Towards Better Democracy

Good words, well written, better the world. Good literature betters the world immeasurably.

“How Old is the Grave?”


The mechanical digger, yellow, slews back and forth almost noiselessly. Drags and lifts the grey bodies

From the grave in which they have lain for who knows how long. How come they brought the digger in so quickly?
Didn’t think it worthy of a proper dig. ‘Sides, they don’t have the money. All these cutbacks county’s forced to make.

Innocents, they hardly knew of their death, poor sods. How can you tell? Just can. You’re no expert. His listener grunts.
Three men in Health and Safety garb stand around talking, oblivious the horrors being unfolded in front of them.
Horrors? To them? These men see terrible stuff all the time. Part of their job. Safeguard people from their own stupidity.

How old is the grave? Who are these people in their multitude? Unknown, unknowable for now.
The county archaeologists have not arrived yet. Office said they’d be here soon. Don’t trust them. They’d say anything.
That’s true. So, why do they want us here? Well, you never know. Might be contaminated. Sure, nobody’s been here in years.

Slow, they have only just been summoned. And will be in no hurry to arrive on a cold winter’s morning.
Diseased, they say, but no forensic has taken place yet. Yeah, county forensics will be here soon. Coroner?
No, it’ll be a doctor. Coroner don’t know stuff like this.

An old man had found the foot protruding from out the soil. Looked old. No flesh. No smell that he could smell.
He’d walked that way for years from the village not half a mile away but had seen nothing before or not noticed anyway.
Funny that. Well, you don’t expect to see such a thing, do you? I mean, you don’t look, do you?

If he’d had a dog, the dog would have found them, that’s for sure. Well, perhaps. Animals avoided these dead in their unhealth.
Plant life, too, has not grown here, a stretch of land unused in centuries. The loam reaches to the dykes surrounding the field.
Little or no grass. Something funny about this ground. Eerie feeling. As if something terrible had happened. An atmosphere pervades.

The digger continues his baleful work. The soil, black loam, wraps in wreaths around these skeletal remains, still intact after all this time.
But for how long? Well, the H&S won’t know, it’s not their job, is it? Village knows nothing, the old man had said before he left.
We’d talk about it if we knew. We just stay away. ‘Cept me,of course. I don’t mind. Like the silence. Nobody to bother you.

The archaeologists will call them assemblages, strange term for the human form.
A white van is parked to the side, its engine running, keeping the engine warm, its orange roof light blinking reluctantly.
Tyre tracks across the field from the break in the bank from which it had driven through.

The men murmur in quiet conversation. We can’t hear them from this distance through the dense silence.
Stamping their feet uselessly on the damp soil.
A row of trees in the background, black spiders’ leg limbs frame stark against a silver dark sky.

A slight wind blows past the men in the yellow hats, a quiet, oh so faint, whistle. Chilling.
Crows caw, caw, caw, halfheartedly from their perches in the half formed spider’s web, incurious to the activities
Out in front of them. In the far distance, trails of smoke rise reluctantly from chimney pots in the village.

This is the same village where the old man, the discover of the remains of the foot, resides.
Has for years, but has gone home, fed up waiting for some action, some sense of being able to learn
About what he’d found. He’ll come back later, he said. Find out more of what’s all about. People’ll want to know.

A diesel engine can be heard growling down the steep track, its roof just seen above the bank,
Vinyls proclaim it to be from the town newspaper some twenty miles away. The men in the HiViz jackets
Look over, exclaiming among themselves, How the Dickens did they find out?

The diesel engine coughs to a halt. Only the incessant crows, hungry no doubt, break the silence.
The backactor continues, with its vast arm, reaching into the pit, the bodies interminable it seems.
A second vehicle is heard but can’t be seen above the bank top, age old, nobody knows how old.

Bloody hell, says one of the Health guys, whose’s this now? Can’t be the county archies. Too soon.
A door slams. A man appears, black coat to his ankles, tartan scarf limply flapping in the breeze.
He strides over to the huddle of men, cold from the waiting. Good morning, he says, heartily.

The H&S contingent grunt more or less in unison. Whose this? We thought we’d be left in peace for an hour or two.
County forensics, says the newcomer, here to check for any contamination. Hope none of you has gone close.
Don’t be daft. What do you think we are? mutters one, offended at the officiousness of the man.

