Happy Father's Day Dave

 Dave, my dad, died in 1991.

I will never know what holes have been left in my life because he died relatively young.

My parents separated when I was 9, and while not earth-shattering in its uniqueness or even its perceived common-ness, that has affected me profoundly and I will never know the holes that event has left in my life either. I don’t know what I don’t know. I have no idea how, or if, my life would be different if Dave had lived to a ripe old age, and, more importantly, we had healed the rift that existed between us for twenty years.

Fatherlessness has been called the worst social disease in modern history, the most harmful demographic trend of this generation. It’s simplistic to say, but having generations of boys growing up without a significant male role model it is no wonder men nowadays are unsure of what it means to be a man. In the 70s, 80s, and even the 90s, the prevailing thought undermined fatherhood, preaching a gospel that said children really don’t even need dads. They benefit from the money he may have provided, but if the State can provide that, what are dads for? Mum can do the job adequately, and let’s throw in Uncle Joe and label him the token male role model.

I am a child of that philosophy and society is now reaping the consequences of that demonstrably failed dogma. Fatherlessness is over-represented in the negative statistics that suggest our society is in crisis. Arguably, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, domestic violence, child abuse, teenage pregnancy and rampant crime are merely symptoms of a deeper malaise. While not the only cause of this undeniable malaise, fatherlessness is certainly a primary factor that society has long been reluctant to consider (tell me the feminists don’t have a lot to answer for!). Only in the last few years has that ignorance begun to be addressed.

I have three vivid memories involving my father.

In 1972 I remember my heart being ripped apart at the news he wasn’t going to be living with us any more, and screaming, begging him to take me with him. I had no idea where he was going, or what it all meant. I was 9 and I just wanted to be with my dad.

In (about) 1989, as my life reached a crisis point, while at university in the US, I remember locking myself in my office in our apartment and weeping…weeping non-stop for what seemed like hours. I don’t really remember what was going on in my mind, but I knew I was weeping because there was a giant vacuum in my soul that had been put there by my father.

And many years later (I can’t even remember when… 1994? 1996?) my brother, sister and I said a final goodbye to our dad as we let his ashes wash down a river somewhere in Karangahake, one of Dave’s favourite fishing spots (I think).

Of course, there are other memories. But even the fond ones are cast under the dark shadow of his emotional distance or his altogether absence. I remember asking him to take me fishing with him once, and I remember him saying no. I never asked again. I remember visiting him often at his office at the Railways in Rotorua. I remember him, in those pre-computer days, bringing me a typewriter from his office so I could play on it. I remember his small, one bedroom flat in which, especially remembering it now, he cut a particularly pathetic and lonely figure.

I don’t really remember his first heart attack at 54. But I do remember the phone call I got from my (then) brother-in-law, five years later, telling me Dave was dead.

Since my office-locking weeping, and some counselling (both as part of my studies and something I felt necessary for myself) I had resolved to heal the wound that had been caused in my relationship with Dave. We arrived back in New Zealand in February, 1991. He, with the rest of my family, was at the airport to greet us. They all saw their grand-son (Matthew) for the first time, and this is the only photo I have of Dave with any of my boys. A few months later he died. The wound had not even begun to be healed.

There was no angry antagonism between us. It was not the kind of relationship where he was the cantankerous old git and I was the compliant little boy or the placater. To my memory, there was nothing. Which may be a bit harsh. I know he was around. He was involved in another long term relationship with a nice woman (nice until the meagre will became an issue). He drove me to work sometimes. He came to my wedding. He took me to Citizen’s Club picnics.

As to a “relationship” there wasn’t one. But even saying that sounds disrespectful. In recent years I have discovered that he, like so many of us, just simply did the best he could with what he had. As far as I know he wasn’t an abusive man. I don’t remember him ever hitting me or smacking me. He was educated, articulate. He seemed to lack ambition or drive. He enjoyed a smoke and a beer. Or two. He played snooker at the RSA or the Citizen’s Club.

One of the things I longed for was to go with him to play snooker at the Citz Club. In light of the fishing rebuff I was always reluctant to ask. Though the timing is vague, I do know that once before he died we spent the afternoon playing snooker at the Citizen’s Club in Rotorua.

