Speaker by Various Artists

One of the things I have to come clean about is not having a deep appreciation of feminism. If anything, my understanding could best be described as that of an 'educated layman', meaning of kind of get it, but would never pretend to be an expert. The only thing I'm properly sure of is that it's all about making sure that stereotypes are tackled, and trying to break down barriers that prevent women from doing the fun stuff men take for granted.

So before I make an even bigger ass of myself I'm going to move on and say that for this reason I approached Germaine Greer's essay Whitefella Jump Up with a little trepidation.

I've read and mostly understood some Iris Marion Young and some Nancy Fraser, both of who address how women were historically relegated to the benches in public or political life, effectively giving them minority status. Luckily though, Whitefella doesn't really include any obvious feminist references, or if it did they went over my head.

Which is nothing to be apologetic about.

What had made me curious about WJU was the trenchant criticism levelled against it from nearly everyone I read. And I thought, hey, it can't be all that bad, right?

Wrong. Greer's essay borders on appalling.

In a nutshell, what Greer tries to argue is that Australian national identity owes a great debt to Aboriginal people, and that in order to 'fill out' this identity Australians need to accept and embrace their Aboriginality.

The idea itself isn't exactly new, I seem to remember first reading it 10 years ago in fictional form in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, a book published in 1974. There, Pirsig describes Americans of a particular ilk as owing a debt to Indians for particular language styles, or Marlboro-man type character traits of quiet strength and the like.

The thing about Pirsig though is that he considers Americans to not understand how this cultural conflation has affected them, and it's that point that hold most true for former colonies like Australia and New Zealand. But taiho, before you react emotively to the idea that you've been influenced by 'the natives', consider that this influence is usually considered to be pretty subtle. Consequently, Australians will not realise how much their language is unique in its use of phrases like 'secret men's business', or 'mob' (kiwis say 'bunch').

Greer tries to take this up to a new level though, with the intent of trying and get Australians to explicitly admit that their culture is in fact, Aboriginal. While this is an admirable intention, she fails because in my opinion she profoundly misjudges her audience (just for a change).

One of the things about Greer is that she has this tendency to really get under the skin of Australians, perceived as she of being an 'angry' academic who pops into Australia occasionally to deliver her version of where the nation is failing itself. Aussies like many nations being the self-aggrandising people they are, hate that. So naturally she cops flak.

In fact, when I was writing this a couple of friends popped into the café I was writing in. Pretentious I know, writing in a café and looking self-important. But all I have at home is instant coffee and one of though dodgy hexagonal percolator thingies! Anyhow, after explaining what I was writing about they both preceded to rip strips off Greer for not actually being a 'real' Australian any more.

So WJU fails in its intentions.

The idea is as challenging as it is perennial though. One of the things about New Zealand nation-building is its constant emphasis on racial amalgamation and the gradual growth of a unique, kiwi culture. But where this idea draws the most criticism has always been its overbearing nature. Historically, this particular culture has most often been defined through reference to the ideas and norms introduced by the Europeans, meaning that the indigenous has taken a back seat.

The thing that should be obvious to everyone though is how much Maori culture has bounced back, and the way in which it is much beloved by the majority of New Zealanders. To me, what really drives this inclusive 'one nation' attitude in New Zealand is that the mainstream really wants Maori to be a part of the picture. And this stands in contrast to places like Australia, that seem to just want the 'Aboriginal problem' to just go away.

Naturally Australians will deny this, but there's talking and there's action, and Australia is limited on action to tokenism when it comes to Aboriginal people. And not even useful tokenism. Don't get me started on that Reconciliation problem again.

Why I find this subject fascinating is that it runs to the core of a rapidly developing argument occurring world-wide about national cultures and what's happening to them in a new era of 'globalisation'. There are just two examples of articles in this vein, from the same source, here and here.

What seems, according to most commentators, to be going on is a weakening of the older formula of 'strong' and independent nation-states in favour of a less absolute independence through international cooperation, treaties, free trade and the like. Naturally, a lot of people see this type of 'weakening' as a threat to nations and there seems to be more and more being published on how nations can re-establish themselves and restore their relevancy.

The first thing to say about this is that nations don't need their relevancy restored. Instead, what I personally think we're seeing is just a movement away from the old 'ideology' based nationalism of the past. It used to be that political debate was all about this strict boundary between 'left' and 'right', but now things seem to have changed too much to use these labels. Not that this stops idiots from using phrases like 'left-fascists'.

Ah-hem. "Totalitarian". Thank you (munter...)

What is more important is the movement towards culture and identity as the main arguments our societies are organising themselves around. In plain English this means that we aren't arguing about market vs. state anymore, that battle was won by the right in the 80s. Instead, everything seems to be slipping towards social and cultural battles about the content of what it means to be 'a New Zealander', or 'an American'.

And in a world of high population movements this type of inclusion/exclusion argument will become increasingly important, because being 'indigenous' is a strong, 'niche' claim to belonging and inclusion that can be levelled against recent arrivals or 'foreign' influences and isolate them.

