What the devil is going on down at the Justice Department?
The mistaken release of a prisoner from custody is something that hooks your ear when you hear it on the news. More than once gives you pause, several times leaves people scratching their heads and wondering what the problem is. But hold on to your hats - in Nova Scotia, we're at a whopping ELEVEN mistaken releases!
To make matters worse, these inmates haven't been shoplifters who go back to Mom & Dad's house to wait for the Sheriff to come collect them; while I can't speak to every charge and every criminal, several have been dangerous offenders up on weapons charges, assault, robbery, and even attempted murder.
The government's damage control started shortly after the rash of releases and escapes caught the eye of the provincial media, as was to be expected. But, unfortunately, this problem has reached a point where explanations no longer suffice and action is necessary to ensure the public's confidence and, more importantly, safety.
I don't get paid six figures to fix this problem like the folks at Justice, so I won't even try to analyze the logistics involved in ensuring a functioning chain of custody. I can, however, shed some light on the situation as a whole.
During my time in Nunavut, I was a correctional officer at the prison in Iqaluit. Much of my work, in addition to supervision of inmates within the prison building itself, involved escorts to and from court dates and hospital visits.
Even in the relatively primitive North, there were strict procedures in place to ensure prisoners were safely and securely transported between the institution and an outside location. We knew days in advance when an inmate was to leave, and could even speculate most of the time whether or not that inmate would be returning. It really wasn't that complicated.
Escorts, to court especially, required the involvement (or at least the acknowledgment and approval) of many Corrections and Justice departments staff: the warden, deputy warden, prisoner liaison officers, control officer, on-duty corrections staff (including shift supervisor, staff on the floor, and the guards doing the escort), staff from the Sheriff's office, court officers, clerical staff, and often police officers. By my count, that's at least a dozen people who are responsible for the comings and goings of a prisoner to court.
And not only are these the folks who are technically responsible for the transport; the aforementioned people, especially prison staff, as dictated by the nature of their job, must employ common sense when dealing with moving a dangerous person from one location to the next. If the inmate is remanded for robbery charges, common sense will tell you that a routine court appearance doesn't mean a release from custody. Unless you hear the judge drop all charges, issue a formal apology, and kiss the inmate goodbye, you double, triple, and quadruple check before removing those cuffs.
Then we have this business of not realizing the error until days after the release. Paperwork, schmaperwork - when Joe Blow leaves for a day in court, there are (or at least, there should be) dozens of people expecting him back. The end-day reports to the warden/deputy warden have to account for every inmate. How could it take six whole days for an entire department to realize they were missing someone who had already been found guilty of a serious crime? What, did the justice fairies come to court and give him a "get out of jail free" card? No, it doesn't work that way.
Granted, I'm no expert on Nova Scotia corrections procedures; my knowledge is of the way things were done in Nunavut in 2001-2003, and this province might be completely different in their methods. But, if anything, I would expect Nova Scotia to be even more thorough and effective than Nunavut, and my broad description is only meant to give a general idea of how many people are involved in these situations.
When an organization fails at multiple levels, it's generally accepted that the boss is to blame, and this is no exception. Incidents may have been chalked up to clerical errors and such, but the number of incidents in the past two years, since they were caused more by a faulty system than a careless individual, have to be looked at as a managerial failure. Had you asked me last week, I'd have said Cecil Clarke should offer his resignation; but he already tried, and Premier MacDonald would not accept it. In light of this, one might say that perhaps the resignation should come at level even higher than the Justice Minister. Surely someone can figure out how to keep criminals in jail.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
American Idol 2009
I'll ask everyone to bear with me while I indulge again this year. I know not all of you watch American Idol, but it really is my favorite television show of all time, and my weekly analysis of the performances and contestants is an annual tradition, however pathetic and unscientific. I present, AI 2009.
