On Monday I was doing one of my favorite gigs of the year. An address to Melbourne High’s Political Interest Group.  As usual the boys and I had lunch before hand and I met Aman, who told me the story about losing the turnban and cutting his hair when he was 15. He’s 17 now.  I suggested he write the story and offered to publish it. In less than 24 hours he had. It’s a beautiful story, he’s an extraordinary boy and a gifted writer and I am honoured to host it here on my site. Enjoy! Dev x

I was born a Sikh, which means technically I’m not meant to cut my hair, and, as a male, I should have my hair tied in a bun on top of my head, covered with a turban. Growing up wearing a turban, looking different to everyone, it wasn’t easy. When you look different, you are always remembered, if not by name than by your image. You can’t just blend in with society; you are always being watched and judged by “normal” people. Everything you do is noticed and analysed more than the person next to you. For someone who hasn’t experienced it, it’s very difficult to explain the feeling of everyone’s eyes on you when you walk through a shopping centre. I think that Australia is an incredibly accepting society; I don’t really remember a time when I was actually abused directly because I looked different. The effect was far more subtle, but still very much there. It could be that, while walking in a shopping centre, someone avoids walking directly towards you, clutches their handbag a little tighter, takes a second and even third look, before continuing on. I don’t blame people for this; whenever anyone sees something new or different, we change our behaviours. I am as guilty as anyone is of fearing the different and unfamiliar.

The tradition of keeping hair dates back to 1699, but no amount of googling gave me a definitive reason as to why it was so important. The two most common reasons I came across were, firstly, it was to stand out against the Muslims invading India at the time, to make a statement of boldness. Secondly, because ‘God’ gave us our body in the way we need it, and therefore it should not be altered.

With both these reasons, I had serious concerns. With the statement of boldness, the obvious counter argument is that, well 300 odd years on, it’s kind of irrelevant. The second is slightly more complex, however in a world of 7 billion people, I highly doubt that only the 15 million or so hair-keeping Sikhs are the only ones that have got it right, especially considering how new Sikhism is relative to other religions (I doubt everyone went to hell before Sikhism…) But what stood out most to me was that I couldn’t find an argument that actually explains how, by keeping my hair, I was becoming a better person, contributing more to the world or in any way benefitting. I highly doubt that, if there is a ‘God’, he would care whether a person cuts their hair or not. In the grand scheme of things, surely he would have bigger issues to worry about?

My mum always regretted deciding not to cut my hair and my younger brother’s hair as children, she didn’t want us to miss out on any opportunities or feel held back in any way because of our hair. Both my parents were raised in England during the 60’s and 70s, when racism there was still quite prevalent, and so they experienced firsthand what growing up as “different” is like. She told us that if we wanted to cut our hair, then we could do it, and any social issues it caused we would go through together, as a family. My brother decided to do so about 6 months before I did. He was a lot more uncomfortable I think, with wearing a turban than I was. To be completely honest, until he got his hair cut, the idea that I would do the same was simply that, an idea. I had never actually considered it a reality. But seeing how much freedom it gave him, how he changed as a person, I realised that I needed to do the same.

It was about 2 ½ years ago that I decided to cut my hair and stop wearing a turban. They say that you can feel when you are being watched; the day that stopped for me, I actually felt a difference. I still remember walking through my local shopping centre later that day, and I could actually notice the difference in behaviour that people showed toward me; although subtle, the change was very clear. No one took a second glance or avoided walking towards me, for the first time I was just another person. It was quite easily the best feeling I’ve ever had. These days I walk around, just another teenage boy, blending into society. I find it interesting that so many spend their lives trying to stand out in some way, and yet I simply wanted to blend in. They do say the grass is always greener on the other side.

At this point, I simply have to thank my parents for how amazing they were when dealing with this issue. As different as wearing a turban made me in society in general, it made me completely normal in our community. Allowing us to make such a decision but my parents in the path of possible abuse and disconnection from our own people, and they were willing to take that risk for us. Thankfully, the community backlash was far less than I expected, and I think that is a sign of how times are changing.

2 years down the track – now the novelty has worn off – I feel I can fairly reflect on my decision. There is no doubting that being raised wearing a turban had its benefits. It taught me to be confident within myself, because when you are always being watched and judged, you have to be. With that confidence came the ability to simply be me and not care what anyone else thought. I also think that being so recognisable gives you a certain amount of power. People are always watching you, therefore when you say or do something, they know about it. Sometimes this can be a very useful tool as it gives you more of an audience than the average person, and people are likely to remember you and what you said because you looked different.

But when it comes down to it, I think that the benefits of life without a turban far outweigh any benefits that wearing a turban may have brought. If I could go back in time, I would make the same choice without a doubt.

