Cracker by Damian Christie

You wanna know what I think is great? I love the fact that I can write about the most salient issues facing us; wars, the geopolitical crisis, the race relations gulch and people read it. But the one time I decide to tell you about boy sparrows and girl sparrows, the feedback starts flowing. The lesson? Sex sells.

The same happened on my radio show last week. I thought I’d pass on the sparrow message (I’m a one-trick pony) and ended up learning all about sexing goldfish. Apparently with practice you can tell the difference by looking at their anal openings. I’m a grown up (almost) so that doesn’t disturb me particularly. It’s the practice bit that makes me nervous.

I have a confession I’ve been meaning to make, and it has nothing to do with goldfish. The other week I posted about my generally unsatisfactory dealings with the New Zealand Police Force. The next day I was on my way to do a voice job for an ad. It was raining and I was running late. I drove through a light that could optimistically be described as amber. The policeman who happened to be two cars behind me noticed, and began tailing me. Some minutes later after a quick game of “try to lose the tail without breaking any more laws or looking dodgy as all hell” he switched on his lights and pulled me over.

I got out and put my umbrella up, offering him some respite from the now pelting rain. I held my breath. He was the nicest policeman I’ve ever met in my life. Polite Mr Plod, with an accent similar to Jamie Oliver, but not as annoying. He’s obviously one of the new English imports, and if the rest are anything like him, they’re a welcome addition.

“Uh hi, noticed you going through a red light there, yeah?… Yeah, raining pretty hard today, roads a bit slippery, easy to have an accident, yeah, knowhatimean? Now, normally that’s a $150 fine, but today I just want you to take a Bit More Care, awright? Thanks for your time, me ol’ sparrow.” Or words that effect.

Sooooo nice. Why must you mock me, oh Lord?

Anyway, I thanked him, and drove off safely and carefully to the voice job. ‘He’s new’, I thought, ‘It’s not his fault he didn’t know that in Auckland orange means green.’ I turned up a few minutes late for my voice job. It was for the Ministry of Justice, “pay your traffic fines.” Alanis Morrisette would’ve had a field day.

I’ve started reading the Central Leader. Well it’s free and they stuff it in my box twice a week, it seems rude not to. A lot of stuff is kicking off for the year this week, so why not get out there and get involved . My pick of the Community notices this week:

Enjoy

Joyologist Pat Armistead will talk about ways to bring yourself joy at the Avondale Library, 93 Roseband Rd, on Wednesday February 25, from 11am to noon. For more information, phone…

[A friend informs me he received quite a telling off for bringing himself joy at the Avondale Library, so make sure if you do so, it only happens between the hours designated above.]

Laptops

Visitors are invited to the New Zealand Computer Club’s first evening meeting of 2004 at 7.30, Thursday, February 19, at the Presbyterian Church community centre, 10 Gardner Rd, Epsom. The latest in laptop computers will be discussed.

Love in

The first Meeting of the Minds for 2004 is at the Mt Albert Community Library on Thursday, February 19, from 10am to 11am. Author and founder of the Romance Writers of New Zealand, Jean Drew, will speak. For more details, call...

Just a few bits and pieces today I’ve been mulling over, for what it’s worth.

First, something that’s been on my mind for a couple of weeks. Don’t try and read anything into it, it’s not a metaphor. It’s not an analogy, and there’s no moral to it. It just is.

I’ve been surprised how many people out there can’t tell the difference between a boy sparrow and a girl sparrow. Obviously as children, you all had more interesting lives than me. If you do know, then just read on, but from anecdotal evidence (you know, the sort they use for Sunday Star Times polls) you’re in the minority.

It’s pretty simple, and while it won’t radically change your life, I feel mine is just that Little Bit Better for knowing. It means I can discriminate on the basis of gender when I’m throwing bread crumbs around. Okay, I guess that says more about me than it does about sparrows, but regardless. You can also say “come here little fella”, or “how d’ya like that bread little missy” with a degree of certainty. Small things, small minds perhaps, but try it and see if you agree.

Boy sparrows are the ones with black bibs. Girl sparrows are the ones without. Here’s a picture of the two, although it’s pretty obvious when you look.

