The Art of Indoctrination.

Terrorists will never win. They can kill, they can maim, but they will never destroy the human spirit or the solidarity of 

mankind.Terrorists are ignorant and single minded individuals who pray on the vulnerable in our society. They recruit by indoctrinating 

the weak. 

Indoctrination has always been around. Defined, indoctrination is to persistently teach an idea or ideology, especially one with a 

specific point of view. 

Indoctrination seduces people into believing their lives will be better by following a certain way. Causes good and bad indoctrinate. 

The suffragettes indoctrinated the women living the harsh realities of life in the early twentieth century. They recruited women in bad 

situations, both at work and at home, with promises that their cause could eventuate to a better life. The reform that occurred for 

women due to the Suffragettes persistent protesting and extreme tactics were necessary.It was an enlightenment to women who knew 

no other way. But was indoctrinating vulnerable women the way to do it? Does the end justify the means?

Emily Davison, a martyr for the suffragette cause, died trying to tie a scarf to the kings horse at the derby day in Epsom in 1913. 

There’s argument as to whether she died for the cause to bring recognition to the suffragettes, or whether she was accidentally killed. 

Either way it was indoctrination which led her to take the risks that endangered her life. Women would not be where they are today 

without the suffragettes, their cause and their indoctrination. 

ISIL target the young, marginalised, lonely teen to indoctrinate. They play on their weaknesses, often isolation. The lonely, isolated 

teen with no direction in life spends a lot of time online. Because they are already vulnerable, and wanting to find a sense of 

belonging, it is easy for ISIL to fill this void by indoctrinating them with their ideology. Counter terror expert, Greg Barton, says ISIL 

pander to the teens self esteem and their sense of belonging. Jake Bilardi was a Melbourne teenager. Quiet and awkward, he was 

targeted by ISIL. He was groomed online and began to identify with their ideology. His life came to an end when he gave his life to the 

cause in a suicide bombing.

Much of the Nazi’s success was due to indoctrination of the young. By 1937, 97% of teachers were members of the Socialist 

Teachers League. Nazi ideas were inserted into each subject. The only learning children were exposed to was littered with Nazi 

ideology. Hitler also used to media as an indoctrination tool. Hitlers Nuremberg rallies are an example of how he used the media to 

spread his word and glorify his ideology. Making a film in 1935, ‘Triumph of the Wills ‘ he employed actors for the event and brought in 

technicians to use unique camera angles to create a distorted perspective. One of the greatest propaganda movies of all times it 

indoctrinated the masses into thinking Hitler was  going to make Germany the greatest power of all time. 

Today, the media and television are the most powerful tools of indoctrination. The reason many people think all Muslims are terrorists 

is because of the way the media portrays terrorism. The medias “Grief Porn” and their repeat coverage when an act of terrorism 

occurs is reinforcing the association of Islam and terrorism. The Lindt Cafe siege in Sydney is a prime example of this. Man Monis was 

a lone wolf, a wannabe extremist. His was not a terrorist act but a crazy man carrying out an evil, repulsive, unforgivable act. The 

media continually associated Man Monis with ISIL, despite the fact that he was not part of this terrorist cell.The way the media 

portrayed the whole episode gave rise to terrorist interpretation. 

Indoctrination will always be around. Is it a good or bad thing? Depends on the circumstances. What we must try to do is to make our 

children aware of what it is. Terrorism is only as strong as the people involved. Indoctrination and terrorism go hand in hand. The 

ability to persuade is a dangerous tool, yet at the same time, as in the case of the suffragettes, a useful tool for societal change.

ONE MANS BIZARRE DAY

Todays blog is a story, a true story of a bizarre incident in the life of one man....

The man sat on the railway platform observing his surroundings. He was amazed at the tranquillity of the station. Alone, surrounded by city structures. An oasis in a desert. The man felt exiled. Nobody else seemed to be catching the 11.20 am to Central. He reached into his pocket and pulled out several coins to slot into the ticket machine to purchase his lone ticket. Bling, bling, bling. The echo of the coins dropping into the machine disturbed the silence. Angered by the disruption, several sparrows that had been nesting in a nearby tree chirped and flew away to find another silent area. 

It was a big decision trying to decide which of the empty station seats he would sit on. The man was not used to choices. Mostly he just took what was left, usually being at the bottom of the pecking order. 

Because he was used to the hustle and bustle of a noisy household, the solitude of the station was refreshing to the man. Planning his day without interruption was a new experience to him. No distractions to ruin his train of thought.

All this was about to change. 

Suddenly a large truck pulled up outside the little station. Several men in white overalls rushed out of the truck. Almost falling over each other with enthusiasm. Paint tin in one hand and brushes in the other. The looks on their faces were like that of little children about to embark on a day at the beach with their bucket and spades.

