morgan schatz blackrose

stories in my life
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Storyteller, Musician, Author and Traveller. www.schatzblackrose.com All stories are copyright of Morgan Schatz Blackrose Available for performances, concerts, workshops worldwide

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2012 (9)
2011 (30)
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2009 (25)
 

Why I’m a Storyteller

I grew up in a household devoid of books, but not of stories. My parents had little time for reading, with the exception of the weekly newspapers. In a time when organized recycling was unheard of, these venerated providers of information and entertainment, ended their lives as either fire lighting material or conveniently torn strips of paper, threaded on to a length of wire in the outhouse. But some newspapers refused to die.

I remember helping my mother replace the newspapers that lined the cupboards and drawers. It would take ages to finish the job because we would reread the old papers. At the kitchen table we retold the stories we’d read.

Storytelling was how we communicated with each other. It was how we shared our day-to-day activities and how we learnt about the lives of our parents and our grandparents. It was how we remembered people and events and how we forged new friendships. Our stories became our identity.

 My father was the chief storyteller and regaled everyone with his tales of the bush. Whether it was in the shearing shed at smoko with the men, or around the kitchen table, his stories were invariably loud, entertaining and humorous.

On the other hand my mother was the keeper of the family stories; the oral equivalent of births, deaths and marriages, but with additional details. She was the one who knew the ‘real’ story. But these stories were definitely not for children to listen too; they were women’s stories. ‘Little pigs have big ears,’ was a phrase that she invoked whenever she believed her curious children were listening in to the women’s stories.  A rite of passage for a girl was being party to the telling of these stories. 

She was also the rhymer. From birth she sang songs, told riddles and performed finger and action rhymes with her children. She did this because her mother had done it. That was what mother’s did to amuse their children. Today, scientific and educational studies have shown that these simple early literacy activities are essential in preparing children to read and write. They are more than entertainment; they stimulate children’s brains and motivation to read.

Where I grew up there was no preschool. If children were to receive any literacy experiences it was in the home. We now know that from birth, children can benefit from their parents and carers reading, rhyming and singing with them. As children don’t start preschool until 4 or 5 years of age then they need to have literacy experiences beforehand, not only so they can be school ready but to enjoy the excitement and wonder of learning.

Twenty five years ago I left my job at a Melbourne library, to become a storyteller. I knew the power of storytelling to create a spark in children’s eyes and inspire their imaginations. I also believed that oral storytelling was a medium to educate, entertain and improve the lives of people of all ages.

To this end I have worked with a number of health, education, environment and community groups on the multiple applications of storytelling. Because I adhere to Virginia Woolfe’s philosophy, ‘As a woman I have no country; my country is the whole world,’ I work anywhere and everywhere; wherever people are receptive to oral literature.

Teaching young parents the rhymes my mother taught me, so they can share them with their children, is as important as presenting an academic paper to an International conference. Seeing a previously reticent child confidently participate in storytelling and oral language sessions affirms the power of the humble rhyme and the importance of generating a storytelling continuum from birth to death.

When I present papers on why we need tellers of traditional tales in our contemporary cultures, they are derived from my first hand experience of seeing their relevance as a teaching tool, cultural medium and community builder. I believe that everyone is a storyteller, however, many people are disconnected from their family and cultural stories. As repositories of traditional tales, storytellers can build resilience in communities through introducing each new generation to the old stories. After all, these tales are the global cultural inheritance of all children.

With this philosophy in mind I look forward to sharing raps, rhymes songs and stories with future generations, in communities both local and global. Here is a tale to finish with. Told by my mother-in-law to my husband as a child, who then told it to our children and may it continue on …

There was once a man who had a hole in his tooth and in that tooth there was a note and on the note was written the words; there was once a man who had a hole in his tooth and in that tooth there was a note and on the note was written the words; there was once a man who had a hole in his tooth and in that tooth there was a note and on the note was written the words …

Photo by Roman W. Schatz

Hands

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'Love Letters To Trees' at the Yew Chung International School in Qingdao, China.

Roman, Moriah and I have just had the privilege of presenting 'Love Letters to Trees' at the Yew Chung International School in Qingdao, China, to celebrate Earth Day and Environment Week. What a joyous experience of children's creativity and compassion. Here is the talk I gave at the concluding concerts with accompanying pictures of the sculptures from Qingdao and Huangdao campuses.


