Speaker by Various Artists

We tend, in New Zealand, to imagine that architecture happens elsewhere. And with our rather smug anti-elitism we congratulate ourselves for this. For it is a sign of our sensibleness, our moderation, our lack of pretension. A shadow cast, perhaps, by the belief that ours is an egalitarian society.

And as a new world nation with lingering ideals of pioneering self-reliance we fancy the idea of building qua building. That is to say building as built, not thought. Built by proper men, the mythical ‘good bloke’, a type who now really only exists in beer advertisements, who can do anything, but of course would do nothing smartarse, which is to say: nothing smart.

Every year a national builders’ association run a competition called ‘House of the Year’ which claims to identify such an achievement. In the resultant magazine and TV shows the winning buildings are presented to us as having owners and builders, but no designers. This leads to a rather confused outcome: can any old thing if exquisitely crafted qualify as the best new building of the land? Is design really irrelevant or even neutral? Everything the Nazis built was finely made- well you can do that with slave labour- but all of it was heavily freighted with that repellent, delusional, and murdering ideology, and therefore truly ghastly.

Every culture betrays itself by what it builds. And yes the degree of care or craftsmanship in construction is one of the telling signs of what is being said, but not the dominant one. By shunning the idea of design, by imagining it away as a flashy unaffordable luxury, a thing for other less practical and more wasteful places, what we get is a sort of design of default.

The spectacular banality of Auckland’s new apartments and commercial buildings and limitless deracinated outer suburbs are formed thus. For the default organising principles are opportunism and bare-minimalism. These are places shaped by those whose only responsibility or ambition is to think in math. This is a world made by tax accountants and quantity surveyors; by crappy regulation and shonky developers; and perhaps most miserably of all by traffic engineers, those happy car counters and place flatteners, whose heyday, even in the kingdom of the car, the United States, has passed, but who still hold sway in this last outpost of twentieth century thinking.

In a neat and neurotic corollary to our self-avowed anti-sophistication, we nonetheless keenly feel the lack of an ‘iconic’ structure to call our own. A term so meaningless and misused that as it trips off the tongues of politicians and hucksters it guarantees all real issues are hopelessly lost to debate. This is the desire for a touristic architecture: The Bilbao Guggenheim, The Eiffel Tower. This perceived lack doesn’t sit well with the idea of the little country punching above its weight, and shows that we really do want to be noticed.

A leading candidate for the new position of ‘super mayor’ for Auckland, and one who has no track record of promoting design excellence, advertises his campaign with images of the Sydney Opera House. Really? What is he promising? Well he is making one thing clear: that he has no idea whatsoever how rare achievements such as this come about. Is this populist really proposing to preside over a project that ran seven times over budget, took sixteen years to build, under constant attack from the miserablists who can always be found to oppose any such idea? Let alone that the extraordinary design was famously plucked from the already rejected entries by the even more extraordinary, foreign, design professional competition judge.

This is the same mayor who allowed himself to be one of three politician judges of a design competition for a much more modest [but nonetheless to be ‘iconic’] project to rehabilitate a wharf. This jury of self appointed experts, having set a confused brief, tiny budget, and unrealistic programme, then wisely announced all the entries too unspectacular and chose to do nothing. Whether or not this is the right call in the long run it is clear that there is no way that this process by these people could lead to the discovery, let alone the construction, of this century’s Sydney Opera House.

PATRICK REYNOLDS, 2010

The hundreds of alcohol-related arrests this New Year – despite liquor bans and the deployment of additional police – are a reminder of how big a role alcohol plays in incidents of social disorder, violence, injury and premature death; not just over the festive season, but all year round.

The pragmatic way to reduce alcohol-related harms is through reducing consumption; this can be done by legally permitting adults the option of using a demonstratively safer drug – like cannabis – instead. Here’s what latest evidence has to say about the health effects of New Zealand’s two most popular recreational drugs.

One thousand deaths in New Zealand are directly attributable to alcohol each year; half from injury, a quarter from cancers (NZ Law Commission, 2009). Alcohol affects brain centers regulating respiratory and cardiac functions; excessive consumption potentially resulting in the loss of consciousness, loss of breathing and death (WHO).

Consume too much pot on the other hand and you’ll most likely fall asleep. Cannabis activates receptors located in the brain’s frontal lobe, not the brain stem, so unlike alcohol, it is incapable of producing a fatal overdose, regardless of amount consumed (WHO).

