Tag Archives: identity

The evils of anthropology

Prior to reading First in their Field: Women and Australian Anthropology (edited by Julie Marcus) I had almost no understanding of what anthropology actually was.  I understood that it was a study of people, but since there was also sociology, which I took to be the understanding of people in modern society, so therefore anthropology was the study of people now gone.

And then I read First in their Field, and learnt about Australian women breaking major ground (mostly unrecognised) in anthropology, creating fieldwork and what anthropology, at least at the turn of the 1900s was.  I was disgusted to find out what anthropology actually was and the harm that it has caused.

This was brought back to my mind when I started reading Feminism FOR REAL: Deconstructing the academic industrial complex of feminism (edited by Jessica Yee).  The second essay by Krysta Williams and Erin Konsmo has the following (pg 26 – 27):

First off, as has been well stated by many Indigenous Feminist before us, the idea of gender equality did not come from the suffragettes or other so-called “foremothers” of feminist theory.  It should also be recognized that although we are still struggling for this thing called “gender equality”, it is not actually a framed issue within the feminist realm, but a continuation of the larger tackling of colonialism.  So this idea in mainstream feminism that women of colour all of a sudden realized “we are women”, and magically joined the feminist fight actually re-colonizes people for who gender equality and other “feminist” notions is a remembered history and current reality since before Columbus.  THe mainstream feminist movement is supposed to have started in the early 1900s with women fighting for the right to vote.  However, these white women deliberately excluded the struggles of working class women of colour and participated in the policy of forced sterilization for Aboriginal women and women with disabilities.  Furthermore, the idea that we all need to subscribe to the same theoretical understandings of history is marginalizing.  We all have our own truths and histories to live.

and (pg 28)

All that the mainstream feminist movement is trying to claim today is merely a reflection of what an Indigenous person (including women, men, Two-Spirit, trans or different gender identifying people) sees when they look in the mirror.  There is this feeling amongst “innovative thinkers” that we need to reach forward to build and/or discover a “new society” that includes gender equality.  But we know that for us, as a community, this simply means a return to our Indigenous ways of life, a decolonization of our communities which will bring back gender equality.  This is something that we have been fighting for and resisting since contact.  However, being pushed forward by progressives while trying to hold onto and remember the past, honour our Elders and teachings – which being present – is a painful experience!

When reading First in their Field, the essayists wrote about the early female anthropologists living with various Indigenous tribes in remote Australia (well most of Australia at that time was remote).  The essayists discussed how those female anthrpologists, with the exception of Daisy Bates who pretended to be a male spirit, accessed the spiritual realm of Indigenous women, learning about their ceremonies, their laws and how they fit into tribal society.

Prior to these female anthropologists living with the Indigenous inhabitants of Australia, white male anthropologists had determined that much like many white women at the time, Indigenous women occupied the domestic sphere, had no spiritual life and were much less than men, as they had been unable to access (and were not overly interested in) Indigenous women’s experience.  The cut and paste of white society’s gender roles onto the gender roles of Indigenous Australians has no doubt caused the same level of harm as recounted by Williams and Konsmo.

The study of other societies as something less than white, European culture, as something you’d study as if looking at a collection of spores in a petri dish, thinking that you can study another society or culture without bringing in your own biases, issues and prejudices is just laughable and really wrong.  There is no objectivity when studying another group of people, and no way to study another group of people without your presence making an impact on them (unless of course that society/culture doesn’t exist any more and you’re studying it from afar (such as Incan civilisations pre-Spanish invasion)).

The arrogance of my “ancestors” and the damage that they have caused Indigenous Australians makes me deeply ashamed and sorry that so much damage was done.

 

(Update: now with References)

One bit I left out of my blog post last night, or perhaps didn’t explain in the way I intended, is the direct harm that anthropology caused to Australia’s Indigenous inhabitants.  Anthropologists were seen to be experts on Indigenous people and therefore were asked to provide advice to Governments and to fill roles such as “Protectors of Aboriginies” (First in their Field).  If they did not come up with the idea of forcible removal of children from Indigenous communities, they certainly supported it.  In Isobel White’s essay on Daisy Bates she states (pg 63 – 64):

By today’s standards many of Daisy Bate’s suggestions for the welfare of Aborigines seem impossible, absurd and an infringement of human rights.  She believed that the Aborigines were on their way to extinction and her idea applied only to the declining number of those of full descent.  She cared not at all what happened to the part-descent population, whose very existence she deplored.  Consequently her suggestion for the full-descent population was to segregate them from all but minimum contact with Europeans so that there should be no more mixed unions. … Since she regarded them as incapable of governing themselves, they should be governed by a High Commissioner who, she insisted, must be a British, Anglican gentleman.

