May 3, 2017

you can't see the elephants

This book, by Susan Kreller, is well worth a read. Mascha, an introverted 13-year-old living with her grandparents after her mother's death, comes across two younger children--Julia and Max. She discovers that the two are being abused, their young bodies bruised and scarred, and their minds even more so. When she seeks help, however, Mascha is silenced: her grandparents question her interpretation of what she has seen and insist that the children's father is a good man, well-respected in the community. Even 9-1-1 won't believe her story.

Eventually Mascha takes matters into her own hands and locks the two children in an abandoned blue shack in the middle of a barley field. She goes to great lengths to bring them food, water, and items of comfort, but they nevertheless fall into a state of physical and psychological distress in what becomes a sweltering prison. All three children are well beyond their depth.

In the end, when Mascha is found out, her grandmother's words are so telling. "Does anyone ever think about me?" the old woman asks. "Did we know that no one would talk to her anymore, and she could just forget going to exercise class, and she might as well drown herself," Mascha asks.

I must say that the book, and the people within it, are far too familiar. The denial of abuse is common. I have seen a church community take a neutral stance when it comes to what's going on beneath its surface. People don't want to tangle with an abuser, or uncover the truth. Instead, 'good' church folk conclude that rather than take sides, they will remain 'neutral.' They effectively isolate the victim and reinforce the abuse. Most repugnantly, they say "hi" to the victim in a friendly tone, while simultaneously offering the abuser support. (Not surprisingly, in the very same community, certain behaviours have been normalized, and carefully concealed, while spouses live on, blissfully unaware or in complete denial. It is a church that has nothing to do with God, and I can understand completely why people walk away from such places and never return.)

I have seen people so deep in denial that when hit square in the face with solid, consistent evidence, they continue to claim that abusers are in the right. Not my son.

What is clear, in this book, is that the only human that is truly capable of living, that has not grown old and stagnant, is a thirteen-year-old who is compelled to take a risk. Mascha speaks out because violence is wrong and she knows this on a gut level. Mascha then acts because no one else will. And in doing so, she feels--feels the intensity of rage, and passion (in music, something she shares with little Julia), and the joy of connecting with other humans. She drops all appearances and engages on a messy, often distressing, but profound level.