To bring us back to Greer, in a way she's on the right track, but simply asking Australians to start describing themselves as Aboriginal when they're invested two generations in selling themselves as a 'migrant' nation is too far off the mark. Plus it runs contrary to the morality arguments that seem ubiquitous to defining contemporary nations like Australia and New Zealand. With morality, norms and values playing an ever greater part in national self-definition, placing 'Aboriginality' at centre stage when the 'stain' of genocide still haunts the public psyche is once again profoundly misreading her audience.

How this niche nationalism plays out in the future should be highly interesting, if not only because its all too often just the old 'right' trying to wedge the liberal 'left' by making them seem weak in the face of the new conflicts that globalisation is bringing us. And by conflicts I mean bigger things that grumpy fundies, how much American TV do you watch for example? Or how much American music do you buy? Do you buy from the local chippie, or do you go to maccas?

Last week the anniversary of Elvis' death on Monday passed without much comment. Funny that, because up to now some radio stations and fans seem inclined to make a big deal out of it. I guess we're all getting older and such anniversaries just embarrass us. Hell, if he'd lived he'd have been 69 and that doesn't bear thinking about.

But Elvis' tragic life looms large over popular culture, so recently when we were in the States we went out of our way -- and believe me, it is well out of anyone's way -- to go to Tupelo to see just one thing: the two-room shack where a King was born.

Once it was some way out of town but now of course Tupelo has sprawled around it and the battered old house has had a few licks of paint. Quite a few actually. You get the impression someone comes every day to scrub and paint the whole damn thing again. It is spotless, as is the chapel nearby where presumably you can pray for your, or Elvis', lost soul. We took photos inside and out of his former home and sat on the porch. I had a shot taken of me looking like I was shaking hands with the statue of the 12 year old, guitar-carrying Elvis, and we bought fridge-magnets and other such Elvis junk at the gift shop.

Elvis may have left the building, his childhood home and indeed the planet, but Presley capitalism was alive and ... Well, it was just taking in money hand over fist. It was an odd and brief experience so we went to other sights around Tupelo, notably an automobile museum then their famous buffalo park. Neither cars nor animal parks are particularly my thing, but the former was terrific and the latter ... Hmmm.

My wife loves animals (they are cute, apparently, especially those which grow up to be man-eaters) and she was distraught at the parlous state of the Tupelo Buffalo Park. The lumbering beasts themselves seemed in good nick and had plenty of land to roam around on, but the brown bear, some middle-sized members of the cat family and other such handsome creatures were penned in small, concrete-floor cages and looked in pretty bad shape.

She took video footage with the intention of reporting the owners to the authorities, but was much placated later when a very nice guide -- who had lived in Australia so understood us -- explained they had bought these animals only recently to rescue them and the park was in the process of building bigger and better cages. We saw little evidence of that but he seemed genuine enough so we thought that was okay. If you are in the area I'd love to know if those cages have been built and whether that giraffe still has weeping sores on its legs.

Zoos and animal parks don't have to be this way, of course.

The elephant park at the Singapore Zoo for example really is something to see. An overhead walkway lets the curious get above the spacious and densely forested area where elephants roam and take their ease. There is a lake for them to gambol around and soak themselves, and this is where they are brought to entertain and educate the curious. Kids can feed them and pat these gentle giants on their stout trunks.

The Singapore Zoo is an unexpected highlight of any visit to this crowded island at the bottom of Malaysia. If nothing else it is a refuge of quiet away from the bustle of Orchard Road shops and malls, but it is also much more than that. It is perhaps the way all zoos should be, for humans and other animals alike.

It is located alongside a large reservoir so is a cool and even place for weary humans to walk around. There are regular air-conditioned rooms along the path where small shuttle trams also run for the truly lazy or infirmed. Animals are in large enclosures just beyond deep moats so there are few places where there is a sense of them being caged. To stand within metres of a white rhino or frisky zebras running around their enclosure is quite special. Some animals -- small monkeys, lemurs, langus and the like -- are free to roam throughout the airy park and swing in the branches overhead.

Singapore's zoo -- some 2000 animals of 420 species, of which 70 per cent are endangered -- is spread over 100 hectares in the north of the island. And is something to see as the 1.4 million people who go through its gates annually would attest.

The nearby Night Safari park is even more exciting: around 1500 animals are housed in areas which are similar to their natural environments. If being close to white rhinos by day is thrilling then to hear a big cat growl from somewhere nearby and invisible in the night can be chilling. Yes, Singapore Zoo and the Night Safari are terrific for humans, but for the animals? Zoos are anathema to many people but if we must have them then Singapore's is one of the best. The animals have ample open space, are well fed and cared for, and seem psychologically sound. You don't see too many pacing up by the bars. In fact there are few bars and the wild animals are separated from the paying animals by wet or dry moats, or thick glass.

Like Taronga Park in Sydney and increasingly Auckland's zoo, Singapore's is a model of thoughtful and innovative design which accommodates the instincts and habits of the animals it houses by replicating their natural environments. Of course there are those who argue we shouldn't have zoos at all, they diminish us as much as entrap animals which would be happier in the wild. Well maybe -- and maybe not.

The much acclaimed, prize-grabbing novel Life of Pi by Canadian writer Yann Martel makes an amusing and politically incorrect defence of them. "I have heard as much nonsense about zoos as I have about God and religion," says Martel's improbably-named narrator Piscine Molitor Patel, whose father ran a zoo in Pondicherry.