Perhaps, instead of sitting down and rehashing the previous twenty years and the hurts and wounds, those games of snooker symbolised something at the time neither of us understood. Perhaps instead of hugging and crying and forgiving, we subconsciously let the years of aloneness slide away with every pot of every coloured ball. And in typical Kiwi man-style, we had a couple of beers and laughed.

I think I had decided to leave the heavy talk for another time, as surely it would eventually be necessary.

But that time never came. The next time I saw him he was dead in a box in a church.

I could wax lyrical about the need to seize the moment, but we do things in our own good time, and sometimes the timing doesn’t work. Whether via something specific like a game of snooker or a hug at the airport, or via some sub-conscious maturity that comes to us all, I feel Dave and I made up. Dave had done nothing for me to hate him, or even to disrespect him, so perhaps that made it easier for me to “forgive” him.

But I don’t know what the last twenty years would have been like had he lived. And I will probably never fully understand just what affect upon me Dave’s absence has had.

I find myself lacking ambition, and even motivation. I don’t make friends easily. I have an incredible tolerance for the “big” things, but I get angry quickly at little things (tangled cords and stupid things that don’t work as they “should”). Is that the legacy Dave left me, or some other inadequacy in me? Is it genetic? Learned? Or just a character flaw in me? Are my failed relationships (there have been many) due to some sense that I have no idea what it means to be a boyfriend/husband? Was I weak and bullied at school because I didn’t know what it really meant to be a man? Am I distant from my sons because I never learned to be a father?

Did I feel overcome while writing this (at the bit about scattering the ashes) because the wound will never really be healed and I’m simply fooling myself thinking I may have resolved my fatherlessness issues? Is such a deep wound ever healed?

So, it’s Father’s Day. Like birthdays and Christmas I really don’t make a big deal about it. Josh was excited to buy me presents and make me toast and coffee this morning and I loved it. Matt came over and despite our relative estranged-ness, I love him dearly and am immensely proud of him for the man he has become. Chris was called in to work (at McDonalds) last night at 11 to cover no-shows, worked all night and then his normal shift today. He has a pretty good work ethic and I’m proud of him too (even if he won’t tidy his room).

That’s probably all I need for Father’s Day…to have three wonderful sons (and a step-son in Wellington who is growing into a fine young man too). And lest anyone misjudge, I’m not really claiming much of the credit for any of it.

I don’t remember what Father’s Day was like when Dave was alive. Probably the perfunctory socks and underwear… or a cheap McKenzies tie or some smokes. I doubt I cared.

I’m reluctant to trace back some of the short-comings in my life and personality to a trauma experienced in the wake of my own fatherlessness, or the lack of an active role model. But can I ignore it? My life has taken a million turns. Would I have made better decisions if Dave had been more present and guided me? Would I have dealt with heartache and tragedy better if Dave’s arms had been available? Would I respect people more if he had encouraged me to do so, and rebuked me when I didn’t? Would I have had better relationships if he had showed me how it should be done?

Who knows? I’m not blaming him for my mistakes, especially the ones I’ve made when I was old enough to know better. I’m just wondering how my life would be different now if this morning I could have called him and wished him a happy Father’s Day.

The Anatomy of Hate

When certain media hacks recently announced Macsyna King to be "the most hated woman in New Zealand" I thought surely it was a bit of a beat up.

Not so. Apparently she is. And if you doubt it, spend five minutes looking at the Boycott the Macsyna King Book Facebook page and it's obvious that if she isn't the most hated woman in New Zealand she must be running a close second.

If “hate” is defined as “to dislike intensely or passionately; feel extreme aversion for or extreme hostility toward" something or someone, it's clear there is a lot of hate for Macsyna King on that page. Of course, many on there will claim they do not "hate" her, that they hate what she did, or didn't do. But, trust me, 20 years as a minister and I fully understand the nuances of, and the contradiction behind the "hate the sin, love the sinner" mantra. Most of them are just afraid to admit they hate her because they feel that will somehow lower them to a standard of humanity good folks would rather not look down their noses at, let alone join the ranks of.