To no anthropologist would endorse a policy of taking children from their mothers and sending them to institutions where ‘civilised’ values and habits would be taught.  But this was the policy in both Western Australia and South Australia where Mrs Bates was Honorary Protector of Aboriginies successively.  The duties of these posts included reporting to the local police the birth or existence of so-called ‘half-caste’ children so that they might be seized, by force if necessary, and sent to an appropriate institution.  Presumable Daisy Bates accepted this part of her duties and there is evidence that in at least one case she acted on it.

 

 

References

Feminism FOR REAL: Deconstructing the academic industrial complex of feminism, edited by Jessica Yee, 2001, DLR International Printing, Canada

First in the Field: Women and Australian Anthropology, edited by Julie Marcus, 1993, Melbourne University Press, Carlton, Australia

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First World Problems

I sponsored a child last week with Plan (a charity I highly recommend).  I didn’t select a gender or a country trusting that Plan would set me up with whatever they needed for their aims of sponsoring children.  I received the details of the child on paper at the end of last week, and as I flipped through it all I noticed that Plan highly recommended that I write to my sponsored child and could do so electronically, including attaching photos.  It was made clear that any photo submitted should not show signs of materialism, and that my letter to my sponsored child should be about things we have in common in order to not upset the child with the things that they may never have.

This, of course, all makes perfect sense, and so I started thinking about the things that we have in common.  I am growing some vegetables in my garden for us to consume, not exactly something we have in common because if my crop fails, I can just go to the supermarket and buy food, whereas my sponsored child and his family and community will face a much harder time if their crops fail.  I have a family, he has a family, so we have that in common.  I have been to school and he is going to school, so we can talk about school subjects, learning goals, and where those things can take us as we grow up/older.

There was a point to mentioning this, which has slipped my brain, but that’s ok, it may or may not come back to me as I continue to ramble on about things.

On Sunday my computer catastrophically went splodge.  My husband was quite upset about the PC dying as it happened on his watch, so to speak, as I was out grocery shopping at the time.  I shrugged and said it was ok, which surprised him as he thought I’d be upset.  My PC has been giving signs of throwing in the towel for a while now, and clearly Sunday was the day for everything to fall over.  I will be upset if the dying of the computer takes out one of my HDDs (the one with all the photos on it), but everything else is backed up, or available elsewhere.  I was planning to buy a new PC with my tax return anyway, this just brought everything forward by a month or so.

So this weekend I’ll hold the brief funeral service before taking the PC (minus the valuables – HDD, RAM and graphics card) to the great recycling centre.  We’ll farewell the PC in the style it was accustomed to living – perhaps not with the all nighters I made it do regularly.

I’m typically a calm person, I have a very high frustration tolerance and don’t often get frustrated with things, I am resigned to bad traffic, delayed or cancelled trains, that phone call just as I’m leaving the office, and stuff.  That doesn’t mean that I’m never frustrated or angry, because that does happen, but just that it often takes more to make me angry than it does some of the other members of my household.  And as well, if anger isn’t going to be useful (ie being angry for 2 weeks while my computer is replaced is a bit much), then anger is not the response I typically choose.  Feminist flash rage happens on a daily basis.

It’s not that I think to myself that there are others in the world who are far worse off than me (as I think that’s a terrible thing to do to yourself) when something like my computer dies (or my house floods).  I just process it differently and put it in the bucket of things I cannot control so will not spend time fretting about.  I’m privileged enough to have sufficient savings to be able to borrow against to replace my computer – even if it is going to take 2 weeks for the custom build I’m getting.  I’m privileged enough to be able to typically access reliable public transport, have a relatively flexible workplace, have a reliable car and to live with others who will hear my frustration and anger when it is present, whether it be about the rantings of ill-informed political commentators or many things failing to do what they should at once.