Patel then goes on to demolish the argument of those well-meaning but misinformed people who think animals in the wild are happy and free. These are people, he says, who in their romantic imagination see a handsome lion or cheetah (never an aardvark) roaming the savanna and walking off their meal of a prey which went nobly to its death.

"They imagine this animal overseeing its offspring proudly and tenderly, the whole family watching the setting of the sun from the limbs of trees with sighs of pleasure. The life of the wild animal is simple, noble and meaningful, they imagine."

Not so. Animals live in a state of constant nervous tension in a world where fear is high and food supplies low, where they must constantly define their territory and defend their lives which are threatened by lowly parasites and larger predators. Surprises are disagreeable to them, they stick to their territories and well-travelled paths because to change them would be to expose themselves to unknown dangers. They are far from free in the wild, in fact they are mostly terrified and live within a very defined area. They don't just wander off somewhere when it suits them.

How much happier they must be then in a world where their relentless search for food is over, where they have a defined and predictable place free of surprises and threats, where all their needs are met. Of course an enclosure in a zoo is smaller than the great plains, but just as a house for a human is a compressed space where all our basic needs are met, so it is with an animal. A good zoo has all the places an animal needs for its comfort and is not subjected to the constant threats of the wild.

"A good zoo is a place of carefully worked-out coincidence: exactly where the animal says to us, 'Stay out!' with its urine and other secretions, we say to it, 'Stay in!' with our barriers. Under such conditions of diplomatic peace, all animals are content and we can relax and have a look at each other."

The narrator then recounts those incidents where animals find their enclosures breached or doors open and so wander out, only to beat a hasty retreat back into the world of the familiar. Much like we all do. "Think about it yourself. Would you rather be put up in the Ritz with free room service and unlimited access to a doctor, or be homeless without a soul to care for you?"

It's a compelling dichotomy of choice, but hardly a conundrum. We, as the animals might if they are capable of such discernment, would all go for the turn-down service, chocolate on the pillow and the remote control unit. It's a fine theory Martel puts forward but it is based on a few slightly shaky premises which will be obvious to the thoughtful reader. It also doesn't take into account the corollary of a good zoo which, mercifully, we seeing fewer and fewer of: a bad one.

We remember how it used to be thought that chimps' tea parties were cute, but even the most doe-eyed romantic among us shudders at the memory of Auckland Zoo's magnificent polar bear striding restlessly back and forth across its white concrete "ice" field looking increasingly helpless and pathetic as the years went by. The thing seemed to be going quietly crazy.

To know they lived longer in captivity than in the wild was hardly reassuring.

A friend of mine insisted he once saw the most interesting and compelling zoo in the world, it was in south China. It had clearly started with the best of intentions but the place had long since fallen in disrepair.

Animals had died off, but rather than have them recycled them as food for others, or disposed of, the zoo had called in the taxidermist and had the damn things stuffed. The place was hilariously ghoulish apparently, lots of slightly fly-blown animals standing motionless in enclosures, their only movement being when a limb rotted off and fell to the dirt.

But in a way it was also an excellent zoo: the nocturnal animals were visible by day; those used to cooler climes didn't crawl off under a ledge when it got hot so you couldn't see them; you could "feed the animals", and kids could stick their hands through the cages without fear of losing a limb. The animals would never be tormented by loud noises, fed inappropriate things by stupid patrons, or command the attention of hard-pressed and over-busy veterinarians. Best of all, you could watch them for hours knowing they weren't going to get bored with you and amble off. When you think about it, in a strange way it was the perfect zoo.

There's something to be said for Melbourne when the springtime finally sneaks up on us. One minute it's gale-force winds, and the next Jasmine and the blossom trees are flowering, its crystal-blue skies, everyone's cheery and it's 22 degrees.

I'm sincerely looking forward to my next sunburn.

It seems that every winter I think that living back home wouldn't be so bad, especially when the sky turns concrete and the overnight temperatures plummet. But then that solitary, teasing spring day sneaks out in August and you just know it and a few mates are going to start turning up in packs of four, five and more as Summer accelerates and overtakes us in fits of 40+ days by February.

Mind you, this contrast is even brighter because no more than a week ago I was rugged up like an Eskimo when leaving yet another, you guessed it, seminar. This time the subject was freedom struggles in two countries, East Timor and West Saharan Africa (which is currently governed by Morocco). And fortunately, what was an otherwise only mildly interesting series of talks was rescued by another great speaker.

This isn't to say that the circumstances of either country should be taken mildly! Timor is getting screwed by the Australians over the oil in the Timor Sea, and West Saharan Africa is getting 'the treatment' from Morocco on account of its recently discovered oil/mineral resources. But these days the rapidly aging brain can only absorb a certain amount of new information without reaching the boredom threshold. Maybe we'll have to leave that particular struggle to the next generation.

I like going to the IPCS because they have a good range of interesting speakers from all kinds of fields year in and year out, and is the sort of place to hear people you wouldn't hear in New Zealand. This particular seminar was rescued by a bloke called Kwame Mfodwa (don't ask me to pronounce that), who refused to strictly adhere to the topic and instead began to wax lyrical about what he understood and the most pressing issues facing both these and other contemporary nations. Now this is really fascinating.