Matt - Have you ever seen that movie "Shallow Hal"? Where the beautiful people under hypnosis are really ugly people without? Well, Matt looks like the version of Justin Timberlake after the trance has worn off. Sorry, but it's true. He's such an incredible singer that I hate to dog him, but I can't get past his whole mangled-version-of-Justin look. And since esthetics are as important in the music industry as actual talent, looks have to factor into the whole equation and play an important part in my analysis. No matter, though, at this point. Matt is a fantastic singer, and I'm confident he'll make the top five.
Kris - Good little singer, that Kris, but he's missing a bit of swagger or something. He reminds me of a guy who might be singing on Spring Garden Road in Halifax, and while I certainly feel inclined to throw a Toonie his way, I'm not sure that's good enough for American Idol. Also, he looks identical to my brother-in-law, which is really distracting (I'm not insulting you, Colin; it just is).
Anoop - While he has a very mellow and nice John Secada-type voice, he's not a star. He could be a hit on the Carnival Princess, but not on MTV. Even sung well, performances like the ones he's been putting out won't take him much farther.
Scott - Let's face facts. Scott is legally blind which, while it certainly does not affect his singing ability, has affected the amount of votes he gets, since the AI producers have used his blindness to market him. His voice, while smooth and mildly enjoyable, is more suited to Sunday matinees at a seniors' center, not to the mainstream national stage. If he were as good as the other contestants, I'd be all for him advancing every week; but, since he's sailing through largely from sympathy votes, I think he should be making his way home soon.
Lil - Lil is a cocky little bugger who, because of the sunshine blown her way Hollywood week, thinks she's a front runner. Bearer of bad news, Lil - you're totally not. Her voice isn't nearly as good as the judges make it out to be, and she sounds like any other of the thousands of R&B singers at Def Jam records. The world does not need another Fantasia Barrino, and I'll be surprised if she makes the top five.
Danny - He's my pick to win, but only if he steps it up and doesn't let Adam get ahead of him. This guy has all the makings of a star, as long as he quits dancing. Seriously, dude, it's atrocious.
Megan - Cringe. Someone has to remind the judges that when something is unique, that means it's different, and since the music industry is full of people who can actually SING, Megan fits the "different and unique" bill to a tee. Her voice makes me want to punch myself in the face, but, quite opposite of Matt, she's so distractingly beautiful it's hard to concentrate on anything other than how she looks on the screen. Put it this way: when she sang last week, my dog, who had been sleeping, sat up and growled. Good call, Bear, I feel the same way. America's Next Top Model, sure, but not American Idol.
Alison - Although she's short on social graces and makes weird faces during her interviews with Ryan Seacrest, this girl can sang. Not sing, saaang. She's better and more commercial than Lil any day of the week, and I hope she makes it farther.
Adam - He's quickly taking the top spot, and it's well deserved - what a voice. Many people are put off by his look and his penchant for "alternative romance", but he can sing, no doubt about it. He's Freddie Mercury mixed with My Chemical Romance mixed with The Cult. I'd like to see him get second, but there's a good chance he's going to win the whole thing.
It's probably strange and abnormal how good it makes me feel to have just written that and shared it with people, regardless of whether or not those same people really care. There is something to be said about the sadness of the life of an armchair critic, but I can live with that. You never know, the Fox network might just come knocking on my door after Paula finally over-medicates and attacks Simon.
Matt - Have you ever seen that movie "Shallow Hal"? Where the beautiful people under hypnosis are really ugly people without? Well, Matt looks like the version of Justin Timberlake after the trance has worn off. Sorry, but it's true. He's such an incredible singer that I hate to dog him, but I can't get past his whole mangled-version-of-Justin look. And since esthetics are as important in the music industry as actual talent, looks have to factor into the whole equation and play an important part in my analysis. No matter, though, at this point. Matt is a fantastic singer, and I'm confident he'll make the top five.
Kris - Good little singer, that Kris, but he's missing a bit of swagger or something. He reminds me of a guy who might be singing on Spring Garden Road in Halifax, and while I certainly feel inclined to throw a Toonie his way, I'm not sure that's good enough for American Idol. Also, he looks identical to my brother-in-law, which is really distracting (I'm not insulting you, Colin; it just is).