The man looked on, wondering what all this meant.

The men began painting the platform. Pandemonium broke out. In less than a minute, the man’s world had gone from being a quiet haven to utter chaos. Poles that had once been brown were now blue. Seats changed colours in the blink of an eye. The smell of paint making the man feel his surreal surrounding was a sideshow.

The painters continued on, ignoring the lone man on the platform. The station so small it only took them 15 minutes to finish the job. As quickly as they had arrived, the painters returned to their truck and left.

In a daze at what had just so spontaneously occurred, the man did not realise how close he was standing to the edge of the platform. Suddenly from behind him he felt the life being sucked out of him and his ear-drums exploding. Was someone now being sent to demolish this tiny station despite its new eye-catching paint job? Nothing so exciting, just the express train rushing past him at 200 km an hour. His quick reflexes allowed him to jump forward and prevent an early departure from this world.

Five minutes later the man’s train arrived. The short time he had spent on the station platform had been quite bizarre. It was almost with relief he took his seat and sat back, not sure whether he should close his eyes. His thoughts were that of hope for an uneventful trip.

OUR LIFE IS BUT A GARDEN

Our life is but a garden of unplanted seeds. How our life pans out all depends upon how we look after this garden. Like planting the right seeds in the right season, the outcome of an experience in our life is often dependent on when we experience an event.The old age wisdom of overthinking often allows the loss of opportunities. The younger we are the more risks we take, which to my mind a good thing. When we are younger, we have our whole lives ahead of us, we don't fear failure as we have our whole life to catch up. An opportunity which comes our way when we are young will often have a completely different outcome than had this opportunity occurred in later life. Later in life we have children, mortgages, and are not willing to take the risks we would have when footloose, young and fancy free. Sometimes risks that would have proved successful had we been willing to jump in at the deep end..How we react to an experience depends upon when in our life this experience occurs.Our judgement is age related.Immaturity often clouds judgement. Rebellion often clouds judgement. Inexperience often clouds judgement. 

We can meet the right person at the wrong time in our lives. Wrong season.An example of this is my husband and me. I met him during high school, hung out with the same group of friends. We were not attracted to each other in the least. I was a giggly, dizzy teenager who felt the need for attention. He was a serious soul who had no time for silliness. Although our paths crossed it was not the moment for us to be together. We connected again later in life when I was not so silly and he was not so serious.

We need to nurture our life, look after it, just as we would a garden. Watering it regularly, fertilising it with ideas. Discarding all the weeds in our life, which could kill us or dull our senses. Ensure nothing toxic enters our soil to poison or disillusion us; thus preventing our flowers to bloom. Just as a garden has its season, so does our life. We bloom when happy and content, droop and wither when unhappy and unloved. Plants secure their nourishment through their roots, so do we. It is our core root system that ensures our survival. Who we love, how we love. Whether our roots have become rotted by toxic people in our lives, or toxic  experiences. Just as people and experiences can prove toxic to our lives, the right people and experiences can enrich our roots system. Spreading joy, enlightening us to the world around us. 

AU REVOIR TO OUR OLD HOME

There is no easy way to leave a house that has been home for 30 years. Our DNA is ingrained in its walls and floors. Our babies were bought home from hospital to this house, possibly even conceived under its very roof. If the carpet was to be lifted in the family room, tiny paint footprints would be seen scattered randomly along the floor where a little foot toddled into the paint. Ghosts of a young couple embarking on a journey of home ownership lurk at the front door. Not knowing what the future held, but promises of an adventure. Echoes of the laughter of childhood parties, 21st’s and parties we never knew about can be heard whispering in my ears as I walk the now empty rooms.

Surrounded by trees, our home was a sanctuary to native birds. Waking up every morning to the view of my trees, telling me the day would be ok, calming me, and soothing any anxiety dwelling within. Kookaburra’s letting me know the day had begun. A large gum tree out the front was a source of fun to ours, as well as the neighbourhood children. Many a time a child was rescued from the clutches of the branches of our uber giant gum tree. This tree formed the backdrop to formal photo’s, as well as being a gym centre for our cat Benji. Benji, our sixth family member , is buried in the back yard, along with various birds and goldfish. Or is he? a mysterious pot has appeared at  the new house with the tree from Benji’s grave in it. Now i’m just getting creepy.

Our new house is only in the next suburb. Constantly having to go back to our old home is like ripping a bandaid off very slowly, very painfully. A little piece of my heart withers every time I return to our old home. They say a house is only four wall, and it is the people living within which make it a home. This may be true, but within those wall are the love, laughter, tears and memories of thirty years of living. So much has changed since we first set foot into that house. We are embarking on a new journey and will make new memories in our new home. Despite being embalmed in a melancholy sadness at the moment, this in time will lift and I will learn to embrace this next stage of our life, our new adventure.