Asbestosis

Many years ago, when I rode with Ulysses, I met one of the women who worked at James Hardie in Carole Park, Brisbane. She was only in the office and no doubt did not have asbestosis, but she knew about it. I didn't ask her why she chose to work there. I wish, now, that I had.

One of the gentlemen in our village died last night. He had asbestosis, but many people within the village didn't even know about that. I did. He'd shown me the documentation from his lawyer. He had a claim which wouldn't even have been paid yet. He was the second person I'd met with asbestosis, and both of them had the 'disease which does not have a cure'.

Asbestosis is described by Oxford Dictionary as “a lung disease resulting from the inhalation of asbestos particles, marked by severe fibrosis and a high risk of mesothelioma (cancer of the pleura).”

According to the Australian Asbestos Network, the problems with the milling and use of asbestos started in the 1880s when asbestos was firstly used in Australia, but Australian asbestosis court cases didn't begin until the 1960s. They grew throughout the 70s and 80s as more workers were discovered with asbestosis, and some had mesothelioma. The website gives details of many of these cases. I recommend you read and become aware of this disease.

In a case study, “James Hardie and Asbestos”, LawGovPol (a reference site for teachers and students) noted that James Hardie had been aware of the issues with asbestos in the 1960s, but didn't introduce warning signs which had to go on their products until 1978. They didn't stop production of asbestos products until 1987. The case study lists some people who were diagnosed with asbestosis, took James Hardie to court and won their compensation. One person, Bernie Banton, who got $800,000 compensation, had been described in a disgusting manner by Tony Abbott, then the Federal Health Minister, as 'a “gutless creep” whose motives were “not pure of heart” '. Banton died very soon after his court case. I'm certain that no-one else would have thought of him as a 'gutless creep'.

James Hardie's history page on their website only mentions asbestos twice – after 1951 they “built up a diverse portfolio of building and industrial products businesses including a wide range of asbestos-based products” and “[i]n the mid-1980’s, [they] pioneered the development of asbestos-free fibre cement technology”. It read like they were just discussing with potential shareholders.

The LawGovPol case study said: “In 2004 the NSW State government held an inquiry into the company’s actions. The inquiry found that having pocketed the profits from asbestos product sales, James Hardie had a responsibility to pay all compensation claims, which may total as much as $2.2 billion. James Hardie executives, union representatives and governments began negotiating a plan to fund future compensation claims. In 2007 the company agreed to provide an additional $1.55 billion over 40 years.” By 2015 ABC wrote in their article that “James Hardie's contribution to an asbestos victims' fund is expected to fall by a third, even as the company posted a 12 per cent rise in profit.” It seems that James Hardie doesn't feel shame.

I believe James Hardie should have made the involvement with asbestos and asbestosis public on their history page. James Hardie still exists in Carole Park, Brisbane, today. So sad that people who ended up with asbestosis are dying, and James Hardie never acknowledges them.

I'd met Dom 4 months ago, when I moved in to the village. He told me when we met that he had asbestosis. Very soon he had what I called a PTSD – because I didn't, at that stage, know about his bipolar. He spent a couple of weeks lying on his bed, each day, every day. When he finally got up he seemed fine except for his breathing. He spent a lot of time in a wheelchair. I did quite a bit of PC work for him because his hands, especially his right one, shook far too much. Too much medication, I thought. Last month he was taken up to PA hospital and was kept there for just over a week. When he came back I only saw him once. I thought he'd gone to his daughter's home to stay for a while. She'd come in a couple of times, I thought, to pick up some of his clothes.

Last night I saw the ambulance parked outside my unit and I had an uneasy thought that they were back here for Dom. I watched outside my window as they put him on their stretcher. I didn't want to go over there to see how he was – I could see heaps of little blue spots all over his chest which were wired up to the heart machine. They wheeled him off, put him in the ambulance and drove him away. That was the last I saw him. This evening I was told by another friend who had been told by someone else who....

Vale, Dom. I miss you.

Corporate philanthropy and SOHK

Do you know what corporate philanthropists are? According to a textbook I'm reading, they 'make gifts of money, goods, or time to help non profit organizations, groups, or individuals.' (Kotler et al) First I've ever heard of them, especially in Australia. This textbook has more than 874 pages, yet all I could find in there were some small articles on McDonalds, Nike and Google.

The pic on here is one of the quotes from my website page. That was published in one of my blogs before I ended up in hospital, and back then I'd had a good feeling about my future when I got my GradDipOHS. It vanished when I had my stroke, but often now I feel close to it.

As the administrator of the BASA Facebook page, last year for Brain Foundation I had done two applications to SunSuper 'Dreams for a Better World', with a video I'd produced. The first application was to the Open Round and the second was to the Health & People. We didn't get to the finals.

I had tried twice, through 2015 and 2016, to raise funds to get my own books published. The First Person Singular was advertised on the project website, Pozible, got funds and was published. I did two well-attended launches in the Redcliffe area. My second, Aneurysms with Aphorisms was also advertised on Pozible with another video I'd produced. I should have met with donations from the group BASA, but didn't, and as I ground my teeth and slid through depression again, I didn't know how I could have gotten any funds. That book is now available on pdf. For my third book, I wrote..., I decided not to even try for funds, because I don't know how to do the marketing which seems to be essential... and expensive. I'm on DSP, I can't afford it. It's available on pdf too.

