Twisted His-story is a global disease that feeds on privacy. Coercion conspires to secrecy in collective denial of internal sickness. But who cares?  If anyone did care, the story would not exist to be told. I have relived the horror and the agony over and over. It was not because I could not face another night of hell at the mercy of a mind that once again took over the grinding business of reminding me about the past, using every opportunity to play back its old scenes, again and again. Even resorting to the subterfuge of tortuous dreams, that continued long after,  to torment my every waking moment.  It was not because of a brief news item about a schoolgirl who was raped, whose parents decided not to press charges. Pity for her, for she will always suffer the pain and the blame,  and carry the burden like a "good girl" should, deserving love, and forever living in hope she will find it. (Not the "bad girl" who asks for, and deserves, what she gets - to the shame and disgrace of the family.) As she grows she will learn not to embarrass her father; she will hide, pretend and smile.  She will become depressed, and this will be ascribed to hormones, stress, or her unfortunate inheritance.  (She is just like her mother). But who cares? It is just an ordinary, everyday occurrence.  It was not because of the resignation of the Head of the United States Catholic Church, sacked, not because he had protected pedophile priests during lifelong careers of child rape; not because he was found out; not because he was discredited; not because he had to face a law court,  but because he was no longer respectable. That would cause "demoralization" and "moral bankruptcy" of the Church. And what turmoil would ensue for the state,  political ideologies, public opinion,  and the all-important mental state  of the good, law-abiding, church-going, Westerners  who urge their government to weak havoc, bombing, killing, and raping in the East? But who cares? It's not happening here at home - is it? It was not because, in the dark of the night, Rob Roy gave such sweet respite to my cares. To be drawn into a different world, in another time,  a his-story of indescribable violence, murder, pillaging and burning; of the oppression of the powerless by merciless land barons. The McGregors were a happy, loving family surviving against the odds,  amid the devastation wreaked by the Marquis of Montrose. Mrs McGregor profoundly remarked: "The truth is a lie waiting to be discovered." These wise words gave husband Rob the impetus to muster for a fight, kill the enemy, realign the local power structures, and survive, family, love, and romance intact - well, almost - for Mrs McGregor, out of fear and shame, had kept secret the thuggish rape by Montrose - a lie waiting to be discovered, and tidied away,  so that truth, honor and justice could prevail. But who cares? These are private matters. It was not because in real life, most men are not as honest, honorable, courageous and caring as our hero, Rob Roy. It was not because victims of rape lose the ability to enjoy life,  and feel robbed and bereft of everything. Who cares? No one knows.  His-story binds us together, like strata in rock. Take care you don't lose your mind digging deep down,  digging deeper and deeper. The horror and the agony repeats, over and over, while the abusers of power and trust  continue to teach "society" twisted family values.  © Martha Magenta 2014

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