Mfodwa made two points, the first being that what we traditionally understand as 'the left' need to get smarter in its approach to solving the problems the West is presented with, such as whether to support freedom movements. He didn't mention this, but his talk reminded me of a usual problem in international relations. What seems to be common to a lot of people is a certain type of confusion about the difference between 'terrorist' and 'freedom fighter'. This result is that old problem of relativity slips into the equation and over complicates our all-too-often TV or documentary-informed version of reality.

And East Timor is a very real case study of this type of conundrum. When the Timorese were fighting in the mountains to free East Timor from the Indonesians, it could have been easy to sell them as 'freedom fighters'. In fact, the very language I just used was intended to skew you towards that point of view. If I had said, Timorese rebels hiding in the jungles with few supporters, and resisting responsible Indonesian government, you might have thought otherwise.

What made me chuckle then was that in a room full of serious and slightly mystified academics and 'concerned citizens' was Mfodwa taking the piss out the very cause-driven people attending his seminar! I'm guessing that he is Rwandan because he exhibited a real frustration with people quote - 'seeing a bunch of darkies' - unquote walking along a road and automatically throwing money at them in aid. His assertion that in at least one case he knows of the people in the TV footage he saw were most likely not actually be refugees, but instead Hutus fleeing their massacre of Tutsi. But, TV spots disturbed concerned persons of all political persuasions, and got these Hutu millions in aid. This perhaps fictional example made his assertion about the Left needing to get a little smarter seem all the more real.

Following this controversial point was the real kicker though. As part of this need to make our thought more sophisticated was a request for the audience to really start thinking about what he called the 'politics of hate'. And the more I think about it, the less I can see any way out of the particular impasse he asked us to consider.

Using of the example of, as he put it, 'our friend Mr Bin Laden', Mfodwa indicted that some problems simply cannot be solved by either side of the political spectrum. This is of course remarkably like something a rabid conservative would argue, i.e. that we can't placate, appease or compromise with 'extremists', but Mfodwa's argument was subtly different because of his emphasis on not an equally extreme reaction to hate, but more that we need some kind of new thinking to deal with this type of intractability.

The very real question this situation gives rise to is that in the hell do we do with people who just hate? And I don't mean hate like "I hate my life", or "I hate these jeans I need new ones", but that deep and unfathomable hate of the truly angry.

Most likely the solution will have to do with undermining the fundamentalist mind-set that bolsters these type of characters, and the movements they spawn, because direct confrontation will simply escalate the very violence and hate we're trying to overcome. It is remotely possible that the solution involves letting the haters implode, as Hansonism did here in Australia, but someone like Bin Laden is substantially smarter than her and her corrupt followers.

To be honest, I'm thinking seriously about putting this type of problem in the 'long-term solution' box, which is of course one level up from the 'too hard'.

A large part of my despair about this problem is that the Right seems to think that really nailing these people will solve the problem. But surely this makes the Right just as dangerous as the extremists they're trying to eliminate, I mean, look at the body-count in Iraq, or Chechnya.

And for the life of me I can't find any good alternative from any Left-leaning thinkers, except for demands for the Right to wait and think about who they're going to bring force against. Demands that become increasingly shrill as the Right gets a head of steam up.

In the meantime though, I'm planning to start indoctrinating people in something other than the types of hateful bile we're seeing in the streets these days. Its ironic that Russell ran his most recent column because he effectively nicked my next gag, but hey, if you couldn't see that one coming you'd have to wonder. So I'll run with it anyway.

My main problem to get some good indoctrination going is of course money, but I think I have a solution. So any concerned people out there can, and should send me cash to help in the establishment of AFF, the AntiFundy Fund. We're planning a big rally, and your cash is guaranteed to only be spent making people relaxed, comfortable and happy.

Especially me. So I'll keep you posted.

So I thought I'd ask Georgina Beyer to run for mayor of Auckland. She'd be the perfect candidate, I thought. In this day of Schwarzenegger, Kennedy and Clintonite dynasties, fame automatically puts you high up the political ladder. Look at former Midnight Oiler Peter Garrett, defected to the Australian Labor Party with a plum, safe, inner-city Sydney seat. Yep, I thought, Georgina would definitely give Banksie a run for his money.

Georgina would also be following in the honourable footsteps of other great madams, such as Carmen's run in Wellington in 1977, and Sally Stanford in San Francisco in 1976 (1). Of course, Georgina herself made history back in the 90s when she won a Council seat and then the Mayoralty in the small town of Carterton (which eventuated in her Parliamentary win in 1999), all world firsts for a transsexual woman.

Though Carmen didn't win her run in 1977, her policy platform was remarkably prescient:

Hotel bars open to midnight or even 2.00 a.m.