The yellow arm of the machine elbows its way to the ground. The driver climbs out, a medical mask over his mouth,
A hard hat on his head  but blue. A contractor. The H&S men had called him in soon after the old geezer had found the foot
And called the county. Lucky to find one so close so early in the morning. Contractors are hard to come by.

The man in the black coat pounds, business like, back up the field. Just going to get my stuff, he shouts breezily.
The waiting, huddled men groan. Such enthusiasm. Unseemly. Not British, I’d say, says one.
You boys want some coffee? says the man in the blue hat. Got a Thermos from in the digger, wife packed it before I left.

That would be good, a smile breaking out on the speaker. An animation stirs the three yellow hats. The digger driver
Pulls a bag from off his shoulder. Here you go, Takes the cap off the red Thermos, bright in the grey light. And pours out
The steaming brown liquid, almost black, takes a sip, and passes the plastic cup over to the closest of the three men.

Thanks. Ah that’s welcome, best thing that’s happened so far, and passes it over to one of his mates.
Black coat man reappears. They hadn’t heard him. Dr Dickerson, he says, cheerily. This man’s a pain in the neck,
Thinks one of the yellow hats. Not a foreigner after all. Looks it though.

The doctor, as we now know him to be, takes a medical mask from out of his briefcase and puts it on, careful to get the elastic over his head without disturbing his nicely coiffured hair. Bit of a toff, thinks another of our H&S men

Right, I’ll get to work. Be back in a mo’. Strides off towards the pit, half dug, chalk bodies strewn to the side.

Now why on earth did they do it this way? Who authorized this digging? He’ll ask the men in a moment. Stupid decision.
But, on the other hand, how was I going to check? He kneel down but doesn’t want his coat to get dirty.

Wife’ll give me hell if I get mud on it. Only present she’s given me in ages. Pulls out a set of instruments wrapped in a white cloth.

Can’t see what he’s doing at this distance. Oh, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing, says another. They’ve polished off the coffee.
Look expectantly at the digger as he pulls a pack of sandwiches from his bag. Now, why didn’t we think of that?
Well, they had us come out here so quickly. Yeah, and we thought it was some kind of emergency. Fat chance of that here.

Even Health and Safety people like to be wanted. Yeah, most think us scum. I know, but we’ve got a bloody job to do, haven’t we?
Same as anybody else. General grumbling among the men. The digger looks sympathetic. Somebody’s got to do it,
He says, comfortingly. Thanks, thankless task, all the same.

Dr Whatsit strolls over, looking important. Knowing air. Safe enough, I think. How would you know, thinks one.
Probably Bubonic. Can’t be sure. Safe enough for our archaeologists, I’m sure. Well, OK. Done my bit. I’m off now.
Glad to see him go. Too cheerful by half. They watch the tall, erect figure retreat back out of the field.

Two men greet him as he reaches the dyke. Faint sounds of conversation reach the waiting men, stamping in a vain attempt to keep warm.
What have we got now? Reporter types, I’m sure. Nothing much to tell them. Well, they won’t be happy about that, comin’ all this way.
The two stroll lazily over the the waiting group. The doctor’s van drifts back up the slope and into the distance. Much going on here?

Not a lot. I don’t think you have a story. Good to be first of the scene. You never know what’ll it turn out to be.
Going to be a while before we find out. Dr. says its safe, says the third. The digger looks on amused. He’s used to being out in the cold.
Besides, he’s glad to have a job. Not many have at the moment. The two reporters look crestfallen. Do you think we’ll learn anything soon?

Well county archies’ll be here shortly, I suppose. Might learn something from them. On other hand you might not.
Sorry, boys. you might have to go away empty handed this morning, says a second. Might as well hang around since we’re here.
No problem to us. Just don’t go over there yet. OK, so what do you think? says one of the reporters to the other.

Suppose we could call the office, he says, checking his cell phone longingly and fall silent. Bit of a waste of time, don’t you think?
Giving his companion a look. The other’s face is imperturbable. Why the hell did I have to be put with him. Dour as sin,
And as quiet as a grave. Suppose we as well as might wait? Up to you.

The crows are still cawing. Probably do that all day long, thinks one of the yellow hats, shifting around to look over to the track.
So what’s next, says the digger. Can I put my backactor on the truck. do you think? Three yellow hats turn to look at him.
You’ll have to stay until the county gets here. They’re in charge. Alright by me. ‘S long as I get paid, I don’t mind if I’m here all day.

