I was a bystander to a myriad of violence in my life, but none compared to the violent acts committed against my mother. Most of my life, I was taught that violence was a moral way to settle a dispute. These thoughts were not influenced by my immediate family, but more from my immediate network of friends. There was strict a code though, ‘no violence towards women’. It wasn’t really an ethical code, it was more of a macho ‘if you hit a women, you’re a bitch’ kind of logic (not the most ideal way of looking at the situation).
My mother and father divorced when I was 10 years old and my circumstances never felt fruitful since. Not long after the divorce, my mother started to date an older gentleman by the name of ‘Anthony’ or better known by his friends and family as ‘Tony’. The first six or so months went the way any ordinary relationship would… the familiarities of a ‘honeymoon period’. My mother was seemingly happy, but I never liked Tony.
My mother is/was a very confrontational person, she has always held a Jeckle vs Hyde type of personality. One moment she would express an odd type of affection and the next a gut wrenching type of hate that feels like all your worst days rolled into one. There was no halfway points, just one or the other. On occasion she would react violently, but her words and hateful energy was her prized weapon. This made any of her relationships a painful experience.
Tony stood 6’3 and weighed over 120kgs. He was a very simple character, not too intelligent but self-righteous arrogance and deep-rooted misogyny ran through his core. He had a ‘take no shit’ attitude, but unfortunately it had no filter.
Both my mother and Tony would drink every night, a bottle of Ouzo to share and a few wines in between. Tony would drink the majority, but they both struggled to manage their alcohol consumption and it’s reflections upon those close to them. It was the same dance every night, drink themselves into a fight. The good nights were when the disputes didn’t get physical, but unfortunately many nights they did. My mother would antagonise him with a barrage of mental abuse (her forte) and Tonys simpleness saw violence as the only reasonable solution. The fights were unfair and horrible to witness, especially as a kid.
My mother was at times a pretty vicious character, but in all honesty she was a victim of a prescribed ignorance and the unfair violence it brought forth. She didn’t deserve the physical punishment caused by a man twice her size… and it pains me to say…Tony didn’t deserve the mental bullying either.
I was a bystander to this back and forth abuse for over 5 years and it taught me quite a few lessons. I have no tolerance for bullying and violence of any kind, unless it is in fair sport or a very last resort form of self defence. I have been in many confrontations as a kid (many violent) and my experience has taught me that logical words and personal disarmament is the best way to peace.
The degradation of oppressed humans has been going on for as long as the history books can read and it is engrained into our culture. It doesn’t matter what walk of life you are placed into, no-one should have the right too oppress you either physically or mentally. We all walk different paths to get to the space we call ‘now’ and I think that life is built on an appreciation of that difference.
Next week I will be releasing a retrospective poem/piece related to a situation that recurred in my family home.