I don't get the hate. Sure, you don't have to like Macsyna King, or what she did or didn't do regarding the brutal death of her twin 3 month old sons. Sure, she’s hardly going to make mother of the year, or win any humanity awards. But I don’t get the depth and passion of the hatred towards Macsyna King, who has never been charged with a crime, who was NOT there when her children suffered the fatal blows, and has been a prosecution witness.

There are regulars on both Facebook pages, that is the Boycott page, and the “other” page, the Supporters of the Ian Wishart book about the Kahui murders. Women are over-represented on both pages and the boycotters seem to spend most of their online time reinforcing the stereotype of how bitchy women can be towards their own gender. Off the top of my head, between both pages, there are probably 30 or 40  women regulars, and half a dozen men. If the profiles can be believed, but the number of fake profiles that have popped up makes it hard to know with any certainty who it is you’re arguing with. That’s another story.

But it’s easy to argue that by and large the vitriol is unidirectional. We’ve had our moments on the Support page, and of course we’ve had some heated arguments and said some pretty nasty things. Not me, tho. True. And in the melee I’ve been called many many names… but generally speaking the frequenters of the Boycott page are the most vile, angry, vituperative hateful people I’ve ever encountered. The Web is a haven for every whacko, nutjob and barrow-pusher on the planet, and I’ve been to White Supremacist sites, anti-semitic sites, and feminist sites…but I’ve yet to see more vile language and the most hateful insults than what’s been directed on the Facebook page dedicated to hating on Macsyna King.

And Ian Wishart. If King is the most hated woman in the country, I wonder if at the moment  Ian Wishart is the most hated man. Either him or Michael Laws.

If the reasons for hating Macsyna King are vague, the reasons for hating Ian Wishart are even more so. He’s written a book, folks. He hasn’t clubbed any seals; he hasn’t gassed a hundred thousand Kurds; and he’s not paying Chinese children 13 cents a week to do his research or his typing. Why the hatred for Wishart?

It’s been confessed many times that King’s story is “too close to home”. A reason I would have thought to have a modicum of empathy for her. But oh no. There’s not an ounce of empathy for King, even from those who claim to have had as bad or worse upbringings. She simply should have known better, they reckon. She simply should have made better choices. Pulled her socks up and worked towards that mother of the year award. Simple. Apparently. According to the lynch mob.

Lest you doubt me, I’ve put together a collection of some of the best, a very small sampling of the most colourful comments directed at either King or Wishart (or me!). See what you think, and thank whatever gods you bow down to you don’t get on the wrong side of some of these women, or others of their pathetic and dangerous ilk.

In the spirit of compromise I have removed (11 Sept 2011) the screenshots of the hateful comments. Since this was posted, the page from which these quotes were taken has been shut down, largely due (according to reliable sources) to the threatening and defamatory nature of many comments on the page. You do the math.

There you go. Make's fascinating reading doesn't it...and this is only a small sample of the colourful opinions of those who apparently pride themselves on their maturity and their love for fellow human beings. Oh, except Ian Wishart, and, of course, Macsyna King. 

Parentus Immobulus

Josh, like every 7 year old on the planet is obsessed with Harry Potter. He runs around all the time casting spells with a pencil or a fork. His favourites are Avada Kadavra... Expelliarmus... and Immobulus!  He hasn't seen many of the movies, probably only the early, less scary ones, and he definitely hasn't seen the later, darker ones. He says he wants to but we probably won't let him. He loves anything Harry Potter...especially the Lego and the Lego Wii game. He's obsessed.


So, on the back of that, he and I had one of those conversations today that epitomises the modern 7 year old. Here's literally how it went.


Dad, I can name all the Harry Potter characters...
Yeah? Do it.
Harry, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Dumbledore, Hagrid... Malfoy and Dobby, Crab and Goyle, Ginny Weasley, ...(and he rattled off a few more with a bit of prompting...Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall


Well done, Josh...who was the guy in the Chamber of Secrets?
Tom Riddle, he said, quick as a flash.


At this point I do that terribly BORING parent thing in my head - I wished he could pay that much attention to people in politics or important people in history.


Then I DO that terribly boring parent thing...


Who is the President of the United States, Josh?


After some thought he said "I have no idea."


Sigh.


SO after a pause I told him.


Barack Obama, I announced. 


And his reply stunned me silent.


Is that a Harry Potter spell?


I gave up.