The six men fall silent. Looking around, some looking at the ground. Boring this, thinks the more talkative of the reporters.
Bit grim that one, thinks a yellow hat, looking at the reporter’s companion. Looks like he’s at a funeral.
Well, there must be something we can do, says our chatty reporter. What did the Dr. say? Nothing much.

Says its safe, Might’ve been Bubonic, he thinks. Really? Thought that had’d been gone since the Middle Ages.

True enough. This grave’s old, though, you can tell that. How do you know that? Nosy bugger, this guy. All questions.

The four hard hats look at him. Look, why don’t you just wait until the archies arrive. We’re not really authorized to talk to the press.

The two reporters drift off to a distance and talk between themselves. Well, that’s better, says one of the H&S guys.
Bad enough being here without all this chattering about nothing. Yes, says blue hat. That’s what they have to do, I suppose.
The breeze picks up. The men shiver. I’ve go get a brazier from out the truck if you like, says the digger.

Don’t think you can do that. You’d need permission and we can’t give it. Three yellow hats look miserable. It’d be good to get warm.
An hour or so passes. The two groups of men chat quietly. The overcast sky begins to break slowly. A faint glimmer of sun appears.
The crows flutter noisily out of the trees and caw into the distance. Thank God for that, says a yellow hat, noise was driving me mad.

A cell phone rings. The reporters’. The hearty one. Cell phone to ear, we’re off, he shouts to the other group. See you later.
The two men trundle back to their vehicle. The diesel fires up noisily. The van jumps a bit and lurches off up the track.
A cell phone with that peculiar chime that some of them have rings. The three yellow hats look at each other. One pulls the phone out.

Yes sir? Yes, yes. Yes, OK. They’re not coming today. Office says we have to come back tomorrow. Just fence off the hole with signs.
How about me? says blue hat. Put the machine on the truck? No, just leave it here. I’m sure the county’ll pay. I’ll call them if you like.
No, that’s all right. I’ll call my boss from the truck. Let him know. To late to take the backactor to another job.

The three yellow hats go to their white van, engine still running, and open the doors at the back. One pulls out a striped tape on a reel.
The other two pull out a set of signs. KEEP OUT – HAZARDOUS AREA. Black on yellow. Blue hat starts to walk away.
You guys going to be here tomorrow? Two of the yellow hats point to the third. He will, we’re off ’til Sunday. Double time for weekend.

I’ll see you tomorrow, says blue hat to the yellow hat that will be there. Suppose so. The digger goes over to his machine and locks up.
The yellow hats mask up and walk over to the freshly dug ditch. The team puts the stakes and yellow striped tape up, pin the signs, then
Walk back to the van. See you’s, shouts the digger. The H&S men climb into the van and drive off, the sun still struggling to come out.

Malcolm D B Munro
9 November, 2015

Filed under: poetry, stories

What Shall I Compare Thee To?


Shall I compare thee to a ladder
So that I can climb to reach you now
Shall I compare thee to a bucket
Into which my sorrows I do throw
Shall I compare thee to a 40ft shipping container
Too small in which to fit my woes?

Shall I compare thee to Henri Poincaré
He, like me, finds your properties hard to define
Shall I compare thee to a canary
I’ll listen for your singing, I’m sure it’ll sound sublime
Shall I compare thee to a test tube baby
You made quite a stir at the time I find?

Shall I look for you in the Willow Pattern
On the bridge I’m one of the three
Shall I search for you in another part of the wood
I’m sure you’ll be hiding behind every tree
Shall I look for you among the Black and White Minstrels
If you blackened your face that’ll embarrass me.

Will I find you under the thimble
But I can’t get back in the room
Will you stare out the window
While I try to find the moon
Will you unlock your mystery
Or is it far too soon?

Malcolm D B Munro
25 October, 2015

Filed under: poetry

I Do Not Wish to Know a Second Death


I first saw her first on a bus;
On a brown doubledecker from which I had just got off.
She was on the lower deck, close to the duckboard of the
Open exit. As I disembarked
I stared, as we men do, in wonder
At an apparition we have just seen, pierced to our very being.
Smitten, left breathless, turned to putty, our heart caught by
That invisible force that acts between man and woman.
And always has.
For that is how Nature works. By attraction.
That magnetic force that leaves us without sleep.
To lie at night, dreaming awake.
She stuck her tongue out at me.
A mere girl and a boy.