This afternoon I googled “corporate philanthropy australia” and found a website for an organisation called Philanthropy Australia. Looking throughout their website was difficult, but what turned me off was going into the Fund Seeker page, looking for a list of the non-for-profit grant-makers, to be told that there is a fee of $165: 'The Essentials for Not-For-Profits subscription offers you almost $200.00 of value for only $165.00 '. For access to Directory of Funders, the cost is $99.

I went on to Our Community website. Looking on the Grants & Fundraising page (which says it's for non-for-profits but doesn't mention that it's not for individuals), I was taken to another website, Funding Centre. Clicking on Donations, a “Help” column was on the left hand side of the page. It kept mentioning groups. The next column was about “Training” - How to Win Grants and Influence People. Really?? Apparently you have to win your grant, and it would cost you $160 per person.

So I still didn't have any real explanation about what “philanthropy”, or corporate philanthropy, was in Australia. Funding Centre had a rather large panel which said “Get Donations”, and sent us onto Give Now. Get donations? Give now? Again, I was dismayed with how this was set up, but I clicked on the page called What's On just to see what they had throughout November. The week 19-27 November ad intrigued me. The ad was called Social Inclusion Week, something which I thought would work for me. I went into their website... and found that I'd just been into the page which spoke about the choir I have very recently joined – School of Hard Knocks!

I don't know what corporate philanthropy means, but now I understand what philanthropy means! According to Wikipaedia, it's the love of humanity. It means caring, nourishing, developing and enhancing what it means to be human. The SIW home page says: “Created by Dr Jonathon Welch AM, Social Inclusion Week aims to help ensure all Australians feel included and valued, giving everyone the opportunity to participate fully in society. It’s about connecting local communities, workmates, family and friends in order to build and strengthen relationships and networks, addressing isolation and exclusion by supporting people who may be unable to help themselves.”

Perhaps I shouldn't have become intrigued with some words I'd read in my textbook this afternoon. SOHK may not be corporate philantrophy, but, for me, it certainly means love of humanity. I need that.

Project Xan

 Leigh Sales' 7.30 show on Thursday night caught me as I was sitting at my PC. I'd previously listened to it rather than watching it, but when I saw Xan Fraser I had to stop typing on my PC and sit and watch and listen. This show was something I could relate to.

Rape.

Xan Fraser was raped in 1981 when she was 12. I didn't know anything about her until Thursday night, but I felt, during the 7.30 show, that she was so similar to me way back then. My rape had happened in 1973, 8 years before Xan was raped. She was 5 years younger than I had been when I was raped. After my own ordeal I had felt so much like Xan said she had felt, but I didn't get pregnant straight after that. I built a wall within my mind to forget about it. At the end of 2012, suffering PTSD, I wrote the website which is still online, www.itsokaytobeangry.com.

Watching the 7.30 report on Hellie Turner's project play was something which sent a shiver down my spine. This play is difficult. It tells women's rights, but also tells how young girls / young women / adult women don't have rights if a court will not find for them. Xan was a child. She did not have any adult ability to consent to what happened to her. The court found the three men guilty, but only gave them probation. Not jail. Let's go a step further... if she had been an adult then she would still not have consented when she was unconscious, so any man who did this to her when she was a child or when she was an adult must be found guilty and must be sent to jail.

My other blog, http://itsokaytobeangry.blogspot.com.au/, talks about rape, and this is where this blog should have been, but today I feel so angry about how rape is "forgiven", how too many women can't get justice, and how too many women can't get over what happened too many years ago. Like me. I chose to put the rape and the current play with Xan Fraser on this blog so that anyone who reads this - who might not ever read the other blog - understands what rape is, and why it is extremely wrong not to send a man who did this to jail. Read my last post on that other blog - it's entitled "Rape - against the law but it still happens".

This legal bullshit which lets a rapist off with no jail must be changed. Women have rights. Women should never be raped. Men should never think they can get away with this.

Well done, Xan Fraser and Hellie Turner. Such a good, such a sad play.

Nutcase

According to the Urban dictionary 'nutcase' is “A term describing a person who has totally lost their grip on reality. Such people are mainly from the right wing of the political spectrum, and are often politicians and religious extremists.” Don't believe that? Then have a look in Merriam-Webster dictionary (“a crazy or very strange person”) or the Cambridge English dictionary (“someone who behaves in an extremely silly way or an offensive term for someone who is mentally ill”) or Oxford dictionary (“a mad or foolish person”) – all excellent dictionaries, all available online.

Macmillan dictionary said this is “an insulting word for someone who [s/he] think[s] is crazy”. Macmillan's meaning actually said “you” where I have replaced it with “s/he”, because I didn't say it. I was walking my dog this morning when I overheard the manager of this retirement village (to be mentioned later) say “Oh here she comes. She's a nutcase...” She turned around and walked away, leaving the tenant she had said that to looking pretty embarrassed.

