This recent report by the UN Capital Development Fund looked at underserved communities in 46 of the worlds least developed countries and the opportunities that fit for purpose digital financial services brings.
Don’t be mistaken to think this isnt relevant to developed countries. We have our fair share of marginalised individuals and groups. We can find great examples and insights to create inclusive digital economies that we can apply right here.
A life without her dignity,
Without expression of her own unique identity,
Independence a foreign state
For forty years she had endured
For this had been her constant state
Subjugation her present fate
A life without
A life without her dignity
Without expression of her own unique identity
Independence a foreign state
Voice stolen
Half living
Transparent
Flickering in the shadows
A life without a cause
With a history steeped in years of indoctrinating tradition
Conditioned to merely obey
The role of a woman
Of duty.
At home.
To stay.
There is no end to her husband’s torment
Her lord and master’s shrieking from his majestic throne
And it is from his threadbare and decrepit armchair
One imbued it seems with mystic properties
Symbolic
Emanating dread and fear
For there — the alpha dog sits
Basking
Preening
With all his arrogance on show.
And so her treatment continues
Oblivious of what’s right
An unequivocal dismissal
Made worse by an unfailing maniacal suspicion
An underlying contempt
Of someone that is not equal
A culture past, that expected submission
A constant demand to justify her inferior position
Ignoring the world outside
One that has moved on
Grasping to a past
A made up fantasy
Conjured
A fictitious memory
Unaware.
She shakes her head in sorrow and grief
And heavily she sobs
She shudders
Hands taunt in supplication
Reaching upwards
Following a path repeated a hundred times before
Pleading to the heavens for answers
“Why has this been my fate?”
And then a thought
Unbidden… enters…
And does not leave.
“No. No more.”
For now her daughter has fully grown
Safely, forging her own path
Free to explore
Able to make mistakes and missteps her own
Leaving our forlorn protagonist so full of pride
But also so so achingly alone.
Alone to face her nightmares
One that lasts from dawn to dusk
Every waking hour brings acknowledgement
Oppression
A way of life
Repeating endlessly
Unrelentingly
No escape.
“No. No more.”
Emboldened by her meek displays
Again he asserts
Again, a refusal of any permission
To simply allow her to wander outdoors alone
“A woman’s place is at home!”
But inside, coalesces a thought
Getting stronger and more certain.
“No. No more!”
A chasm to cross in darkness
One that she had to take alone
Summoning up reserves of strength
That she did not ever know
To renounce her life with her tormentor
To leave her family home
And all her worldly possessions
And their memories of a lifetime ago
To a cold and foreign Australian court
For a simple piece of paper
A stamped piece of officialdom
To file for her divorce.
“Yes. No more.”
So hurriedly with bags packed and nowhere else to go
To her daughter’s did she flee
Her life now perched in limbo
Dependent on a son-in-law indifferent to her cause
An impatience plain to see
Mark his face with troubled countenance
For her untimely imposition
That’s upset the tranquility of her new sanctuary
His home
“How long will your mother be here?” he whispers
“I understand, but I never did agree.”
“I know she is your mother…”
“This long? Really?”
“I have reasonable limits on my charity!”
But even away from home she felt constrained
For her journey was not yet complete
For in the eyes of her religion
She was not yet free
Her angry, ex-husband could justify
That he could lay claim on her
That it was his right
That sanctioned abuse could continue
For in his eyes he still owned her
To do so as he desired.
“But no. No more.”
The next step was the hardest
A painstaking and disagreeable process
That incredulously caused more terror
By putting her in a room again with her tyrant
Treated as a third party
An object for those far brighter
Who knew better
To seal her destiny
And though she nearly did break
Give up
Acquiesce
Subdued
Somehow, somehow
Her quiet voice
Remained firm
Did carry
And her case was finally made
Though it took twelve months for the Imans to grudgingly agree
What was painfully obvious for all to see
That there was no room for reconciliation
Love and duty no more than a fallacy
That the intervention order was real
That finally in God’s eye
She. was. free.
Surviving now on an old aged pension
Scrimping and scraping at the edges of modern society
She cannot afford modest housing
A future uncertain has she.
But it is a life that is now oh so different
At TAFE she helps in English language classes
To help others who face the same perilous journey
To help provide safe passage
To be their shining beacon
Against a darkening landscape
That threatens to stop the faint hearted
From withdrawing from their future
To succumbing
To their perilous fate.
Eugène Boudin (French, 1824 – 1898 ), Three Women at Trouville, c. 1865, watercolor and graphite on laid paper, Ailsa Mellon Bruce Collection 1970.17.142
Ernst Ludwig Kirchner (German, 1880 – 1938 ), Women at a Table in a Room, 1920, etching with drypoint and surface etching, Gift of Ruth Cole Kainen 2012.92.721
This wonderful woman of the ages
Has found an inner peace
Though fate has made her journey long and arduous
That finally she feels so unfettered
That finally she feels so free.