Anoop - While he has a very mellow and nice John Secada-type voice, he's not a star. He could be a hit on the Carnival Princess, but not on MTV. Even sung well, performances like the ones he's been putting out won't take him much farther.
Scott - Let's face facts. Scott is legally blind which, while it certainly does not affect his singing ability, has affected the amount of votes he gets, since the AI producers have used his blindness to market him. His voice, while smooth and mildly enjoyable, is more suited to Sunday matinees at a seniors' center, not to the mainstream national stage. If he were as good as the other contestants, I'd be all for him advancing every week; but, since he's sailing through largely from sympathy votes, I think he should be making his way home soon.
Lil - Lil is a cocky little bugger who, because of the sunshine blown her way Hollywood week, thinks she's a front runner. Bearer of bad news, Lil - you're totally not. Her voice isn't nearly as good as the judges make it out to be, and she sounds like any other of the thousands of R&B singers at Def Jam records. The world does not need another Fantasia Barrino, and I'll be surprised if she makes the top five.
Danny - He's my pick to win, but only if he steps it up and doesn't let Adam get ahead of him. This guy has all the makings of a star, as long as he quits dancing. Seriously, dude, it's atrocious.
Megan - Cringe. Someone has to remind the judges that when something is unique, that means it's different, and since the music industry is full of people who can actually SING, Megan fits the "different and unique" bill to a tee. Her voice makes me want to punch myself in the face, but, quite opposite of Matt, she's so distractingly beautiful it's hard to concentrate on anything other than how she looks on the screen. Put it this way: when she sang last week, my dog, who had been sleeping, sat up and growled. Good call, Bear, I feel the same way. America's Next Top Model, sure, but not American Idol.
Alison - Although she's short on social graces and makes weird faces during her interviews with Ryan Seacrest, this girl can sang. Not sing, saaang. She's better and more commercial than Lil any day of the week, and I hope she makes it farther.
Adam - He's quickly taking the top spot, and it's well deserved - what a voice. Many people are put off by his look and his penchant for "alternative romance", but he can sing, no doubt about it. He's Freddie Mercury mixed with My Chemical Romance mixed with The Cult. I'd like to see him get second, but there's a good chance he's going to win the whole thing.
It's probably strange and abnormal how good it makes me feel to have just written that and shared it with people, regardless of whether or not those same people really care. There is something to be said about the sadness of the life of an armchair critic, but I can live with that. You never know, the Fox network might just come knocking on my door after Paula finally over-medicates and attacks Simon.
Share the Wealth
Economy this, economy that. It's inescapable. On every newscast, in every paper, the global recession is being discussed every minute of every day.
The Strait area is in kind of a bubble in comparison to many places. Our immediate employment situation tends to determine whether we sink or swim (for example, when Stora shut down a few years ago). Even if the rest of Canada is thriving financially, that might not mean we are, and the same goes for when Canada is floundering.
My personal situation, however, is irrelevant to the reality of this worldwide crisis. I feel terrible for everyone who has lost their job, the over 80,000 Canadians in February alone. In the United States, over 2 million people have lost theirs over the past three months. So many regular people are losing their homes, their jobs, even their minds in the struggle to feed their families.
That's what makes this economic disaster so literally unfair: lack of balance.
The wealthy have always been held up as people to be admired, winners by virtue of their personal ingenuity and hard work. Even though a full quarter of the Forbes 500 landed there by way of inheritance, it's common to think of the rich as a special breed. I've even found myself defending the people at the top; after all, most of the time, you can't get to the top unless you earn it, right?
Wrong. Tough times like these can often make grey look much more black and white. George Orwell said that the only difference between rich people and poor people is income. "The average millionaire," as he put it, "is only the average dishwasher in a new suit."
Arguably the biggest factor fueling the public fury over the AIG bonuses in the United States, so unavoidable in the news this week, is the recognition that so many huge fortunes landed in the hands of the undeserving rich. Some of them added little value to the economy in the first place, but merely moved money around in clever ways. Others are corporate executives who were ridiculously overpaid whether they succeeded or failed at their jobs. Luck of the draw and status quo is all that separate these folks from the guy behind the counter at Wendy's. So why should the outcome of their lives differ so dramatically?