Long before any of us were born, trees were venerated throughout the world in stories and rituals. In Ancient Greece the story was told of the mythical King Ceecrops who wanted to name the capital city after whichever God or Goddess gave the best gift to it's people. Poseidon, the God of the oceans, struck his trident into a hill overlooking the Aegean sea. Out gushed a torrent of salty water. Wave after wave rolled out and galloping on the foaming crest the first horse appeared. This powerful steed symbolised war and the people, in fear, shrunk away from it. Then Athene, the Goddess of wisdom, brought forth an olive tree and planted it on the rocky cliff now known as the Acropolis. The Olive tree was a useful gift, giving fruit for food and oil that could be used for perfume, light, heat and medicine. The people declared Athene the winner and King Ceecrops made her the Patron of the city, naming it Athens after her. It was said that all of Greece's olive trees descended from the tree in the story and they were considered sacred in Greece.
In the Christian religion the olive was a symbol of peace. This derives from the Old Testament and the story of the Great Flood, where Noah released a dove in order to find land and it returned with an olive branch in its beak, signifying an end to the anger of God against humankind.
In Nepal, 2,500 years ago, Prince Siddhartha Gautama went in search of the answer to why there was suffering in the world. For six years he walked and walked until he finally came to rest under a Bodhi tree and here he begun to meditate. After a long time truth came to him and he was filled with a great peacefulness. He experienced a release from all the things that were troubling him. He had become enlightened and became known as The Buddha, the enlightened one.
In the 1970's in Kenya trees were continuing to change the lives of whole civilizatons. Wangaari Matthai had just received her science doctorate and was active in supporting her husband's election to parliament. She listened to his prospective constituents voice their concerns, particularly the women. There were no jobs, the women had to walk long distances for firewood and water, people were poor and children were suffering from malnutrition.
Wangaari Matthai recognized that these were all symptoms of deforestation and environmental degradation and that they could all be addressed with tree planting projects.Trees could prevent soil erosion, protect water sources, provide fuel and building materials, and fruit trees could give food and fodder. Planting the trees would also provide jobs and an income.
Over the next thirty-four years she was instrumental in mobilising thousands of people in Africa and around the world in a campaign to plant millions of trees. The United Nations named 2011 The International Year of Forests, and in that year Wangaari Matthai died, but not before she had received the Nobel Peace Prize for her work in forming the Green Belt Movement.
Wangaari Matthai made the connection between good government and environmental degradation. She said that the state of any country's environment is a reflection of the kind of governance in place and without good governance there can be no peace.
In the 1970's in China deforestation was happening on a massive scale as trees were cut down to build cities and plant crops. What Wangaari Matthai described as the desertification of Africa was also happening in China. In the 1980's the Chinese government set about remedying the devastation of the previous decade and in 1981 began a tree planting programme. Over the next thirty years China planted 61.4 billion trees; that's 2 trees per person per year.
However many of the trees are not seedlings that will take decades to grow. Huge plantations have been grown and mature trees are greening China's cities. March is tree planting month in China and farmers are employed in cities and rural areas alike to plant trees. President Hu Jintao sees the tree planting campaign throughout China as a means of coping with climate change, improving ecological environment and achieving greener growth.
When we look at the trees, they are all held up with wooden structures to support them. As the trees give support to us, we must support them. It is this symbiotic relationship that is reflected in the construction of the tree sculptures
The children listened to folktales about trees from various countries and were then asked to express their thoughts and emotions in words and/or pictures on a leaf. The leaves were then hung on the tree. The leaves were 'love letters' expressing gratitude, understanding and appreciation of trees. Like a tree, each leaf was unique and yet all the leaves collectively formed the tree sculpture.
Overwhelmingly the leaves express love. Exploring the children's tree sculptures is both a moving testament to their compassion and also offers hope for a sustainably green future for our planet.

(download)

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Learning Outcomes for a Song that Doesn't Rhyme

For the past two days Roman and I have been presenting storytimes to our groups in the Storytelling for Literacy and Connection Project in the Kempsey region of NSW; Australia. We have included my new song, The Colour Song and I want to share the learning outcomes I have observed.

It is a song that has a traditional tune.  Not only does this overcome copyright issues, it is also familiar to some listeners who immediately sing along. My primary purpose in writing the song was to assist children identify colours, although as I will outline, there are many other learning outcomes it addresses. There is no particular sequence or even requirement to sing about every colour. The content of the song is entirely up to the singer to include or exclude at will. (You don't even have to sing it, you can chant it.)

However, it is important to have a collection of items that are representative colours, such as balls, crayons or paper, so that children can associate the name of the colour with its appearance.

Because I am working with Roman, we present the song together, although it can be performed by one person quite easily. I play the music and sing the song and he displays the colours. They are in the form of ribbons which he has draped around his neck. He holds up a particular colour and that forms a verse of the song. If he holds up the red ribbon then I sing the following verse:

I like red, red, red,
Red for apples.
I like red, red, red, 
Red for * Jamie's shorts.
(* allows for children to call out the things that are the appropriate colour.)

We then move on to the next colour. 'I like yellow, yellow, yellow, etc.'

This song does not rhyme (so you don't have to suffer the impossible: trying to find what rhymes with purple or orange). It can be as long or short as you want. I haven't been tempted to sing 'I like beige, beige, beige' and I don't refer to shades of colours e.g. light green, because the most important thing I discovered was not the colours themselves but the children's relationship with them.

Aside from promoting visual literacy, this song promotes joy, inclusion, affirmation, language extension, the opportunity for interaction with other listeners, stimulation of memory and curiosity. How can one simple song do all these things?

In our observations we saw children thrilled by being able to contribute their suggestions and then having them acknowledged in the song. We saw them actively seeking visual identification of the colours, pointing them out and having them affirmed. They observed themselves and others, naming the colour associations. e.g. my dress is purple and so is my sister's. They also looked beyond their physical environment as we assisted them with hints like 'what else is green and grows outside?' to use their imagination and memories to offer suggestions. Children who didn't verbalise contributed through pointing. In this way it was a song that everyone happily participated in. 

