Am I insane or is this?

There are times I read articles in newspapers and truly wonder am I insane? 

I remember a short story of a pickpocket describing himself as a ‘fingersmith’ and giving an account of his craft. Akin to silversmiths, blacksmiths etc he proposed his particular craft required no less hard practice or skill.  He needed to develop physical and mental abilities and even social skills to blend into crowds effectively. Skills such as being able to pinpoint a suitable victim were described with avid enthusiasm. You're almost convinced by his arguments and his total reframing of stealing as an art form of sorts. It almost takes a moral slap to remind yourself that he is talking about targeting the vulnerable, to deprive them of what is rightly theirs. Traumatising the innocent to earn his living and leaving scars that last long after the original crime has been forgotten by both the perpetrator and the courts (if they were ever convicted). The victims can feel isolated and foolish, robbed of their savings and pensions. Many look at the world around them with different eyes. Suspicious of all, trusting no one, even doubting their own capacity to cope in this new world of villainy.

Today's fingersmiths are multitalented and are everywhere. They run investor scams, telephone fraud, internet deception, abuse people etc and they have found their way into companies, governments, councils etc It seems perverse that our systems of justice seem laboriously expensive and are notoriously ineffectual. In the movies, the villain is tracked down by eager expert forensic investigators and Poirot-like detectives who remorselessly bring justice to bear. The truth is far from that reality. Murder cases take years and often go unsolved, assaults and rapes are often not pursued because witness statements/investigations are not actioned or recorded in a timely fashion. Even how things play out in the press can bear little or no relation to actual facts.  But that no longer seems to matter.

The 38-year-old suspect who stabbed a woman and poured acid on her face, we are informed, was not even questioned and instead of being arrested by the police he was taken to hospital for psychiatric examination.  The police found him in a disturbed state.  I can actually remember reading about the same character in the same newspaper attempting to murder the same woman in 2012. He hit the woman and stabbed his victim resulting in her losing an eye. On that occasion, he went on the run and spent five hours on a flagpole threatening to jump off. At the time he was actually still on bail pending proceedings for an earlier attack on a previous partner.

I remember the words of sympathy towards this particular individual as he perched on the flag. With increasingly important individuals in the community anxiously endeavouring to talk him down. Offering understanding and empathy to this poor misguided soul. To find that he has, six years later, stabbed the same woman and poured acid on her face is an insult to reason! Exactly how much abuse of women is to be perpetrated and accepted by the police, law and press.  Today's article depicts a dramatic picture of the poor fellow’s 2012 suicide attempt, clinging to the flagpole under the misleading heading ‘ acid attack suspect not fit to stand trial’. The article states that the victim is ‘ recovering well from stabs, burns’, oh well that’s okay then isn’t it? The article again places its sympathy squarely on the perpetrator and not on the victim. Are we to feel sorry for this man?  His victim had already lost an eye from his previous attack now she lies stabbed in hospital, her face douched in acid and yet somehow the perpetrator is carefully protected from even questioning, never mind arrest!

Am I mad or is this world becoming an art form in 'slight of hand’ and deception? With a choice of font size and the correct photo, they have turned the stabbed and acid burnt woman into a side character to the main story. The injustice of allowing the perpetrator to continue his rampage on the basis that, in the words of the police, he seemed disturbed.  Given that excuse won him sympathy and freedom before from the justice system the entirely sympathetic account in today's press does not bode well for this attack being treated any differently from the former.

Obviously, a man climbing a flagpole and threatening to jump off six years ago trumps a woman being stabbed, punched and having acid thrown in her face today.  Am I insane or is this?

All happiness or unhappiness solely depends upon the quality of the object to which we are attached

I envy the young their sociability. Here in the shopping mall, they roam in herds chattering, pushing and laughing. At ease with their peers around them. Adults tend to be loan wolves or couples. Like the pair sitting beside me at the table with their Marks & Spencer's cups of coffee in front of them. 

