Fathers4Justice: the solution lies in our families, not our family courts | Ally Fogg

It appears to be the season for symbolic gestures. Last week Fathers4Justice (F4J) activist Paul Manning was arrested and charged for gluing a photo of a child to Constable's The Hay Wain in the National Gallery. The incident occurred two weeks after another F4J activist spray-painted over a portrait of the Queen in Westminster Abbey, and three days before a similar attack on a statue in the same cathedral. That act was done in the name of a different group, Stolen Children of the UK, although a F4J activist was also reported to be in attendance.

After Manning's arrest, F4J put out the daddy of all passive-aggressive statements. It is calling on their supporters to continue independent acts of nonviolent direct action, adding:

"The organisation said it was also now refusing to engage with national media over what it described as deliberately inaccurate and misleading reporting of the campaign and the crisis in the family courts. It was also refusing to deal with the government, police, courts, judiciary and any other organisations involved in family law and said it was considering shutting down all conventional social media."

This may come as good news to the national media, government, police, courts, judiciary and the nation's fine art restoration business, but to everyone else it can be little more than a symbolic gesture. F4J has always despised the political and media establishment and the feeling has been mostly mutual. Their speciality was always the symbolic gesture.

If ever an issue required willingness to compromise and negotiate, it is family dispute settlements. The latest F4J gambit portrays them as stubborn, immutable and hostile – not the symbolism intended. I do not question that the men (and women) involved in F4J feel a sincere and burning sense of anger and frustration at their circumstances. They would counter that a willingness to compromise and negotiate gets them nowhere, either politically or personally. However the timing of this particular announcement is intriguing.

This week the children and families bill entered its second reading. The bill offers changes to family court proceedings, including the introduction of a statutory assumption of shared (though not necessarily time-equal) parenting. The proposals are a hotchpotch of ideas, largely ignoring the recommendations of the Norgrove report and pleasing virtually no one. Legal commentators warn that the proposed wording is sufficiently vague to make rulings more complex than ever. F4J has dismissed it as "a feeble cocktail of proposals [and] a charter for conflict and fatherlessness". One might call it a symbolic gesture.

We need more than gestures on all sides. Family courts rule on the 10% of breakups that present the greatest difficulty. These are, almost by definition, marked by conflicting accounts, bitter allegations and at least one if not two unreasonable parties. Each is usually convinced of their own rectitude and their ex-partner's wickedness. The adversarial legal system then throws petrol on the flames. Every ruling on the best interests of a child is a best guess and a judgment call, and so subject to assumptions, prejudice and prevailing cultural values. It is not just that we don't know for sure whether the system is working adequately, it is that it is literally impossible to say objectively whether the system is working adequately in any one case, far less for all 500,000 adults and children entering the system per year.

If the workings of the court are an opaque mess, the political debate around it is often worse. Commentators often quote statistics on initial residency rulings, without acknowledging that most unresolved disputes centre on maintaining the agreed contact – an entirely different issue. The Ministry of Justice's own research finds that fewer than half of cases that return to court due to non-compliance result in secured contact. Sweeping generalisations are made about "deadbeat dads"; separated fathers are portrayed as probable abusers or, from the other side, innocent victims of terrible injustices. In reality every case is unique and adversarial courts are not only the last resort, they are the worst resort.

Arrangements for shared parenting cannot begin in the family court. They need to begin from the moment of birth. Far more separated fathers maintain satisfactory relationships with their children in Sweden than the UK, and it is not because their courts have a magic formula, it is because fathers are assumed to be equally responsible parents from the word go. We don't need symbolic gestures. We need a wide-ranging and holistic revolution in parenting, and fatherhood in particular. Without that, the family courts will continue to wrestle with impossible knots, and separated fathers will continue to cry out in anger and frustration.

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Why The Smith Family Business Is A Little Creepy

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". The prospect of working in a family business always seemed odd to me, even though a lot of families do it: the Madoffs, for instance, the Sulzbergers, the Bluths."

Fitzgerald was right: The very rich are different from you and me. As exhibit A, let’s take a look at young Jaden Smith, son of Fresh Prince Will. A likable enough lad, I suppose, half-talented and amiable. But good lord, does he sound flaky, particularly in a recent, entertainingly bizarre interview with New York magazine.

While doing the publicity rounds for After Earth, their sci-fi tentpole extravaganza directed (warning) by M. Night Shyamalan, Elder Smith and Younger Smith did a whack of media appearances together, much of it playing up their on-screen father-son relationship. (Jaden plays Kitai Raige, Will plays Cypher. Cypher Raige? Seriously? M. Night wrote this, so take it from there.)