My workshops for librarians in Melbourne in March 2012 will include material from Chinny Chin Chin, my new book of raps, rhymes and songs, and the learning outcomes that can be achieved in storytime and language sessions.

Workshops for Early Childhood Professionals are available worldwide. Bookings through my website.

Photo

Filed under  //  colours   literacy storytelling   song   visual literacy  
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obscenities

It's all right for Billy Connolly to say 'fuck' but it's not all right for me too. The reason for this is quite simple; I'm a woman and Billy Connolly, isn't. Billy's funny; I'm obscene. OK some people would probably reckon he was obscene too, but I don't. Why would I be offended by anyone with such a skilled use of the vernacular? Appropriately inserted expletives can flavour a conversation in much the same way the addition of spices flavour a curry. Some folks find a hot curry intolerable and others find a mild curry bland. But curries aren't gendered, and herein lies a major difference between infusing a conversation with curses and a curry with spices.

Growing up, I heard my father swear regularly, but he never said 'fuck' or 'cunt' in the presence of women and girls. I was subsequently shocked when I learned from the son of my father's friend, that his language was peppered with these words. But he never spoke them in the house. I learned that they were 'Shearing Shed Words'; and when I was a kid, shearing sheds were men's places, except at smoko, when the women brought over the tea and biscuits. Needless to say that then, the men were too busy eating, drinking and smoking to say much at all.

By not using four letter words in the presence of women, men were showing 'respect' for them. Remnants of chivalry? Pity many of these same men didn't consider violence against women disrespectful, and even if they didn't batter their own wives, stand up to the men who did.

One of the reasons that men in Australia considered the 'public bar' in hotels sacred, was because they could swear to their heart's content, with the only women present being the barmaids, who often put up with more than the men swearing in their workplace. The move to allow the 'public bar' to be truly public, that is by allowing women to drink there, was met with a great deal of opposition from male drinkers. Australian pubs have had a history segregation, both of race and sex. Although discrimination is now illegal, offending patrons by posting racist and sexist images, airing pornographic videos and generally making it an uncomfortable place for women, is not illegal. An attitude of 'if you don't like it you can leave' is still pervasive in some establishments.

But is swearing, in and of itself offensive? I think this depends on the context and content. Any targeted verbal abuse can be offensive. I find the use of racist and sexist epithets offensive. I don't like seeing children subjected to an atmosphere of hatred, bigotry and violence, expressed either verbally or physically, whether or not swearing is used. Calling a child 'stupid,' or 'fucking stupid' has the same effect on the child; denigration. Saying you had a 'great' time or a 'fucking great' time, expresses the same sentiment, although I would add that sometimes people who swear repeatedly and unthinkingly, could do with some vocabulary expansion. But war, hunger and exploitation, often take place in this world with nary a profanity spoken; and that is a fucking obscenity!
#*!@*#

Filed under  //  australia   language   obscenity   sexism   war  
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Glass Toilet and White Phosphorus

This whole social network thing has caused some anxiety over the past few weeks. I realised it was getting out of hand. No, this is not one of those stories where the kid hasn't eaten for days because mummy is too busy chatting on the computer with people on the other side of the world, to shop, cook or generally perform basic human functions. It's worse. I have realised that a single mosquito, is far more powerful than I am, and certainly more tenacious.

Perhaps I'd best explain.  I was very suspect about joining FB three years ago, because I had been suffering anxiety for the previous year and was concerned that I would place myself in a stressful situation by recalling people from my past.  I'm over 40. I've got no interest in school reunions or seeing what so and so is up to these days; much to my mother's amazement. Her insistence on passing on any and every bit of gossip that comes her way, about people who live in the town where I grew up is something that I have learned to accept. It makes her happy to be the bearer of 'news.' And one day, with a bit of luck, I too will be old, and probably text my daughter with similar 'news' that she has no interest in. Actually that's a lie; I hate texting. I'll write her long rambling letters.

To return to my fear.

So I took the leap and became a Facebooker. No skeletons came rattling out of my deep, dark past to terrorize me. I connected with the people I wanted to know. Most of my 'friends' on FB are actually people I know, to varying degrees. And there are one or two people who I have got to know a lot better and now consider them 'friends' even though we have not met each other.
I set myself rules for FB which help in the ongoing 'privacy protocols' the administrators of this social network are forever changing. It's a simple rule: there is no privacy!  Think of going to the toilet in a glass cubicle. It doesn't matter if the door is shut, people can still see in. If you don't want anyone to see you wipe your backside, then go to another toilet; one that isn't transparent.

An interesting aside here is that I just posted an article on FB about the treatment and prevention of childhood diarrhoea in the world
which shows that 1.2 billion people in the world practice open defecation. The results of this literal public shitting are of far greater concern than the embarrassing, boring or humiliating metaphorical shitting that can occur in social media.  Adequate sanitation, safe drinking water as well as the promotion of good hygiene, are key components in preventing childhood diarrhoea, a major killer of the developing world's children.

This brings me to the importance of social media as a tool for education and the promotion of human rights. I use it for such, and yes I support causes and I sign petitions and I pass on information and .... am I being effective though?