A Facebook Experiment

If you want to experience the WORST of the Internet that doesn't involve death or deviant sex, check out two pages that have popped up recently. There's the Boycott the Macsyna King Book page,and the Break the Kahui Code of Silence: Support the Book page. Obviously these pages are at opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of their aim. But in terms of their execution, they are remarkably similar. And in terms of their success, they are both abject failures.


Ian Wishart has written a book. Apparently - we don't know yet because it isn't published and Wishart is keeping mum - the book is a tell-all of Macsyna King's life. And by all accounts it won't be pretty reading. There's no doubt she has had a horrific life of abuse and mistreatment.


But I guess that doesn't excuse her alleged neglect of her children - 3 month old twins Chris and Cru Kahui - and any role she may have had in their deaths. It has to be said that she has never been charged with a crime. But she remains (one of) the "most hated woman in New Zealand."


But if you want to really know what hate is, just check out either of these Facebook pages. O.M.G. I cannot believe how petty and childish and downright hateful some of the posts are on these pages. I cannot believe they are adults, and adults who claim to be rational, intelligent, and "passionate." That's a good one. "Passionate." Apparently being "passionate" excuses using some of the most demeaning, belittling, insulting name-calling you can think of. All in the name of the cause.


A little back and forth is perfectly fine between adults who are at two ends of a spectrum on a significant issue. Some repartee, a little thrust and parry, a few, good-hearted, even clever, humorous jibes here and there.


But these people are ruthless. 


They seem to have forgotten what the original argument was about. The "boycotters" as they have become known have hijacked the original issue, which was freedom of speech, with emotional pleas about child abuse. And the supporters of the book being published and sold are chasing their tails, spending more time quelling rumour and misinformation, responding to the bitter hateful comments, and defending their own reputations.


What I can't get over is how childish many of them are. Don't get me wrong. There are some clever people who are trying to be voices of reason in the wind on both pages. But by and large those voices are drowned in the waves of vitriol and deeply personal attack. 


The purpose of the page, especially the support the book page, has been completely forgotten. Nobody talks about freedom of speech anymore. It's now all about defending Ian Wishart and our right to read said book, or crowing about which page has more numbers or more committed members or less childish threads or more intelligent definitions of words we ALL know the meaning of.


The latest vein of comment has to do with who has been blocked and why, or who has blocked who and why. It seems to be a particular badge of honour to be blocked by the "other side". Indeed, it seems a fun game to go over to the other page and make comments obnoxious enough to GET blocked.


Check out this screenshot from the support the book page.

And lest you be deceived, be aware that one of those people, despite the attempt at civility in this post, is one of the worst offenders. Her self-righteousness is unprecedented.  And one other (above), although a relative new-comer to the drivel, is just plain nasty.

Strangely, the thread (screenshot above) seems to have disappeared. Which is another feature of these pages. Threads and comments disappear, which in itself is not that sinister, but it is a regular suggestion that people from the "other side" are hacking the site, there are faux-profiles designed to infiltrate the depths of the other page/s, and that identities are frequently "blown" only to require retractions which more often than not lead to more recrimination and ridicule. And a whole new round of abuse and childish name-calling.

Apparently, the originator of the Boycott page set it up as a bit of an experiment. So he seemed to be saying on RadioLive. He's the same guy who was in the middle of the KFC double-down debate. I think he was arguing that particular treat should not be banned. Hmmm...let's allow greasy heart-threatening food to be sold to minors, but let's not allow an informative book to be sold in bookshops to adults. Can't quite see that logic there, but who am I to judge?

In true Lord of the Flies fashion, both pages have descended into cesspools of bitterness and backbiting. Occasionally a rational comment pops up, and even some meaningful responses. But more often that not every post is hijacked by some bitter or smartarse comment or bite.

How pathetic. Somehow I thought adults could disagree, even on significant issues, issues one has the right to be "passionate" about, without resorting to name-calling, petty personal slurs, pedantic grammar critiques and puerile "I know you are, but what am I"s. 

It has to be said, and I'm employing one of my special talents here - objectivity - that the Supporters page members have overall been more well behaved. They started out with a genuine attempt to lay out the issues and what facts were available, and to search for more (facts). But the page was soon hijacked by people who thought the book should be boycotted, which turned into an effective ban. Sure, boycott the book, but threaten bookstore owners, publish their names, and threaten violence against them (okay, there have only been a few, non-distinct threats of violence) and you start to force what looks more like a ban.