At the end of the day, I don’t really know if I believe in ‘God’, but I think that if there is a ‘God’ then religion can corrupt his true message and purpose. I like to think that if we aim to live a life of kindness, love and generosity, and try to make the world a better place for having had us in it, then if I’m wrong about everything ’God’ might forgive me for something like cutting my hair.

Send Aman an email and let him know if you enjoyed his piece aman.dhingra@hotmail.com

A copy of this letter to Cardinal George Pell’s lawyers from Phil Degenhardt was sent to me last night in response to Pell trying to sue twitter and I.  I think you’ll enjoy it……

Dear lawyers for George Pell,

It was most gratifying to read your legal threats against Twitter and Catherine Deveny regarding the meme based on Archbishop George Pell and his “we were preparing some young English boys” statement on Q&A last month.

I found the treatment of this man, a man of learning and wisdom, absolutely shameful. While the words did come from the cardinal’s own mouth it was irresponsible for the ABC to broadcast them completely out of context. By inserting that long pause, when he clearly had not finished his sentence, the ABC deliberately injected a comic effect designed to lampoon his ominence. While I would like to see the ABC themselves pursued for this outrageous manipulation of the cardinal’s words, I believe it is more important that all of those present in the studio who laughed during the program need to be pursued. The ABC keep records of audience attendance, and I believe with modern techniques of audio analysis it will be possible to identify the individuals that laughed – they clearly implied that the cardinal was a paedophile. Each of them should be sued so that everyone understands that the church will spare no effort or expense to protect its own.

Most importantly, that heretic and blasphemer Richard Dawkins needs to be pursued. Not only can he be heard laughing but the footage shows him openly doing so and making no attempt to disguise his wicked thoughts. His actions clearly imply that George Pell is a paedophile. It is time that smug destroyer-of-blind-faith got his comeuppance.

On a brighter note, I believe the church, and you their legal counsel, should see this whole affair as an opportunity to diversify revenue streams and get in on the lucrative “interwebs”. The potential revenues from those lampooning George Pell are significant and could well mark the start of a new golden age for the church.  At the very least it offers an opportunity to recoup some of the losses incurred in settlements paid to the so-called “victims” of child abuse and molestation. Twitter is probably a good one to start with. However, I believe Deveny and Twitter are just bit players (pardon the nerdy telecommunications pun!) in a conspiracy to defame the cardinal and the church more broadly. Below, I have laid out a few examples of my extensive files on this matter and implore you to cast your net much wider, for the good of the cardinal and the church and for the glory of God her(/him/it)self.

Here are some screen shots from Google that may well be defamatory. I just typed in “george pell is” and Google suggested this:

Presuming that Google was getting confused with another George Pell, somewhere else on the planet, who has been conclusively shown to be an idiot, I attempted to clarify that I meant George Pell Cardinal. However, I had only typed “george pell c” when Google attempted to link his ominence with child abuse.

I then started to inquire about parishes that George Pell had worked in but only got as far as “george pell p” when Google came up with this:

Google appears to be involved in furthering the same despicable insinuations as Ms Deveny and Twitter but as part of a much broader assault on the cardinal’s reputation. However Google, being one of the most valuable companies on the planet, is a potential source of riches, unmatched by any the church has been able to plunder in recent centuries. I strongly urge you to pursue them vigorously.

I believe the authors, creators and publishers of the following material are part of this conspiracy.

• memegenerator.net which has a number of other memes impugning his ominence: http://memegenerator.net/QA-Pell. (I will not reproduce them here as I believe my moral health has been jeopardised enough by simply viewing them.)
• http://i.imgur.com/KHK1L.jpg
• http://www.quickmeme.com/meme/3p5xlc/

(This is just scratching the surface – let me know if you want more material.)

The sad thing about this entire saga is that it has caused everyone to overlook the fact that that ABC program represented a turning point in the history of the church – during that program, the cardinal rewrote centuries of catholic catechism and dogma. He publicly acknowledged the mythical foundation of the bible and finally clarified that atheists are permitted to enter heaven, just to name a couple.

That last one puts the cardinal’s philosophical courage beyond doubt.  For centuries atheists were simply tortured or burned, in fulfilment of biblical prophecy. However, in recent decades, churches have taken a more liberal approach and endeavoured to lure atheists from their dark caves – caves that are lit solely by the dim and flickering flame of rational thought. They have done so with a clever technique. Churches have offered the eternal bliss of heaven but only if the atheists dropped their heretical demand of evidence for the existence of God. It was a shrewd but manufactured conundrum that has served the church profitably. The cardinal, however, has finally and courageously put such nonsense to rest forever. Of course, the non-believers can enter heaven.  He has proclaimed that belief in God is not a pre-requisite to eternal bliss. The cynical laughter broadcast on that evening must be hushed, so we may hear the true joy that began that evening: the sound of millions of atheists and agnostics joined in a chorus of “Hallelujah!”.