Well that remains to be seen, but if I confer with the pragmatic, skeptic of the household, the answer is No. But I refuse to think I can't make a difference. I am like the mosquito. That annoying little monster that disturbs my sleep. So small and yet so effective and persistent. I joined G+ in the hope of finding a few more of 'my people.' Facebook is seen as the connector with your old friends and G+ with your new friends.

I did find them. Brave social activists, feminists, peace activists; all five of them. I admit to seeking educators and I found them too, but mainly 'techie' people or those only concerned with American education.  Why don't they all just demand the US government follow in Finland's footsteps and be done with it? And surprise surprise G+ is dominated by North Americans; whose prime concerns are American domestic politics, cupcakes and cats. Save me from all three! (Apologies to the  people who actually view G+ as a global communications network and don't think of the US as the world).

So I created another more radical persona, and managed to offend gun nuts and Israeli massacre supporters. These idiots engage in conversation with various calls to arms and attacks on my intelligence. Disturbing? Nothing more frightening than a combination of hate, self righteousness and weaponry. I call that a recipe for terror.

Do I want to waste my time and energy conversing with these sorts of men, the defenders of the indefensible. No amount of reasonable explanation, common sense, appeals for compassion and documented evidence is going to change the ideology of these people. They are not going to say, 'Gee I never thought of it like that. This is a violation of human rights and we should call for world disarmament and...'

I have believed that one small thing can make a difference, and used the mosquitoe buzzing around your room as you try to go to sleep to illustrate this point. But that effectively annoying mosquito has just been sprayed with white phosphorus, the chemical weapon of choice used by Israel in Gaza,  and the United States in Fallujah. I don't stand a chance.

So where does this leave me in the social network scene? I've subscribed to the blogs of the good folk I've encountered on G+and I will contine to make forays into the circles of ' my people' there. I will keep in contact with my FB friends because many of them are friends and I'll write my blogs. However I will save my energy, passion and words for the kids I tell stories too. They are the hope for the future and perhaps they will look to the stories for guidance in creating and sustaining a just, humane and peaceful world.
Photo by Moriah Schatz

Dscn1563

Filed under  //  Facebook   G+   dysentery   war   white phosphorus  
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Strength: the truth teller or the opinionator

Early morning conversation between storyteller and husband

I'm just working out what I want to write in my blog.

And what country are you going to upset today?

I'm not selective, but I do want to write about yesterday's incident. Some people would say that I stepped into a minefield for challenging the sanctity of the americans' belief in their right to bear arms, but I reject that metaphor. When there are kids in the world today having their legs blown off by land mines, how can we in all conscience, make light of that by using that terminology to describe a conversation.  It's like when people say they are starving, or that some one was their slave, or someone is a fascist.  These flippant exaggerations trivialise the reality of the lives of millions of people, past and present. 
No I am not being politically correct. That accusation is levelled at truth tellers as a denigration, because people don't like being reminded of their insensitivity or privilege.
Truth teller?  Is that how you see yourself? I've always thought of you as a professional liar. 
But I know when I'm telling lies, and if other people are telling lies then I want to set them straight; especially those that think they are telling the truth. 
So whose truth are you telling? 
My own of course; everyone has there own version.
What about opinionator? Isn't that closer to the mark? 
Everyone's entitled to my opinion.

Here Lies Truth

Yesterday I encountered people who believed passionately in lies. Let me begin with the last one. This is instantly recognisable because its an 'internet story.' It is sincere, purports to be the truth, and includes factual information to assist in its credibility. I believed it when I heard my colleague tell it to the library crowd. We discussed it afterwards and I went home and retold it to my husband, who was immediately skeptical. I, being entranced by the tale had suspended disbelief, but then went in search of a source. I wanted it to be true. Numerous sites posting the story came up, but all with no source. My further research showed no evidence of the story's validity. It was folklore, a lovely story, but not a true story. And so I will tell her what I have discovered, which doesn't mean she shouldn't tell it, but does mean that she needs to tell it in a truthful context. I'm a professional storyteller and I feel beholden to know the sources of my stories and credit them when possible. I also like to differentiate between the possible and the actual. 

This takes me to my first encounter, with a number of people who believed they had the right to own and use guns chiefly to protect themselves against their government. No these weren't citizens living under a dictatorship; they were americans, living in a democracy. Every person over the age of 18 can vote, in that country, although many don't exercise that right. While the US government is currently proposing legislation that threatens the civil liberties of all people living there, the response by these people was not to mobilise citizens to vote or to protest, but to arm themselves with weapons.

They seriously believe that in a democracy all people have the right to carry and use guns, and that this will protect them; from their own elected government.
I understand that there is a valid reason for some people to carry a gun, such as putting down a sick farm animal, or if you are under attack from a bear, or an alligator, but that' s probably not such a big threat in most American cities. 

As to the other reasons like defending your person and property. Property is just stuff; inanimate things. Nothing worth killing for. As to defending yourself and family? From what? Bears? Oh no its gangs. And they have easy access to weapons that they will always get illegally so gun control won't affect them, or so I've been told. But how do you know if you've never done it?

