Hey, Henare, kia ora bro. Yeah, me too.
Look, i'd like a word about when we met at the meeting. No, not at all. It's fine. i want to say somehing a bit complicated and i just wanted to make sure it comes out OK. Sweet.
OK, i will start this korero with a story about myself. Back in the eighties at a party i got seriously called out by a man, and yeah it was a man, for introducing myself, to someone else, mind, as my then husband's wife. Like, i said Hi, i'm so-and-so's wife. i did not think i'd said anything sexist. i thought that the guy knew my husband and all i was doing was pointing out the relationship so he knew who i was. Like saying i am Lizzie's sister or Jacki's tutor or whatever. But this man thought that i was undermining my own development and the cause of feminism by linking myself with a man, and he gave me a talking to about it. And because i was a good girl and he was a high status dude i actually would you believe apologised and said he was right and i would never do it again.
It was only afterwards i thought wtf, only we didn't say that back then, but i thought shit a brick i let that man, that man, mind, tell me how to develop my feminist consciousness, and then i let myself feel unworthy, like i was a Bad Feminist. Screw him. A man can't tell me how to be a feminist, i need to tell myself how to be a feminist, feminism is something i can't be given but i can take it for myself.
So in a round about way it was a lesson in consciousness raising, a lesson that a woman could not have taught me, and it was the lesson all of us learn, that there are some things that cannot be given by those in power, there are some things we just need to take.
My point, yeah, Henare, my point is that i am an older middle class pakeha woman and if i ever do the same to you that that man did to me you can tell me to sod off for sure, but, but, maybe i need to say this thing anyway.
So, my korero to you is this. Last night at the meeting when we were cleaning up you accidentally brushed against me and you said 'Aww, sorry miss'. At the time i just thought, oh, OK that shows that Henare has been to prison. 'Cos, you know, how you learn to talk to the women prison officers and nurses and that inside, and i recognised the words, and also the tone of voice.But then i thought about it and i got worried about what was behind what you said and how you said it.
Henare, yeah i am an older pakeha woman, but you don't need to pretend to respect me like i am in charge of your future. We worked in the kitchen together and you told me some things about yourself and your whanau connections that made me respect you. i thought we were equal, whatever that means. In this case it doesn't mean everyone is equal so therefore it is OK to make the fish climb the tree, it just means we worked and talked together and we were polite to each other. When you let your guard down out comes the prison boy. That pretend respect is never far away. And it is pretend, it's what used to be called Uncle Tom-ism, it's one step away from calling me muff, which i know is a real insult to a woman inside. It's no good to me because it's fake and it's one of many layers of anger and although i can't blame you for that anger it won't work if we are to try and achieve anything together. And, yeah i know who i am talking to you, but i also believe that it's no good to you, because as i see it it keeps you in prison.
If you are as pissed with me as i was with that man who told me how to be, like, a Good Feminist, then well and good and i don't get to tell you how to be a Good Maori or a Good Activist or whatever.
It's just that this older Pakeha woman knows that you only get the freedom you take.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
The tuis were merely contemptuous
It is five years since my mother died, and i decided it was time for a pilgrimage of sorts. Her childhood had its difficulties. The place where she felt best was her aunt and uncle's farm near Heriot, in West Otago. Last week i made my way there.
i thought there would be nothing left of Heriot, that it would have emptied out with the urban drift and the drive to agribusiness. But i was wrong. There is still a street, and the old buildings such as the Bank of New Zealand still stand, now used as shearers' quarters. A transport company has its headquarters there. The land rolled out green and steers play-fought in the field next to the Margaret Fergusson Plunket rooms.
i visited Todd Cottage, the birthplace of the Todd industrial dynasty. The Todds are still a wealthy and influential family and owned transport companies and auto manufacturing. They renovated the cottage and let it to an old couple for a peppercorn rent. In return, they welcome Todd family members and employees who come looking for their roots from time to time, and even the occasional random tourist like me. The couple spoke highly of the Todds. They were known for equal opportunity employment and for educating their workers. No uber-capitalists in those days.
