back? A life of being forced to society's limits because of the nature with which she was born, finally exploding, pushed that much too far.
I've seen violence, some that would make your skin crawl. I've seen raids, arrests, gang bashings, weapons, and more than once and ambulance to accompany the black mariah, but nothing has hurt me more than last night. But I have no answers. Naturally there is an element of self-blame, I'm the sort of guy who'd blame himself for a meteor hitting Earth; had I just asserted myself that much more I could have spared her that last humiliation. Had I never stopped drinking I'd have flown in to the police, fists flying, and taken the arrest in her place. But I don't think any of that would have changed the way I feel about what I've seen. The violent arrest, and the words excessive force to come to mind, was only the last line in a long transcript of heartbreaking exchanges that night.
The attitude of the bouncers, the open aggression against two people in love and expressing themselves, the crass and overtly imposing behavior of the front door security, they all contributed...but I think what hits me the hardest is that I saw these two on the dance floor; holding each other in embrace, swaying gently from side to side, while others rubbed genitals on each other and sucked on one another's tongues, the display of these two was extremely moderate by comparison. Yet they were targeted.
At the end of the day, the only send off I have on this note is that...my heart is broken.