Although sitting opposite he has his chair carefully positioned away from his wife. Occasionally, he points out someone passing and with a snigger nods at his wife. She is ripping a napkin into tiny minuscule pieces of confetti. Not in a random angry way but with slow methodical tidy strips equally broad and then dissecting these into smaller and smaller pieces. Folding carefully then tearing in half then folding again until her side of the table is covered in this patient display of inner turmoil while the husband carefully ignores her paperwork. 

He points out an obese woman waddling past and speaks a quick photo of her with his iPhone before nodding to his wife “Got her”, “I’ll add that to the collection”! She dips her head in acknowledgement of his smartness and then rips with violence the tender tissue between her fingers. She looks placid and contained. All her agitation focused in one monumental craft pursuit. He swings his coffee down and stares around. There is less to see. The shopping centre has emptied. His wife has completed her task. The array of equally sized tiny squares cover her side of the table. She takes them and one by one pushes them through the slit in her empty plastic coffee cup lid. Sometimes she needs to use the stick stirrer to push reluctant one through, but her fingers are fine and nimble. This is obviously a much practised art. It's harder for him to ignore her actions. There is less to take his attention. 

He glances down at her pile of little papers and says, “For shit’s sake, Beth”! In those muttered few words there is so much hatred and loathing. She sits back in her chair as if struck and drops the tiny squares, hands by her side she sits awkwardly before the table scanning all the confetti. Unable to put away her work. Yet captive before it, arms yearning to place them all into the calling slot. She fidgets restless and discontent, fingers scratching at her nail beds on opposite hands pulling, pushing digging. He spots the frantic activity and raises an inquisitive eyebrow mouth turned down in tight disapproval. She grips the arm rest of the plastic chair and with obvious effort is still at last. The concentration required has created a tense expectancy that radiates from her. I cannot take the atmosphere and beat a hasty retreat. Spinoza knew a thing or two when he said...

“All happiness or unhappiness solely depends upon the quality of the object to which we are attached by love. “                                                  

Baruch Spinoza

Lauch of Letter From Malta Service - warnings apply

Many friends over the years have suggested I would make a good counsellor. I've always responded with horror. Perhaps, the reason for choosing science over art so many years ago was a desire for solid facts not the soft shaky business of human psychology. When people tell me their problems it feels like a harpoon to my heart.  I find it difficult to weather the woes of others. I have a thin skin or as my mother calls it ‘You’re supersensitive’. 

When a friend told me how much her husband beat her, we went together to the photographer to take photos of her poor black and blue body, it burned my heart. I find myself wanting to take justice into my own hands. As these things sometimes do the fates conspired to tempt me. I was driving down the street when the husband was crossing the road at a pedestrian crossing. He was about to cross and I slowed to a standstill murderous intent in my heart. He spotted me and read my mind. We eyeballed each other for a few seconds as everyone else crossed the road in front of my car. He glared at me angrily and took a step. I revved my engine and he stopped. Never taking his eye of me he stepped back onto the pavement. He stood awkwardly on the edge looking around himself for support. It was time to drive on. I passed with with a slight nod of my head, ‘wise call’ I wanted to tell him. 

So, you can see that with such an inability to listen to troubles without taking practical action my counselling skills are always going to be seriously flawed. Then, I thought about being on a tiny island in the Med and reckoned there are some advantages to being at a distance. Perhaps, I should call my answering service “Letter from Malta”. You send me your questions problems insights and I will reply with a proper paper letter not email. Be warned I am not trained, not mild mannered, not shy about reframing accounts. Don't expect the usual “I'm hearing what you're saying, rot”!  Sometimes we all need to hear what we do not like. We need to be challenged as to reality not just our own narrow perception. Consulting with others is a powerful tool. We need not accept what others have to say but at times that contribution is from a refreshingly different perspective. That can help us make a better reflection on the choices and challenges that lie head. If you are interested send me your missive ( at colette.maani@gmail.com) and I promise to send my response from Malta. Be warned not only is the service not free it should have a government warning on it!..