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David van Gend – arsehat of the week!

It’s not his hysterical and easily disproved comments about the social ills of equal marriage that earn him this award, it is not the fact that he disappears single parents in his hysterical rant about how children need parents of both genders to be proper human beings, it is not the fact that he claims that conversion therapy for queer people is successful, it is in fact the usage of the phrase “stolen generations” that he deserves beating about the head and body with a large object for.

Brace for a new stolen generation

[title of the article]

The phrase “Stolen Generations” is an emotional phrase and he’s hoping to play on the emotions it raises and repurpose them for his own asinine “cause”.  Van Gend uses a phrase that has particular meaning to those of Indigenous heritage in Australia, in a context which has nothing to do with the forcible removal of children from loving families and communities to be brought up by others away from their culture and community and identity.

The Stolen Generations (also known as Stolen children) is a term used to describe the children of Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander descent who were removed from their families by the Australian Federal and State government agencies and church missions, under acts of their respective parliaments. The removals occurred in the period between approximately 1869 and 1969, although in some places children were still being taken in the 1970s.

The extent of the removal of children, and the reasoning behind their removal, are contested. Documentary evidence, such as newspaper articles and reports to parliamentary committees, suggest a range of rationales. Motivations evident include child protection, beliefs that given their catastrophic population decline after white contact that black people would “die out”, a fear of miscegenation by full blooded aboriginal people. Terms such as “stolen” were used in the context of taking children from their families – the Hon P. McGarry, a member of the Parliament of New South Wales, objected to the Aborigines Protection Amending Act 1915 which then enabled the Aborigines’ Protection Board to remove Aboriginal children from their parents without having to establish that they were in any way neglected or mistreated; McGarry described the policy as “steal[ing] the child away from its parents”. In 1924, in the Adelaide Sun an article stated “The word ‘stole’ may sound a bit far-fetched but by the time we have told the story of the heart-broken Aboriginal mother we are sure the word will not be considered out of place.” (Wikipedia)

Van Gend’s usage is clearly appropriating other people’s history for a spurious cause, which is a big problem.  It reinforces the cultural narrative of privileged straight (white?) man only paying attention to the history of the marginalised (and a history he would, the rest of the time, probably deny or defend) when it suits his purpose.  He clearly did not consider the impact that his use of the phrase “stolen generation” would have on those that it directly applies to.

So van Gend, you’re the arsehat of the week – well done.

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No, you’re wrong

James at Slutwalk
James (my husband) at Slutwalk. Photo taken by me

*Trigger warning for discussion of rape*

I was at slutwalk yesterday, and as I’d volunteered to be a marshall at the Melbourne event, apparently I was a “slut wrangler” – thanks The Age.  It was a fantastic event and the organisers did a great job liaising with the police and the city council regarding the march, getting great speakers and keeping everything together.  This post isn’t about the great signs, fantastic people, great speakers and the courage that everyone showed by marching or attending yesterday, no, this post is about the protesters to the march who just don’t get it.

As reported in The Age today:

Two lone Christian protesters holding signs saying ”Rape is horrifying but so is immodesty” and ”God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble” were the only visible opponents.

There was perhaps a third protester on the steps of Treasury House at the top of Collins Street.  I heard that there was someone there with a sign that was very close to illegible due to the amount of text on it, who ended up being surrounded by people who were marching before the police took them away (the sign holder, not the marchers).  I have no idea what was on that sign, so I’ll leave my commenting to the ones reported in The Age.

 

Rape is horrifying but so is immodesty

So, apparently being immodest, is as bad as being raped.  I take it that the author of this sign hadn’t:

a) thought for more than 5 seconds;
b) been raped;
c) know anyone who has been raped (though if they do, they probably think that it was the victim’s fault); and/or
d) listened to the experience of someone who has been raped/sexually assaulted and asked why/how the rapist could do that.

The author of that sign also clearly missed the entire point of the march.  The fact is, that regardless of what women wear, rapists will rape.  I was (sadly) briefly friends with a woman at university who was raped at knifepoint when walking home from school one day.  She had her throat slit during and was incredibly lucky to survive.  She was wearing her school uniform and carrying her school bag – she was not dressed immodestly.  I was raped by my then boyfriend.  I was partially naked at the time, which I suppose is considered immodest, but given I was in a relationship with him, then again no – any more than I’d be immodest if I was raped today by a partner (which wouldn’t happen).