Eugène Boudin (French, 1824 – 1898), Women on the Beach at Berck, 1881, oil on wood, Ailsa Mellon Bruce Collection 1970.17.15
Oh! Our heroine!
Our inspiration!
Oh gaze upon her now
Our beautiful, independent woman
For her voice has finally been found
As laughter lines now crease her aged face.
As she shares delightful, playful stories with her friends
A hard yet fulfilled life on the land. Lines etched on his face by hard won gains. Battling against all elements. Against nature’s bane.
A hard yet fulfilled life on the land
Lines etched on his face
By hard won gains
Battling against all elements
Against nature’s bane.
With a farm inherited from his father’s father
With a proud lineage and strong legacy
He is a pillar of the local, rural community
He doesn’t say much
But is always there to support those in need
Our honourable battler.
A harsh Australian outback
A parched corner of the land
In futile search of rain
In constant yearning,
In constant pain.
With cattle in desperate need of feed
Foraging in dusty paddocks
For meagre grasses
That are distant memories
Long gone
They are starving
Sagging skins draping skeletal frames
Disease takes hold
Too late — they can’t be sold!
No option left but culling stock
Too late to remake his lot.
With debt also the way of life
With incessant bills to pay
Mounting up, perilously high
An amount so obscene
Teetering
On the brink
Threatening to come crashing down
To destroy his life’s work
To take away his crown.
For all of his experience
For all his father taught him
From generations passed knowledge
The practices and ways
The tricks in his kit bag
The wisdom of the age
With slow governmental policies
That sow confusion
With handouts that shame
They are unable to help him face today’s demons
That climate change has unleashed
Nature’s revenge
Unchecked by man
Upon his unwary, tempered land.
And now his façade is slipping
His belief system is faltering
The pressure continues building
His failings are exposed
This strong and unfailing farmer
Has to grudgingly turn to face a truth
A truth that he has tried desperately to stow
That the master of his surroundings
One that he has shaped with his own two bare hands
That represents his essence, his being
That represents his soul
Well that world
That his world
Is slipping through his fingers
Is inexorably crumbling
Disintegrating
Turning to dust.
How does he reconcile this new truth with his wife?
That he has to break her faith?
That all that he could do — has been done
That there is no honest answer
That there is no other path to follow
That he has faltered
That he is lost this fight
That he has failed
That he is cast adrift
In that unforgiving, sun-burnt land.
The knot in his chest grows tighter
Sweat drips from his brow
Sleep continues to evade
And it is in those witching hours
In the pitch black of night
The darkness before dawn
When despair is at its zenith
With innermost fears brutally exposed
Ominous rumblings become louder
His thoughts turn to something wretched
Dreadful whispering surround him
Of a final escape from his onslaught.
He dismisses it in a second
But yet
There is a slight delay…
But yet
It sits there just below the surface
Lurking
Festering
Welcoming
Enticing him
Seducing him
Growing at the edges
Biding its time
Waiting
Offering its warm intoxicating embrace
A final resolution
The bringer of peace
The harbinger of rest
To be rid of his anguish
To take all his troubles away.
Our dear, stoic farmer
So unwittingly close to his own demise
Pondering his potential options
Options that he dare not speak out loud
Because of pride.
“Oh for the love of God!
Oh for the shame!
Another day
Another night
All consuming
More bills to pay!
No end in sight!
It’s never been this bad before
Nothing I do makes a difference!”
He sighs.
And it is in that watershed moment
At his life’s tipping point
Standing at the precipice
Preparing himself
When all is lost
To take a step beyond
To flee this world
To escape his chains.
And it is in that moment
In the stillness of the morning break
Upon lightening skies
In that oh so precious moment
As he watches the sun slowly rise
Dazzling beams reach across the horizon
Casting their golden rays on all to him that is precious
As he hears a trilling birds cry.
It is in that moment
That he remembers
In that grace
That he realises
Where all that is good in life
Envelops him
That he finally makes a decision
That he finally decides.
With great strength and ultimate resolve
With all his character
With love in his eyes
Of a shared history
Of tears, of laughter, of pain and surprise
A lifetime in its making
Against all his training
That a man must follow
His code
With a never seen before openness
His pride exposed to the elements
Laying down his shame
Finally….
He turns to his wife.
Background
Part of a series of poems on financial inclusion. This one focusing on the drought and the increased rates of suicide in farming communities. Photos edited from unsplash. In the animated video I experimented with motion capture.