When the economy was stable, few thought about the Millionaire's Club with more than a grunt of envy. Now that people are moving in with their children and having to rely on food stamps for supper, the envy is morphing into anger and disgust, and with good reason. The annual salary required to be in the top 1% of income-earners is over $400,000, a number most of us will never see. The spectacle of the Richie Rich types maintaining their lifestyles with multi-million dollar bonuses while the other submerged 99% fight for oxygen seems seriously unbalanced. So what can we do?
Tax them, that's what. The attitude and desperate financial state of the majority accounts for the lack of public outcry over the proposal to increase taxes for the wealthiest Americans - except of course from the wealthiest Americans.
Closer to home, recent government action is causing the same public reactions. People are angered by raises and bonuses to already overpaid government employees. We can't understand why, as pointed out in a letter to the editor last week, a province with deteriorating roads and high unemployment can afford to allocate $100 million dollars to the Olympics.
Similarly, New Brunswick has decided to cut hundreds of non-essential government jobs and programs and put a two-year freeze on wages for civil service jobs. While that doesn't bode well with the civil servants affected, no offence people, but with most making over $100,000 per, you're not really the group we should be most worried about.
It comes down to this: we, rich and poor, all pay the same amount for gas, milk, and electricity. The lack of balance is in the resources we have to pay it. For people with an annual household income of $150,000, contributing a few hundred dollars in extra taxes probably won't seriously affect their lifestyle. But for people making $20,000 annually, that few hundred dollars might make all the difference.
If we squeezed the rich and gave the poor a break, generating mandatory balance, imagine how much more quickly this economic crisis would be solved. Fair? Maybe not. But in times like these, balance is needed more than fairness.
The Strait area is in kind of a bubble in comparison to many places. Our immediate employment situation tends to determine whether we sink or swim (for example, when Stora shut down a few years ago). Even if the rest of Canada is thriving financially, that might not mean we are, and the same goes for when Canada is floundering.
My personal situation, however, is irrelevant to the reality of this worldwide crisis. I feel terrible for everyone who has lost their job, the over 80,000 Canadians in February alone. In the United States, over 2 million people have lost theirs over the past three months. So many regular people are losing their homes, their jobs, even their minds in the struggle to feed their families.
That's what makes this economic disaster so literally unfair: lack of balance.
The wealthy have always been held up as people to be admired, winners by virtue of their personal ingenuity and hard work. Even though a full quarter of the Forbes 500 landed there by way of inheritance, it's common to think of the rich as a special breed. I've even found myself defending the people at the top; after all, most of the time, you can't get to the top unless you earn it, right?
Wrong. Tough times like these can often make grey look much more black and white. George Orwell said that the only difference between rich people and poor people is income. "The average millionaire," as he put it, "is only the average dishwasher in a new suit."
Arguably the biggest factor fueling the public fury over the AIG bonuses in the United States, so unavoidable in the news this week, is the recognition that so many huge fortunes landed in the hands of the undeserving rich. Some of them added little value to the economy in the first place, but merely moved money around in clever ways. Others are corporate executives who were ridiculously overpaid whether they succeeded or failed at their jobs. Luck of the draw and status quo is all that separate these folks from the guy behind the counter at Wendy's. So why should the outcome of their lives differ so dramatically?
When the economy was stable, few thought about the Millionaire's Club with more than a grunt of envy. Now that people are moving in with their children and having to rely on food stamps for supper, the envy is morphing into anger and disgust, and with good reason. The annual salary required to be in the top 1% of income-earners is over $400,000, a number most of us will never see. The spectacle of the Richie Rich types maintaining their lifestyles with multi-million dollar bonuses while the other submerged 99% fight for oxygen seems seriously unbalanced. So what can we do?
Tax them, that's what. The attitude and desperate financial state of the majority accounts for the lack of public outcry over the proposal to increase taxes for the wealthiest Americans - except of course from the wealthiest Americans.