Before I started reading this post I thought I’d do a little bit of reading about modesty (on wikipedia of course), to make sure I understood what the protesters were talking about.  There are some very interesting quotes in the wikipedia article on modesty which I thought I’d share.

Modesty may be expressed in social interaction by communicating in a way exhibiting humility, shyness, or simplicity. The general elements of modesty include:

  • Downplaying one’s accomplishments;
  • Behavior, manner, or appearance intended to avoid impropriety or indecency

Standards of modesty vary by culture, or generation and vary depending on who is exposed, which parts of the body are exposed, the duration of the exposure, the context, and other variables.

Proponents of modesty often see it as a demonstration of respect for their bodies, for social norms, and for the feelings of themselves and others. Some people believe modesty may reduce sexual crimes. Some critics assert that modesty reflects a negative body image, and there may be a correlation between repressive body attitudes and undesirable outcomes such as sexual crimes, violence, and stress.

Most discussion of modesty involves clothing. Issues of modesty and decency have arisen especially during the 20th century as a result of the increased popularity in many countries of shorter dresses and swimsuits and the consequential exposure of more of the body. This has been more pronounced in the case of female fashions. Most people consider the clothes that they are wearing to be modest. Otherwise, they would not wear the clothes. What is considered “modest” in this context will depend on the context when the clothes will be worn and can vary between religions, cultures, generations, occasions, and the persons who are present. [emphasis added]

Modesty is such a fluid concept, it changes year to year, and what is considered modest now, would be considered highly immodest 100 years or more ago.  The fact that modesty has different rules depending on which gender you present is also incredibly suckful and unfair, and good reasons for it to be ignored.  Immodesty is not as horrifying rape, I’d happily walk naked across the CBD of Melbourne, but I’d not happily be raped.

God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble

I’d just like to laugh at the irony of this statement.  Humility is nicely defined as:

Humility (adjectival form: humble) is the quality of being modest, reverential, even obsequiously submissive, and never being arrogant, contemptuous, rude or even self-aggrandizing.

I’d like more Christians to be humble, and to not attempt to dictate to others what they should and should not do.

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The “It gets better” project

This is going to be a really quick post, because I have only one criticism of the project.  I love what people have done, and I am amazed at the honesty that people displayed about the difficulties they faced as queer people growing up.  I’m really grateful that the initial valid criticisms of the invisibility of bisexual and trans* stories in the project were addressed.

There is one big, big problem I have with this project though – “It gets better” is a hard thing to tell someone who is suffering now.  “It gets better… eventually” is a really hard thing to hear when you are being bullied now.  “It gets better in 5 – 10 years” is an impossibly long time for someone who is being bullied at school today (do you remember how long a year was when you were 13?).

What I would have loved to have seen included in this project – and yes I know it’d be region specific – is “It gets better, and right now if you need help you can find it [here] or [with this type of organisation]”.  Or even better, “It shouldn’t be like this for you now, and we’re working on making it better for everyone today – and right now if you need help you can find it [here] or [with this type of organisation]”.

Because telling someone that they have to wait through several more years of erasure, bullying, harassment, pain, suffering, rejection, depression, suicidal idealisation and the like is not reasonable, fair or nice.  It’s time to help LGBTIQ youth today and not patronise them with “It’ll get better eventually”.  It’s time to stop bullying today, and not tell people that eventually the bullying will end.

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Not throwing caution to the wind

I have this thing about pain, it’s not me.  Which is odd given I have a very very high pain threshold (which almost saw me not go to hospital with an ectopic pregnancy – so my high pain threshold =/= smart).  I tolerate pain well, but I’m still really cautious.  Doing something that might result in injury (running, jumping, paying sports) are things I tend to avoid.  I’m really scared of falling and breaking something of the sudden pain and the resulting scene that would occur.

Though when I do trip and fall (and I’m still yet to break something) the world doesn’t end, and if I burst into tears with the pain, the world doesn’t end, and on those rare events such things happen someone stops to help me or I am with people who stop and help me.