The old couple also remembered my great aunt, mostly for drinking them under the table. i had no idea. The area was dry during the war, when my mother visited them for her school holidays. she remembered the men driving to Rae's Junction, 20 kms away, and the women sitting and worrying about their return. She remembered dancing the Lancers and the Gay Gordons, and the movie nights. Back then each town took turns in hosting these events - Crookston, Kelso, Moa Flat - all gone now. There was rivalry between Kelso and Heriot. when one town got a street light the other one had to get one too. There was ferocious rugby rivalry, even more recently between Heriot and Tapanui, the main town in the district (pop. 500, about 15 kms away). They had to bury the hatchet when the two combined to make one team, because there were no longer enough players to go around. i wonder how they did that.
i was told that Tapanui people are very different from Heriot people, not like us at all, much less friendly. i spent two nights in Tapanui. It is a hard headed little town, and seems like a great place to buy farm implements. i walked in the long southern evening, and passed Tapanui's jeunesse doree hanging out in the playground, as they taunted each other and made out.
They say in West Otago that if you can see the Blue Mountains it is about to rain, and if you can't see them it is already raining.* i went walking in the Blue Mountains. i will say here i am not proud of my ancestors. They had an unequivocally positivist view of the bush - cut it down.Some of my ancestors owned a saw mill deep in the bush, and they had an almost native understanding of bush life and flora and fauna. But they still cut it down. i don't know how they would have viewed the idea of bush walking for pleasure. Simon Schama in his excellent Landscape and Memory talks about the development of the romantic view of nature. The Wordsworths almost started it, in the Lake Country, and they were considered a bit mad. By the end of the nineteenth century nature rambling was respectable at least and the English countryside was simply swarming with birdwatchers and butterfly collectors and amateur geologists and bright eyed members of the YMCA. It was a wonder any farming got done - no wonder they all emigrated. i still think my ancestors would have thought i was bourgeois.
For me it was a fairly technical walk. i am afraid i am used to boardwalks for the swampy bits and steps for the steep bits. This walk was more fun.It is a shaggy old forest, with a lot more messy ground cover than up north. The birdlife was a wonder. The sound of streamfall and birdsong. i ttried to contribute by whistling 'A walk in the Black Forest' which seemed appropriate, but the tuis were merely contemptuous.
The next day i drove out, and it was morning, and the mist was rising from the silver fields, and forming little gentle clouds among the trees, and drifting skywards. No drama. Good living.
* They say that everywhere. On the planet Zog someone is saying that if you can see the Needles of Artroggi'a it is about to precipitate Nurgle. And if you can't see them it is already Nurgling. Some things just have to be said.
i thought there would be nothing left of Heriot, that it would have emptied out with the urban drift and the drive to agribusiness. But i was wrong. There is still a street, and the old buildings such as the Bank of New Zealand still stand, now used as shearers' quarters. A transport company has its headquarters there. The land rolled out green and steers play-fought in the field next to the Margaret Fergusson Plunket rooms.
i visited Todd Cottage, the birthplace of the Todd industrial dynasty. The Todds are still a wealthy and influential family and owned transport companies and auto manufacturing. They renovated the cottage and let it to an old couple for a peppercorn rent. In return, they welcome Todd family members and employees who come looking for their roots from time to time, and even the occasional random tourist like me. The couple spoke highly of the Todds. They were known for equal opportunity employment and for educating their workers. No uber-capitalists in those days.
The old couple also remembered my great aunt, mostly for drinking them under the table. i had no idea. The area was dry during the war, when my mother visited them for her school holidays. she remembered the men driving to Rae's Junction, 20 kms away, and the women sitting and worrying about their return. She remembered dancing the Lancers and the Gay Gordons, and the movie nights. Back then each town took turns in hosting these events - Crookston, Kelso, Moa Flat - all gone now. There was rivalry between Kelso and Heriot. when one town got a street light the other one had to get one too. There was ferocious rugby rivalry, even more recently between Heriot and Tapanui, the main town in the district (pop. 500, about 15 kms away). They had to bury the hatchet when the two combined to make one team, because there were no longer enough players to go around. i wonder how they did that.
i was told that Tapanui people are very different from Heriot people, not like us at all, much less friendly. i spent two nights in Tapanui. It is a hard headed little town, and seems like a great place to buy farm implements. i walked in the long southern evening, and passed Tapanui's jeunesse doree hanging out in the playground, as they taunted each other and made out.