Good to have that off my chest.

I was reading last week’s Independent this week (again, says more about me…) and found something that amused me slightly, albeit in a despairing sort of way. Under the headline “ACT opts for independence”, Richard Prebble is quoted as saying “Maori culture plays a vital role in defining New Zealand as a nation, with films such as Whale Rider.”

A couple of weeks back I made a call about Don Brash’s speech, inferring he’d quite like it if the role of Maori in Aotearoa/New Zealand was limited to posing for photos with tourists and greeting rockstars at the airport. It seems Prebble is in agreement.

I should mention that last Thursday, before Waitangi Day, I interviewed the Maori Affairs spokespeople for National, Act, United Future and the Greens. Labour’s Parekura Horomia wasn’t available – quelle surprise, as he never is – but this time he had a believable excuse, being on a marae somewhere out of range. The Progressives don’t have one (a Maori Affairs spokesperson), not even outside of Parliament, and NZ First’s Pita Paraone didn’t get back to us.

Faced with names like Gerry Brownlee, Stephen Franks and Murray Smith, I was glad I’d boned up on my Maori pronunciation. However, I was more interested in what they had to say, how they kept up with Maori issues, and what their policies were than the colour of their skin. Finishing up each interview, I asked a couple of questions relating to Maori history. I assured them it wasn’t a stitch-up, nor some circus, I was merely interested in their knowledge of the portfolio. Brownlee wasn’t having a bar of it, sounded pissed off, didn’t know the answers to the questions, and didn’t even attempt to offer an “I’ve only been in this job two days, but I’m learning” explanation.

The winners, first equal, were Act's Stephen Franks and Metiria Turei of the Greens. Franks seemed to know his stuff, which to me only makes Act’s position on Maori Affairs even more disappointing. Murray Smith from United Future scored one from two, but what was more interesting was hearing him talk about United’s position on Maori affairs. I won’t go into details, but it all seemed very sensible, a good middle ground between Labour’s perceived excesses and the destructive policies of the parties of the right. United and their common sense solutions – when will they stop being so damned reasonable!

(What were the questions you ask? – Which article of the Treaty explicitly grants Maori “all the Rights and Privileges of British Subjects” (the Third) and “Which Act passed in 1908 oppressed Maori” (The Tohunga Suppression Act, which effectively prevented Maori having their own religion)).

Finally, a plug for a mate of mine, but one that fully deserves the publicity – starting this February 27th is the Cinema Circus, a series of films screened in various beautiful locations outdoors around Auckland and the North Island. It begins with a couple of drive-ins, the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Faster Pussycat Kill Kill – real date flicks! Check out the site for a schedule and bookings.

I was speaking with John Tamihere the other day. I wondered, did he despair every time the papers ran yet another story of “A Maori does wrong”? No, came his reply. The New Zealand psyche has moved on significantly in the last ten years, such that now when one Maori does something wrong, the rest of Maoridom isn’t, well, tarred with the same brush.

I’d like to agree, I really would. Unfortunately I’ve been in too many cabs, and listened to far too much talkback to believe it entirely true. The odd Sunday Star Times poll suggests, methodological doubts aside, many New Zealanders aren’t happy with the perceived privileges held by the tangata whenua.

As I read the Sunday paper, and then the front pages of yesterday’s and today’s Herald, I wonder if police face the same problems when it comes to public perception. There are allegations of a pack rape, subsequent cover-up or botched investigation, and then the elevation of one of the protagonists up the ranks. The case raises a number of questions, and very few of them relate to what happened or did not happen in Rotorua, circa 1986.

For me at least – and I welcome your feedback on this – this latest drama does cast a pall over the force as a whole. If the allegations are true, it shows evil among some bottom ranks, and collusion at the top. There might be a whole lotta goodness in the middle.

I’d love to swallow the “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” line. Unfortunately I’ve heard too many stories, and personally run into too many Cops With Attitude. A relative of mine, perhaps not the most upstanding of citizens, but a nice guy nonetheless tells a great yarn of having his head rammed repeatedly into the panel of the police car that bears the decal “Safer Communities Together.”