What if the US government decided that everyone had to hand in their guns, unless they had a bear or alligator problem or were farmers (all of whom have no need for automatic weapons). What if?
Undoubtedly there would be outrage by some sectors of the US community; a sad indictment on the morality of that country. But I hold to the vision of a world where strength is not measured in armaments or weaponry but in humanity.

Strength (A Limba Tale from West Africa)

All the animals gathered together and elephant announced his idea to have a contest to discover who has strength.
On the appointed day each animal was to display their strength. Everyone arrived and last of all came Man, who had brought a gun with him and left it in the bushes.
Chimpanzee went first. He held his arms up in the air and shook them, then ran up the trunk of a small tree, bent it down and tied it into a knot.
He climbed back down and asked, 'Strength! Strength! Was that Strength?'
And all the animals cheered. 'Strength! Strength! Strength!'
Then Deer leaped up into the air and ran five kilometres into the forest and back again without being out of breath.
She looked around and called out, 'Strength! Strength! Was that Strength?'
And all the animals cheered. 'Strength! Strength! Strength!'
Leopard then jumped up and drew out his long claws and began to scrape the earth. The dirt flew left and right and the animals had to moved out of the way.
He turned to the assembly and growled, 'Strength! Strength! Was that Strength?'
And all the animals cheered. 'Strength! Strength! Strength!'
Bushbuck strode forward, lowered her horns and he ploughed a road through the canefields.
She turned to the crowd and shouted, 'Strength! Strength! Was that Strength?'
And all the animals cheered. 'Strength! Strength! Strength!'
Elephant then leaned his shoulder against a clump of trees and each one of them broke and crashed to the ground.
He turned to the other animals and trumpeted, 'Strength! Strength! Was that Strength?'
And all the animals cheered. 'Strength! Strength! Strength!'
 And last it was Man's turn.  He whirled and he twirled about, then he did somersaults and cartwheels and handsprings. When he was finished he turned to the animals and asked, 'Strength! Strength! Was that Strength?'
And all the animals all looked at each other and slowly they answered.
 'It was exciting but we're not sure if that's strength.'
So  Man climbed a tree and he threw down the palm nuts. he climbed back down and asked,'Strength! Strength! Was that Strength?' 
Once again the animals looked at each other and said, 'You climbed a tree, which is great, but that's really not strength. Can you do anything else?'
Man was angry.
He ran into the bush and retrieved his gun. He ran back with it, pointed it at the elephant and then pulled the trigger.
BANG
The elephant fell down dead.
Man jumped up and bragged. 'Strength! Strength! Wasn’t THAT strength?!'
But there were no animals to answer him. They had all fled into the forest, where they huddled together and talked.
'Did you what he did? Was that strength?' 
There was silence while they all pondered the question.  
'No that was not Strength.  That was DEATH.'
Since that day the animals will not walk with Man.
When Man enters the forest he walks by himself. And they still talk of him.
Man; the creature who cannot tell the difference between strength and death.

 

Sources:
Limba stories and story-telling [compiled and translated by] Ruth Finnegan Published 1967 by ClarendonP. in Oxford, UK   
MacDonald, M. R. (1992). Peace Tales: World Folktales to Talk About. Linnet Books, USA

Witness4

 

Photo by Roman W. Schatz 
Look out for Bears

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A funny thing happened on the way to the United Nations

Although the Palace des Nations or the 'United Nations' in English, is in Geneva, Switzerland, it is on UN land, and therefore is a region unto itself. In 1919, at the end of World War 1, Switzerland, because it was a neutral country, was chosen as the site for the UN's forerunner, the League of Nations. The UN continued the League's work and philosophy of promoting peace and disarmament with its inauguration in 1945, at the end of WW2, and occupies the original League of Nations building.


It is a remarkable organisation and the buildings and grounds and their respective artworks reflect the ideals and stories of the organisation. I felt privileged to enter the room where world peace, disarmament and human rights are discussed and determined. I would rather stand here, in the room where words of peace are forged into action, than on any ground where acts of war are written in blood. On the eve of Armistice Day, November 11, when many nations remember their war dead, I am acutely aware that the United Nations is as important now, as it ever was, in securing world peace.


Our tour guide was a passionate and knowledgeable UN worker, fluent in at least three languages, and the group was was comprised of a host of people from different nations. I was able to enjoy spotting the cultural stereotypes in our group and sharing the humour of the experience with my husband and daughter who I travel with.


There were two Indian men who asked the guide complex questions at every stop along the way, a Middle Eastern Woman constantly coddling her bored son, a Chinese man who kept videoing, after being told to stop, a Japanese student photographing the cloak room, the stairs and anything else that came into view, two Northern Europeans complete with back packs, just in case we were locked in overnight. But there were no Swiss on our tour, and we discovered none of the Swiss we knew had ever been to the Palace des Nations. I put this down to Switzerland only joining the UN in 2002 and the fact that you don't need walking sticks to go there. The Swiss would rather spend their time climbing mountains. Or is that another cultural stereotype?


I had my picture taken with one of the few flags I am happy to wave; the UN flag, and looked forward to posting it with an accompanying write-up. But that was not to be so.
After a day of storytelling at an International school in Geneva, the next day, our family met up at the train station for the five hour return journey to the German speaking part of Switzerland. Then one of our backpacks was stolen.


