| Uniya - Jesuit Social Justice Centre | CONTENTS | Spring 1995 |
|
The Courage of Women The Royal Commission into corruption in the NSW police force focussed on activities in Kings Cross. Sister Noelene reflects on another reality at the cross. |
During the Royal Commission, will we be voyeuristic, judgmental, self-righteous, shocked? Will we keep the realities at a safe distance or get close enough to let them touch our own attitudes? |
The usually bustling main drag of Kings Cross was strangely deserted. My heart was heavy with sadness for those who remained - the women. One of the regular working girls approached a lone male. "Would you like a girl, sir?" As he walked away she trailed behind, quietly but desperately entreating him, "Please, please say yes! Oh please say yes".
The Royal Commission into Police Corruption had arrived. Secret video evidence exploded into our homes on the evening news. No one wanted to risk being caught on camera just now, hence only the women were left. The poorest abandoned yet again. No clients meant no money, drugs, food, rent. Street prostitutes are the poorest workers in the sex industry. They are usually people who have no other means of income. They are often homeless, unskilled, impoverished and drug-addicted. Prostitution is merely a symptom of other issues in their lives.
The Royal Commission uncovered selfishness and greed - people intent on having more regardless of need. Janine, by contrast, was being more. |
We can learn from the women. With great love I remember
Janine. After living a street lifestyle from an early age, she was
diagnosed HIV. As her health deteriorated we watched, with amazement,
the incredible maturity and courage that emerged as Janine became more
and more ill. She became selfless and serene. An inner beauty took over
her ravaged body.
Just before Janine's death I was explaining to her how Uniya was resettling a Cambodian family in Australia. I mentioned that I was going to buy a soft toy for the two-year-old child. Janine was by now very frail, experiencing much discomfort and finding it difficult to walk far. But she responded immediately: "Don't do that, she can have one of mine". She struggled across the room, her thin little body carried by a generous spirit within, then returned with a pretty pink and white bear - from her own bed. |
She brought detachment and
generosity when she could well have been preoccupied with herself. She
leaves us a challenge: to observe what we are accumulating, especially
in regard to power, possessions or prestige.
A young woman, an entertainer in a Kings Cross night club suffered head injuries after being assaulted. Following surgery she spent many weeks in therapy learning to speak and walk again and to live without heroin. She cried with me about her handicap and loss of freedom. Looking across the room she noticed another woman in therapy, a stroke victim unable to raise her cup to drink. My young friend in a wheel chair put aside her own tears and pain and spent the next fifteen minutes holding a cup of tea to the woman's mouth. She let the overflow dribble into her own cupped hands and talked gently to the woman.
A young woman in prison told me she did not want to use the death of her child as an excuse for her own drug abuse. "The problem was already there and that's what I must face", she said. Rather than exploit the loss of her child, she was facing her own truth. She was not prepared to compromise simply for her own comfort or indulgence.
The women of the street challenge us at the point where we are tempted to compromise our values, our truth and trust for the sake of security, comfort, influence. They exemplify the courage to face hard options in life or career, to refuse the 'golden handshakes' uncovered by the Royal Commission.
We can, then, have courage to 'remove the plank from our own eyes', letting experiences speak to the raw areas in our roles and relationships. We can learn from the truth and courage of the women of the Cross.
Above material is from the Uniya Newsletter: used with permission.
The Cardoner,
© Copyright 1995 by Jack Otto.