But so much of the page space was dedicated to arguing about whether or not it was a boycott or a ban.

Now, all of this wouldn't amount to a hill o' beans if it wasn't such an insight into the human spirit. This self-confessed social network experiment has been a raging success in that from the first posts, both pages were like two trains heading towards each other on the same track. And when they collided, instead of a natural atrophying of the momentum, it seemed to gather steam, as if most of the members of both pages were just itching for the collision so the real chaos could start. Some people get off on that. Indeed, that's not a phenomenon unique to this particular rivalry, or to Facebook. 

I wonder if this was a precedent, of sorts. I don't remember two opposing groups facing off like this on separate Facebook pages.

I'm sure it's been done before, somehow. I wonder if those efforts were any more noble, or intelligent, or polite.

The back-biting and name-calling and childish back and forth continues. These are two very recent posts...one from each page.

Apparently one of the above is proving to be as obnoxious and bitter as any that have graced the pages so far. There are a few who are so obviously just out to make some sort of name for themselves, hence the spin-off pages and websites, and impending "events" (charity and awareness drives, etc.).

It's been a fascinating insight into mob mentality. The Boycott page grew to nearly 50000 LIKEs in a few days. Which, of course, in Facebook terms that's like the new version of a petition you sign in the street - sure it sounds like a really good idea to sign, the "cause" sounds vaguley worthwhile, but of the 50000 people signed up, only a very small number actually give a shit about, or even know what "the cause" actually was. The same could be said for the Support page, but with such lower numbers, the Boycott page looks MUCH more like some odd wagon a whole bunch of do-gooders jumped on for ten seconds and then jumped off again because they didn't really care about....what was "the cause" again?

In search of the perfect image

I’ve avoided posting on matters photographic, partly because I will show myself up as a newbie, partly because I don’t want to be seen to be jumping on the latest band-wagon (it annoys me that everyone seems to be a “photographer” these days), and partly because I’m still deciding what I want to be when I grow up.

Photography is like any of the arts. It’s hard to compare, but it’s the same as abstract painting, sculpture, or dance. It’s a method of expression. And often, the “artist” is driven by a simple yet elusive goal: to create that perfect piece of art, whether it’s a painting, and clay shape, a pirouette, or an image of a moment captured in time or one beautifully constructed.

With regard to photography, there are hundreds of millions, probably hundreds of billions of photographs in existence. Probably millions/billions more are blood on the floor.

How, then, can one (such as me) ever hope to create something perfect. If it hasn’t been done already, it’s never going to happen.

But the subjectivity of art allows for some room to move. I’ve been cruising Flickr since shortly after it began. I’ve probably viewed a million photos. Very possibly more. I might say that much of the viewing has been to catch a glimpse of the perfect photograph, wondering if it really exiasts. 50% of Flickr photos are really good; 20% of those are excellent; 5% of those are exceptional; 1% of those are “perfect”. And then there are millions more photos online that are not on Flickr.

It became obvious quite quickly that “perfect” is probably an impossible notion, in that there is no one “perfect” photo. There are many many exceptionally excellent beautiful photos.

Which is at the same time inspiring and depressing.

Art is selfish. So it is easier to ascribe perfection to something that I, and perhaps only I, find alluring. That photograph I consider “perfect” may have others thinking huh?

The first photo I remember being mesmerised by was this one.

Eddie Adams - Execution of a Viet Cong Guerrilla (1968)

I have no idea where or when I saw it, but I was quite young. I don’t think it inspired me to want to be a photographer, but I do remember it having a significant impact on me.

The desire to take photographs kind of evolved. I remember my dad had an old box brownie in the wardrobe that I knew was something special. When I finally got hold of an Instamatic (126 I think, in the early 70s?), the first photo I ever took was of some condensation gathered on my bedroom window.

Ever since, I’ve dabbled in photography.

Jump forward to 2011 and the proverbial search for the perfect photo has evolved into taking the perfect photo.

Why? I have no idea. And deep down, whether it’s my psychology or my intuition, I despair that such a notion is pie-in-the-sky.

