Sunday, January 28, 2007

As seen on TV

During the last couple of weeks Portuguese TVs have been capitalizing on a child custody case.
As portrayed by the media the story goes:
A Portuguese guy had an affair with a Brazilian immigrant and from that liaison a little girl was born. The biological father asked for a paternity test and in spite of the positive result didn’t care about the little girl for five years now.
The mother gave the little girl for a nice couple to adopt, although the adoption legal process was still not over (allegedly, Portuguese courts have been delaying the process for more than for years).
A couple of months ago the biological father filed a custody process and the court ordered the child to be given to her biological father.
The adoptive parents refused to yield the child, the adoptive mother disappeared with the girl and the adoptive father got arrested for kidnapping, as a result of going against the court order.
As they became aware of this case thousands of people felt outraged and thus filed a habeas corpus petition to get the adoptive father released. This habeas corpus is historical: the first one in our country signed by about 10000 petitioners.
People who want the little girl to stay with her adoptive family and who claim that giving custody to her biological father will cause her a huge trauma.
Pretty simple and straight forward although sad a story, wouldn’t you say?
That good for nothing biological father never gave a dam about the girl and now files a suit just to try and get some money in a settlement (main theory among the common citizen).

As always there are two sides to this story…
Some journalists didn’t buy the tale and went digging for proof. Our courts may be slow at times, but one thing you must credit them with: all records are kept.
Those journalists found out that as soon as the DNA results were known the father filed a custody suit, that means almost five years ago instead of a couple of months ago.
It took the court two and a half years to grant custody to the biological father, nevertheless the adoptive family refused to return the baby and moved. During the last few years the biological father has made every effort to track that family and get his daughter, however only once did he manage to find them and the adoptive family refused to let go of the girl and moved again.

This second version of the story is pretty much the same as the one in the only official version issued by the court that ordered the adoptive father’s arrest.
Manipulated by the media, public opinion still stands on the side of the adoptive family.

So, how does the media come out of it all? TVs distorted reality and manipulated gullible viewers. At the same time a handful of magazine reporters dug out the truth and made it public.

Regardless of everything else, the little girl now looks at the adoptive parents as her real family… whatever the legal outcome of this mess, who can rightfully say what is best for the girl? The adoptive parents show no respect for the law, but they seem to love the little girl and do in fact have a better economical situation to raise the infant.
The biological father and his wife have another kid, sixteen years old boy, and although strangers to the little girl seem to be good parents.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Back in the day…

...when I was still wearing long hair I wrote this one.

“Why won’t you cut your hair?” I’ve lost count how many times I’ve heard this question. At first I used to answer it was because I didn’t feel like doing so, and I swear it was true! But not anymore. I mean it is no longer true, although I keep giving the same reply. I Want to see where does this, this thing of people questioning why don’t I cut my hair, where does it end. It started by being amusing, then it started driving me mad and now… now I’m thinking on writing a book about it.
It all started with my parents. They thought it was weird and passed a comment on the issue with a friend of theirs who is a psychologist. “That may be serious. If he’s growing his hair there might be a problem he can’t cope with , because he doesn’t really admit there is a problem. He then grows his hair , the way his sub conscience uses to cry for help, to get other people’s attention. Take him to a psychologist.”
They did, but to another one, to check if both diagnosis matched. Tough luck, the psychologist who analysed me was one of those Freudian guys who believe all problems arise before the age of ten. “Oedipus Complex. Grows his hair to look like his mama. Youngsters sometimes tend to try and become similar to the object of their love".
For the love of the Man who died at the cross. My mama even wears short hair.
Yet it didn’t stop here, when the time came for the psychiatrist he diagnosed me “ a serious case of schizophrenia”. As soon as he uttered his diagnose the good doctor calmed my parents, “if he doesn’t become violent we may not need to commit him”.
Obviously, with so many different opinions of cult persons, learned on the subject and with “Holder of Fundamental Truths” diplomas hanging on the wall, the subject reached the streets. Neighbourhood talking started.
The gay poet who lives on the seventh floor said it was the women inside of me blossoming.
The guy from the barber shop was way less poetical “he’s cheap, that’s the truth, if all followed his example I’d starve”.
Even the priest, imagine. Came to me after mass and told me he understood what was wrong with me, he was used to watching all those movies on TV with gangs of long haired junkies. He advised me to watch solely the church channel and obviously to cut my hair.
At some point during the two hours of that holly man’s sermon this story stopped being funny. Maybe because I’ve had had enough, maybe because this temper of mine so many people have told me about, I answered him back.
It was even a very calm retort. I told him Christ used to have long hair too. The priest, in a sudden and unexpected rage, threw me out of church calling me heretic, evil, sacrilegious and among plenty of other things communist.
What the hell! Communist. I’m not, I know I’m not and I have proof.
The weirdest thing though, the president of the local assembly, who happens to be a communist, told me if he were in the government he’d pass a law against guys with long hair.
Decided to forget all about it I spent a full month without hearing the neighbourhood talk.
As you can easily guess, I’ve been away for a month. Come back in the middle of the night. This morning, at the dairy shop, Mrs Ernestina came to me and said “Don’t mind me asking. I don’t even like to be nosy. Have you come back home? Your dad threw you out, didn’t he? Where have you been?”
Remember my temper? “Oh Mrs. Ernestina, since last month I’ve living nearby, your husband’s mistress has rented me a room, the same room your son used to rent before going to jail”. She didn’t like my answer.
Everyday, as far as I can recall, I have my breakfast at that dairy, latte, toast and the early morning gossip overheard.
I then remembered her soon, a short little mulato with long Rastafarian-like hair.
Never got to know why was he arrested. Hope it wasn’t something about his hair…

(click here to read the original Portuguese version) .