Shortly, it always happens this way, her best friend,
Who was to be her bridesmaid at the wedding, said,
“My friend wants to meet you.”
You will know how we cannot transmit to others
By any means, what runs in courtship, what propels
Between the hearts of lovers.
Songs innumerable try vainly to capture it.

Not long after we met I moved to a university
I had set my heart on, and gained admission.
The best university in the country for my future
Profession.

My life lay ahead of me and this was the door
By which one enters to get access to that
Path that will lead us through lives.

But she would not be left behind. Visits began
From her to me. Exultation followed.
As did a pregnancy. I did not wish to commit,
At least at that point. Having qualified, yes.
Many of my fellow alumni did.

I chose to marry and scarified my place.
And went to a lower college in the town where
I could honour the duties of a husband and father.
I am haunted still at the shame of not having completed
At the university where I was so happy.

We wedded at the local registry office,
As proud a day as you can imagine.
With her best friend by her side and my best friend by mine,
Four young people, full of hope.

But, after seven years, and a second child,
A new house bought, a dream,
Job landed. A carefree career ahead.
Money in the bank. But it was not to be.

It is strange that during the decades of therapy
To treat the mind made warped in childhood,
I had never thought to tell any of those kindly
Professional of that catastrophe. It is.only in recent
Years that I have learned of how much it broke
Me. To be asked to separate. How can one
Separate from a soul with whom one has twinned,
To whom you have surrendered your heart?

In many senses I have never been the same since.
I died a death then.
Now, years later, I am being reborn.

Malcolm D B Munro
19 October, 2015

 

Filed under: poetry

The Next World


This is not to say that the Western Philosophers of Old,
Offer a better way than their counterparts in the East.
But to recognize their difference. Our Ancients
Concerned themselves with this world,
With the essences of what we see
In the here and now.
With the Good Life. And how to lead it,
Difficult though we find it.
Our concentration is on the present,
From which there is no escape.
We do not need to prepare for that other world,
For, if we strive to live the life those
Greeks and Romans offered us,
We live at peace with ourselves,
Contented with our lot.
When the Next World beckons, we are ready.
No preparation is required.

Malcolm D B Munro
19 October, 2016

Filed under: poetry

Women’s Rights; Reframing the discussion; a fundamental reconsidering of the argument


Note: It would appear that, just when you thought the battle had been won, you have to go back all the way to the beginning and start again.

Introduction

An argument can never be truly won on the basis of your opponents terms. You may win temporarily but your win will be subject to reversal. This can be seen in the US in recent years by the Right to Lifers winning back ground from a woman’s right to an abortion.

The Oppositional Nature of Argument

Most arguments are couched in oppositional terms. The success of winning an argument is based upon persuading your opponents of the weakness, or wrongness, of their point of view and the strength, or rightness, of your point of view. The basis for the argument is frequently of relative positions and a number of assumptions made by both sides, acknowledged and subconscious. Such a basis is fundamentally unwinnable in the long term. At some point the opposition will pounce on the flaw or flaws in the agreement and back you go to square one. A far better basis is to work from first principles and the argument then becomes a discussion where the shared objective is to understand the principles being offered.

Reframing the Discussion

This approach requires reframing the discussion. In this way you take your opponents with you. They cease to be opposed but are now in an inclusive position. Your reframing has to be truthful and authentic, and placed in neutral language, i.e., non inflammatory. The previous terms themselves may have assumptions built into them, or are historically loaded.

Abortion, for example, may not be a good term to use when reframing the issue of termination of pregnancy.

Principle Not Position

The basis of reframing is from principle not position. This can be seen in the phrase fundamental rights. Fundamentals are based on principles, as in fundamental rights. If you work from principles, reframing is straightforward. Getting there is not. It is a process. It is not intuitive. It is a process which has to be gone through. I suppose you could akin it to the peeling of the layers of an onion but at the present I do not have a good analogy.

The Process of Reframing

This article explores an example of the process involved. Bear with it. It is exhaustive but yields substantial, perhaps even radical, results.

If at issue is the question of fundamental rights, at a fundamental level do women’s rights differ from men’s and, if they do, in what way?

We all know that men’s minds are feebler than women’s but let’s assume that, fundamentally, they are the same. I think it is a specious argument because the basis is not measurable. We can’t measure minds. There is no base measure, no difference measure.

