Saturday, March 19, 2011

Earthquake Memorial

I think John Campbell had the second best quote of the day - after Prince William's "grief is the price we pay for love" (courtesy of his grandmother) - when he said something about how quiet a hundred thousand people could be.

It was a good day, with moments of touching brilliance. The USAR workers - quite rightly - stole the day. The impromptu standing ovation they got was chilling. In a good way. Many of them had come straight from the rubble in the Red Zone. Many of them went straight back there to continue their harrowing work.

They are the unwitting heroes of this tragedy that has befallen us.


All politics were put aside - except for Melissa Lee's epic fail with her stupid tweets about Phil Goff's tie, and she wasn't even there. She could wear red and black but he couldn't? (I must admit he was in the invidious position of being the only man wearing such a bright tie - and Labour red to boot).

John Campbell again. It's happening. Whether too soon or not, it's happening and it is a shame that the pettiness that plagued the preceding days, on that topic, spilled over into the actual event, and even after the fact some people are still going on about it. A hundred thousand people think it wasn't too soon. And as one girl interviewed said: Why not now? If not now, when?

When is it ever a good time to remember a hundred and eighty people (at least) who have died?


It wasn't as sad as I thought it might be. Not that I wanted sad, per se. But I would have liked to have seen a little more emotion, which, for me was probably the responsibility of the speakers.

The speeches were ordinary. I know I go on about this, but it seems the days of rousing oratory are gone. And I think it's as simple as the fact that nobody wants to say anything wrong because careers can end with one simple slip of the tongue. So every speech is carefully prepared so as to be so benign nobody could possibly get into trouble. And is, therefore, boring.

To speak from the heart is to risk saying something someone will be offended by. And with every demographic so intensely offendable, better to not even try.

So, the speeches fell horribly, uninspiringly flat.

The emotional content was left to the musicians. Heyley Westernra's Amazing Grace was...well, amazing. The lone piper was eerily subtle. Was it Malvina Major? I like opera - when it's in an opera. I'm not such a fan of opera music sung on a stage. And How Great Thou Art is not a song to be sung opera-style. She was, as always, hard to listen to. Dobbyn was great. His understated solo was hauntingly apt.



Perhaps the moment that dug deepest into the heart of every Cantabrian, however, was the opening note of Conquest of Paradise. An instantly recognisable intro, it's an attention grabber that pulls so many (I'm sure there are those who hate it) into it's evocative refrains, and was another opportunity via the video screen to applaud the tireless rescue workers and volunteers. It's not just the Crusaders song; it is the unofficial anthem of Canterbury.

Mayor Bob parker did well. I continue to have mixed feelings about him. He didn't seem to be speaking from notes. Some kudos due there? While passionate, however, I just didn't feel inspired by him.

Peter Beck and the other religious leaders, I think, felt keenly the irrelevance of their faith/s, even at such a potentially religious event. You cannot lay claim to a single God in the presence of so many different, and contradictory, beliefs about god.

It's worth considering that many of the people in Hagley Park yesterday were there, primarily, to catch a glimpse of Prince William. His fleeting visit and stilted Maori pronunciation failed to dampen many of the well-wisher's spirits.

At least, that's how it felt as I was being crushed by a wall of screaming devotees who's most exciting life-moment to date may be that they got to shake his hand. These two little girls, and so many others, and even quite a few "mature" ladies seemed overwhelmed just by his presence. To have shaken his hand was just too much.


He is quite pretty tho. And there's just enough sense about him that he's not part of one of the longest histories of land-grabbing, peasant-abusing, commoner-crushing monarchies Western civilisation has seen. I don't want to get into the politics of it here - too late - but suffice it to say I'm not a royalist. If shaking his hand can make a couple of teenage girls feel good about themselves for even just a moment, then what the hell. I'm not sure the trade-offs are worth it tho, cost to value ratio. Standing front-row on the walk-by was interesting. I had my hands full of camera so did not shake his hand. Just nodded a polite hello, and kept clicking.

I was going to ask him about MI6's possible involvement in his mother's demise, but thought better of it.

(Just kidding)

It was a lovely day. I think it was respectful to the families of the deceased; the dignitaries were not overwhelming (except Willy, but that was to be expected); the music by and large was appropriate and not too morose; the crowd was subdued and respectful. The only incident I heard about first-hand was an over-zealous, security-conscious priest - yes, a priest - swore at a fellow photog and threatened to have him excommunicated, or castrated, or something like that (okay, maybe I'm exaggerating). But you get the drift.