They say in West Otago that if you can see the Blue Mountains it is about to rain, and if you can't see them it is already raining.* i went walking in the Blue Mountains. i will say here i am not proud of my ancestors. They had an unequivocally positivist view of the bush - cut it down.Some of my ancestors owned a saw mill deep in the bush, and they had an almost native understanding of bush life and flora and fauna. But they still cut it down. i don't know how they would have viewed the idea of bush walking for pleasure. Simon Schama in his excellent Landscape and Memory talks about the development of the romantic view of nature. The Wordsworths almost started it, in the Lake Country, and they were considered a bit mad. By the end of the nineteenth century nature rambling was respectable at least and the English countryside was simply swarming with birdwatchers and butterfly collectors and amateur geologists and bright eyed members of the YMCA. It was a wonder any farming got done - no wonder they all emigrated. i still think my ancestors would have thought i was bourgeois.
For me it was a fairly technical walk. i am afraid i am used to boardwalks for the swampy bits and steps for the steep bits. This walk was more fun.It is a shaggy old forest, with a lot more messy ground cover than up north. The birdlife was a wonder. The sound of streamfall and birdsong. i ttried to contribute by whistling 'A walk in the Black Forest' which seemed appropriate, but the tuis were merely contemptuous.
The next day i drove out, and it was morning, and the mist was rising from the silver fields, and forming little gentle clouds among the trees, and drifting skywards. No drama. Good living.
* They say that everywhere. On the planet Zog someone is saying that if you can see the Needles of Artroggi'a it is about to precipitate Nurgle. And if you can't see them it is already Nurgling. Some things just have to be said.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Reasons for liking the YMCA
About two years ago i joined the YMCA fitness centre and went to the gym there for nine months or so. i did get fitter. In fact i was fairly impressed given the amount of weight i was carrying then. Recently i joined again, and there was a pleasing difference. i could do twice as far twice as fast on the cross trainer, and i couldn't walk satisfactorily on the treadmill at all; i need to run or put it on the steepest incline. i need a new programme.
i always was sceptical about structured exercise, given that even now our South world sisters are getting their exercise carrying water for fifteen kilometres at dawn. And people who drive to the gym, well, good grief, it's an oxymoron. There is also something a bit soulless and atomising about rows of people on machines, in their own worlds, under fluorescent lights.
But i like the Y for the following awesome reasons:
1. No lycra
2. Wiry tough old guys who are way into their 70's and look like they've been places and all know each other
3. No lycra
4. Simple chunky machines i can understand
5. Not so many fierce skinny women who literally push me aside so they can shave a few seconds off their attempt to get to the changing bench
6. OK, hardly any lycra
7. You can put the YMCA song on your iPod and play it and that is really witty because, like, you're at the YMCA and you're playing the song
8. Very disabled people who come in with their caregivers, do five minutes on one machine, and leave, as i wonder about them and their lives
9. The rewards of a swig of water and lovely hot showers - our water pressure at home has been bad since the EQ's and getting worse, and so getting properly wet in the shower is a gorgeous luxury
10. Backpackers
11. Lots of plumpish middle aged women like me who just get on with it, without show or haste or silliness, and certainly
12. Without any lycra.
i always was sceptical about structured exercise, given that even now our South world sisters are getting their exercise carrying water for fifteen kilometres at dawn. And people who drive to the gym, well, good grief, it's an oxymoron. There is also something a bit soulless and atomising about rows of people on machines, in their own worlds, under fluorescent lights.