Alcohol’s toxicity means even moderate use is known to affect brain development (Stevenson, 2009), and can lead to organ damage and cancer (National Health & Medical Research Council). In 1997, alcohol-related conditions alone killed 142 New Zealanders. From 1990-96, seven deaths were associated with a cannabis-related condition (Ministry of Health), however to date no study has identified any way in which cannabis use alone hastens death. In 2006, the results of the largest case-controlled study ever to investigate the respiratory effects of pot smoking reported that it was not associated with lung-related cancers, even among heavy users (Washington Post).

Alcohol intoxication can lead to risk-taking, injury, violence, and accidental death. In NZ, over 20,000 people report incurring injuries due to their own drinking in the previous year (Alcohol & Drug Use Survey, 2000). Alcohol is involved in one fifth of drownings (MoH), and is responsible for over 500 serious and fatal road crashes annually (NZ Police).

Statistically, cannabis use has no correlation with increased likelihood of injury; in fact a recent study found cannabis use associated “with a substantially decreased risk of injury (University of Missouri, 2006). An earlier British Governmental study concluded that “Marijuana intoxication plays a relatively insignificant role in vehicular accidents” (Department of Environment, Transport & Regions, 2001); a finding supported by Canadian data showing that cannabis-smoking drivers compensate by being “more cautious” (Center for Addiction & Mental Health, 1999).

Alcohol factors significantly in violent crime statistics: one third of all offences and half of all serious violent offences in NZ are committed by offenders who have been drinking (NZ Police); alcohol is associated with 46 percent of incidents of sexual violence (National Survey of Crime Victims, 2001). By contrast, nothing in the NZ Drug Statistics indicates cannabis use a cause of violent crime. Any association between cannabis and violence is linked to the black market and is therefore a direct result of prohibition itself.

There are now more than 17,000 published studies and papers analyzing cannabis; it has been described by a US Drug Enforcement Administration Judge as “one of the safest therapeutically active substances known to man”. Of course, inhaling smoke isn’t harmless, but virtually every government study conducted concludes that cannabis poses significantly less burden to public health than most legal drugs. A Canadian study calculated the annual health-related cost for cannabis at only 20 dollars per user – one eighth the cost for alcohol and one fortieth that for tobacco (Thomas, 2009).

Surveys however find that non-users in particular overestimate the drug’s real harms. Misconceptions about the alleged risks of cannabis are the primary obstacle to ending its prohibition and correcting significant social problems caused by alcohol.

Legalising cannabis through a regulated market similar to alcohol won’t add another vice, but will instead lighten the general burden to health by providing a safer, legal alternative. An expected modest rise in overall rates of cannabis use will be offset many times over by the immediate and long-term health benefits of corresponding declines in adult tobacco and alcohol consumption and cannabis use by minors.

Rates of cannabis use by young people shrink in places where laws are loosened. In the Netherlands, where cannabis has been sold to adults in coffee shops for thirty years, the figure for teens under 16 having tried pot is seven percent, in New Zealand, it’s four times that (WHO). A 2005 survey found that U.S. states with medical marijuana laws all saw a decline in cannabis use among teenagers (Ukiah Daily Journal).

By changing the cannabis laws, we permit people to make more responsible choices before getting intoxicated. With cannabis legally available to adults, a first-year university student can eat too many pot cookies and wind up fast asleep on her friend’s couch, rather than comatose in a hospital bed from playing drinking games. Elsewhere, an abusive husband will realize that he can contain his temper by switching from beer to cannabis and there’ll be a reduction in the 22,000 incidents of family violence every year where alcohol is identified as a “significant factor” by the Ministry of Justice. Both infinitely better health outcomes from a far more realistic drug policy.

Stephen McIntyre
Spokesperson
National Organisation for the Reform of Marijuana Laws (NORML NZ)

I suppose you could say I'm a wanker. Up until a few weeks ago I lived in Ponsonby, and like many of its residents, I was obsessed with which shade of off-white to paint my villa, how best to spend money I didn't actually have, and which café offered the best brunch (Salta I think, the scrambled eggs are exceptional). But after years of this shallow existence, a job offer out of the blue changed everything.

Now, I'm a resident of Wanaka, eating brunch somewhere new, and pondering the many differences between north and south. For example, while Aucklanders are quick to say you're a wanker behind your back, chances are that Southerners will express this thought just within earshot. They're honest to the point of horrendously rude; and will come forward at almost lightning speed if they think you're talking crap.

Mind you, this southern brand of honesty is delivered with an extremely dry sense of humour, something which I like very much. It's also nice to be judged on who you are, rather than your car, wardrobe, or size of your mortgage. The only catch is that it takes at least five years before you're thought of as a local, and even then there's no guarantee they won't resort to calling you a wanker should the occasion arise.

