I spent a lot of my younger more dreamier days reading periodical romances. How lost I would get once absorbed into the glittering world of tinkling jewels and balls and beautiful satin silk dresses with long lace trains trailing the ground. Of dashing gentlemen and coquettish young girls eager to impress. Even then I realized that beyond the sparkling world of wealth and power lurked darkness that would make any decent human being sick to the stomachs. Nestled within the crusty pages of history are lesser told stories of the strife that blighted certain groups and communities. Of the degradation of women into being mere objects instead of the human beings they are. Of children traded around and young girls being put on the market like pieces of meat.
Little has changed despite all the revolution and technological advances we’ve made. We still read of domestic abuse everyday. It makes me sick to think of the many young children out there being deprived of a better life. Food, clothes, education. It is sad that some children learn how to avoid the backhand of drunkard fathers before they learn that hugs do exist. And when they grow up and develop a convoluted perception of how people should be treated, when their sense of right and wrong is all screwed up, when the world is harsh on their wrong ways and misunderstanding, who can we really blame but ourselves?
The number of young girls being exploited everyday continues to escalate and there is naught one can do to make things better. It’s an ill-suppressed rage I feel for these people. A frustration that bubbles beneath the surface when I see young girls being shoved around by bullies bigger, meaner, shallower than them. Stories of husbands beating up wives, fathers raping daughters, uncles and relatives taking advantage of the weak and helpless never get as much coverage as the latest political scandal or the latest fashion launch. These are the real life stories that nobody is brave enough to face up to. An ongoing war that nobody bothers to pick up the weapons for. True tales of desperation and need and yet we have people who make a big deal out of appearing at a function in the wrong ball gown.
When the protector becomes the perpetrator what can a helpless bystander do?