But i like the Y for the following awesome reasons:
1. No lycra
2. Wiry tough old guys who are way into their 70's and look like they've been places and all know each other
3. No lycra
4. Simple chunky machines i can understand
5. Not so many fierce skinny women who literally push me aside so they can shave a few seconds off their attempt to get to the changing bench
6. OK, hardly any lycra
7. You can put the YMCA song on your iPod and play it and that is really witty because, like, you're at the YMCA and you're playing the song
8. Very disabled people who come in with their caregivers, do five minutes on one machine, and leave, as i wonder about them and their lives
9. The rewards of a swig of water and lovely hot showers - our water pressure at home has been bad since the EQ's and getting worse, and so getting properly wet in the shower is a gorgeous luxury
10. Backpackers
11. Lots of plumpish middle aged women like me who just get on with it, without show or haste or silliness, and certainly
12. Without any lycra.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
All are fangle... and x rated
One of my favourite websites is Engrish.com, where the best in Asian English language mangling takes place. It is probably a dying art as English language hegemony advances and Asian cultures learn to speak it in a more conventional fashion.
Meanwhile, i found these in our local dollar stores. The robot one says 'all are fangle and in high quality'. i am not sure what they mean by fangle but i suspect they mean up to date as in new fangled. i suspect this has been translated by a computer, the same one that gave us, on a notice on a bus, the word 'gravid' for pregnant, when referring to women.
The next one, with the little planes like fighters, promise me 'unbelievable stimulation'. Funny, i have had some unpleasant dreams about scary little airplanes that pursue me from the skies and even fly around the corners of buildings to get me and - er - poke me? Hmm. Blogger dashboard confessional.
Anyway, if i wanted unbelievable stimulation i think i would want something a bit less small and sharp and pokey. These things should be x rated!
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
For bravery, King and country...
There are more young men in my life than usual and i have got to thinking about them, because they are so very different from me.
My two most recent influences on this are the book War by Sebastian Junger and the movie Warhorse, which i saw twice and the last time i didn't cry at all.
It is often commented on that young men thrive best when they are part of something bigger than themselves. The rugby team, the street gang, the political movement. An Iranian man remembers his youth in a Pakistani refugee camp. For the first time, in the absence of elders, his main links were with his peers. They played cricket and formed committees and he shows me photos of young men laughing and collapsing on each other and wrestling. They were his formative years, his friendship years, and he learned what sort of man he would be. On a far sadder note, a boy from a 'good' school plans to hang himself wearing his school uniform. When i ask about this he weeps and says, without a trace of irony, that he loves his school - even through his desperate sadness he feels part of something more than himself.
When young men join the armed forces they seem to feel very intensely that they are part of that something bigger, but it is not bravery, King and country, or the clash of civilisations. That's just the crap the rich chaps on horses say as they run you into battle. It's more immediately the lives of your friends that count. You shoot because the other guys are shooting at you and your friends. Your group is everything. If it fails you die.
There is also a state of care-lessness at the height of the adrenaline spike. At any moment in the street race your car could crash. At any moment you could be shot/knifed/whacked. At any moment you could get caught. At any moment you could fall off the mountain. All bets are off. Morality and convention and all your mother taught you is as nought.For now, just now, there are no consequences. At such moments there is a feeling of such freedom and purity that karma stands still.
The movie Warhorse features all that we know about the appalling waste that was World War One in Europe. The destruction of the countryside and the harrowing deaths of many thousands of horses. And the men, who died for their friends and for that fabulous young men's moment when you and your mates go over the top and karma stands still.
Traditonally, Junger says, young men get to do what old men no longer can. They carry loads, they run, they hunt, they swim, and they fight. Now we can see our young men as precious. As a society we must be very careful what we ask our young men to do for us.
Because they will do it.
My two most recent influences on this are the book War by Sebastian Junger and the movie Warhorse, which i saw twice and the last time i didn't cry at all.
It is often commented on that young men thrive best when they are part of something bigger than themselves. The rugby team, the street gang, the political movement. An Iranian man remembers his youth in a Pakistani refugee camp. For the first time, in the absence of elders, his main links were with his peers. They played cricket and formed committees and he shows me photos of young men laughing and collapsing on each other and wrestling. They were his formative years, his friendship years, and he learned what sort of man he would be. On a far sadder note, a boy from a 'good' school plans to hang himself wearing his school uniform. When i ask about this he weeps and says, without a trace of irony, that he loves his school - even through his desperate sadness he feels part of something more than himself.