So for the next four years and eleven months at least, I'm a recovering Aucklander: re-learning the basics of social behaviour. This week I had my first lesson in being a hunter-gatherer, a concept I'd previously defined as going to the supermarket in person, rather than having the groceries delivered. But now my definition -- and my world -- has been turned upside down. All thanks to a man they call Hairy Harry.

You see, it was Hairy Harry who offered to take me trout fishing, an invitation which initially sent me into a state of sheer panic -- due to the fact I'm not at all outdoorsy, and extremely prone to sunburn. Tactfully I tried to say no, but Harry wasn't having a bar of it. Assertively, he responded with very short sentences and extremely long pauses, which I have to admit was strangely intimidating.

Next I tried making feeble excuses as to why it wasn't a good time, my best attempt being the fact (and this really is the truth) that I'm on-call, and unable to venture too far from town. To this Harry simply said, "You're wrong," followed by the longest pause yet (cue the sound of tumble-weeds). So twenty-three uneasy minutes later, I told him yes, I'd love to go trout fishing.

Above: Hairy Harry -- a man of few words, but much hair.

But you know what? It turns out that fishing is actually fun. No really! Sure, there was the odd embarrassing moment, like not knowing what Harry was talking about when he said to cast off. Or the fact that I had absolutely no idea how to operate a fishing rod. Well, come to think of it, there were quite a few embarrassing moments, but none of that mattered. This was an experience that would change me forever.

At one with nature (thanks to my sunblock factor 70), I found a sense of peace as we cruised the ruggedly beautiful Lake Hawea. But that's just a part of what makes this sport and/or pastime so surprisingly good. It's only when there's a tug on the line, that you really get what it's all about. Suddenly the adrenalin surges through your veins, and instinct takes over, as you prepare for a battle of man versus fish.

From the first twist of the reel, through to Harry clubbing that poor rainbow trout to death, it's hard not to feel truly in the moment. This was amazing. Before I knew it, I'd spent four hours on the lake without cellphone coverage, and much to my astonishment, I'd actually caught four trout. I never even dreamed that fishing could be this satisfying (in fact quite the opposite), but seriously it is.

Even better, there was still one more thrill to come. Devouring my prey: baked rainbow trout with a green olive stuffing.

As I savoured the delicate mouthfuls of the food I'd hunted and gathered myself, I was quite overcome. Suddenly I started to feel a little more southern, and a little less of a wanker.

Derek Stuart, recovering Aucklander

The recent Pacific tsunami highlights the rather orthodox way New Zealand responds to crises in our part of the Pacific – and some of the opportunities we are not seeing.

When disaster strikes New Zealanders are generous and we do all we can to help out. Samoa and Tonga after all, are our closest neighbours. Officially that’s also how behave, as one state to another. Most of our aid is directed either through aid organisations, directly to the governments concerned or by sending of ships, aircraft and personnel.

But what we tend to forget is that about the same number of Samoans and Tongans live in New Zealand as in their own island states. It’s not just a simple state-to-state relationship but a complex web of relationships that stretch across the Pacific. Churches and families living in NZ maintain strong links back to their islands.

Yet we don’t use these channels as we could to supply assistance directly to those families most affected. Rather we fund aid agencies which tend to use more circuitous and more expensive processes.

We need to explore how to tap those New Zealand-Pacific based networks much more effectively than we have to now. Funding churches and families in New Zealand can be the most direct and fastest means of getting assistance to those affected in the islands. Making that flow transparent and accountable should not be difficult.

Another problem is that in disasters Kiwis are quick to provide material goods such as clothes, blankets, food. It’s offered with the best possible intentions, but this sort of assistance is incredibly expensive and invariably wastes time and resources. Think of the time and labour needed to sort tee-shirts from other trousers and then into the correct sizes for example.

The best contribution is cash. It’s nearly always quicker and more efficient to buy goods. It comes clean, sorted and in bulk. Markets in disasters usually respond rapidly. Suppliers can readily tap warehouses and respond to what is needed on the ground – rather than having to rely on unsorted second-hand goods arriving on a dock.

Of course, there will still be a need for water engineers (clean water is the most urgent need in emergencies) and medical teams. But other less specialised needs can usually be bought.

One of the most effective aid operations I’ve seen – after nearly 20 years in the aid business – was in southern Lebanon in 2006 after the Israeli bombing flattened Lebanese Shia towns. The Lebanese organisation, Hizbollah, moved around distributing US dollars directly to people whose home had been destroyed or damaged. Other affected families were wired money from family living abroad.

