Whistle Blowing

I have a confession to make: I am a whistle blower. If I see something that doesn't look right, I will e-mail or phone whichever government agency that claims to be able to do something about it. If I see you stealing from your workplace, I will tell the manager. If I see you being mean to someone else, I will walk right up to you and tell you how much of an asshole you are being. Yes, when I'm old I will probably keep a log book of all my neighbours' comings and goings. I will be the crazy lady with her nose poking out of her closed curtains, waiting in some sick twisted hope for something illegal to take place. I admit this. But for now, it is more about having the balls to speak up when you see something that doesn't look right. Chances are that you are wrong. But what if you're right?

Probably the most frustrating thing about being a whistle blower, is that the system is FUCKED. Let me start by telling you about the time in Cairns where I couldn't get to sleep. It was 2am, and I heard two people whispering in the car park below our unit. Being worried about my car getting stolen, I went to the window to keep an eye on the goings on. A man and a woman were standing next to a white car, whispering and looking flustered. My curiosity was raised, what were these scallywags up to? My brain travelled through many possibilities; about to steal a car, having a fight, dealing drugs, etc. But I did NOT expect to see what happened next. They opened the back of the car, and tugged on a long object wrapped in a white sheet. It looked very heavy. They got on either end of the sheet, both ends twisted and the twist being carried. As I gazed down at this sheeted object, I realised one end had the shape of shoulders and a head, and the other end tapered in like legs and feet. It bent a bit closer to the end with the shoulder shape. My heart leapt in my chest. I could hear my pulse in my ears. There was no mistaking it, that was the shape of a body. Now, I'm known for a good imagination at the best of times, but to this day I am SURE I was looking at a body. I could even see the shape of the buttocks through the sheet. I swear on my life. Believe me, as I stared at it I tried to imagine what else it could possibly be that could make more sense. Nothing else came even close to fitting. They took the 'object' up to the unit next door to ours, and came back down for a crate of tools and various other objects. The man returned back to the car and was getting a few more things from the back. I lifted up my phone to try and get a photo of him, and of course pressed the wrong button and it made a loud beep noise. The man leapt behind his car and hid there for a long while. Now you tell me, is this the actions of a man just doing some 2am renovating on his unit? No.

For the rest of the night I heard many loud and strange noises coming from that apartment, including what sounded like a circular saw. Then, at about 6am the two people came out of the apartment with the same sheet rolled up on both ends, however now the object contained therein was alot smaller and compact. I.shit.you.not. I spent the rest of the day trying to convince myself that it was all perfectly normal, that they were probably installing new carpet and were on a mega time limit and so had to stay up all night doing it. But I could not get the image of that thing being removed from that car, out of my mind. When I returned from work later that day, there was a lady standing in the car park on her mobile phone, a basket of cleaning products in hand. She was talking very quietly and glancing my way nervously, but I just so happened to hear what she said while I was getting my bag out of the car. 'It's all cleaned up. Yup. Even on top of the cupboard. Yup. Okay.'
Them being my neighbours, I was very scared of them knowing that I knew something. So for me, calling the police was not an option. Especially seeing as I felt like I was going crazy, surely I hadn't seen what I thought I'd seen?

So I took the one option left to me. I e-mailed Crime Stoppers. I gave them the whole story, the address, even the number plate of the vehicle. I said I would rather remain anonymous, but could not send my e-mail without completing the 'contact number' section. I stated very clearly that I had no interest in getting involved, and hoped that the information I provided could help. Less than an hour after sending me e-mail, I received a call on my mobile from Crime Stoppers. I was therein asked to recount verbally everything I had seen. I was then informed, by a very curt and doubting old mole, that these were very serious allegations I was making. And that for anything to be done about them, I would need to go down to the station, identify myself, and make a statement. This would be what I would class as 'getting involved', something I had no intention of doing! If I wanted to get that involed in it, I would have just gone to the station in the first place. Isn't that the idea of Crime Stoppers? Being able to make anonymous reports without having to stand up in court in front of two murderers and explain how you spied on them from your bedroom window? I refused to go down to the station. And get this. The whole thing was never investigated. Ever. A week later the unit was rented out to an asian student, and the whole thing just faded out of existance. I never received another call, police never attended the unit to ask questions, nothing. So what was the point? The message sent to me was this, 'Unless you're willing to stand up in front of criminals and recount what you saw, no matter how frightened or at risk it makes you, then absolutely nothing can be done.' Hm. Fuck you system. I hope my friend in the sheet is haunting your lazy arse right this minute, turning your shower hot and cold and then hot again, putting bed bugs in your bed, pissing in your morning coffee.