During that program, his ominence also made crystal clear the church’s equivocal support for the theory of evolution. After pointing out to Richard Dawkins some of the flaws in the professor’s understanding of evolutionary biology, his ominence indicated the church’s acceptance of the theory. These pronouncements will, one day, be regarded by historians as just what was needed to drag the church, kicking and screaming, into the nineteenth century.

The new doctrines spelt out by the cardinal, will surely become the foundation of the Roman Catholic faith formillennia to come.

We need to get the community’s focus onto the wise words emitted by his ominence that evening. We need to put this nonsense, about the cardinal preparing boys, behind us.

Clearly aggressive legal action is the best way to achieve this.

Good luck with your noble endeavours.

If  can be of any further assistance, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Sincerely,

Phil Degenhardt

Fuck reading. Start writing.  Gunnas Writing Masterclass. BOOK NOW! All over Australia.

I DON’T know much about 91-kilogram chocolate statues of Jesus, but I know what I like. When I heard about the giant edible Christ, I badly wanted to make like an Easter egg and smash it on my forehead. Or better still, bite off both ends and suck my coffee through it.

The exhibit of a 1.8-metre chocolate statue of Jesus has angered Catholics, but had this cultural Catholic laughing so hard I almost spat out the coffee scroll in the shape of the Virgin Mary that I was eating. And when I read that the artwork was titled My Sweet Lord, I almost needed to be resuscitated.

Members of the US Catholic League were outraged by this artwork by Cosimo Cavallaro and I could only assume that it was because it was made from milk chocolate and not 70 per cent couverture dark chocolate. Then I thought they were angry because they couldn’t find “91- kilogram chocolate statues of Jesus” on the Weight Watchers list. American Cardinal Edward Egan described it as sickening and I can’t help agreeing with him. I can’t even get through half an Elegant Rabbit without wanting to have my stomach pumped.

Lines just kept popping into my head: “Just like a chocolate milkshake, only Jesus”, and “Helps you work, rest and pray”. All jokes aside, I wonder if chocolate Jesus tastes exactly like chicken.

Not only did these fanatics boycott the New York hotel exhibiting My Sweet Lord, but there were death threats. Death threats? I missed that commandment: Thou Shalt Not Kill Unless Chocolate Statues Of Religious Figures Are Involved. If this exhibition was happening in Australia there’d be no death threats, we’d be rocking up and having our photos taken with a chip off the old family block. Because Aussie Catholics can take a joke. (Note to self, MUST CALL GEORGE PELL.)

Sorry, here comes another one: “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Jesus!”

Don’t you think that they are overreacting just a tad? Are we sitting at the kids’ table or up with the adults? The artist made the statue as a tribute. Why are these fanatics up in arms over a block of chocolate? I think that it’s all claptrap and mumbo-jumbo myself, but what has the artist’s relationship with Jesus got to do with them? Do they own Christ? If Cavallaro goes to hell for upsetting God, that’s his problem.

Prayer is simply the notion of transcending the physical, so how can 91 kilos of chocolate offend the sensibilities of Christians?

Why are they afraid? What’s the fear? If we laugh then what next? People will stop turning up to church? Well, it’s too late for that. Why are they so defensive, so protective? It is a case of “don’t you upset the guy in the sky or we’ll be the ones who get in trouble”. How robust is their faith if it takes a chocolate Jesus to rattle them? Why should any religion be a cordoned-off, joke-free zone? Are they scared that if we push hard enough that it may break and collapse?

Some people are just gagging to be outraged. Check out the statue. If no one had told you, you wouldn’t know it was Jesus; it looks like Oprah’s old boyfriend, Stedman. Keep in mind that the artist’s previous works include coating an entire house and all its surfaces with spray cheese and covering a four-poster bed with processed ham. I’m not hanging that on my wall.

The US Catholic League’s Keira McCaffery said: “Would this art gallery display a naked chocolate statue of Muhammad with his genitals exposed during Ramadan? I think not.” And she’s right. They probably would be too scared by what happened to Salman Rushdie. But there is an unwritten and moral logic that allows Jews to make fun of Jews, Christians to make fun of Christians and Muslims to make fun of Muslims.

It’s OK to piss out of the tent but it’s not OK to piss in.

Reminds me of the controversy over American photographer Andres Serrano’s Piss Christ, a photograph of a plastic Jesus on a crucifix in a glass of the artist’s urine. At the time art critic and Catholic nun Sister Wendy Beckett said that she approved of the work, considering it a legitimate statement on “what we have done to Christ”.