Closer to home, recent government action is causing the same public reactions. People are angered by raises and bonuses to already overpaid government employees. We can't understand why, as pointed out in a letter to the editor last week, a province with deteriorating roads and high unemployment can afford to allocate $100 million dollars to the Olympics.
Similarly, New Brunswick has decided to cut hundreds of non-essential government jobs and programs and put a two-year freeze on wages for civil service jobs. While that doesn't bode well with the civil servants affected, no offence people, but with most making over $100,000 per, you're not really the group we should be most worried about.
It comes down to this: we, rich and poor, all pay the same amount for gas, milk, and electricity. The lack of balance is in the resources we have to pay it. For people with an annual household income of $150,000, contributing a few hundred dollars in extra taxes probably won't seriously affect their lifestyle. But for people making $20,000 annually, that few hundred dollars might make all the difference.
If we squeezed the rich and gave the poor a break, generating mandatory balance, imagine how much more quickly this economic crisis would be solved. Fair? Maybe not. But in times like these, balance is needed more than fairness.
The Stagette Chronicles
November, 2008: I, as hostess, commit to throw my sister's bachelorette party in mid-March. Plans are put on the back burner because, really, who needs more than a week to plan a party?
December, 2008: Party planning officially begins. An extensive search of eBay commences after seeing the meager selection of stagette supplies in the Strait area. I place my orders.
January, 2009: An entertainment company from Halifax is consulted. Due to the apparently strenuous nature of dancing in a g-string for seven minutes, the best negotiated price I could land was $750. Upon hearing that news, I thanked the company for their time.
Later that day: A second entertainment company is consulted, with similar results. I let loose an angry tirade about children in Sri Lankan sweatshops doing twenty times the work for a fraction of the money those half (and sadly, because of new "labour laws", only half) naked grease-bags are demanding. They're ugly and old anyway, a pathetic novelty, I remind myself. Time for plan B.
Later still: A third, more PG-13 form of entertainment is consulted, booked, and sent a deposit. A conference room is booked at a local hotel to accommodate the upcoming antics.
February, 2009: Invitations are sent via Facebook. Over 20 people confirm. I start considering which small home improvement projects can be started and finished in four weeks. My husband immediately dreads the coming four weeks.
The day after: Local businesses thrive, especially those selling home decor items. Purchased: paint and painting supplies, a new bedroom comforter set, various picture frames, vases, plants, candles, assorted other unnecessary junk that matches and compliments. (At present, I'm still negotiating a new dinette set.)
Late February: Our entertainment cancels, citing, "someone booked us in Halifax that night, and it's much cheaper for us to just do a party here." After pointing out the extra charge I had agreed to pay for travel expenses, I expresses disappointment (read - fly off the handle in blind rage) and demand a deposit refund, like, yesterday. The lady says to keep them in mind for our next gathering. I suggest that her and her troupe hold their collective breath and sit by the phone waiting for my call.
Two days later: My eBay order arrives. I find an incorrect color scheme on four items. What else will go wrong?
Early March, 2009: I decide to tackle a painting project far beyond my experience and capability. Reinforcements are called in and painting of the long-anticipated kitchen backsplash begins. The task of measuring and taping the applicable area proves much more difficult than we originally thought. Several unplanned snack and chat breaks are taken to avoid frustration and "mission abort". Task successfully completed.
Two hours later: A shock of Sesame Street green infiltrates my lovely taupe universe. Panic button is officially slapped. My reinforcement serves up encouragement and tall glass of merlot. Crisis averted.
T-minus 4 days: One of four iron-on t-shirt transfers is defective. Discovery of this fact is made while I attempted to transfer the patch onto my own t-shirt. T-shirt ruined. Adding insult to injury, I burn my finger on the iron. Wonderful.
T-minus 3 days: I try not to contemplate egg salad vs. ham sandwiches and where people are going to park and mental to-do lists, as I complete tax returns for three different people. The tax returns then have to be re-done for fear of careless mistakes I might have made because I wasn't concentrating. I say goodbye to two wasted hours of my life I'll never get back and finally get to bed at 1:30am.