The drinking age lowered to eighteen

Prostitution made legal

Nudity on some beaches

Abortion decriminalised

Homosexual acts decriminalised

Sex education in schools for fourteen-year-olds

Carmen was ahead of her time! Today in 2004, quite remarkably and with no fanfare, all of the above are now true. One's head spins imagining the great things Georgina could achieve. Unfortunately, she respectfully declined my request:

"Dear Leo

Thank you for your kind email... There has been some speculation that I intend to seek election at the upcoming local government elections, but I can assure that this is not the case. I have been involved in politics, both at the local body and the national level, for nearly 12 years and feel that the time has come for me to take some time for myself. ...I am not ruling out a possible return to local body government in the future, but will not be looking at that for at least the coming term. Once again, thank you for your interest.

Georgina Beyer MP"

I was disappointed - but not at all surprised - by Georgina's response. I'd even made a little website for her campaign, and had asked the Topp Twins for their support (they seemed keen). Apparently the above was a form letter; Georgina had also been asked to run for Mayor of Wellington, and also for her local constituency of Carterton.

So where does that leave Auckland? Whither the Land of the Jafas?

With a population growth of close to 1 million more people in the next 25 years, the future seems yet to be written for our country's largest polis. Will it continue to sprawl outwards, mirroring the ethnic spectrum of suburban auto-dependent Los Angeles? Will downtown Auckland ever really succeed as a metropolitan centre, or be "theme parked" into "America's Cup" land (Viaduct Basin) and "Asian Student Land" (Queen Street) whilst big box Foodtowns and Warehouses invade inwards? Will the Eastern Motorway sprawl on outwards, eventually creating another North Shore City out at Beachlands and Maraetai and Coromandel?

In Auckland Tamaki Makaurau today, in our largest and most defining of metropolises, where is that ever elusive "Vision Thang"?

On the "Georgina for Mayor" website, I did develop a number of ideas, which I'd like to share. Here, in no particular order, are twenty one or so ideas for creating a Vision Thang for Auckland Tamaki Makaurau, a vision beyond theme parks and sprawl and cultural blandness:

1. Host an annual Hero Parade, supported in a four-way partnership between the Council, Central Government, private sector sponsors, and community groups. Hold it, perhaps, as part of a wider Auckland Festival? (2) Invest in it to attract back all our queer creatives who are defecting to Oz in droves.

2. Appoint City Cultural Ambassadors in movies, music, art and the stage and for Pacific and Maori cultures. Give them a stipend to travel the world and spread the word on how innovative and fabulous Auckland and New Zealand are. Brazil has them, why don't we? (3) Any ideas on nominees?

3. Reafforest One Tree Hill in bush so that kiekie can grow on Maungakiekie. End the debate on what tree should go on top of this landmark volcano, and plant lots of trees (of course, avoiding all the landmark archaeological sites). Build an ecological centre there to study the kiekie (a parasite plant).

4. Build Inner City Light Rail in a "figure 8" loop to Ponsonby, Mt. Eden, Newmarket and Parnell. Charge a flat fee of $2 to get on to the "loop", with an "open pass" for the day of purchase. Build sheltered stops along the line, and reduce Ponsonby Road to one lane to squeeze in the trains (which should leave just enough space for bike lanes).

5. Build a ponga-lined Aotearoa Boulevard in the eastern suburbs from Glen Innes to Mt. Wellington (but don't build the Eastern Motorway). There's an existing alignment there already, so why not build something attractive and appealing? You might not mind getting stuck in traffic if there's all those pretty native trees to look at, right?

6. Open the Sir Peter Blake International Airport at Whenuapai. It works for JFK in New York, and Ronald Reagan International in Washington DC, so why not Auckland? Sir Barry couldn't argue with that, could he?

7. Electrify commuter rail and build links to Onehunga and the two international airports. This would require creating a through line for rail traffic at Britomart, connecting to the Sky City, Civic Centre, and K Rd underground stations. The line would link back up at Mt. Eden.

8. Send a delegation to Sweden to ask them to open an Ikea in Auckland Tamaki Makaurau. I stole this idea from a post to Public Address (4), and its a good one. They have them in Oz, why not here? Of course, its probably coming soon to Botany Downs; but why not have one slap dab in the middle of the city for all those chic apartment dwellers?

9. Change the name of the city to Auckland Tamaki Makaurau (ATM for short). Our civic employees would then have the honour of working for "Auckland Tamaki Makaurau City Council", which I guess is a bit of a mouthful. But we'd soon start calling it ATM for short, a cheeky and affectionate moniker for our gorgeous "city on the make". Someone could start an urban street rag with the name (for all those new dashing young commuters).

10. Build an underground railway line from Britomart to Mt. Eden (Maungawhau). See point (6), above. The Sky City station would be somewhere down at "Parking Level 6", with a travelator at street level across to Queen Street. Civic Station would exit at Aotea Centre. K Rd Station would have an escalator gallery up to street level showing all the latest Queen City fashion (drag or otherwise).

11. Introduce night buses and Sunday trains (yep, also stolen from Public Address). Apparently there are rumours the Sunday trains are already running. Night buses would be a fascinating idea in a city that's about to introduce 24-hour drinking establishments.

12. Build a (sheltered) bikeway and walkway over the harbour bridge. San Francisco has it on the Golden Gate, Sydney on its famous coathanger. New Yorkers couldn't live without their walkway across the iconic Brooklyn Bridge. Why have we waited so long? Then maybe we'd also put in a little suspension foot/bike bridge across to the Bayswater marina, for aerial views of those protected birdlife and easy access to the golden North Shore sands.