Robert Capa - Death of a Loyalist Soldier

Surely the perfect photo will be a number of things. It may or may not be technically correct. There is much debate about technically correct photos. I tend to think technical aspects are subordinate to content. What many consider to be the most influential photograph of all time is far from what might be called technically perfect today.

It seems to me, then, that content is king. But it also seems that content is evolving and, like in so many things, the boundaries are being continually extended as to what is possible. And acceptable.

The perfect photo will be of something never before done. The virgin in a condom was new. Edgy. Controversial. It wasn’t a photograph, and some would deny it was art. But it had never been done before, at least in concept.

Piss Christ was a photograph and it contained several similar aspects. It was edgy, raw, offensive (to many), and conceptually had never been done before. But can you just piss in a jar, put a crucifix in it and call it ground-breaking?

Apparently.

Is that all it takes? Sounds easy. But that’s the way it is with so much art. It may be something incredibly simple, but if nobody’s ever thought of sticking a frame round it and calling it art, it suddenly becomes incredibly complex and deep.

Some may stand in the gallery and say: “Umm…it’s just a circle.” Or: “It’s a what? A toilet that brays like a donkey? I don’t get it.”

So the challenge in my mind is to take a photograph of something that has never been photographed before. Of course, it could be argued that every photograph is one that has never been taken before. But that doesn’t make it “unique”. There are a billion photos of cute children in some pose; models sprawled across a bed or couch; or bridges silhouetted against a sunset. They may be good photos, but… yawn.

In a world where everyone is now a photographer, perhaps many many really good photos are being overshadowed by what is simply popular. Stanley Greene railed against the popularity of photos of Britney’s crotch while photos of the conflict in Chechnya are rejected by the mainstream media because they believe nobody wants to see those sorts of photos.

My inspiration lately has come from Walker Evans. His FSA photos are as iconic as any of that period, but when he stepped into the New York subway with a camera hidden in his coat he pushed the notion of candid photography up a notch. Maybe it had been done before (who knows), but he was the first to publish it as art (I think).

Part of the allure may have been the anonymity of both photographer and subject. Is all photography voyeurism?

You don’t have to look far before under the banner of “photography” you find naked bodies. Of course, photography didn’t invent “the nude”, but it’s certainly advanced its cause. Many of the unrivalled greatest works of art involve nudity. Most photographers sooner or later get around to taking nudes. They distinguish it from “porn” by calling it “fine art” (if such distinctions are desirable). Fine indeed.

And in the spirit of pushing boundaries, photos that would make Larry Flint blush are commonplace now. Sure, they’re edgy, controversial, raw and offensive. But are they art? You have to say they are, or else if you start drawing lines what’s to stop the Christian right from drawing lines, the feminist oligarchy from drawing lines, or, god forbid, the judiciary from drawing lines - even though they’re all trying really hard to.

So does the perfect photo need to be controversial, offensive, sexually deviant, and a pusher of ever-expanding boundaries? Geez I hope not. Though it’d be pretty easy to stick a blunted carving knife into some willing model’s vagina, sprinkle some menstrual blood around, take a photo, put “jesus” in the title and call it ground-breaking. Art.

Maybe just taking a photograph I can look at and say “that looks good” would suffice. For now. As with so many things, often it’s the least constructed shots that appeal. I love this photo of Josh. It was snapped one day while in a McDonalds. I’m not saying it’s perfect, but it’s one I can look at and think it’s a good photo.

It’s one of about three such photos in my library.

So the quest goes on. I don’t know where the essence of the perfect photo lies. I’m almost certain it will involve a person. But not a portrait. And not just anybody. The perfect person. But who is that? Male? Female? Nude? Clothed? It will have to be edgy

I judged a photo competition recently. And three other judges and I by and large come up with the same entries that made up the top 5. To be fair, none of the photos inspired me. But in order to get to my decision I set up some criteria, which must have been somewhere in the ballpark given the similarity in our choices.

Hence, I feel I’m able to walk that fine line between objective and subjective. And perhaps tomorrow I will feel differently, but for now it may or may not be surprising that, according to a detailed set of criteria, I think this may be the most perfect photo I’ve yet to see. Sadly, it’s not one of mine.