There was a heavy security presence, so I think that made the crowd more relaxed.



And there were several touching moments and reminders - floating in the sky above us - of why we were there.







But, in saying that, I'm not sure there was a universal sense of why we were there. Jackie wanted the names of the deceased read out, and while not all of them are yet identified and it would be horrible to miss someone, I think reading the names out would have given a sense of why we were there.

Of course, everyone had their own reasons for being there. I've said somewhere else that every single Cantabrian has been touched by these earthquakes, and everyone is at most a couple of degrees of separation from someone who died. Named or not, at the moment these people are still close to our hearts and in our minds (Jo C ... I doubt you'll read this but all BNZers, former and current, are thinking of you xx) and perhaps they were closest yesterday at 12:51 when we all stood in silence for two minutes, remembering the past, and maybe looking a little to the future.

(Just a note - the photo below was not taken during the two minutes silence. I really struggled with the idea of even going, and then with the notion of taking my cameras. I decided to and was glad that I did. I wondered if too many cameras would be disrespectful, but that was short lived. There were cameras for Africa, in addition to the huge media presence.)





























Sunday, March 13, 2011

The times they are a changing...

I'm in the mood for some vitriol. But, of course, I won't vent too much. It's not really socially acceptable, and even if it were I really have nothing to vent about. We haven't lost our house. We haven't even lost our power. We don't have 10 foot waves of debris smashing through our back yard, and there's only a very very small danger of suffering from nuclear fallout (when I say very small, I mean very small).

I should be thankful I have pretty much everything I need; I should greet each new day as a challenge; I should be grateful I can have a shower every day and even though we're still boiling water we probably don't have to. Every now and then I'll forget and take a swig straight from the tap or a mouthful when I'm in the shower. Haven't died. Yet.

There are scales of destruction, and there are scales of dealing with it. Perhaps I'm a simpering weakling but I doubt I would have done very well at all if we had been without power for the last three weeks. I know someone who only got power back a few days ago, and water only yesterday. Apparently it smells like a swimming pool and looks like chamomile tea. And they still have to pee outside in the moonlight. Could be worse, though, I guess.

You look at the TV and watch unprecedented footage of a tsunami sweeping over farmland in Japan, and you just can't believe it. It's UNbelievable.

Three weeks ago, the international community watched unbelievable scenes of down town Christchurch. We watched the same scenes. It was OUR city and we couldn't believe it either.

Compared to what Japan got, our pathetic little shake seems insignificant. Already the social networking sites are abuzz with endless variations of "thank goodness ours wasn't as bad". For surely it could have been. And if Ken Ring is right, it might yet be.

I was driving in Riccarton the other day, and I had the conscious thought that if a 6.3 did this, what devastation an 8 would bring. Until a few weeks or months ago, those comparisons were meaningless. Now, they are all too fearfully real.

The experts would have us believe the 6.3 was the "big" aftershock they were expecting. But expectation is a fickle thing. If we didn't really "expect" the 6.3, we certainly didn't "expect" the 7.1 in September. I have to take issue with all those people who, while I was growing up, promised me that any big earthquake in New Zealand was more than likely going to hit Wellington. Perhaps that's why all my life I've never liked Wellington, despite never having been there until I was well into my 30s.

Nobody in Japan was expecting to have to deal with what they are now having to deal with. Not really. And so, too, in Christchurch. We never really expected to have to deal with what we're dealing with. Not really.

Whether or not our houses are rubble around our feet, or our water looks like chamomile tea, there are things we have to deal with that we were not expecting to have to deal with. Photos of people you once loved are all over the news. Those people are now dead. Hitherto happy go-lucky children are now wetting the bed at night and are afraid to go outside. Jobs have been lost and therefore houses and hopes for the future are seriously threatened. Anxiety levels are through the roof, and all that negative energy is poisoning the city just as surely as a nuclear drift would. Relationships are started and ended in the wake.

There's a lot of talk about how the city will look and feel when all this is over. I suspect that when the dust settles it will be unrecognisable.

Someone glibly said recently that god would not send anything on us that we couldn't handle. Yeah right. Tell that to the millions who commit suicide every year; to those who take up drinking or snorting coke to get through; to those who think violence is an acceptable release; to those who have to take a cocktail of drugs every day to get through it; to those who are shrivelling into their own little isolated corner of the world.

The reality is that regardless of our circumstances, we are all having to deal with things that cannot be quantified. We are all having emotional responses to the things around us that are affecting our daily endeavours.