With all the gear to choose from: Mama Bear's instrument of mass entertainment, the mandolin, her bag of Australian puppets and ribbons, Baby Bear's pack with her homework in it and Papa Bear's pack with ipad and cameras, the one chosen by our lightning thief was not the one with a platypus in it, or homework.


We were all in a state of shock! After that we boarded the train and the following process took place: 'If only I ... ' 'bastards ...' 'organized crime ...' 'What have we learned?' 'We are lucky, we have each other and all we have had stolen are things, not our homes, our homelands, or our lives.' Later; 'it's not your fault.'


Revenge was a feeling expressed by our daughter. She wanted all the things that had been stolen to hurt the thief. Vengeance! Punishment! Understandable thoughts from a victim's perspective, but are they effective as a deterrent to future criminal acts? I remembered our visit to the UN and the discussion about the punitive measures imposed on Germany after World War 1 as a causal factor of the second world war? What role does vengeance play in the perpetuation of conflict? What would the UN do to address a nation who perpetrated a criminal act on another?


In our situation we didn't see the thief/thieves, but have it on good authority that they are members of an organised criminal group of a specific cultural identity, operating in the area.
When a violation of a person's person or property takes place and the nationality or culture is known of the perpetrator, generalizations are often made by others. These beliefs may be adopted wholeheartedly: All Bombalasiens are thieves, all Punvarion men are sleazy, all Gungalese are lazy. However, it is very rare for qualities to be generalized and wholeheartedly adopted by others. All Pelintians are good cooks, all Thepils are great hosts, the Umpwils are a gentle people. For every generalization there is a specific incident to challenge it. Some people rationalise their prejudices with 'I'm talking about the ones from the North, the South, who moved to our country, who come by ...'


When my eldest daughter was in high school, it was pointed out to her that her name was German and Hitler was German and he was a Nazi and Germans are Nazis, and therefore she was a Nazi. Ludicrous reasoning, to be dismissed by any intelligent human being. However, racist, intolerant and ignorant human beings embrace such propaganda, and their misinformed and often hateful ideas can infect others. Immediate action must be taken to address the perniciousness of racism and bigotry so that we do not perpetuate a climate where hate crimes thrive.


And what if there is a recognized problem with particular cultures and criminal activities? For a start we can't say that all 20 million, 100 million, 1 billion, people of that same nation or culture as the perpetrator, are the same as the perpetrator. Generalizing on our own experience is as bad as generalizing on the experience of others.


I remember my father's hatred of a particular race of people because his father had gone to war in 1914, and fought against them, in their country. A sixteen year old illiterate boy from Australia going to a war he knew nothing about in a country he knew nothing about. Returning to Australia with his stories to tell to his children, who in turn told them to their children. My father had never met a representative of the culture he so maligned, but spoke with authority because he believed his father's truths. In the same way we can pass on our culture, we can propagate a cultural mythology.


In telling people about the theft of our backpack we have encountered both blame for allowing it to happen by not being more vigilant, and outrage that has taken the form of justifying the call for border control, stopping immigration and other xenophobic responses, because of the association of particular races and crime. But the answer is not one of exclusion, gated communities, stronger borders, not trusting anyone. In fact it is the opposite.


We need to be more openly human and have empathy and compassion for others. If we want to prevent crime we must prevent poverty and the circumstances that push people into becoming criminals. We must educate ourselves about the perspective of others and the choices they perceive they have. This does not mean we condone criminal behaviour, but the most effective way to fight crime is with compassion.


We must help people to become the best human beings they can be, by enabling them to live a productive life, utilising all their skills and knowledge. Quality education, housing and employment for everyone in homelands that are not beseiged by war and famine is everyone's right. Quite simply, each one of us must embody the principles of the Declaration of Human Rights and represent the philosophy of the United Nations in our lives.


Our world view has offered us comfort and a rationalisation for what has happened, and now the process of rebuilding takes place; replacing what was stolen. After all, a photographer needs a camera to be a photographer. But I'm lucky, as I'm a storyteller, and a story is all I need. Now I have one.

Photo (taken with old camera) Peace by Roman W Schatz

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Gaddafi and Justice

No-one wants to defend a dictator, a tyrant, a purveyor of misery and corruption, a murderer. And here I am saying that Gaddafi should not have been assassinated, because that, I think, was what happened. He received the ultimate punishment. Whether it was inflicted by the people who revolted against his tyranny or agents from another country, does not matter. The issue is the sanctioning of murder, by the State or the People.
'He deserved to die,' is the sentiment expressed by many people throughout the world. I ask; whatever happened to the Courts of International Justice, where people are tried for their crimes? These offer the opportunity for victims and their advocates to also tell their stories, and do not pave the way for people who have perpetrated crimes against humanity to be viewed as martyrs, as can happen when a 'leader' is assassinated. Have we lost faith in our systems of justice?
My teenage daughter confessed that she witnessed Gaddafi die on Youtube! I'm horrified. She assured me that there were 'tons of films of him and everyone's watching them.' This doesn't make me feel any better.
I explain to her about the role of International Courts in exacting justice. But she expresses the same sentiment as many others; that he was a murderer and therefore deserves to die. It is at this point that I realise how much work there is to do in teaching our children how to negotiate a truly peaceful and just world.
This takes time and a commitment to the principles of humanity, unlike assassinations which are often hailed as swift justice, because they are decisive, quick acts. Acts of murder, though they are never defined as such.
In the same way I could not sanction the assassination of Osama bin Laden, I cannot sanction the assassination of Muammar Gaddafi. Because I do not believe dictators and terrorists should be murdered by the State does not mean that I condone their actions. They should be brought to justice. That is the sentiment I want to see spread across the globe, not reliving the experience of the Roman colosseum spectatcles, and witnessing criminals die a gory death right before your eyes.
Unfortunately the ongoing struggles for peace and justice cannot be reduced to a 15 minute youtube clip, so we will just have to continue to do our Peace work without it going viral.