T-minus 2 days: I order a banner from a printing company. Not realizing the cost of paper has seemingly gone up about 7000% since I last purchased some (a month ago), I reluctantly lay down $25 for this blessed accessory. It's four feet long and a little over three inches wide. It has a total of twenty letters printed on it. It's made of paper. Twenty-five dollars.
T-minus 1 day: I begin the hunt for last-minute items. The shelves I want are gone from the store, and another store has sold out of the martini glasses I need. Upon my arrival home, the dog gets excited and pees on the welcome mat. My new room spray smells like Play-Doh. I burn my finger while boiling the water for Jell-O shooters. Like clockwork, I cut my other finger (the third digital injury as many days) while chopping celery for the veggie tray. I chalk it up to it being Friday the 13th.
Day of the party: It's now 12:10am on Saturday, March 14th. I'm on my way to bed, seeing as I've completely exhausted myself over the past few days. The thought of acting out and staying up late is almost more than I can bear. My sister better appreciate this party.
December, 2008: Party planning officially begins. An extensive search of eBay commences after seeing the meager selection of stagette supplies in the Strait area. I place my orders.
January, 2009: An entertainment company from Halifax is consulted. Due to the apparently strenuous nature of dancing in a g-string for seven minutes, the best negotiated price I could land was $750. Upon hearing that news, I thanked the company for their time.
Later that day: A second entertainment company is consulted, with similar results. I let loose an angry tirade about children in Sri Lankan sweatshops doing twenty times the work for a fraction of the money those half (and sadly, because of new "labour laws", only half) naked grease-bags are demanding. They're ugly and old anyway, a pathetic novelty, I remind myself. Time for plan B.
Later still: A third, more PG-13 form of entertainment is consulted, booked, and sent a deposit. A conference room is booked at a local hotel to accommodate the upcoming antics.
February, 2009: Invitations are sent via Facebook. Over 20 people confirm. I start considering which small home improvement projects can be started and finished in four weeks. My husband immediately dreads the coming four weeks.
The day after: Local businesses thrive, especially those selling home decor items. Purchased: paint and painting supplies, a new bedroom comforter set, various picture frames, vases, plants, candles, assorted other unnecessary junk that matches and compliments. (At present, I'm still negotiating a new dinette set.)
Late February: Our entertainment cancels, citing, "someone booked us in Halifax that night, and it's much cheaper for us to just do a party here." After pointing out the extra charge I had agreed to pay for travel expenses, I expresses disappointment (read - fly off the handle in blind rage) and demand a deposit refund, like, yesterday. The lady says to keep them in mind for our next gathering. I suggest that her and her troupe hold their collective breath and sit by the phone waiting for my call.
Two days later: My eBay order arrives. I find an incorrect color scheme on four items. What else will go wrong?
Early March, 2009: I decide to tackle a painting project far beyond my experience and capability. Reinforcements are called in and painting of the long-anticipated kitchen backsplash begins. The task of measuring and taping the applicable area proves much more difficult than we originally thought. Several unplanned snack and chat breaks are taken to avoid frustration and "mission abort". Task successfully completed.
Two hours later: A shock of Sesame Street green infiltrates my lovely taupe universe. Panic button is officially slapped. My reinforcement serves up encouragement and tall glass of merlot. Crisis averted.
T-minus 4 days: One of four iron-on t-shirt transfers is defective. Discovery of this fact is made while I attempted to transfer the patch onto my own t-shirt. T-shirt ruined. Adding insult to injury, I burn my finger on the iron. Wonderful.
T-minus 3 days: I try not to contemplate egg salad vs. ham sandwiches and where people are going to park and mental to-do lists, as I complete tax returns for three different people. The tax returns then have to be re-done for fear of careless mistakes I might have made because I wasn't concentrating. I say goodbye to two wasted hours of my life I'll never get back and finally get to bed at 1:30am.