13. Finish the ring road to West Auckland and Albany (Ok, also stolen from Public Address). Mark Broatch says European cities have ring roads, so why don't we? But build it properly. None of those half-pied "Pakuranga Expressway" disasters. Take the billions we're gonna waste on the Eastern Highway, and squander it on a decent motorway from Pakuranga (with a multi-directional interchange at the Southern Motorway), across to the southeastern to a decent new interchange at Pt. Chev. Then, zoom zoom zoom you're on your way to the Sir Peter Blake or your road trip up north.(Why did we get rid of those titles, anyway?)

14. Embargo all development encroachments on major parks (over 50 ha.). I stole this from Brian Rudman (see below). It might also be a good idea to institute some planning to expand city parks, and build cycleways and walkways connecting them together (see 17).

15. Appoint Brian Rudman as a Planning Commissioner. I don't know why anyone didn't think of this sooner? Yes, ATM City Council would have a truly "independent" expert on planning matters, and we'd finally see some sensible planning decisions being made in our biggest burg. Then maybe we won't mind all those planning decisions being made without any public input.

16. Develop a Sustainable City Plan. Waitakere has one. Its called the "Eco-City" brand. Apparently Mayor Fletcher was going to put one in place until she was so insensibly ousted. Supposed "lack of leadership" and hormones had something to do with it, apparently. Oh, and given Banksies recent keenness for V8s, testosterone as well methinks.

17. Create walkways and cycleways across the city. Somehow the Greenies settled for bikeways and cycleways adjacent to the Eastern Highway, which have now been given the boot. Thank God. Like, who wants to do a nice leisurely cycle adjacent to a Motorway? Um, the throngs adjacent to the Western Motorway every weekend? Not blimen likely. No, we need an innovative plan for cycleways and walkways, like sensitively designed ped/cycle only bridges across Auckland's myriad waterways (see 11). Connected, over time, like a lovely spiderweb upon Mangrovia...

18. Build a rail line along the Western Bypass. Long-term plans, but build in capacity now for the rail line to eventually go in place. Then there'd eventually be a fantastic figure "8" Isthmus Loop to go with the inner city one. People like simple concepts, as long as they're down well!

19. Summer siesta. Start a corporate club whereby employees can work 10.00 a.m. to 7.00 p.m. in Summer. They get to work, and miss all the traffic. They go out for cheap set lunches, and lounge around in outside al fresco settings for an hour or two, before wandering back to work for a 1/2 hour siesta. After a dip in the Waitemata. Or pop home, on clog-free freeways, for a family focused, school holidays lunch. (yep, idea ala Mark Broatch)

20. Traffic Lights. Strategically get rid of all those roundabouts that only promote fast moving traffic and pedestrian / cyclist headaches. Our British planners seem to have a love affair with roundabouts (they were recently planning a four storey one below Parnell, ick!) but this affair must end. I, for one, simply loathe the Greenlane interchange. Give pedestrians decent greenlight crossing time cycles. End roadway colonisation! Enter phased flow onto motorways!

21. Put in more civic art. Maori art. Tohu along the highway from the airport (with the western bypass, you'll be able to get to both of them without exiting at all!). Waterfront art in the harbour resembling the reed structures our tangata whenua ancestors used to live on at Lake Papaitonga at Levin. And maybe even an 80 storey high "Whare Rangi" apartment development piercing the sky in tones of red, white and black. Heaven knows, they're already building one at this height on the Gold Coast.

21b. I couldn't resist. One extra just for fun. An international architectural design competition. Select a plum public land site (um, just below the harbour bridge, maybe?). Think of some fabulous public institution to put there (Um, an Opera House? A museum?). Then set up a competition for international architects to work with a panel of Maori, PI and Pakeha architects and designers to come up with something fabulous. Something groundshaking. Calatravas. Johnson. Rogers. etal. Like they did in Milwaukee (5). Like they did in Bilbao. Both cities which, by the way, are smaller than Auckland...

21c. Oh, and build a lifestyle motorway to Taupo for ski weekends. Oops. I forgot. They're already doing that. Its called the Waikato Expressway...

Drive around any suburban street in Auckland, and if it weren't for the iconic Sky Tower (6), you might as well be in any other western style sprawling burg. Isn't it time there was some vision and direction for Auckland Tamaki Makaurau, some vision of a World City scale? Jafaland repeatedly gets listed at the top of the lists of quality of life surveys; isn't it time we started putting some plans in place that reflected and protected these unique values?

Instead, we're doing transport planning based on a 1955 motorway plan. Has anyone even read this plan? I have. Did you know it included a four-lane double deck motorway on the CBD waterfront, right in front of the Ferry Building, straight across the Viaduct Basin? It was a sad day when Mayor Robbie's underground railway plan was trounced, but its still not too late for Auckland, I think. His statue stands in Aotea Square, waiting.

Perhaps one day Georgina will change her mind. Perhaps one day, someone might think about actually implementing some of the ideas I've listed above.