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Danger Food: Protecting our Kids from the Bad Whiteys

It's Child Protection Week and I am invited to perform at a community celebration. I want to tell folktales that are interactive, entertaining and empowering. After polishing old tales and learning new ones, I am happy with the programme; stories from Tanzania, Zimbabwe, Haiti, Brazil and a favourite contemporary tale. The stories with child characters explore their resourcefulness, co-operation and compassion in solving problems and the animal trickster tales affirm that wisdom and cleverness will always defeat evil. 

I will present them in four short sessions, because we are in an outdoor venue with lots of competing activities. It's not a school storytelling session, where children are compelled to attend. It is entirely up to the child to choose whether they want to be at my sessions.  And that is in keeping with my understanding about children's rights; the right to make choices. 

My role in events like this is similar to that of a teacher. I feel responsible for ensuring a positive learning experience for the kids and their families. I am also a role model for children and an advocate for their rights. The most basic right of all human beings, is to feel safe.  While I can't rescue or protect every child whose rights are violated, I can at every opportunity, affirm that it is their right to feel safe, and give them resources to assist them. I offer the stories as resources, complete with heroes and sheroes as that they can identify with, and peaceful, innovative and just resolutions to consider.

I am aware that in this community, alcoholism is a huge health problem and one of the stories I tell has the kids taking a pot of beer to the Doctor Python. In the telling I change it to mango juice. I've told this tale in many international contexts and never been concerned that it was beer, but with these kids, I'm sensitive to normalising images of alcohol use. Having mango juice has no bearing on the tale's integrity, so I go with my gut feeling. It's not the first time I've taken into account my audience and made changes to a story, and nor will it be the last. That is the nature of storytelling; why it is an organic process. And then comes the lollipop.

I can't believe it. Lollipops are hurled at the kids as prizes for entering a dancing competition. They scrabble for them and these artificially coloured, sugar loaded 'rewards' are crammed into open mouths. After the competition the kids come to my tent, and another performer offers me the remainder of the 'treats,' to distribute in my storytelling session. I refuse, and explain that I don't give out sugar to kids, particularly here, where diabetes is a killer. He is embarassed and says that he was given them by the organisers. 

It's not the first time that I've questioned both the food supply and food prizes at community and school events. I use the word 'food' under guidance, as lollies (candy, sweeties, whatever you call them) are not food! 
There are two issues here. Refined sugar products as a reward, and their effect on childrens' health. In schools and family storytelling workshops, I promote physical activities, games or stories as a reward for good behaviour or 'winning.' The days of the teacher having a lolly jar on their desk are over, or they should be. 

Diet-related disease is a global health problem, generating concern in both developed and developing nations. The devastating effects of Westernized diets on indigenous populations is alarming. In Australia there is a campaign to 'Close the Gap'; the seventeen year difference in life expectancy between indigenous and non-indigenous Australians. Diet-related diseases is one of the primary causes of this difference.

'While the exact figures aren’t known, it’s estimated that the prevalence of type 2 diabetes in Aboriginal people is at least 2-4 times (and may be as much as 10 times in some communities) that of non-indigenous Australians.
And not only is type 2 diabetes more common, but it also begins at an earlier age in Aboriginal people than in other Australian populations, which means that the risk of developing complications from diabetes also occurs at a younger age.
In addition, the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander death rate from diabetes is believed to be up to 17 times that of non-indigenous Australians, mainly due to high levels of cardiovascular disease (heart and blood vessel problems) and kidney disease.'

Not only do we need to protect our children from exploitation, violence and neglect, we also need to protect them from diet related diseases, like diabetes. Agents for these diseases tend to be the 'whiteys.' White flour, white sugar, white fat and salt. In Australia, the food items with the highest content of 'whiteys' are also the cheapest. There is a direct link between poor communities and poor nutrition. Many communities and schools in Australia are still happy to feature white bread, sausages, cakes, biscuits, lollies and cordial as their food offering. Unlike many other countries, school meals per se, are not provided in schools. There are canteens or tuckshops, and many of them are stocked with 'whitey' food. 

If we are really committed to protecting our kids, then we need to look at our own agency in endangering their health and welfare. Let's show we care for them, by demanding they receive the best nutrition, and insisting that governments, communites and education organisations, provide it.