It seems to be fine for some religious folk to sneer and deride other people’s faith but you are not allowed to do it to them. Blasphemy seems to be only when someone offends your faith. In the same way all the people who don’t endorse capital punishment are quite happy to see Saddam hanging from a noose. Because that’s different.

The idea of a chocolate Jesus makes far more sense to me than the alleged resurrection of Christ being celebrated by eggs and rabbits because they symbolise fertility. I thought that the symbol for fertility was Catholic mothers.

Body Of Christ? I’ll have Top Deck, thanks. Is it a good laugh or is it bad art? Maybe it’s both. Happy Easter.

Global Atheist Convention April 13-15 2012 tickets still on sale from $135

I DON’T want to offend anyone (actually I do), but let’s be honest here, Easter’s never really taken off. Two thousand years and it’s still the B team of religious celebrations, just ahead of the Feast of the Circumcision. And ain’t that a day when Christians go off like a frog in a sock?

Despite Easter being the Big Kahuna of the Christian holy days, we’re all a bit lukewarm about it. No cards, no customs, no songs. Where’s Deck the Halls with Eggs from Kmart? How about We Wish You a Happy Easter? Or, “On the fourth day of Easter my true love gave to me: four chocolate bilbies, three elegant rabbits, two panatones and a Humpty full of Smarties?”

Christmas even has its own special words, such as “carols” “merry” and “ho, ho, ho”. The fat bloke in the red suit feels like a member of our family with his reindeer, his elves and his bulging sack of love. What’s Easter got? Stuff all. A giant bunny that no one knows anything about. Is it male or female? Where does it live? And what’s with the basket? A bit Tinky Winky, if you ask me.

Never in my life have I met anyone who’s said: “I’m a real Easter person.” There are plenty of Christmas people, the loonies who have tinsel running through their veins and carols running through their heads all year round. Those grinning idiots with their yuletide-themed apron, oven mitts and napkin rings for that One Day in December. But I’ve never met one egg-loving, bunny-crazed nut case who spends their entire year hanging out for some hard-core Easter action.

And it’s not for want of trying, what with the relentless Easter lead-up of Shrove Tuesday, the day we Catholics let our hair down and go pancake crazy, followed by Ash Wednesday, when you can head down for a bit of red hot Mass action and come home looking like someone has butted a cigarette out on your face. Oh, and you get to kiss the feet of Jesus. And, yes, he does taste exactly like chicken. I know what you’re thinking and it’s true, life as a Catholic is just party, party, party. Then genuflect.

Who could forget Maundy Thursday? The day of the year when we put on our Maundy hats and Maundy pants for a bit of mid-March Maundy madness. No we don’t. People don’t even know it’s called Maundy Thursday. Most don’t realise that it’s the day of the Last Supper. It’s generally known as the Day Petrol Doubles in Price and You Have to Pick the Kids Up from School at 2.30.

It never ends: Good Friday (every child has at some point asked, “Jesus died, so why do they call it Good Friday?” Just tell them the name Bad Friday was run past the marketing team and they suggested something more positive), Easter Saturday, Easter Sunday, Easter Monday. It goes on forever — Easter Queen’s Birthday, Easter New Year’s Eve, Easter Good Friday. But the holy week still hasn’t got much traction.

Easter is the duddest date in the festive calendar. I don’t think it’s even on the festive calendar, because no one knows when it’s on until about a week before. After the Christmas cards get taken down and the ham gets finished, people start muttering: “Does anyone know when Easter is?”

“March, maybe April. Something to do with the moons. We have to wait until they know.” Until who knows? It’s all terribly mysterious. A bit “we’ll keep the unwashed masses in suspense until we’re good and ready”. The Easter marketing department’s mission statement must be “treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen”. We’re gripped with anticipation (no, we’re not) as to when the chocolate orgy is upon us. But the shops get told two months before, which explains why you’ll find elegant rabbits sitting next to the “back to skool” specials.

And the only reason people even want to know the date of Easter is not so they can organise a sumptuous lunch or start erecting a giant flashing rabbit in their front yard, but so they can bugger off and go camping. People are so confused about how little you can do to pay Easter lip service that they just pack up and go bush, instead of staying home thinking: “Well, it is Easter Sunday, so I suppose we should have something more momentous for lunch than a sandwich.”

Time to rebrand Easter, I reckon. Get the Duracell bunny on board, sex up the name to something like “Easter: It’s Fully Sick” and make it the season when you actually do teach your grandmother how to suck eggs.

Maybe even diversify the merchandise a bit. The chocolate bilby is all well and good, but how about something even more Australian, like a chocolate Warnie? Melts in your mouth then sends you eight text messages the next day.