I do believe in the human spirit. But I believe it can be a very fragile thing, and it doesn't always shine through, or even survive. We see great stories of heroics on the TV. We see beautiful images of kind and caring people doing great things for their communities. We see some people overcoming overwhelming disadvantage to not only survive but succeed. To those I say YAY! It does us good to see the human spirit triumph in adversity.

But so too do we see and hear of tragic stories of defeat and unending despair. For obvious reasons, we don't see them in the media. Nobody really wants to hear about them. We don't glorify weakness. We don't praise despair. Unless there's a particular quirk to the story with significant news value. And as long as there's an element of triumph or success to it in the end.

It'll be years before we're told that 2011 will have seen an increase in the suicide rate, especially in Christchurch and Fukushima. An increase in the uptake of illicit drugs. We're already hearing how domestic violence has increased, but there's a whole other agenda being pushed there.

My point is the whole city is on edge. There's not a single person who lives in Christchurch that has not been significantly impacted by the events of the last three weeks. Or the last six months. It's changing who we are. It's changing how we see the world and each other. It's changing how we feel about each other and the world. Regardless of whether you live in Halswell or Bexley, we are significantly different people than we were six months ago.

The expectation (fickle thing that it is) would be to end a piece like this with something positive. Something to hang your hat on. But what if there's nothing positive? What if I don't see a way through to the light? Am I not entitled to feel that way and express it? It is the way of human nature that there are always more negative stories than positive, more tragedy than comedy. I'm more than confident most of us will survive and be fine (whatever that means). I guess that's more positive than negative. But I'm also aware that many will not. Their lives will be less because of these events. Their lives will have less meaning, and less joy.

Sunday, March 06, 2011

Mayor Bob Parker

I don't know Mayor Bob Parker. I have said maybe two words to him ever, and that was in passing. I voted for him, only because I didn't want to vote for Jim Anderton. I have only ever voted in a local body election once. That's how strongly I didn't want Jim Anderton to be Mayor. As an aside - I think seeing Anderton 24/7 on the TV post Feb 22 would have driven me to the razor blades quicker than a 9.5 aftershock or a brick building falling on my cameras. Thank goodness the September earthquake got Parker re-elected (as surely it did, despite Parker's optimism about winning by a small margin).

The only thing I know for a fact about Bob Parker is that he is a politician. And I make no apologies for the fact that along with that label goes the stereotypical - earned or not - suspicions. Politicians don't consistently rank the least most trusted people on the planet for no reason (not far below journalists it has to be said).

I seem to remember Parker on TV, and not just on This is Your Life. Didn't he do some game shows or University Challenge or something? (I know, that was Peter Sinclair...but didn't Parker do something like that?)

I have a friend who despises him, and she's not alone. I guess when you're Mayor you make decisions that to some may seem glaringly wrong, deceptive, immoral even. Criminal? I doubt that because he has enough powerful enemies that would make sure any criminal activity would be brought to light. See Bill Clinton.

There is another fact that cannot be denied (that's redundant isn't it?) Parker is a consummate front-man. Whether it's real or contrived is anybody's question. The school on either side will demand the high ground on that one. I cannot deny his ability to front this disaster. He's articulate. I guess he has speech writers, but it's a whole other ability to deliver a speech with oratorial flair (please take. note President of the. United. States and Captain James T Kirk. wannabe Barak. Obama.) And it's a whole other talent to work the media, TV cameras, and a despairing public to the degree that general opinion is that he can do nothing wrong.

I'm not necessarily of that opinion. I do, however, think he's doing a good job in incredibly trying circumstances. I don't know what he thinks when he puts his head down on his pillow. I don't know what drives him. I don't know what his portfolio looks like. I don't know what's next for Bob Parker. But I do know that he's rallied the bulk of this city, and even those who have good reason to be aggrieved in the wake of the earthquakes applaud him. One might think that he's the most genuine and righteous politician around.

Except ... this photo (by John Kirk-Anderson) shows up in The Press.



Doesn't this photo reinforce every negative stereotype heaped upon politicians? The forced smile; the awkward handshake; the bereft parent slightly bokehed; the all-is-well fantasy in the midst of chaos and despair; the first-lady in jeans and boots that probably cost more than the guy she's talking to makes in a week. Shall I go on? There's SO much wrong with this photo it's despairing in it's own right.

I cannot understand how someone so media savvy would allow such a photo to be taken let alone published. Fine to pose it like that if mum wants to take a snap of her children with the Mayor on her Finepix P&S. But to pose like that for a Press photographer?