So the basis has to be physical. Are brains in men and women identically structured? I never seen the question asked and someone can comment on this. Seems sensible to agree; yes, they are.

Mind Body Dichotomy – not considered

At a fundamental level, in considering fundamental rights, we must now turn to the body. After all, the whole democratic structure is erected, rightly or wrongly, on the Rousseauian mind-body paradox. (Rousseau, Jean-Jacques [Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy] http://www.iep.utm.edu/)

Since the whole duality issue is fraught, we have to leave it at that.

Fundamental Rights

So if, from a fundamental level, we are considering fundamental rights of men and women, at a physical level, are women’s bodies different from men’s? While I feel in no way qualified to argue the women’s point of view, it does strike me that, if asked, I would have to say that, yes, women’s bodies differ fundamentally from men’s.

Women and Men

In what way do they differ? The question may seem idiotic but it is not. You are welcome to point me to some source, some person, who has considered the issue from this perspective and I shall go and read it with interest. But, let’s assume it is valid to ask the question.

In what way do women’s bodies differ from men’s? Women’s bodies are designed to bear children. Men’s bodies are not. Simple, right? Not so fast; it is not simple. Because, here at this point you have a departure of the debate and assumptions from the base. At this point the democratic debate begins and right from the beginning excludes women.

Agree?

Are Women Different?

It excludes women because it does not acknowledge a fundamental difference. And you can be assured without a lot of study that a false premise will lead to a shaky structure.

Right from the start, as you begin the democratic debate on what are fundamentals, you totally ignore the basis for one of them.

Does this matter? I am surprised you ask the question.

Humans as Sentient Species

Let’s step aside from the question of rights and consider the issue from a different perspective. You would have thought that if we are a sentient species, as @LisaWatsonFaye does when she refers to it obliquely “ent’s = Lord of the Rings – sentient ancient trees 🙂 ,“,27 March, 2011, via Twitter, you would think that we would want at some level to enshrine our ability to ensure the continuance of our species through procreation.

If we wish to enshrine our right of continuance of our species, putting aside for now the question of why we would want to, if it is because of some threat, we would surely wish to equally enshrine the means of procreation. By this means you, at a basic level, bring women into the picture.

Human Rights are Unalienable

Let’s get even more basic. Why do you wish to even talk about human rights? Why are we even considering what are fundamentals to uphold? Why have we fought so hard to establish the principle of human rights?

That is easy; because we see them as under threat. Is this correct? Or is a yardstick by which we measure human behaviour and actions?

Threats to Women

OK. So are women not under threat? Are the fundamental rights of women not under threat? Are they never under threat?

Crimes committed against persons can be charge on the basis of state law and international law. Crimes committed against people, women and men, equally can be prosecuted. And, with sufficient evidence, usually are.

Consider the conflict in Libya at present. Colonel Gaddafi has been threatened with prosecution of crimes against humanity, perhaps even war crimes. We have reports that rapes have been committed against Libyan women. If evidence is produced, are we going to prosecute? On what basis? Is rape committed in wartime by the opposing side, whom you are seeking to prosecute for other crimes any less a crime? Do we view it as a crime at all?

Do we perceive that a woman who suffers in such a way has, at the most basic level, had her fundamental right denied. Which fundamental right? The right of a woman to say who can and who cannot enter her body? To offer her consent? And under what circumstances?

In the ordinary course of events we will address this more directly in a moment. For now let us broadly use the term rape. In civil circumstances, the crime will be prosecuted on the basis of civil law.

What Recourses are Available?

And under what basis are crimes being prosecuted in Libya against Gaddafi? Where does rape fit within this spectrum?

It seems to me that women will never win the women’s rights issue for as long as men do not perceive as threats those that women do. As long as women protest on the present basis they are wasting their time. Not a popular view, I would imagine.

Women, Initiate the Debate

The only way for women to make headway on this issue is to change the basis of the debate. Do that, clearly articulate your position, and you have won.

Now there are several steps to get to that situation, each which has to be examined.

Why is it that men do not see those threats, those that women perceive, in the same way that women do?

Cases

Suppose a man is married. His wife is raped. He has one view.

Suppose the wife of the man next door neighbour is raped. Suppose the woman next door, who is unmarried, is raped. How does the first man view each of these events?

Does he view them differently? How does he perceive them in terms of threat?

Suppose in each of the examples just given the woman is killed.