"Porque é que não cortas o cabelo?" Já perdi a conta ao número de vezes que ouvi esta pergunta. Primeiro respondia que era porque não me apetecia, e juro que era verdade !
Mas agora não. Quero eu dizer que agora já não é verdade, mas continuo a dar a mesma resposta. Quero ver até onde é que isto, esta história de me dizerem porque é que deixo o cabelo crescer, quero ver até onde é que isto vai. Primeiro achei divertido, depois comecei a chatear-me e agora... agora estou a pensar em escrever um livro sobre o assunto.
Tudo começou com os meus pais. Acharam estranho, e comentaram o caso com um amigo, que é psicólogo. "Isso é capaz de ser grave. Se ele está a deixar crescer o cabelo é porque tem algum problema que não consegue resolver, por não admitir que o problema existe. Então deixa o cabelo crescer, que é a forma que o seu subconsciente encontra para pedir ajuda, para chamar a atenção dos outros. Levem-no ao psicólogo."
Levaram, mas a outro, que era para ver se o seu diagnóstico era igual. Azar, o psicólogo que me analisou era um daqueles freudianos que pensam que todos os problemas surgem até aos dez anos. "Complexo de Édipo. Deixa crescer o cabelo para se parecer com a mãe. Por vezes os jovens têm tendência para tentarem tornar-se semelhantes àquilo que amam." Por amor do Homem que morreu lá na cruz. A minha mãezinha até tem cabelos curtos.
Mas não parou por aqui, quando chegou a vez do psiquiatra foi-me diagnosticado "um grave caso de esquizofrenia". Logo de seguida o bom doutor acalmou os meus pais, "se ele não se tornar violento talvez não seja necessário interná-lo".
É claro que com tanta opinião de pessoa culta, versada no assunto e com um diploma de Detentor de Verdades Fundamentais na parede, o assunto chegou às ruas. Começou o falatório na vizinhança.
O poeta gay do sétimo andar disse que era a mulher que trago dentro de mim a florescer.
O tipo que me costumava cortar o cabelo é muito menos poético : "o tipo é forrêta, essa é que é a verdade, se todos lhe seguissem o exemplo matavam-me à fome".
Até o padre, imaginem. Veio ter comigo a seguir à missa e disse-me que compreendia bem o que se passava comigo, ele bem via os filmes que davam na televisão com bandos de drogados de cabelos compridos, aconselhou-me a ver apenas o canal da Igreja e, é claro, a cortar o cabelo. Foi durante as duas horas que demorou o sermão do santo homem que eu deixei de achar piada a esta história. Talvez por estar farto, talvez por causa deste mau feitio que todos me apontam, respondi-lhe.
Respondi-lhe calmamente até. Disse-lhe que Cristo também tinha cabelo comprido. O padre então, numa fúria inesperada, expulsou-me da igreja chamando-me herético, malvado, profanador e, entre muitas outras coisas, comunista.
Que raio! Comunista. Não sou, sei que não sou e tenho provas.
O mais estranho é que o presidente da junta, que por acaso até é comunista, disse-me que se ele estivesse na assembleia, fazia uma lei contra os tipos que andam por aí de cabelo comprido.
Resolvi esquecer o assunto, passei um mês sem ouvir os comentários da vizinhança. Como é fácil de entender, estive um mês fora. Voltei a meio da noite. Hoje de manhã, na leitaria, veio a Dona Ernestina ter comigo e disse: "Não me leve a mal que lhe pergunte. Eu nem gosto de me meter na vida dos outros. Mas você já voltou para casa? Foi o seu pai que o pôs fora por causa do cabelo, não foi? Por onde é que tem andado?".
Lembram-se do meu mau feitio? "Oh Dona Ernestina, desde o mês passado que estou a viver ali no Areeiro, a amante do seu marido arranjou-me um quarto, aquele onde o seu filho dormia antes de ir preso". Não gostou da resposta.
Todos os dias, desde que me lembro, tomo o pequeno-almoço naquela leitaria, um galão, uma torrada e os boatos matinais ouvidos de passagem. Lembrei-me então do filho dela, um mulato baixinho de cabelo comprido, às trancinhas. Nunca cheguei a saber por que é que foi preso. Espero que não tenha sido nada a ver com o cabelo...

94.2.8

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Featured Photo

Welcome to the Twilight Zone's new address!
This pic is from our November trip to Cordoba... guess there is no escaping it, it was GH's first time in Andaluzia, I HAD to take her to a flamenco show.