T-minus 2 days: I order a banner from a printing company. Not realizing the cost of paper has seemingly gone up about 7000% since I last purchased some (a month ago), I reluctantly lay down $25 for this blessed accessory. It's four feet long and a little over three inches wide. It has a total of twenty letters printed on it. It's made of paper. Twenty-five dollars.
T-minus 1 day: I begin the hunt for last-minute items. The shelves I want are gone from the store, and another store has sold out of the martini glasses I need. Upon my arrival home, the dog gets excited and pees on the welcome mat. My new room spray smells like Play-Doh. I burn my finger while boiling the water for Jell-O shooters. Like clockwork, I cut my other finger (the third digital injury as many days) while chopping celery for the veggie tray. I chalk it up to it being Friday the 13th.
Day of the party: It's now 12:10am on Saturday, March 14th. I'm on my way to bed, seeing as I've completely exhausted myself over the past few days. The thought of acting out and staying up late is almost more than I can bear. My sister better appreciate this party.
Setting a Bad Example
I promised myself that I wouldn't spend my life caring about celebrities, but considering how bombarded we are with their movements, it's hard to not take notice when something "big" happens.
In the past few weeks, all talk has been about Rihanna and Chris Brown. Were it the release of a new video or a salacious yarn, I wouldn't waste my time or yours. However, this bit of gossip is much more serious.
Rihanna and Brown have been an item for some time, and like any young couple, they always appeared to be happy and content when they were together. On the night of the Grammy Awards, where both were set to perform, news broke that neither would be attending. Before long, buzz on the internet pointed toward an "incident" between the two, and news sources had the scoop within hours.
In the early morning hours the night before the Grammys, Rihanna and Brown got in an argument in their car on the way home from a party. The argument quickly escalated into a violent altercation between the two. While initial reports didn't specify the details or seriousness of the incident, documents released yesterday told a very sad and shocking tale. (While he has been charged, he has not yet been found guilty, so consider all statements to be prefaced with "allegedly".)
"...(He) took his right hand and shoved her head against the passenger window of the vehicle causing a raised circular contusion.
(He) punched her in the left eye with his right hand. He then drove away in the vehicle and continued to punch her in the face with his right hand while steering the vehicle with his left hand. The assault caused (her) mouth to fill with blood and blood to splatter all over her clothing and the interior of the vehicle."
These assaults, directly quoted from the notes of the detective in charge of the case, are, unfortunately, only the tip of the iceberg. Brown bit, kicked, punched, and choked Rihanna until she almost lost consciousness. The leaked photo of her injuries, taken within hours of the brawl, was horrifying to see. The otherwise drop-dead-gorgeous superstar was almost unrecognizable with all the cuts and swelling on her face. What a terrible beating she must have taken.
Of course, both Rihanna and Brown disappeared into seclusion immediately. Hearts were bleeding the world over for the charming and talented young singer who had suffered so publicly at the hand of her abusive boyfriend. Soon the history of violence in their relationship was uncovered and Brown was charged with felony assault and uttering threats.
I couldn't have been more bewildered to hear a few days ago that the couple had recently reconciled.
What in the flippity flip did you say, Anderson Cooper? Can that be true? No! She's got to be smarter than that, isn't she?
This is a girl with the world at her feet. She's got money coming out of her ears, a huge support system, and every resource imaginable is available to her. How can this happen?
Rihanna has millions of fans all over the globe, plenty of whom are female, and plenty of whom are young, impressionable girls in relationships. What kind of message is she sending to her fans when she reconciles with the man who, only weeks earlier, beat her so badly? It's an irresponsible and shameful example to set.
Domestic violence is something I don't fully understand, since I've never seen it for myself. I've been lucky enough to know people who think hitting their wives and girlfriends is wrong, and the one or two assaults I have been made aware of within my lifetime have been met with complete friendship eradication, if you will.
But, there is one thing I understand perfectly: regardless of the circumstances, domestic abuse is inexcusable. Everyone gets mad and loses their temper; sometimes we push each other's buttons; other times, we might do something so implorable it calls for divorce; but never, NEVER, is behavior or emotion cause for violence toward the person you're supposed to love the most.