Now, all this happened over three years ago. So what, you may ask, has inspired me to suddenly share this story that so freezes my bones and makes my heart race at the mere memory? Well, as some of you may know, we have new neighbours. They are two very young looking girls. I met them when they had their couch stuck in the doorway. Being a master of puzzles, I couldn't resist going over and directing them through a series of movements and angles that would assist in getting the couch inside successfully. They were very grateful, and seemed nice enough if not a bit rough looking. And still in pajamas at 2pm in the afternoon. But anyhoo. Turns out the walls between units are even thinner than once thought. (Many apoligies to our previous gay neighbour, who we now realise must have been able to hear us shagging, farting, and pissing ourselves laughing quite regularly while he was trying to sleep.) Our new neighbour has two babies, both of whom I haven't met face to face yet. However, I have had the pleasure of listening to them scream their poor little lungs out for the last three nights running. Yaye for me. But the part that is really bothering me, that is nagging at my sense of right, is the response I get to hear from the loving, nurturing mother their very lives depend on. Let me list some of the responses I can remember off the top of my head:
"Shut the fuck up, you idiot! I'm trying to feed you!'
"Shut the fuck up, you cunt."
"What the fuck is wrong with you man?"
Yes, you read correctly. This new born baby is being called an idiot and a cunt by it's mother on a regular basis. And what, may you ask, has the baby done to deserve this? It has cried for it's basic needs: food, a nappy change, etc. Small babies don't cry to be a pain in your arse, they cry because they need something. It's the only method they have for communicating, you dipshit! Now, I have a phone number for a hotline that can be used to report family abuse. However, I have been told that nothing can really be done until there is evidence of the child being physically abused or...get this...dead. I can still phone and report what I hear, but no action will be taken. Now, just last year a little toddler named Nia was tied to a washing line and spun, dropped, hit, put in a dryer and left to die in her cot until an auntie found her unresponsive 24 hours later. She died not long after. On investigation, the police discovered that the next door neighbours had seen Nia tied to the washing line, and didn't do anything. Family members reported observing many occassions where Nia was mistreated. And said nothing. So the question for me remains:

Do I stay the hell out of it, and mind my own god damn business, like the rest of the world? Or do I stick to my whistle blower roots, only to be spoken to like I'm an idiot over the phone, by someone who thinks I'm overreacting? And even if I do phone, what will it achieve? It won't be investigated, as there is no evidence of physical violence. I'll be lucky if it even gets written down on a file somewhere. There can be no doubt that they have bigger fish to fry around here. So, what would you do?

For now, the choice I have made is a riskier one than calling some phone line. Much to the horror of my peace keeping, non whistle blowing husband, I am going to wait for the opportunity to chat to her when she is standing out front with her child. I plan to be very friendly and pleasant, and tell her that her child is beautiful and she is very lucky. I will also proceed to tell her that I can hear her calling it a cunt in the middle of the night. I won't sound judgemental, if anything I will sound supportive and understanding. Maybe she just needs help? I'm prepared for a black eye. Bring it on you baby abusing pyjama wearing mole. At least if you punch me in the eye I will be able to get the cops onto you. And if you don't punch me in the eye, at least you will know that I am watching, I am listening, and I am prepared to speak up. And remember: if you have those children taken off you, you may even be forced to work for a living. God forbid. Either way, I'll be watching.....