Freedom of Speech

It hasn't even hit the bookshelves yet and the latest offering from born-again journo Ian Wishart is causing an uproar.

There's a facebook page calling for this book to never hit the shelves. When I first checked it there were 12000 likes. Fifteen minutes later there were 14000+.

Wishart's page to promote the book has 10 likes. I think it's obvious which page will win this race. And, unfortunately for all the wrong reasons.

I've always liked Wishart. Something in the way he thinks gels with me. I don't like his religion, and I disagree with a lot of what he says. But even though he's often ignored, and the stories he breaks frequently don't get legs until the mainstream media finally catches up, I cannot deny his journalistic ability.



I don't care a hoot about Macsyna King, either. She is just one piece of trash on our streets that are littered to our knees with trash. I don't care what happened that night... chances are we will never really know what happened. Ian Wishart could publish a hundred books about the killing of those babies and we'd never really know what the truth is. We will never know.

Apparently, Macsyna King is NOT receiving any money from the book - a suggestion the Banners are conveniently ignoring. Wishart and his publishing company might make some profit, but I of all people know how hard it is to make a profit on a book written and published in New Zealand. I doubt he'll get rich on this book.

It's fascinating to read the vitriol on the ban the book Facebook page.

Jordalyn LewerHonestly what kynd of mother wuld even write a book lyk tht afta such a horrible thng happend to those too lil inocent babies! No sympathy 4 hur at all its a mothers dutie to keep her children SAFE! yip thy shuld be all locked up one of thm will soon pop who the murde'r/s is/ r......stil walking freely! Punkz. This goes for the Dad to! Yr both Guilty of neglection already... arrrrrgggg i could gone on and on!

That's a particular favourite. I love the creation of the word "neglection". Clever. And she could go on and on. No doubt.

Anyway. What's key is that most of the posters have no idea about the book at all. Nobody's read it, or even seen it. The media has taken up the cause of discrediting it and the stupid, sheepish New Zealand public are buying into it.

Wishart has his detractors. On occasion I have been one of them. But he and this book deserve a chance.

The Kahui thing was a debacle from the beginning. Nobody denies that. Even Wishart acknowledges it, of sorts. We'll never know the whole truth. No one person knows the whole truth. So we're never going to get the sum of those parts who do.

A child is killed violently about every month or so in New Zealand. The Kahui twins' death, while unusual in that it was two children, was not that uncommon. Except in that the Kahuis and the Kings have come under particularly nasty public scrutiny.

So what if there's a book about it. So what if Macsyna King tried to hang Chris Kahui out to dry. So what if she's trying to save her own ass. So what so what so what. And so what if Ian Wishart makes a few bucks off of it. So what?

If you don't like the idea of such a book being written, don't buy it. But don't dare get on your high moral horse about the prospect of other people buying and reading it. Last I checked it's a free country. I can read the bible if I want to, the Koran, Mein Kampf, or Alice in Wonderland. And I'll buy and read Breaking Silence if I want to.

Michael Moonwalks Alone

Sadly, Cleveland, Ohio still holds the world record for the number of people simultaneously moonwalking over a bridge. 


The Sydenham Moonwalkers Trust was today (the anniversary of Michael Jackson's death) going to attempt to overtake Cleveland and grab the prestigious title of World Record Holder by inviting the citizens of Christchurch to simultaneously shake their groove thing on the Colombo Street overbridge, all in view of the inspiration for the event, the Michael Jackson Memorial. Proceeds from the event were to be donated to the Christchurch Earthquake Recovery fund.

Unfortunately, no donation will be made because no one showed up to moonwalk (at least at the agreed time of 11am today). Clearly, Christchurchians have lost their mojo. Even event organiser, SMT spokesperson Mick Aulyculkin, was a no-show, and was, obviously, unavailable for comment.

Readers of this article considered the possibility it was some sort of prank. However, a spokesman for the one non-moonwalking person who showed up today (me) said surely no one would so abuse the memory of the great gloved one, inventor of the moonwalk. Who would so callously insult the legend of Neverland?

But, alas, it appears it was indeed a hoax. Sadly, Christchurch will not grab the international limelight for gaining the world record, which still stands at 14, for simultaneously moonwalking over a bridge. Yay, Cleveland.