I suppose the genesis of my attitude towards police, and vice versa, stems from the legislation they are required to enforce. This is not some “legalise it” post, and I’m hardly the poster boy for cannabis, having not had a smoke in quite some time (never Mum, I mean never). But the reality is that a majority of my friends do, to a greater or lesser extent, indulge in recreational drug use. Drug use of a recreational nature is, of course, against the law. Therefore, police are People To Beware Of.

This is a shame, it really is. It would be a great thing – not least of all because my tax dollars go in part to pay for this service – if I felt able to approach a copper for directions, the time of day, if not a light for my joint. Sadly no, and almost every time I try and extend the olive branch with a friendly “howzit?” I get a look which – in my mind – conveys the message, “Bugger off, you smart little shit.” I dare say this look has been developed after years of taunts from the ever-increasingly irreverent youth of today, but as I say, it’s a shame.

The more I think about the Don Brash speech, and its pernicious sub-text, the more it pisses me off. If I made a list entitled “Issues that shouldn’t become political footballs,” race relations would be right near the top. Unfortunately my list seems to have been leaked to National, Act, New Zealand First and renamed “Political Mileage.”

I walked through Albert Park today on my way down to buy a 2004 diary (January I just wing). They were setting up for the Chinese Lantern Festival this Waitangi weekend, an event I’ve attended for the last couple of years. Thousands now attend, and it’s hardly a secret, but if you live in the City O’ Sails and haven’t been, get there this year. One of New Zealand’s most beautiful parks lit up dramatically is quite something to behold.

As I traipsed through amid the preparations, I couldn't help but think: If having this 2000 year old festival in my town is part of what you're warning us about, then I’m sorry Mr Peters, but I’m going to have to disagree with you.

1984, or thereabouts, I recall sitting in a closet with a flashlight, reading a book. At any moment I was going to get busted, and definitely, definitely get a hiding. The book was called What’s Happening To Me? and as a 10 year old, it was possibly the rudest thing on the face of the Earth.

While I still don’t understand a lot of what was in that book, a lot of it served me quite well over the coming years. I was able to anticipate what was about to happen, and duly note its arrival when it did. Hair in odd places – check. Deep voice – check. Interest in girls – check. That book, and its predecessor “Where Did I Come From?” were a great help to me, and I dare say many thousands of my generation.

Twenty years on, as I approach my 30th birthday, I’m wondering where to find the third in the trilogy. I’ve Googled and searched Amazon and ebay, even local heroes TradeMe have never heard of such a title. As I undergo some fairly dramatic changes, I’m forced to ask you, dear readers – has anyone got a copy of What the Hell?! I can borrow?

I have to say I’m not particularly concerned about turning 30. “Nor should you be”, snort the like of Russell and Rob, “We turned 30 years ago, and it didn’t do us any harm.” True, true, the age itself doesn’t faze me, it’s the symptoms I’m worried about.

It’s odd how unobservant the human mind can be when it wants to. When you’re a kid, you don’t notice anything for a bit, and suddenly one day, bang, there’s a whole bunch of hair under your arms. Obviously it all grew there, slowly, one piece at a time, but you only decide to acknowledge it when it reaches some critical mass.

I think it’s the same with turning 30. The signs have been there for a while. Bit thinner on top, bit thicker around the middle, headphones a bit louder, clothes a bit quieter. But it wasn’t until the other day, driving to a friend’s engagement party, reading a Freedom Furniture catalogue (I was in the passenger’s seat), suggesting we stop in to look at the King’s Plant Barn sale (40% off all ferns, you know) that it hit me. Somewhere along the line, I got old. Well, old-ish.

Anyway, more on that as the countdown to 30 continues (just under two months today)...

I don’t know whether it’s another symptom of ageing, or just being a news junkie, but part of me thought it was important I read the entire text of Dr Don Brash’s “state of the nation” speech this morning.

To begin with, Don outlines his five key issues (declining income, welfare, education, law and order, Maori) and promises to speak on each. No doubt realising the paltry coverage a speech on “relatively declining incomes” would garner, Brash has decided to go straight for that political jugular favoured by his predecessor, the bloody mow-ries. Whether he has the will (or survives long enough), to deliver the other four speeches is anyone’s guess.