An angry fella. His face full of red rage. Full of hate.
An angry fella
His face full of red rage
Full of hate
His rancid, putrid breath
Stinking of cheap whiskey
His rotten, decayed teeth
On full display
His brain shut off
To rhyme or reason
His visceral thoughts
A myopic focus.
Staggering forward in false bravado
He’d pick up his well worn bat
Caressing it’s end in theatrical play
His old trusted friend
His old acquaintance firmly at hand
In prelude
And for devastating effect
He would smile
His all-knowing smile
And with eyes full of malice
Slurring incoherently
“Smash your fucking face”.
Then tensing at his fullest
He would swing that bat
With all his might
In violence, in vengeful hate
The reward for some small slight
That made him remember
Who he was
Insignificant
A pitiful man
Exercising his daemons
His self-loathing
And his terrible ritual would continue
Repeatedly
Now a muscle memory
He would slap her bloodied face
Again and again.
And if she did not fall, or cried or moaned or whimpered
Or if she did not cower or crawl away
Or if she did show the fear
Or respect his twisted brain craved
As close to adulation as he came
If she did not do it
His way
If he did not see it
His way
“That bitch”
He would kick her for the justice
He demanded
His way.
And as she laid down in her own blood
And as she laid down in pain
While that pathetic bastard had
His way.
In silence
In her shame…
To take his own anguish away
That angry man
That coward
That wife beater
All the while
Our survivor would pray
Her tears would mix with her blood
Pooling again
On that oh so stained floor
Which had seen this play
Play out this encore
Pooling
Indistinguishable.
This time though enough was enough
Inside her a barrier
Taunt from years of abuse
Beyond breaking point
Finally snapped
Shattering Into a thousand pieces
And she saw the universal truth
One she had tried so hard
To put aside
To ignore
This dangerous game
He would not stop
Or change
For this was his way
Why he had sought her out in the first place.
For nine times she had left him
And nine times she had returned
Nine incomprehensible times
To us
But not to her
The denier of history
To replicate
Her fate.
This time though
With new resolve
She reached an escape velocity
An escape trajectory
Escape
This time she would break free of her shackles
He would not bind her
This time she would not come back
This time
He would not own her
This time
She would be the master
Of her destiny.
So this time she fled
She ran away
Far from her land
Away from her people
Away from her shame
Alone, she would have to start again.
The best years of her life behind her.
To fight for existence
To battle her own demons
To fan her own faltering flame
A future yet uncertain
A life of continuous subsistence
But a life that was free.
But a life full of unknowing
Ill prepared
Not required you see
In ignorance of the economy
Now with white fella’s cards
To dig in their claws
To abuse
To misuse
A new ritual
To bash her another way.
For the cycle continues
Despite all our good intentions.
Background
One of series of stories that were inspired by workshops around financial inclusion I helped organise and run for the Salvos in Australia in Nov 2018 while working for Deloitte’s.
We collaborated with the Salvos, on our national charity day, looking at how to resolve issues related to the stigma and access to Salvos financial services across the five personas, each with complex issues. In this case it was of an individual who was also facing domestic violence.
I’m a bit of a newbie at Unity but I’ve given a go using it for animation, using Mixamo for the character creation and Adobe tools to try to bring these stories to life. I’ve updated the Unity 3D animation with improved models and lighting effects. It’s a step up with what I was able to do with Unity before but I have so much more than I can do!
Poems and videos by Vinod Ralh. 2018. All rights reserved.
Illustrations in video by Jean-Baptiste Vincent. 2018. All rights reserved. Music in video Life Is by Scott Buckley - www.scottbuckley.com.au
Real life peeks through, with its creaks, its cracks and crevices.
The ugly but plain truth casts its shadow on our green plains
Be the difference
I was asked why I had been focusing on participating in workshops, hackathons and initiatives with a focus on social impact . I thought about it for a while and this poem expresses why technologists participation can potentially make a significant impact on societal issues and cut through traditional, risk adverse and often manually intensive current practices.
The fantastic illustrations here are by my son Ben. In the video I also have amazing illustrations by my colleague Jean-Baptiste Vincent.
A beloved father
Eyes so wild
Manic
Screaming at the world
His family slowly disintegrating around him
Helplessly, watching on.
A young daughter
Her innocence lost
Clutching her beloved teddy
Stares vacantly ahead
As her uncle closes her bedroom door.
A teenage boy
Family a distant memory
Inhaling and numbing his mind
Vanquishing thoughts of the tricks he’s performing.
An elderly lady
Deep lines etch her face
Teeth rotten
Blackened
Swollen feet her grace
Preferring the safety of the streets to the danger of a shared home.
The Spoken Word 