Me? A 'nutcase'? Have I 'totally lost my grip on reality'? Am I 'crazy', a 'strange person', a 'mad or foolish person'? Do I 'behave in an extremely silly way'?

Am I 'mentally ill'?

That is possibly the closest that 'nutcase' would mean when talking about me. I have ABI (sometimes called TBI) from my brain aneurysm. I have aphasia from my stroke. I haven't been able to work for the last 2.5 years. I won my QIRC case but I lost the decision because of the ridiculous section 32(5) of the Workers Compensation act. I live very close to poverty (I feel so sad/angry/upset that unemployed Australians are chucked onto the dole without the government thinking about how they can live... another matter for me to talk about). And yet I work on my computer every day, doing work that the woman who called me a 'nutcase' probably knows nothing about.

I have two websites, four blogs, study and research. I didn't complain to her about all this. Most days I'm quietly shut in my own unit, working.

Why does she dislike me? Because I gave up their food. Legal short-story: this unit is not a 'room'. This area of units is not a 'retirement village' (even though their sign still says that at the gate). This is a 'senior living' area. My unit is not a 'room'. Unfortunately I accepted this unit on the phone when I was still up in Noosa. The rent was confirmed, my dog was accepted, and within one week I moved in. During the next week we – she and I – had a disagreement about what I was signing. She had added in $100 per week for food. I didn't want to pay that much. Okay, she said, so you want to leave? I sighed. I signed. No choice, I thought.

She didn't even met my dog, Jordie, for around 4 weeks after moving in. Oh, she said, that's a big dog! She'd thought that Jordie was a stafford. I never said that. I had told her on the phone that my dog is an American bulldog. It is not my problem if anyone thinks differently.

I didn't have an induction meeting until I'd been here for around 2 months. Quite a few of us were called to it; I thought that the induction was ridiculous because holding people up for 2 months was silly. A person I know, who had only moved in the week before and should have been included, wasn't invited. Strange? Yes, I thought so. During that meeting another chap and I asked questions about the fire safety plan. This area was separated into two groups, red and blue, which are marked on the fire evacuation plan in beside the dining room, yet there were no 'Emergency Assembly Area' signs in the two spots where either red or blue would go to. There was a gate on the west side of the fence which was very hard to open or close, and there was no 'Fire Exit' sign on it – even though it was right behind the alleged unsigned emergency assembly area. I also asked about the visitor's carpark and other signs which were/are covered by bushes and weeds. Apparently, since then, I'm the 'bad' woman. I should never have asked questions, I should never have explained that I had worked through fire safety for years.

From that meeting, it seems that I'd walked into the bad book of the man who held it. I was never supposed to have asked any questions! It's another 2 months since that meeting. Still no emergency exit sign on the gate, still no bushes cut away from at least two principle signs, still no 'assembly area' sign. Oh, and that gate is now permanently locked – we can't get out that way. Very stupid!

So, up to about a week ago. I hadn't eaten their food for a week before that when I'd made up my mind to save money. I now bought my own food and filled in my diary every day. This woman, who is the manager here, came up to talk to me, asking me if I was okay. That same day I had paid the new fortnightly rent, less the cost of their food. That's when she hit the roof. I would need to eat there, she said. I couldn't not pay that, she said. If I wanted to eat my own food I should move out, she said. I felt pretty good about being so calm. The next day she left a copy of my agreement in my mailbox, but that gave me reasons to respond. I sent this information on to her:

Residential Tenancies and Rooming Accommodation Act 2008

This premise is named as a “retirement village” on the sign at the gate.

The Retirement Village Act 1999 says:

• “A scheme operator may enter into a residence contract for the retirement village with someone else only if the scheme is registered under this Act.” (Part 3, Division 2, Section 43(1) )
• It is not registered with the Residential Services Unit as at 31 July 2016.

The Residential Tenancies and Rooming Accommodation Act 2008 says:

• I am a tenant of a residence (Section 11)
• I am not a “rooming resident” (Chapter 4, Part 1)
• I have the right to quiet enjoyment of the premises (Section 183(1) )
• My unit is self-supporting (Section 183(2) )
• My residential tenant agreement “purports to exclude, change or restrict the application or operation of a provision of this Act about the terms of a residential tenancy agreement” (Section 53(1) ) by adding in “food”
• There is no mention of an “oven” or a “stove” within the act
• The only mention about “cooking” is under repairs and maintenance (Section 214(i) ) and will refer to the microwave in my unit which can be used for “cooking”

I pay the full rent every fortnight, without “food”. I have not broken my tenancy agreement.

I hadn't heard from her until this morning, when, walking my dog, I overheard the manager of this retirement/senior village say “Oh here she comes. She's a nutcase...” She turned around and walked away, and that has inspired me to blog about that. For me, that is an issue. Regardless what she meant by calling me a 'nutcase', she is the manager of this residence area and must have respect for the tenants. This 'village' is a very bad area where good people like me live, yet we can't expect to be treated decently. The manager is paid. We are not. The manager should not ever called anyone names.

And no manager should threaten you if you won't eat their food.