All the same, I still am really cautious and tend to avoid activities that carry the risk of severe pain (except cooking which I partake in quite a lot).  I’m not sure why I’m quite so timid about such things.  I think some of it has to do with ballet and the excessive care that I took not to injure myself so I could still dance (with the exception of skinning my knees when falling off my bike).

No, I don’t think that’s it.  I climbed trees, climbed hills and cliffs and did child-ly things as a child.  I wasn’t hugely daring, but probably more daring than I am now.  So why have I slowed down more than others I know, though technically less than others… clearly it’s a growing up thing.  I’m far more aware of my mortality than I used to be.  I’ve almost died at least once now, so it’s not like I believe I never will.

I’m not upset or worried about my caution, it’s just something I’ve noticed recently and have been thinking about it.

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Making trouble

I’m a member of the committee of Bisexual Alliance Victoria (Vice President since you asked), and am one of the founding members of that group.  We participated in our first (as Bisexual Alliance Victoria) Pride March in early February 2011, and unsurprisingly (to me at least) we received negative feedback from the crowd, “Make a decision”, “Get off the fence”, “Make up your mind”, “No such thing”, etc.

I expected these comments, which really sucks at a queer event, because every time I’ve marched since 2007 as a bisexual, I’ve heard them.  Some of our members were really upset by the negativity, and so as a committee we decided to write a media release indicating that we were disappointed with the negativity and that we were working with Pride March Victoria to march prominently and be involved in tackling further biphobia.  At the same time, two of our members wrote an article which was published in the Star Observer.  This article has also attracted biphobic comments – neatly proving our point.

So I wrote a comment in response to the biphobic comments, which I’ve captured below in the very unlikely event that it doesn’t get through moderation.  I started with the lyrics from The Whitlam’s song I will not go Quietly (Duffy’s Song), which I think neatly captures the fight that bisexuals go through constantly at the moment (hopefully less so each year.

One final thing before I get to my comment.  The San Francisco Human Rights Commission has put together a paper on biphobia titled, “Bisexual Invisibility: Impacts and Recommendations” which is an eye opening read into the effects of bisexual invisibility and biphobia.

Ok, my comment:

“I will not go quietly
I will not accept your rules
gonna live with myself
before I live with any of you”
(I Will Not Go Quietly (Duffy’s Song) – The Whitlams)

I identify as bisexual and have now for 20 years – I’ve never thought I was straight or gay – always bisexual.  Yet at the Pride Marches I have been in, when marching with the bisexual community (since 2007), I have been booed, told to decide, told to get off the fence, and had my sexual identity derided.

Let me be very clear here – this is a queer event (Pride March) and so is attended by a large number of gay and lesbian Melburnians.  At this queer event, I have had my sexual identity called into question and made fun of.

I’m made of relatively strong stuff, and so laugh at bigots who tell me that I’m being dishonest when identifying as a bisexual, but there are bisexuals who aren’t made of teflon coated kevlar like me – and do you think that it is fair to tell them that they’re wrong with their own identifiers?  Do you think it’s ok for you to identify someone else on their behalf without any consultation?

I wish it wasn’t the case that the way SOME gay and lesbian people treat bisexuals mirrors quite closely the persecution that gay and lesbians fought against for years.  I wish it were actually true that those who don’t believe that bisexuality exists actually spent some time listening to bisexuals about their lived experience and let us decide whether we exist or not.

We’re not a danger to you.  We don’t dilute your movement.  Like any group of individuals in any community, there are always arsehats, but no one should take them as representative – just as broader society is learning not to take gay or lesbian or women arsehats as representative of an entire group.

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The complications of bisexuality

[Quick title clarification – I’m referring to female bisexuality versus male sexuality in this article]

For the longest time, I knew I was bisexual and I did nothing about that.  I had lots of relationships with men, and was happy for the most part, but avoided getting close to women because they were scary.  I felt I didn’t understand women, that they were complicated, immune to me bossing them about (like I do with men), capricious, generally untrustworthy, and willing to shame me for transgressions against an idea of femininity that I didn’t understand or match.  Most of this, of course, was borne out by my personal experiences with the women I went to high school with, who on the whole were really horrible towards me, mostly because I didn’t fit in as a geek, tom boy, and someone who wasn’t born in the town (Bendigo is an incredibly insular town).   I think I might have gotten over particular subsets of women being horrible to me if it had been confined solely to school and hadn’t continued on the workplace, with several female coworkers and a few female managers acting in the same way.