There's always next year, though.

Was Clayton Cosgrove arrested?

I went to the Art Gallery to see Clayton Cosgrove get arrested.

I heard on the radio that the Opposition MPs were going to be locked in a room prior to the announcement of the financial package offered to quake-stricken Christchurch homeowners. Cosgrove, MP for Waimakariri, had apparently said he would not stay in the room, but would leave, even if it meant being arrested.

So I figured it would be fun to watch him escorted from the Art Gallery in handcuffs so I hot-footed it down there.

Of course, he never was lead out in handcuffs, so I guess he complied. He did, however, front up to TV3 after the announcement.

Mike McRoberts was standing in the drizzling rain, and eventually stepped under an umbrella as he reported live from outside the Christchurch Art Gallery.

Then Juanita Copeland turned up. Apparently she has a house in what is now the Orange Zone.

Or Area. People in the Orange Area are in limbo. They still do not know what the future holds for their houses and land. People in the Green Area can rebuild on their present site.

After it became obvious Cosgrove wasn't going to be lead kicking and screaming from the building, John Key arrived so I thought I'd hang around and see what happened.

Not much.

John Key left just in time for me to take a couple of snaps before I had to leave to go get Josh. So all in all, pretty uneventful. Like the announcement.

I did get to try out my new lens, tho.

Shoe of the Week

I had given up on the Shoe of the Week posts. Somehow in the wake of the earthquakes it seemed a little stupid and frivolous. But when I saw these the other day I thought hmmm...maybe one more.

Aren't they adorable? I big YES from me!

MMP Referendum

So there's going to be a referendum this election as to whether we want to keep MMP or switch to another voting system.

I'm by no means an expert on political voting systems, and I'm really not even an informed political commentator. It's one of those subjects about which everyone has an opinion, and it's actually the nature of the beast that nobody really knows the truth because it is the job of political commentators to obfuscate. The better the obfuscation the more effective the spin.

I am, however, an average Joe. And as an average Joe, I listen daily to the stupidity, the arrogance, the lies, and the petty back-biting that is New Zealand politics.

When average Joes everywhere voted to change from first-past-the-post to MMP, I reckon they didn't want a change of voting system as much as they wanted at least a change of attitude. And in many cases they wanted a change in personnel.

The thing that amused me the most was that the day after the election of MMP, the same people were in charge. All the arrogant, smarmy politicians who ruled under FPP were still in charge under MMP. By and large. There were a few additions...like Nandor and Sue. And we know what they did for New Zealand politics!

But all the big players were still there - Clark, Cullen, Mallard, English, Anderton, Goff, Smith et al. There they all were. Still there doing the same thing - screwing middle New Zealand and feathering their own nests, saying exactly the same things they were saying the day before.

Since then, what's happened? Nothing. Well, not nothing, but the same. Nothing new. For average Joe nothing changed from the old system. Taxes still went up; prices went up; wages stayed still. Politicians perks changed, but were still pretty impressive and still on the back of the good old New Zealand taxpayer.

So, now that it's probably likely that the gullible New Zealand public will go back to FPP, thinking things might change, the conservative spin doctors will be out in force, talking it up.

But nothing will change. A few faces might appear or disappear. But all the old personalities will still be there, plotting against one another, back-biting and obfuscating on the really important stuff, increasing their pecuniary interests, sucking the New Zealand taxpayer dry.

It's not a change in voting system we need or want. We need a change in attitude. We need a switch from the self-serving arrogance that is the backbone of the New Zealand political system. We need genuine policies that serve all New Zealanders, not just the loudest special-interest groups with the best lobby. We need honest politicians who genuinely care about average Joes, politicians who aren't so out of touch with AJ that it's embarrassing. We need a welfare system that actually takes care of people according to need, not some faceless, meaningless formula that invites corruption and abuse. We need an education system that doesn't categorise children according to the wealth of their parents, but teaches self-respect and innovation and genuine respect for others. We need a justice system that isn't a laughable contradiction. We need to feel secure in our homes and on our streets.

We don't need another expensive exercise in futility that will have politicians crowing that they're actually doing something for New Zealand.

Oh, and if FPP can somehow arrange for these bloody earthquakes to stop, then that would be a bonus too!