It angers me to such poor judgment and disregard from a woman looked to by so many as an idol, especially since she has a team of savvy publicists who should have prevented it from happening.
Brown has lost all his endorsements, the respect of the music industry, and pretty much his whole career. For all intents and purposes, he's a lost cause; however, Rihanna had the opportunity to show everyone what a strong woman would do in the face of domestic violence, and she failed miserably at that job.
Somewhere, Susan B. Anthony is rolling over in her grave.
In the past few weeks, all talk has been about Rihanna and Chris Brown. Were it the release of a new video or a salacious yarn, I wouldn't waste my time or yours. However, this bit of gossip is much more serious.
Rihanna and Brown have been an item for some time, and like any young couple, they always appeared to be happy and content when they were together. On the night of the Grammy Awards, where both were set to perform, news broke that neither would be attending. Before long, buzz on the internet pointed toward an "incident" between the two, and news sources had the scoop within hours.
In the early morning hours the night before the Grammys, Rihanna and Brown got in an argument in their car on the way home from a party. The argument quickly escalated into a violent altercation between the two. While initial reports didn't specify the details or seriousness of the incident, documents released yesterday told a very sad and shocking tale. (While he has been charged, he has not yet been found guilty, so consider all statements to be prefaced with "allegedly".)
"...(He) took his right hand and shoved her head against the passenger window of the vehicle causing a raised circular contusion.
(He) punched her in the left eye with his right hand. He then drove away in the vehicle and continued to punch her in the face with his right hand while steering the vehicle with his left hand. The assault caused (her) mouth to fill with blood and blood to splatter all over her clothing and the interior of the vehicle."
These assaults, directly quoted from the notes of the detective in charge of the case, are, unfortunately, only the tip of the iceberg. Brown bit, kicked, punched, and choked Rihanna until she almost lost consciousness. The leaked photo of her injuries, taken within hours of the brawl, was horrifying to see. The otherwise drop-dead-gorgeous superstar was almost unrecognizable with all the cuts and swelling on her face. What a terrible beating she must have taken.
Of course, both Rihanna and Brown disappeared into seclusion immediately. Hearts were bleeding the world over for the charming and talented young singer who had suffered so publicly at the hand of her abusive boyfriend. Soon the history of violence in their relationship was uncovered and Brown was charged with felony assault and uttering threats.
I couldn't have been more bewildered to hear a few days ago that the couple had recently reconciled.
What in the flippity flip did you say, Anderson Cooper? Can that be true? No! She's got to be smarter than that, isn't she?
This is a girl with the world at her feet. She's got money coming out of her ears, a huge support system, and every resource imaginable is available to her. How can this happen?
Rihanna has millions of fans all over the globe, plenty of whom are female, and plenty of whom are young, impressionable girls in relationships. What kind of message is she sending to her fans when she reconciles with the man who, only weeks earlier, beat her so badly? It's an irresponsible and shameful example to set.
Domestic violence is something I don't fully understand, since I've never seen it for myself. I've been lucky enough to know people who think hitting their wives and girlfriends is wrong, and the one or two assaults I have been made aware of within my lifetime have been met with complete friendship eradication, if you will.
But, there is one thing I understand perfectly: regardless of the circumstances, domestic abuse is inexcusable. Everyone gets mad and loses their temper; sometimes we push each other's buttons; other times, we might do something so implorable it calls for divorce; but never, NEVER, is behavior or emotion cause for violence toward the person you're supposed to love the most.
It angers me to such poor judgment and disregard from a woman looked to by so many as an idol, especially since she has a team of savvy publicists who should have prevented it from happening.
Brown has lost all his endorsements, the respect of the music industry, and pretty much his whole career. For all intents and purposes, he's a lost cause; however, Rihanna had the opportunity to show everyone what a strong woman would do in the face of domestic violence, and she failed miserably at that job.
Somewhere, Susan B. Anthony is rolling over in her grave.
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