Fail.

When comparisons of a post-Katrina New Orleans and its separation of rich and poor are looking mighty tempting, Parker could/should be doing less of the cheesy posing and more of the much needed reconciliation of the "poorer" suburbs and their sewage systems. Save the child-kissing and schmoozing for when the east-siders can poo in their own homes again. Or at least do it out of the focal range of a Press photographer.

Tuesday, March 01, 2011

Juxtaposition


There's a juxtaposition that the media seems to have ignored in the midst of the horror and destruction in the wake of the Christchurch earthquake.

There are large sections of the city where, apart from piles of liquefaction in the streets, life goes on as close to normal as it is possible to be in the middle of all this. Take, for example our street; our house. I can only speak for us.

In the September earthquake we lost power for half the day, and water for a few days. We shuddered with every aftershock. Who knew that after an earthquake like that it was perfectly normal to get 50 smaller aftershocks a day? Who knew what liquefaction was? We soon learned the answers to those and other questions about earthquakes, but with relatively little damage to buildings and practically no injuries, let alone deaths, life returned to a shaky normal quite quickly.

Last week people died. After lulling us into a false sense of security that promised if we survived a 7 relatively unscathed anything less would be a doddle, the earth shook again and a 6 made the 7 look like a 3! And people died.

But still, on the outskirts of the war zone that is shown on TV so regularly, there are people whose lives are relatively untouched. No that's not true. We have all been significantly touched, and will probably be forever changed. But life has a way of sucking you back into its routines, its minutiae.

Jackie has hardly missed an hour at her job. On Wednesday we went and bought bread and milk and some groceries (we didn't stockpile). On Thursday I got petrol because my tank was nearly empty. We never lost power or water, and the only real impact on us is that we have to boil water. Chances are we don't even have to do that, but we're doing it anyway.

When I was heading down town to do some rubbernecking....I know, I shouldn't really have been on the road, but as someone on the fringe of the media I felt a little bit justified being out there - I think there's an obligation to record this historical event ... as I was parked at the lights opposite Hagley park I realised that across the fields in the distance was the Hagley welfare centre in which hundreds of people were mourning the loss of their homes, perhaps their loved ones, and their life as they knew it.

When into the scene walked these three ladies.

Now... I am absolutely not judging them, and I will not pretend to know a single thing about any of them. Everyone deals with stress in different ways, and for many getting a sense of normality ... for example walking the dog ... is very important.

But to me, the fact they were out walking their dogs in Hagley Park suggested they had not been particularly disadvantaged by the earthquake. And the only benchmark I have for that is my own reactions to the tragedy. If I had been evacuated from my home or had lost someone dear to me in the rubble the last thing on my mind would be routine things like walking with the girls and dogs in Hagley Park. But that's just me.

However. Regardless of whether or not these ladies lost home or loved ones, the image reminded me of something that by and large has been ignored by the TV coverage I've seen (which is most of it thanks to MySky). That is, there are significant sections of the city which are functioning relatively normally. Overlooking the chaos, there are entire subsections of Christchurch whose only connection to the earthquake are slightly wider cracks in their walls or piles of silt in their back yard.

There is no liquefaction in our street. Jackie reckons some of our cracks are bigger; I say they're not. Our local supermarket was well stocked and open the next day. Our Challenge ran out of gas on the Wednesday but was open for business again Thursday. There are no gaping holes in our streets. The school is closed but it's not that far past 6 weeks holiday at Christmas so it feels a bit like that. When I drove home on Tuesday night, seven hours after the earthquake, our local fish and chip shop was open and doing a rip roaring trade.

When I drove from Halswell to Hagley Park a few days later it was almost impossible to see any signs of the horror and destruction that was playing almost 24/7 on TV. It really was as if that was a different city.

I don't think the mainstream media are simply leading with the bleeding. I genuinely think the news value of the destruction and the rescue efforts is extraordinarily high. And in no way do I feel left out or isolated, as those poor people in Bexley and Brighton do, because they have been ignored, and even the authorities, by their reaction, have admitted as much.

We in the South-west have been largely left alone because we really have no immediate need.

The thing I'm noticing is that if the rest of the country, and indeed the world, is watching the TV coverage I'm watching they could be forgiven for thinking the entire city has been ravaged beyond repair. And while that may be advantageous in terms of donation appeal (I'm not suggesting that's the motivation), it's giving a slightly skewed impression of what's actually happening in Christchurch.