As Brash himself notes, Maori culture, race relations, the treaty industry etc “are complex, highly sensitive, even emotionally charged” issues. Having acknowledged this however, Brash then intentionally oversimplifies, plays on sensitivities, manipulates emotions, and generally helps cement the divisiveness he is highlighting. Fairly standard stuff, and as Act’s Ken Shirley notes in a press release this morning, it’s “what ACT has been saying since its inception 10 years ago.”

I’m not going to go through Brash’s speech line by line, but here are a few points that stuck out for me:

Over the last 20 years, the Treaty has been wrenched out of its 1840s context and become the plaything of those who would divide New Zealanders from one another, not unite us.

Erm yes. Such as any politician wanting to make cheap political mileage by playing on the fears of Pakeha?

…where people who weren't around in the 19th century pay compensation to the part-descendants of those who were…

This is a great line, and really sets the tone for the speech. It plays on a couple of sentiments widely-held by Talkback Callers:

First, it wasn’t me who ripped Maori off back in the day, so why should I pay to put it right? I’m sure you don’t need me to draw a picture for you, but if someone steals your car, and gives it to their son or daughter, does that make it okay?

The second part is that great honky stand-by “there aren’t any full-blooded Maori left anymore anyway, are there?” I shouldn’t need to even touch that one.

…But in fact Maori income distribution is not very different from Pakeha income distribution…It is the bottom 25 per cent of Maori, most of them on welfare, who are conspicuously poor. They are no different to Pacific Islanders or other non-Maori on welfare; it's just that there is a higher percentage of them in that category.

I might be missing something here – and I stress I’m open to correction – but can anyone else spot the contradiction? Is Brash saying that while there are more poor Maori than anyone else, the fact that poor Maori are only as poor as poor Pakeha means it’s okay? Anyone?

Brash then goes on to list a number of areas where Maori historically have done well, or at least done as well as Pakeha. They got the vote, (well sort of), and “by the 1930s, they possessed equal rights of access to state assistance, be it pensions or subsidised housing loans or access to education”.

Of course Brash doesn’t feel it necessary to mention in any detail the many injustices visited against Maori over the past 150 years, the 1908 Tohunga Act which essentially banned Maori practising their religion being just one example. It doesn't really help his message, does it? He instead glosses over it, with the summary:

Let me be quite clear. Many things happened to the Maori people that should not have happened.”

For Dr Don, clarity is apparently next to godliness:

Let me make it quite clear. National is absolutely committed to completing the settlement of historical grievances.

…those are the grievances you talked about before then, committed by people who are now dead to people who aren’t even real Mow-ries?

In many ways, I am deeply saddened to have to make a speech about issues of race.

…and if National weren’t languishing so low in the polls, I wouldn’t have had to stoop to this…

The indigenous culture of New Zealand will always have a special place in our emerging culture, and will be cherished for that reason.

…and brought out for tourists and at state functions.

But we must build a modern, prosperous, democratic nation based on one rule for all.

And anyway, you'll always have Rotorua...

If the rest of 2004 is anything like the past two weeks have been, I’m going to be a happy, happy camper.

New Years and the couple of days immediately before and after were spent at Hicks Bay. About ten minutes drive or so from the East Cape lighthouse, you can find it on a map by looking at the eastern most point of New Zealand. A dozen of us were invited to stay at a friend’s farm there, and so off we went.

A warning to any other residents of Tamaki Makaurau thinking of heading down that way – it’s a bloody long drive. It’s longer than from Auckland to Wellington, especially taking into account the inevitable car crash near Maramarua – now as entrenched in the New Zealand Christmas as blossoming pohutakawa and Interislander strikes.

The roads there redefine “long and winding”; McCartney would’ve had a field day. No doubt picturesque as all hell, but unfortunately something we couldn’t appreciate, given it was pissing down the whole way, and completely dark for the last hour or two.

The next morning the sky had cleared, somehow taking with it the farm’s supply of running water. No showers? Aucklanders all, we looked at each other nervously, and collectively fumbled for our car keys, cellphones and an AA guide to the nearest hotel. Luckily for everyone concerned, there is no such thing as a “nearest hotel” in Hicks Bay. We decided to bathe in the river instead.