I slowly cultivated female friends who didn’t play games, were trustworthy, and built me up, but it took a long time, and a lot of hard work on my behalf.  There were a few women I was interested in, but each time I came to the conclusion that those particular were not safe for me, that they’d attempt to manipulate me, shame me, be capricious, or betray my trust – either through things they’d say or the way they’d act in relation to me or other people.

For the longest time, women were far too scary to be in relationships with.  I developed a method of testing the waters (with everyone, not just women) to see if people were safe.  I stopped having secrets (well mostly – there are some things that I tell very few people), and I started telling everyone everything that they wanted to hear.  You want to know how I manage three relationships at once, sure, you want to know how much I earn, sure, you want to know my sleep arrangements, sure.  I decided that if I didn’t have any secrets then it’d be a lot harder for others to attempt to shame me or manipulate me with information because it was all out in the open.  It then became a case of who judged me or acted poorly towards me (or others).

I say all this because I know that I am not a lone bisexual woman who is or has struggled with all the societal messages that we’re fed about women, and as a result struggle to approach women for fear of back stabbing, shaming or something else.  I’ve met, and am friends with, many bisexual women who are confused about what we’re told about other women, and don’t know where to start in relation to approaching other women.

I cannot actually offer much advice, sadly.  There are many women out there that I am incredibly cautious of.  I’ve slowly gathered a close knit group of female friends (mostly also queer) who have demonstrated their trustworthiness, their awesomeness, and I am incredibly blessed to be their friends.  I would never have met my female partner had it not been for my husband talking me up to her and her up to me (he is lovely too), and us being wonderfully compatible.

Does anyone have any good ideas on how to get this to work apart from patience, courage and good judgement?

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Things I wish I’d learnt as a child

  • How to be rude to those that deserve it
  • How to be angry
  • How to complain effectively
  • How to negotiate
  • How to bargain/barter
  • How not to be racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, biphobic, ablest (I learnt these far later)
  • That sex wasn’t something to be ashamed of
  • That I should love my body and that I can be healthy at every size
  • How to think critically
  • How to manage personal politics
  • How to budget effectively
  • How to spot abusive behaviour in relationships and how to get out of them
  • How to say no
  • How to be loud
  • How to stand up for myself

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My favourite colour

I don’t remember the year it was when I decided I no longer liked pink.  I do remember that it was a definite decision, and that pink was not a colour I should like.  Pink was passé, all the girls liked it, and I did not want to be like anyone else.

I lay back on the trampoline, under the leafy green trees (so it was probably sometime in Spring when being outside in Alice Springs wasn’t a bad move), and pondered what my new favourite colour would be.  I looked at the various greens around me, the greens of the trees, the green of the grass and thought that green was too commonplace to be my favourite colour.  I thought about the browns of the bark on the trees, the tan colour of the sawdust used as mulch and the decaying leaves under the trampoline and again decided that browns were too commonplace to be my favourite colour.  Then I looked up, through the trees and saw the sky.  It was a perfect sky blue, and a colour that was not represented anywhere else, so I decided that was different enough to be my favourite colour, and it became so.

So for a long time sky blue was my favourite colour – which is nice because it is actually a range of blues, from the almost white blue near the sun through to the deep midnight blue of the sky at the end of twilight.  And now it’s a blend of purple and blue, oddly enough a colour I was lucky enough to find in one pair of underpants (which I purchased instantly).

A purple blue
A purple blue

Pretty much the colour just here.  The colour shift started with my decision to make my birth stone (amethyst) my favourite gem stone (at the time it was really difficult to find amethyst jewellery – how things have changed), and I’ve always stayed on the blue side of purple, because pink is not cool.

Looking back it seems a little odd to me that I deliberately went out and chose to be different (though in Alice Springs difference was tolerated unlike Bendigo to which we later moved), though on the other hand, I should thank my parents for bringing me up to rebel, question, be independent and with sufficient confidence to be different (most of the time – the confidence not the being different which was pretty much all the time).

Did you choose your favourite colour or did it just happen?  Does your favourite colour have a story behind it?

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