Photograph by Roman W. Schatz

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Baked or Boiled: Innovating Food Traditions

When I was a kid we had rice two different ways. Baked or Boiled. Both were desserts.
To make baked rice, a cup of rice and a cup of sugar were put in a particular pudding dish. The same one was always used. Milk was then poured into the dish until it was three quarters full and then a fork was used to mix the ingredients. After that lashings of nutmeg were sprinkled over the top and it was placed in a moderate oven to cook. An hour or so later it was removed and left to cool. Straight after the main meal it was spooned into individual bowls and served up as pudding, usually with preserved peaches as an accompaniment. (Dessert wasn't a word that was used in our household. It was always pudding, even if the dessert was not a pudding as such.) The nutmeg formed a flaky, dark covering and added nothing to the pudding's appearance or taste. I believe it's primary purpose was to keep the top of the rice from drying out.
The latter rice dish was literally named. Boiled rice. When cooked it was served individually, with the requisite preserved peaches, and the desired amount of sugar and milk was added.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered that rice could be a savoury food. An excursion to a Chinese restaurant where I discovered fried rice, was the beginning of my food education. Although this mainly occurred after I left home, there were some exceptions.
I was eleven when a cousin from the city came to stay with us and she cooked spaghetti bolognese. Up until this time I believed that spaghetti came from a can and you ate it on toast. But she had a packet of spaghetti, which was long, hard and dry which she cooked in boiling water. It was nothing like the spaghetti in a can. It wasn't until after I left home that I learned about the many varieties of pasta.
In the first few years of living in the city, I learned many things about food and its preparation. Some of these insights I have listed here:
There are more herbs than parsley and mint, and parsley can be more than a garnish. Tabbouleh being the embodiment of this discovery.
There are more than two types of salad; coleslaw and the layered iceberg lettuce salad with boiled eggs, grated cheese and carrots and tomatoes.
Boiling vegetable into submission or baking them to a crisp are not the only ways of cooking them, in fact they're the least desirable ways of preparing vegetables.
Meat does not have to be served at every meal, or indeed any meal. There are people who are vegetarians!
There are alternatives to cooking with lard or rendered down fat, that are much healthier for your body.
Capsicums and chillies exist. Just because I hadn't seen them didn't mean they weren't there.
Pineapples and bananas aren't the only tropical fruits.
Baked beans and green beans aren't the only beans.
Garlic is not a sausage, like devon, but a vegetable that you can add to nearly any savoury meal.

When I see the shows on television about traditional recipes being handed on from one generation to another I am heartened, particularly in view of the globalisation of food (please read westernization and fast food invasion). I applaud all attempts to preserve cultural food traditions, which fulfil many functions, including the promotion of better health outcomes to communities. But are my family's food traditions worth championing? What have I embraced and what have I rejected as an adult feeding my own family?
My father knew the rudiments of cooking as he had been a bachelor until marrying my mother in his mid thirties. My mother was a nurse and many of her meals were cooked for her, as she lived in nursing home quarters and was used to institutionalised food. When they married, my mother did most of the cooking, although my father usually cooked his own breakfast; invariably meat, eggs, leftover vegetables, toast and tea. They were sheep farmers so 'grew' their own meat. They also had fruit trees and a garden on their farm. After their move to the outskirts of town when I was a teenager, they no longer grew their own fruit and vegetables and were much more dependant on grocery shopping.
The major difference between my family of origin's food traditions and my own family, is the actual food that is eaten.
We are still eating three meals a day with mid morning and mid afternoon snacks (what my parent's called morning and afternoon tea) and my husband and I both cook, although the number of meals cooked is more evenly weighted than my parents. We sit down at the kitchen table as a family to eat, as they did, and like them we don't buy take-away food, and rarely buy processed food.
But what are we eating?
Whereas my family of origin ate meat three times a day, we would probably eat meat three to four times a week. We have rice every day and cook with garlic, chillies and herbs. We often eat with chopsticks and alternate between presenting meals where people serve themselves, or whoever cooks serves. We cook food from different cultures and we enjoy feeding ourselves.
There is often a nostalgia for the food of our childhoods, because of what it represented. Today I indulged myself in cooking for my daughter and her friend my version of Baked Rice. For a start I didn't bake it. I put the rice in the rice cooker, with significantly less sugar than my mother would have used, milk, coconut milk and cinnamon. When it was cooked, I chopped up fresh strawberries and put them on top and voila. They ate it voraciously. Getting kids to eat is always a success. Getting them to eat well is the sweetest success.
I was surprised to realise that I have incorporated many of my parents' rituals around the consumption of food into my own life. Although we have completely different lifestyles from our parents, my husband and I have managed to take the best of what they had to offer, and integrate it into the way we feed our family. We didn't throw the baby out with the bath water.
We are innovating our family food traditions to suit both our lifestyle and the communities we live in. Our generation has more knowledge and resources about healthy eating and food production, than our parents did. Yet, for the first time in history we are faced with the global issues of diet related disease and famine, existing side by side.
We need to be passing on to our children much more than our favourite family recipes. They need to know about principled food production, best farming practices, environmental sustainability, optimum nutrition and how to be a conscientious consumer. In short, a family recipe for food ethics.

Photograph by Roman W. Schatz

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