The global film press sighed their collective “Aww!” and dutifully went about gushing over the two. But only New York really showed how odd they are, Jaden especially. Right at the top, the two discuss patterns -- as in, patterns of life, patterns of the universe, mathematical patterns that we can’t yet comprehend. It sounds like nonsense, something blurted out by a spaced-out, disassociated Malibu rich kid. Which is no big surprise, since that pretty much describes Jaden.

Will claims to be “a student of patterns. At heart, I’m a physicist.” Sure. Jaden, meanwhile, believes that “there is that special equation for everything, but I don’t think our mathematics have evolved enough for us to even -- I think there’s, like, a whole new mathematics that we’d have to learn to get that equation. It’s beyond mathematical. It’s, like, multidimensional mathematical, if you can sort of understand what I’m saying.” No, but whatevs, let’s roll with it.

The two go on to discuss something a bit more down to Earth: working together as father and son. Granted, they’re working together in the movies, but, as Jaden says, “I’m just working in my family business with my dad. Patterns, boom.” Boom. Hollywood asskiss gossip blogger Perez Hilton calls that particular insight “So interesting!”

But this is what got me thinking. The prospect of working in a family business always seemed odd to me, even though a lot of families do it: the Madoffs, for instance, the Sulzbergers, the Bluths. But when things get screwy at work, the results can be awkward, if not downright catastrophic, when family members are involved. How do you fire your son? How do you trash-talk the boss with your colleagues when he’s your dad? The useless HR department is run by your sister. It can make family dinners even more unpleasant than usual. Next Page >>

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At a family support meeting, I spot a man I find attractive

Sometimes it's hard to know where addiction ends and the person begins: despite not going to meetings, R?is?still sober. Something in his behaviour, however, suggests that he is struggling. He flits from being manically euphoric one minute, to listless and fidgety the next.

This evening, he seems irritated by?everything: especially the presence?of us, his family. I watch him clear the?table before I go to my weekly meeting for families affected by?addiction.

"Is there anything for me to eat?" he says. "I'm starving."

"Well, there's stuff in the fridge." I?know that when I return later, R will have eaten nothing.

In the past, I would have stayed at home and perhaps missed my meeting, in an attempt to get to the root of R's unhappiness. I would have goaded him for answers; I would have consoled and?advised him.

Not tonight. I need to go along to the group because I find it incredibly helpful and supportive, and I don't want to be late.

I have suggested on many occasions during the past week that R should talk about things with others when his?mood darkens, but my advice has been met with: "I'm fine. I can deal with this."

As I shout my goodbyes to the children upstairs, I stop myself saying: "Be good for daddy. Don't make too much noise." I am slowly learning not to pussyfoot around R, and I have to lead by example. They are children, and sometimes they play loudly and as a father, he will have to deal with it.

As soon as I step out of the door and into my car, I feel an immediate sense of relief. Even the heavy traffic doesn't dampen my good mood. I play Prince and sing along loudly.

The meeting is busy, with a few newcomers. I catch sight of an unfamiliar man sitting opposite me. He is tall, handsome and resembles a younger, smarter Jeff Bridges. I notice he's wearing a suit that is the wrong side of shiny, but I find his attractiveness distracting. He exudes kindness even before he introduces himself to the group as we go around the circle.

His wife is an alcoholic. He explains how her drinking has become so out of control that she has – on more than one occasion – forgotten to pick their son up from school. He seems genuinely terrified of what the future might hold, because although she has not touched alcohol for more than a week, the chances are quite high that she will?do?again.

Every one of us in the room could focus on the major differences in the situation he is describing (we are not all husbands or wives of alcoholics – some of the group are parents, or children) but it is the similarities in the patterns of behaviour between ourselves and the addict that many of us are, unfortunately, all too familiar with.

As he speaks, my mind begins to wander. I am an impolite daydreamer, because often when I'm thinking about someone who is present in the room I?unintentionally stare at them.

I start to think all sorts of inappropriate things about "Jeff". What would he look like naked, on the loo, or tucked up in bed next to his wife? Then I imagine us lying side by side, his hand wandering over to stroke my thigh. I see us kissing, his warm breath against my cheek, and I even fantasise about the smell of his skin.

Then my mind strays yet more, and I become annoyed that we will have to move to a bigger house if we become a couple, because we'll have a small army of children between us.

With an abruptness that coincides with a latecomer opening the door, I bring an end to this ridiculous train of thought. I am aware that I have been looking directly at Jeff?for a long time, and he has stopped?talking.

The sound of my own voice startles?me.

"Will you leave her if she drinks?again?"

"I don't know. I've said I will, but I've said that before when she's stopped. When she starts again, I think that maybe I'll give her just one more chance to get better."

On the drive home, I wonder what I will do if R picks up a drink again. There is something in his present mood that makes it seem very likely.

"Good?" R asks when I'm home.

"Good," I mirror laconically as I turn to leave the room. Like a child, I think, "Jeff would never be as miserable as you're being."

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