From that moment on, there was no looking back.

The weather was phenomenal. The scenery was spectacular, with great beaches, beautiful rivers and streams and more native bush than you can shake a punga branch at.

We had hangi and hongi, huhu and kina, bareback horseback riding and drank Steiny talls with toothless locals at the nearby pub. We were taken to a secret bubbling mud lake and sloshed around in same until covered from head to toe in a treatment the ladies of Parnell would pay a fortune for. We went to bed late each night with a belly full of beer, and woke up far too soon after as our tents became unbearably hot in the East Coast sun. Damn it was fun.

After all that, it was with no small trepidation that I returned to Auckland and checked my email. Not surprisingly, there was a huge amount of feedback to my last post, in fact more so than for anything I’ve written to date. I’m pleased to report it was overwhelmingly positive. With an issue like this, people invariably come out of the woodwork with their own stories of woe, and this was no exception.

Over the years the businesses owned by the dynamic duo of Deborah Coddington and Alister Taylor have ‘touched’ a lot of people, and for many their experiences are now squarely in the ‘bad touch’ category (and no, I’m not inferring they’ve molested anyone). I’ve begun receiving emails from writers and customers alike, alleging unsatisfactory dealings. Some of these are historical, and fairly well-documented, others I simply have my correspondents’ word on which to rely.

One email that really struck a chord with me, was from a couple who had paid for a book, but not yet received it. I should note that as this situation occurred in 2002, it is likely that Coddington had extracted, or at least begun to extract herself as a shareholder and director of the company(s) concerned. However I can say that these customers’ allegations are very similar to those I dealt daily as an employee of NZ Who's Who in 1996, when Deborah Coddington was very much a director and shareholder…

“Mr T has had $ 145.00 of ours since 18 June 2002.Payment for a copy of a NZ WHO'S WHO for delivery December 2002. Still not to hand although a letter 0f August 2003 said they would be despatching November 2003. No reply to emails, phone messages and fax.”

…and then this update a few days later:

“Since I sent you the first email on Mon 29 Dec I have spoken to a Peter Corbett who describes himself as an Editorial Assistant to Alistair Taylor... Corbett said that the despatch had now been delayed until 29 April 2004. He said he did not know why there was this further delay. I explained to him that the letter of August 2003 gave November as a despatch date. He said that he was not directly involved in the Who's Who publication? He also confirmed that G Griffith who had signed an earlier letter, and who we had spoken to, had left the company.”

I advised this couple, and I advise anyone else out there in the same situation, to write to Deborah Coddington, MP, c/- Parliament advising her of their predicament. Sure, she’s ostensibly not involved with the company any more, but as an MP she has a duty to help her constituents (and as a List MP, everyone’s a constituent, really), and she’s probably the best placed MP in the country to do so. Remember, no stamp required.

I’ve also been contacted by other MPs and mainstream journos, all wanting to hear a little more of the story. A couple of respondents noted Act’s differing treatments of their Great White Hope vs Donna Awatere Huata. The latter is hung out to dry before given a fair hearing in the courts, while Deborah receives full support from the leadership on down. Granted, Act were probably looking for an excuse to ditch the Awatere Albatross, but one wonders how long before the party realises that its Little Yellow Duck of Freedom is in fact treading water in a Sea of Shit.

So it looks as though Deborah Coddington is in for quite the annus horribilis, poor lass. To borrow phrases from radionzbias, “an observer” and “acquaintance” tell me the family home in Remmers might even be put up for sale to clear the backlog of unpublished books. Oh dear. Quite the turnaround from those heady days of the early nineties when “an observer” informs me Coddington and Taylor were known around Auckland as ‘Bonnie & Clyde.’ What do chickens sound like when they come home to roost, anyone? Anyone?

Anyway, that’s enough of all that nastiness. Until this story develops a bit more – and with the people now involved, you can guarantee it will – I’m going to sink back down into my private mudpool and covet that shawl I nicked so many years ago…my preccccioussss.

Happy New Year everyone, and thanks again for your overwhelming support and feedback. Keep it coming.