Within a remarkably short time, building materials arrived, labour had been hired and basic needs met. Politics aside, it was the most efficient and most accountable means of delivering aid to those who need it.

We should be looking to our NZ – Pacific networks, the direct links we can foster when we respond through family and church connections. And, the need to discourage donations in kind and encourage donations of cash.

Our links to the Pacific are all around us but tend to be overlooked. They should be sought out and fostered before calamity strikes. It’s time to take another look at how we respond in the Pacific and see the opportunities.

David Shearer, MP for Mt Albert

I used to smoke. Just cigarettes, in the days when 30 seemed likely to be as old as I would get. Then one day I was doing some work at a large tobacco company – this is all a long time ago in another country. They could still smoke at their desks! I was reconstructing a computerised accounting system, and one of the numbers I noticed was a series of investment accounts recorded as “provisions”. These accounts had some very serious numbers in them – GDP of small countries…

“What on earth is this?”

“That’s the money we put aside for when people win the cancer death lawsuits. It’s just prudent.”

“But nobody has won yet, and you keep saying they can’t.”

“They will one day.”

I get the system going and wander back to the car park. As I leave, two Bentley’s turn up and overweight, middle-aged white guys get out, oozing the benefits of good education and fine connections. One of them is a well known politician. They enjoy a loud, humorous conversation as they disappear into the Executive lift.

I gave up smoking that day. Now I placate that craving with scrounged tobacco, but every time I spark one up I feel guilty for giving in to those leaches. And I still smile at the irony of young girls happily putting money in the pockets of the old, white establishment in an effort to be cool.

So I observed these leaches who prey on the young when I was a nineteen year old geek, chuffed with my company car, and (at the time) happily handing over nearly 5% of my after tax income for an addictive drug. They’d got me. When the government tried to take that much money off me a few years later (in the form of a tax) to buy middle class votes, I was marching in the street.

The old have always preyed on the young. Whether it be the gentle application of social mechanisms to make ones dotage gentler, or the most vicious, disgusting extremes of deviant behaviour, the social message that your elders know best has permeated society from time immemorial.

Part of it is true. It’s my job to protect my children and help them avoid the lethal pratfalls of growing up, and preferably the ones that just hurt a lot too. But there’s limit to what can be done - parents know our that our biggest struggle will be to let them get hurt in a way that lets them learn while surviving.

Unfortunately this thinking can misfire. We use our arrogance that “we know best” to serve ourselves. We construct a worldview in our children that supports us. We justify our selfishness (often when we were much younger) as wisdom. We fight to hang on to the delicate web of half-truths and myth that is our reality.

A very clear example is New Zealand’s attitude to Superannuation. We all know that either a) anybody 40 years old or younger could be told today that we will be retiring at a later age, or b) we will not receive the current 65% of national average wage. We know this, but weak, washed out politicians won’t admit it.

We know that Auckland has (largely, and by national and international standards) enjoyed low rates for about 40 years. We still persist in voting for people who scrimp and save just enough to feed the small minds of people who thought a waterfront stadium was a bit, well, ostentatious for one of the largest and most beautiful cities in the southern hemisphere. And coincidentally means I save a few bucks off my rates bill.

All of this we inherited. There’s nothing new here. And now these old bastards are trying to do it to us again:

Today 56 newspapers in 45 countries take the unprecedented step of speaking with one voice through a common editorial. We do so because humanity faces a profound emergency.

Unless we combine to take decisive action, climate change will ravage our planet, and with it our prosperity and security.”

And yet cynical, (mainly) grey haired old white men trying to tell us that their world of big engines and cheap electricity has nothing to do with climate change. A significant bunch of these arseholes have so distorted their view of the world to justify their behaviour that they’ve even given up on arguing that the climate is changing – now they just say that it’s not their fault.

It disgusts me.

Age has traditionally meant wisdom and dignity. Why can they not just say “we didn’t know?”. Why can they not just accept that the share values of their super-fund holdings are going to melt away like the ice caps? Gracefully say “bugger, didn’t realise, let’s fix it?”

I don’t know how these (mainly) old sods can sleep in their bed knowing that such irrational, ignorant ramblings serve to feed the greatest barrier to getting on and finding a solution to our problems. I wondered whether they had grandchildren… but I realise now that they do. Their delusions have extended to the point where their selfishness and desire to protect some imaginary god-given right to a motor car and a filament light bulb has overridden their love for their children.

There’s a word for that. Psychopath. Maybe we need to have a whip round for some therapy.