Does our first man view each of these differently? Is the difference between the two crimes one of irrefutably?

In any of the cases regarding the murdered woman, we have a body, which constitutes evidence, and usually a murder weapon.

Rape Defined

In the case of rape, what constitutes rape?

At this point it is impossible for a man to rule, and this, women, is where you win the argument. I am not sure I have come across a setting, let us say, a jury or other circumstance, where women have been asked to define what constitutes rape. Have women discussed it among themselves and is there a consensus view?

What Does Willing Imply?

What concerns men is; was it coerced? That would be the central question. And men will compound the question with; how willing was the women.

I suppose if I were under a car, I would encourage the driver to continue driving over me, in the vain hope that the intensity of the pain might get pleasurable if intensified. Agreed?

What Do Women Think?

Have we ever asked women about this? This willing victim idea. Has it been subject to scrutiny by study? Have women asked among themselves?

I have difficulty imagining that an assault on a person, which includes feelings of humility, of being physically overpowered, that in such a situation, a person, a woman, would willingly comply, and that the motive would be for pleasure.

I raise the issue in this light because ever since rape has been on the statute book, which must be for quite some time, the question of consent has been part of it. But notice the argument.

Men, Fit to Judge?

The men, whether the judge, or any other male authority figure, or essentially all men for that matter, are projecting, still in 2011, the historical record of the abuse of women which said that, when it came to abducting a woman, she was always willing.

Now it should be understood that this is willing in the sense that a slave is willing or a prisoner is willing, but more that than.

Men projected willing through coercion, threats, money, relocation or death to stop women speaking the truth, and, because of the elements of shame and humiliation, the coercion was all the greater.

And women around the persecuted rape victim stayed silent out of fear, or out of guilt from not speaking up.

Inheritance of Attitude, Present Assumptions

The attitude of great, great, great grandfathers has transmitted to the present, even if consciously, at least in men’s mind, the original meaning of willing has been lost. We have moved, in men’s minds, from willing, because the man said she was willing, and the woman who was not permitted testimony, to women who are biologically willing.

I am not sure that any man would put it quite like this. But this is how it is. When women won the right to vote that is all they won. They did not win equality. Nor have they yet.

Statutory Nature of Rape

That rape is, from a statutory point of view, several layered can be seen in the case of the multiplicity of Swedish laws, albeit somewhat over elaborated.

Equally with murder, there are degrees and these are adequately codified as to seldom cause argument. Murder has been on the books for some time. Rape is still not on the books in many places in the world and nowhere, based on what I argue, is it anything like codified. Quite the opposite.

I cannot say at this point in the discussion whether rape is at the centre of women making a case on principle and it is certainly not the only one.

Termination of Pregnancy

That abortion as an issue can swing back and forth in the span of a decade is indicative of how far women are in establishing fundamental rights that are not subject to sway of opinion or political opprobrium, or church, or any other.

Why are Adult Women Juvenilized?

The desire of the woman in the case of abortion is juvenilized. This does not speak to age but of the fact that, for the matter of abortion a woman is denied, not just the right to decide, but that the woman is the authority to decide.

The woman can be viewed as being adult enough to be thought capable of exercising judgment on most other matters but on this matter the capability is taken away from her on various pretexts.

Role of the Church

One of the actor in exercising the theft or denial of right is a church which employs large numbers of celibate males which hardly qualifies it to play the role of honest broker.

Notice here we are looking at those states which enshrine a separation of state and church. Were this not the case, the church or appropriate religious body might find itself emboldened to speak on these matters seeing them as that body’s right.

Role of the State

Notice also that the state recognizes that women are adult enough to tend for children but not adult enough to decide on the fate of the fetus.

The shape of the discussion is now quite clear. The state takes away from women arbitrarily her right on wholly facetious grounds. No argument based on these ground can win the case.

What Right Have Men to Make a Woman’s Case? – Discuss

It remains to be agreed whether men can play a part in this reframing the argument and I would suggest not. They are tainted witnesses and cannot be relied upon to act and discuss with integrity the issue.

At a technical level of course they can and would willingly even if opposed. Actually as, one level they already have. Women, I think, are the best placed to argue: if, in one set of circumstances a woman is viewed as being capable, then in all circumstance so she should be viewed.

I return to the question of rape. Certainly I think that it is quite outwith men’s competence to address the issue.

Malcolm D B Munro
1 April, 2011

Filed under: Culture

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