We need to look at the model of successful European cities and the capitals of near-neighbour Australia, and build a new vision drawing on the best of these; yet based around our unique sense of place and cultural heritage. Our Maori-ness should be at the forefront: not just another "ethnic minority" to "perhaps" consider for inclusion. Auck Land: the demographic capital of Maoriland. (7) Its our point of difference.

Auckland Tamaki Makaurau is the largest city of our great burgeoning nation. A melting pot for a new millenium: spirited Maoritanga, chuckling Kiwiana, hedonist Polyfornia, and a heady dash of Middle Earth celtic rurality and Oscar success. Auckland needs vision to take its place as the preeminent city of Aotearoa New Zealand. At current trends, its CBD will turn into a theme park surrounded with car clogged ethnically fractured suburbia. It truly time for visionary thinking, and for a new generation to assume the mantle of civic leadership.

Otherwise, we're all simply Lost in the Land of the Jafas.

NOTES & LINKS:

(1) Sally Stanford, onetime San Francisco madam, gave up the world's oldest profession in 1948. In 1972, she was elected to the Sausalito City Council and in 1976 she was elected mayor. http://www.well.com/~wh/70s.html

(2) http://www.aucklandfestival.co.nz/

(3) http://www.listener.co.nz/default,1654.sm

(4) http://www.publicaddress.net/default,755.sm#post755

(5) http://www.architektur-online.at/archiv/Heft0202/thema3.html

(6) Even our Sky Tower is cookie cutter. There's a replica in Macau. And it's bigger.

(7) Maori Flag: http://www.nzherald.co.nz/storydisplay.cfm?thesection=news&thesubsection=&st oryID=3582829

LOST IN THE LAND OF THE JAFAS originally appeared on Naked in Nuhaka at http://www.ahikaa.com/naked/jafas.htm

ABOUT NAKED IN NUHAKA Leo Koziol ([email protected]) writes essays on ecology, identity, culture, place and planning in Aotearoa NZ in the 21st Century. Nuhaka is located on the East Coast of the North Island of NZ. Mr. Koziol often makes visits to ATM (some of his friends actually haven't left for Melbourne or London). Recently, in a certain inner-city Ponsonby cafe, he was discussing some of the ideas listed above when a cafe connoisseur seated nearby exclaimed "I couldn't help but overhear what you were saying..." Intense conversation ensued, to which she exclaimed "You should run for Mayor!" Mr. Koziol replied, "I'm sorry; like Georgina Beyer, I'm far too busy with my own community." (www.manawairoa.com)

ALL CONTENT (C) LEO KOZIOL & RAUTAKI GROUP CONSULTANTS 2004

These are thoroughly confusing times. For years we were led to believe by women's magazines that Suzanne Paul was, like, really-really rich. But now we learn she's having to the flog the silverware to find a paltry $1.2 million. Very confusing. And the woman who would shop herself about in any forum suddenly couldn't front up to her creditors?

She certainly failed that celebrity challenge and should be off the island forever.

And what about these athletes, those some hold up as role models?

Our best hope in the women's triathlon in Athens, Sam Warriner apparently, was profiled in this week's Listener. For the past few years she's been regularly off training and competing overseas. Inevitably her relationship with her fiance Nick suffered and ended. From Tim Watkin's article we get this:

"I was devastated," Warriner confesses later, "but it was my own fault, as I got so focused on my triathlons I didn't give him the time he deserved. And I was the one who went flying off around the world to race while he stayed at home to pay off the bills."

The endless training and the money struggles have been worth the hardship, she says. But not this. "In terms of my relationship with Nick, I'm upset about that. That wasn't worth it."

In a later email, however, the stubborn streak shines through. "It's one of the sacrifices you make," she writes. "It just made me more determined to achieve my goals."

Stubborn? Not the word I would have used. Selfish, maybe. She seems emotionally stunted, someone for whom love, loyalty and a relationship come second to her "goals". Role model? Nope, she's off the island too.

Confusing times indeed. And for me, because I too am off the island. After 17 years at the New Zealand Herald (formerly known as the Royal New Zealand Herald or Granny, now better known as the Herald on Weekdays as opposed to the Herald on Sunday) I have resigned.

No really, I have. I told people and e-mailed them about it. It was announced at assembly. Some cheered. I've resigned.

Maybe.

Reading the papers this week makes me think I might not have, that maybe there's still the possibility of a constructive dismissal and I can leave being carried out on a divan chair borne by naked and lightly oiled Amazonian women. And with what they call in all the best Westerns, "a tidy sum".

I have been taking advice from my lawyer about this and he says I've got a pretty good case. Well, actually Dave isn't a lawyer as such, more a guy who's been around the law. He's a plumber I met at District Court one afternoon, something to do with a car radio found in his possession at 2am outside a farmer's house near Drury.

But when it comes to interpreting the law Dave's pretty spot on.

Over a beer the other night he was explaining it to me. Apparently, "there's resigning, and there's resigning." What I had done might be in the latter, wink-wink camp. He called it the Annan Clause. It is named for a type of coffee.

"Now take your average politician, done and stitched up for let's say drunk driving," says Dave. "Now they'll resign, but they don't go the whole crapshoot. They'll resign their portfolio -- which, from what I can gather, is a pile of papers they are filmed carrying down corridors in parliament.

