The Rights of the Child...? What Rights....?
Call me stupid.
But how I am into my 36th Year of life and am only just discovering that yes, children have rights. This might seem blatantly obvious to you, but to me it never was.
You see, as a child, my body was violated, it was used for others selfish desires. I was told, it seemingly intentionally, that I was nothing. That I was worth nothing. So that is what became my truth. I worshiped at the alter of brokeness and despair. And it became my god.
It wasn't until I was well into my 20's that I came to the realisation, that when my mother beat me, and then left the house in a post rage escape, that I could have called the police. That when that man came into my home, and violated me, that I could have called the police.
You see, a child like me doesn't have rights. A child like me is low of the value of life. A child like me has no voice. She is told her life is worth less, or none at all. She is at the mercy of the Shadows of Darkness which hold her captive.
When she speaks her voice is crushed.
When she speaks she is met with hands which grapple her throat
and wrap their dark tendrils like knifes around her neck, silencing.
When she finally has the courage, she speaks.
But hands and weapons violently attack her, until she is silenced once more.
When she finally has the courage she fights.
But stronger hands push her head and face deep under water,
Until she is silenced once again.
When she grows she runs for help,
But she is met with disbelief and returned home.
To the hands of her abusers.
Black eyes. Bloody welts. Bruises. Burns.
This is her reality.
But who will believe her?
Nobody. Nobody. Nobody does. Nobody cares.
She shows the evidence of violence.
But they turn their heads.
Shame.
Her rights? Ha. Don't be stupid child. You don't have rights. Your rights belong at the hands of your abusers.
She becomes confused. Her mind is slowing decaying...
dark voices become her comfort...
come to me they beckon...
slay your wrists...
Let the blood slowly run from your body..
Red. Thick. Turn to Black.
So she plans.
She knows how and when.
She has NO RIGHT TO LIVE.
She cries incessantly.
She cradles her own body.
Attempts to give herself the comfort which she has never received.
But she aligns herself to the darkness.
She tells the black shadows that she is coming home.
But a still, small voice wraps its warm tendrils around her heart.
Daughter.
You deserve to live.
Daughter.
Come to My Light.
Daughter.
Live.
You are loved and adored.
But by whom? She asks.
Live. The Light answers. And I will lead you there.
This is my reality, in its poetic form. At 36 I am learning that I have rights. That my body is my own. It doesn't belong to my mothers rage. The man who violated me, not his hands. It belongs to NO MAN. I am just only beginning to understand this now.
Oh it pains my heart that I am 36 and only figuring this out now... that I have the right to say NO.
You can't touch me. I didn't give you permission.
I wish I had loving hands which taught me this as a child. But my time has passed.
My childhood is long gone.
What does this mean for Early Childhood? How does this impact the way I now, Teach?
But many childhoods have not passed.
Children are my joy.
I now have a great responsibility, as a teacher of young lives.
YOU have a right to say no! I tell them. I show them by treating them with respect, and adoration.
We practice how to say 'STOP' in Auslan sign.
We yell at the tops of our voices. 'STOP IT!! I don't like it when you yell at me / hit me / push me / chase me / scare me / call me names that don't belong to me!!!!
I hear my beautiful Coolibah pre-schoolers in the yard, even my smallest and quietest children, asserting themselves. I hear them standing up for the rights of their peers, their friends. I see them using their hand signs as we have practiced. And loudly demand their rights to be respected and be safe.
Oh my heart warms with joy when I see and hear this. My children understand that they have rights in my pre-school. We all have a right to be and feel safe.
I aim to embody the United Nations Rights of the Child.
You see, as a child, my body was violated, it was used for others selfish desires. I was told, it seemingly intentionally, that I was nothing. That I was worth nothing. So that is what became my truth. I worshiped at the alter of brokeness and despair. And it became my god.
It wasn't until I was well into my 20's that I came to the realisation, that when my mother beat me, and then left the house in a post rage escape, that I could have called the police. That when that man came into my home, and violated me, that I could have called the police.
You see, a child like me doesn't have rights. A child like me is low of the value of life. A child like me has no voice. She is told her life is worth less, or none at all. She is at the mercy of the Shadows of Darkness which hold her captive.
When she speaks her voice is crushed.
When she speaks she is met with hands which grapple her throat
and wrap their dark tendrils like knifes around her neck, silencing.
When she finally has the courage, she speaks.
But hands and weapons violently attack her, until she is silenced once more.
When she finally has the courage she fights.
But stronger hands push her head and face deep under water,
Until she is silenced once again.
When she grows she runs for help,
But she is met with disbelief and returned home.
To the hands of her abusers.
Black eyes. Bloody welts. Bruises. Burns.
This is her reality.
But who will believe her?
Nobody. Nobody. Nobody does. Nobody cares.
She shows the evidence of violence.
But they turn their heads.
Shame.
Her rights? Ha. Don't be stupid child. You don't have rights. Your rights belong at the hands of your abusers.
She becomes confused. Her mind is slowing decaying...
dark voices become her comfort...
come to me they beckon...
slay your wrists...
Let the blood slowly run from your body..
Red. Thick. Turn to Black.
So she plans.
She knows how and when.
She has NO RIGHT TO LIVE.
She cries incessantly.
She cradles her own body.
Attempts to give herself the comfort which she has never received.
But she aligns herself to the darkness.
She tells the black shadows that she is coming home.
But a still, small voice wraps its warm tendrils around her heart.
Daughter.
You deserve to live.
Daughter.
Come to My Light.
Daughter.
Live.
You are loved and adored.
But by whom? She asks.
Live. The Light answers. And I will lead you there.
Oh it pains my heart that I am 36 and only figuring this out now... that I have the right to say NO.
You can't touch me. I didn't give you permission.
I wish I had loving hands which taught me this as a child. But my time has passed.
My childhood is long gone.
What does this mean for Early Childhood? How does this impact the way I now, Teach?
But many childhoods have not passed.
Children are my joy.
I now have a great responsibility, as a teacher of young lives.
YOU have a right to say no! I tell them. I show them by treating them with respect, and adoration.
We practice how to say 'STOP' in Auslan sign.
We yell at the tops of our voices. 'STOP IT!! I don't like it when you yell at me / hit me / push me / chase me / scare me / call me names that don't belong to me!!!!
I hear my beautiful Coolibah pre-schoolers in the yard, even my smallest and quietest children, asserting themselves. I hear them standing up for the rights of their peers, their friends. I see them using their hand signs as we have practiced. And loudly demand their rights to be respected and be safe.
Oh my heart warms with joy when I see and hear this. My children understand that they have rights in my pre-school. We all have a right to be and feel safe.
I aim to embody the United Nations Rights of the Child.
How interesting and sad that it needs to be written that Children have the right to live.
Are they less than human?
This is why my temper flares and when I see adults who do not respect the rights of children. This is why I stand before children who I see their voices are not being heard. This is why I am unafraid to advocate for children who's rights and personal boundaries are not being understood.
I know I sometimes have gone about this in a way which is not particularly respectful to the adults who are not treating children with dignity and respect, but I am trying to change that. I know I am not perfect, who is? I have my sharp edges which need refining. But I hope you can see why, this might be a trigger for me.
We all have our scars, but I am trying to make my ugly, jagged wounds, into something beautiful. I may not have accomplished this yet, but I have the rest of my life to try.
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