When young men join the armed forces they seem to feel very intensely that they are part of that something bigger, but it is not bravery, King and country, or the clash of civilisations. That's just the crap the rich chaps on horses say as they run you into battle. It's more immediately the lives of your friends that count. You shoot because the other guys are shooting at you and your friends. Your group is everything. If it fails you die.
There is also a state of care-lessness at the height of the adrenaline spike. At any moment in the street race your car could crash. At any moment you could be shot/knifed/whacked. At any moment you could get caught. At any moment you could fall off the mountain. All bets are off. Morality and convention and all your mother taught you is as nought.For now, just now, there are no consequences. At such moments there is a feeling of such freedom and purity that karma stands still.
The movie Warhorse features all that we know about the appalling waste that was World War One in Europe. The destruction of the countryside and the harrowing deaths of many thousands of horses. And the men, who died for their friends and for that fabulous young men's moment when you and your mates go over the top and karma stands still.
Traditonally, Junger says, young men get to do what old men no longer can. They carry loads, they run, they hunt, they swim, and they fight. Now we can see our young men as precious. As a society we must be very careful what we ask our young men to do for us.
Because they will do it.
Monday, January 30, 2012
The Christchurch rebuild starts here
As of yesterday our house became a construction site. The first thing the workers did was nail a sign to our fence saying that hard hats must be worn and permission to enter must be granted by the site forman (sic). We seem to be exempt from this; the only hazard seems to be tripping over men and their lunch boxes. They are taking down the chimney and putting in a log burner. Then more people will come and fix cracks and paint the rooms. There is dust everywhere and the noise of power tools and Metallica. We have chosen a burner and are thinking about the colours for the daughter's room. It's messy and chaotic and a bit exciting in a House and Garden kind of way.
i have said before we are some of the luckiest people in Christchurch and really we deserve none of this. Assessors came from EQC and told us we have between $10,000 and $20,000 worth of damage. Now they are fixing it. Meanwhile there are still people without water and sewage and people who are trying to find a place to live, and people who are struggling with the uncertainty of the usual gloriously Kafaesque system to find out what they can get and when. We have been careful to be scrupulous about our claims and i do feel a bit guilty about getting so much.
My main hope is that the system is transparent and contractors charge only what the jobs are worth, and people don't rort their insurance companies, and that everyone is honest and caring and thoughtful.
My goodness, why has the sky gone all dark? Suddenly the air is thick with flying pigs!
i have said before we are some of the luckiest people in Christchurch and really we deserve none of this. Assessors came from EQC and told us we have between $10,000 and $20,000 worth of damage. Now they are fixing it. Meanwhile there are still people without water and sewage and people who are trying to find a place to live, and people who are struggling with the uncertainty of the usual gloriously Kafaesque system to find out what they can get and when. We have been careful to be scrupulous about our claims and i do feel a bit guilty about getting so much.
My main hope is that the system is transparent and contractors charge only what the jobs are worth, and people don't rort their insurance companies, and that everyone is honest and caring and thoughtful.
My goodness, why has the sky gone all dark? Suddenly the air is thick with flying pigs!
Sunday, January 22, 2012
FRACTURE
FRACTURE
Overnight
Pain forced blood from the mine of my womb.
I got up,
Took 4 nasty painkillers on an empty stomach,
And felt the earth
Fracture
Twice,
Thought i would bleed freely in the morning.
Sleeping through the pain,
Lo! i am on an elephant, overlooking Berlin,
And astonishing!
I can see the Brandenburg Gate.
Overnight
Pain forced blood from the mine of my womb.
I got up,
Took 4 nasty painkillers on an empty stomach,
And felt the earth
Fracture
Twice,
Thought i would bleed freely in the morning.
Sleeping through the pain,
Lo! i am on an elephant, overlooking Berlin,
And astonishing!
I can see the Brandenburg Gate.
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