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alt_arthurMinerva: I can confirm that Norma Brownmiller (with the Department of Muggle Domestication) is definitely someone the Order wants to cultivate. You might remember I mentioned her in my journal entry of December 15: she's the assistant to James Prescott (another chap I suggested the Order keep an eye on.) Prescott had assigned Ms Brownmiller to project out the longterm effects stemming from the break in the chain of the transfer of institutional knowledge, a result of the deaths of so many educated Muggles (her background is in public health).
As Liaison from the Department of Purity Control, I sat in yesterday on some of the regular round of biweekly meetings within the Department of Muggle Domestication. Ms Brownmiller presented the figures on the increase in the deathrate of new Muggle mothers from puerperal (hope I spelled that right) fever and tetanus infections. She was arguing that the few remaining midwives be allowed to train assistants to assist at births, to lower both the neonatal and maternal deathrate.
Griderson first tried to bluster that there wasn't any money in the budget for such a program. When she politely insisted that the midwives were eager to train apprentices and wouldn't expect any pay; they WANTED more hands to share the work, his real reason emerged. 'Those Muggle bitches are nothing but animals anyway. Let them drop their calves in the fields like all the rest of the animals do.'
Brownmiller turned white, with anger, I think, but she kept her wits about her and replied with perfect control (a very good sign), quite politely, that even cows had veterinarians to assist when they gave birth. When Griderson brushed her off and moved on to the next item on the agenda, she subsided as if she had been convinced. I kept an eye on her for the rest of the meeting, though, and it was clear she wasn't paying much attention.
So, on a hunch, I dawdled over several conversations afterward and then drifted back to her office as the corridors were beginning to empty at the end of the day. She was talking in a low voice, but with some heat, with Prescott, a conversation they cut short when they saw me leaning against the door frame.
Prescott left then, and Brownmiller eyed me, obviously wondering what I was doing there. 'It was a good try,' I told her. 'Griderson's a heartless beast, but you did your best.'
She shuffled some papers around and then burst out, 'I don't see how he can think like that. If he had ever seen a woman in labour for three days, bleeding to death before his very eyes, when a simple healing spell would--' she stopped then and pressed her lips together, shaking her head.
'Is there anything else that can be done?' I asked. 'Anything you could get by Griderson, anyway?'
'Well, when he cut me off, I was just about to suggest we distribute birthing kits,' she said. She explained the idea: packets that could be put together and distributed to women about a month before their due date, containing gauze, soap, plastic sheeting, cord ties, and a sterile razor blade, with explanatory pictures. She'd gotten the ideas from midwife programs in Bangledesh, of all places. 'However--'
'Yes. Griderson.' We both sighed, thinking distastefully about Griderson.
'You know,' I said slowly, 'one of the major tasks of the Muggles in the camps is animal husbandry, after all. We wizards are very fond of our beef and pork.'
She looked puzzled for a moment. 'So?'
'So. All those animals, you know. So many animals. All those veterinary expenses . . . '
She gasped and started to laugh. 'You think we could slip it into the veterinary budget, you mean?'
So we talked about the creative use of budgeting to slither around the most poisonous of the Ministry's policies towards Muggles and Muggleborns, pussyfooting around quite a bit at first. But it became clear, the more that we talked, that we were definitely on the same page. I gathered, reading between the lines of what she said, that she and Prescott don't like much of the work they are forced to do, but they stay because, well, no one else will care the way that they do if they leave.
Eventually, a clatter of buckets out in the hall warned us that we weren't alone, and then the night janitor (charming young girl with a very odd tinge to her hair colour) poked her head in and asked if it would disturb us if she came in to mop up and empty the bins. So we said good night to each other, but Brownmiller was smiling in quite a different way when I left.
I'll ask Bill if he knew her in school and whether he has anything to add. I think she might have been three or four years ahead of him. If you have no objections, I will continue to drop in casually on her and Prescott. They're smart, they know when NOT to argue, and Brownmiller at least is willing to be devious to achieve her ends. Ends that, I think, mesh with the Order's. At least for now.
As Liaison from the Department of Purity Control, I sat in yesterday on some of the regular round of biweekly meetings within the Department of Muggle Domestication. Ms Brownmiller presented the figures on the increase in the deathrate of new Muggle mothers from puerperal (hope I spelled that right) fever and tetanus infections. She was arguing that the few remaining midwives be allowed to train assistants to assist at births, to lower both the neonatal and maternal deathrate.
Griderson first tried to bluster that there wasn't any money in the budget for such a program. When she politely insisted that the midwives were eager to train apprentices and wouldn't expect any pay; they WANTED more hands to share the work, his real reason emerged. 'Those Muggle bitches are nothing but animals anyway. Let them drop their calves in the fields like all the rest of the animals do.'
Brownmiller turned white, with anger, I think, but she kept her wits about her and replied with perfect control (a very good sign), quite politely, that even cows had veterinarians to assist when they gave birth. When Griderson brushed her off and moved on to the next item on the agenda, she subsided as if she had been convinced. I kept an eye on her for the rest of the meeting, though, and it was clear she wasn't paying much attention.
So, on a hunch, I dawdled over several conversations afterward and then drifted back to her office as the corridors were beginning to empty at the end of the day. She was talking in a low voice, but with some heat, with Prescott, a conversation they cut short when they saw me leaning against the door frame.
Prescott left then, and Brownmiller eyed me, obviously wondering what I was doing there. 'It was a good try,' I told her. 'Griderson's a heartless beast, but you did your best.'
She shuffled some papers around and then burst out, 'I don't see how he can think like that. If he had ever seen a woman in labour for three days, bleeding to death before his very eyes, when a simple healing spell would--' she stopped then and pressed her lips together, shaking her head.
'Is there anything else that can be done?' I asked. 'Anything you could get by Griderson, anyway?'
'Well, when he cut me off, I was just about to suggest we distribute birthing kits,' she said. She explained the idea: packets that could be put together and distributed to women about a month before their due date, containing gauze, soap, plastic sheeting, cord ties, and a sterile razor blade, with explanatory pictures. She'd gotten the ideas from midwife programs in Bangledesh, of all places. 'However--'
'Yes. Griderson.' We both sighed, thinking distastefully about Griderson.
'You know,' I said slowly, 'one of the major tasks of the Muggles in the camps is animal husbandry, after all. We wizards are very fond of our beef and pork.'
She looked puzzled for a moment. 'So?'
'So. All those animals, you know. So many animals. All those veterinary expenses . . . '
She gasped and started to laugh. 'You think we could slip it into the veterinary budget, you mean?'
So we talked about the creative use of budgeting to slither around the most poisonous of the Ministry's policies towards Muggles and Muggleborns, pussyfooting around quite a bit at first. But it became clear, the more that we talked, that we were definitely on the same page. I gathered, reading between the lines of what she said, that she and Prescott don't like much of the work they are forced to do, but they stay because, well, no one else will care the way that they do if they leave.
Eventually, a clatter of buckets out in the hall warned us that we weren't alone, and then the night janitor (charming young girl with a very odd tinge to her hair colour) poked her head in and asked if it would disturb us if she came in to mop up and empty the bins. So we said good night to each other, but Brownmiller was smiling in quite a different way when I left.
I'll ask Bill if he knew her in school and whether he has anything to add. I think she might have been three or four years ahead of him. If you have no objections, I will continue to drop in casually on her and Prescott. They're smart, they know when NOT to argue, and Brownmiller at least is willing to be devious to achieve her ends. Ends that, I think, mesh with the Order's. At least for now.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 08:11 pm (UTC)