Archive
Author: Alasdair Renwick-Hale
-
One Honest Friend Is Worth More Than Ten Encouraging Ones
I remember sitting in a cramped hospital consultation room, the air smelling of stale antiseptic and floor wax, listening to a man weep because…
-
A Cross Reference Is a Suggestion, Not a Proof
I remember sitting in the hospital chapel late one Tuesday, the air thick with the scent of floor wax and old hymnals, trying to…
-
A Long Campaign With Mixed Motives
I remember sitting in a cramped, dimly lit community hall years ago, watching a young organizer pace the floor with a fervor that was…
-
Consent Buried in Terms Is Not Consent
I remember sitting in a dim hospital corridor years ago, listening to a man describe the terrifying sensation of being watched by something he…
-
When Something Is Said Three Times, Notice
I remember sitting in a cramped, dimly lit hospice room during my final year of chaplaincy, listening to the rhythmic, mechanical hiss of a…
-
Show Up Again in Month Three
I remember sitting in a sterile, fluorescent-lit room in the oncology ward, watching a well-meaning relative lean over a grieving widow and offer that…
-
The Need Nearest You Is Usually Unglamorous
I remember sitting in a cramped hospital waiting room years ago, listening to a well-meaning volunteer explain how “community engagement” was the silver bullet…
-
Tools Are Not Neutral in Their Effects
I remember sitting in a quiet, sterile room in the oncology ward, holding the hand of a man who was more frightened by the…
-
Honest History Includes What Was Done Badly
I’ve sat through far too many seminars where academics and activists use increasingly dense, polished language to signal their virtue, as if a more…
-
Repetition Usually Marks the Structure
I remember sitting in a dimly lit hospital ward late one Tuesday, listening to a young man try to explain a grief that had…