But they don't actually resign as such. So they've still got a job, and a highly paid one at that, but they have resigned from sort of doing anything until they are given something else to not do. That's one kind of resigning, going away without going anywhere.

"Like being voted off the island but not actually leaving?"

"You got it. There's also a variation on that, it's when you are so bloody useless at a job -- say being a director at Air New Zealand -- they suggest you resign, which you do quietly and they find you another job. Say being a director with Fonterra. They pay you a swag to get rid of you and when you move on you're still on the same dough. Usually you get a secretary and Lexus too. Most of those buggers are directors of half a dozen companies and spend their days with lawyers in negotiation about severance agreements from one company and sign-on agreements with another. I met a bloke once who never worked a day after he turned 30, but he'd been on the boards of 17 companies."

"So that's like voting yourself off the island on the condition you can go to another one straight away?"

Well I suppose so."

"Would you get to take a celebrity of your choice with you?"

"Well, maybe. But Graham, let's not worry about that now. Then there's that other kind of resigning which is the one you hear about mostly. You go to your boss and say you've had enough and wanna bail. Now, think carefully. Which one of those applies to you?"

"Umm, I just said I wanted to bail."

"Okay. But you see, that's wrong. So we need to invoke the Annan Clause and look at it in a different light. Let's see if we can fit you in another category -- or even better, go for that destructive dismissal."

"Isn't it ...?"

"Nope, destructive is the best one. Think about it. By accepting your resignation they've destroyed any subsequent career you might have had. They've made it look like you were an unsatisfactory worker so who, from now on, would want to employ someone perceived as an unsatisfactory worker?"

"Well, that woman with earrings from Work and Income was dumped because she was pretty useless and she managed to get a gig on television with Charlotte Dawson. I mean, that'd be kinda nice, get my photo hanging off her arm a couple of times then I could be on an island in Fiji with that inflatable blonde and Lana."

"Mate, think what you're saying. There was that Aussie boot there as well, remember?"

"Jesus, I hadn't remembered that. And Suzanne Paul too! She'd probably want to borrow some money. You're right. So maybe my best bet is ...?"

And so Dave and I mulled over my plight. I had resigned, put something in writing to that effect and even told people. Was even seen quite happy about it in the pub one night and had been taken to long lunches by people with interesting job offers. Yep, something didn't feel right with this, we had to turn it around somehow.

Suddenly Dave shot upright, then staggered a little, and sat back down. "Kids, that's your answer!" he bellowed. "We'll rally the kids."

"To do what?"

"Look mate, it doesn't matter. Kids will do anything to get out on the street for a bit a hoot around town. Look at that church group of blackshirts they got marching the other day. That was mostly kids who wouldn't have a bloody clue what they were marching for. 'Enough is Enough'? What the hell was that? If you'd told those kids to put on a black t-shirt with "Exactly the Right Amount' they would have done it and still marched.

"And it's happening at that school down the line too. The kids down there have been listening to politicians and their parents for years and so Bob's you're uncle, they come up with that old bogey, they are 'blaming the media'. It's perfect. You're in the media ..."

"Was."

"No, be positive. You are still technically in the media, just remember that. So we get a bunch of 'blame the media' kids together, give them some matching t-shirts and we'll march into town and blame your bosses or someone high up in your company. It's perfect. Everyone blames the media for everything anyway and if we just put a slight spin on it, like you were ..."

"Only thinking aloud about leaving?"

"No, something a little more specific. Were you under pressure at work?"

"Well of course, that's what the job is about. You go there and work and meet deadlines, everyone does. That was the fun part."

"Okay, but were you in any way emotional? Like it was a bad time of the month or something?"

"Dave, think about it."

"Right, fair enough. Just thought we could use the Holmes Syndrome as they call it now."

We sat in silence for a long time, then there was a pause followed by an even longer silence. I thought Dave was pondering something deeply but then I heard him snoring.

I quietly finished my beer and thought about what he had said. I suppose I could rally a few friends and get their kids out of school for an afternoon march. But my best bet seemed to be I just keep turning up to work until they ask me to leave, then get my lawyers onto them. Then I could go to Holmes and tell my terrible story. He remembers the days when contracts at TVNZ were up and weren't renewed. Those "celebrities" went around the women's mags saying they'd been fired. Damn, it worked for that Angela D'Audney. She just refused to go, right? And Ali and Simon kicked up some stink about being tossed out of work and they are still on the tele.

But no, it was hopeless. I'd resigned, and I would have to be resigned to that. Off the island. Forever. It was one of the sacrifices you make, it has just made me more determined to achieve my other goals. Whatever they might be.

I got up and left Dave to the sleep the just.

I was outside the door of the pub, my collar pulled up against the Auckland rain when I glanced back through the window. I caught a watery image on the megascreen above the bar. I squinted through the rivulets of rain and there he was, a Christ-like figure of redemption, someone I could look to for inspiration. A real role model at last.

I knew now I could offer the classic excuse for having committed myself in print and verbally -- and maybe even get rich writing about it. I was back on the island! I hurried across to my old office. It was late but some of the sports guys would still be there. One was bound to have Murray Deaker's number.