Weapons Of Mass Destruction

This week, the government announced plans to sell off some of its (our) assets to avoid incurring further debt.

We weren't surprised. It's National. We were surprised, however, when PM John Key showed up to Campbell Live on Tuesday night to discuss it. Where were the cat stories we've come to know and love? The rust in the baked beans tins? But we listened. And, while attempting to separate the gist from the *hits top lip with index finger, making 'wibuwibu' noise*, heard JC ask JK if perhaps tax cuts should not have been implemented, and JK answer "They paid for themselves with the rise in GST".

And: scene. Thank you. After months of crying "All New Zealanders will be better off", Key finally admits that every time we all pay that extra 20c on the milk, we are paying for the likes of Mark 'Eat-me' Hotchins to stay one more night at a resort of which most of us will never get within spitting distance. And what are we going to do about it? Nothing. Why? Because we have a collective short-memory, and a crippling case of lethargy. How else was Bob Parker re-elected? When tax cuts and a GST increase were announced, we knew it was a reshuffling of finances by National to thank the top tax bracket for their support, and ensure that support continues. And now that has been confirmed, what can we do about it? It's done.

As for selling off assets that actually bring in revenue... Let's look at how well that worked for Auckland when we sold our bus company. Sure, Stagecoach pays its drivers so little they can barely support themselves, let alone their families. But we didn't have to cancel Christmas In The Park, and that would have been a real tragedy. And let's be honest, if we don't agree with it, it will happen, and come election time we'll have forgotten about it already. So really, who's to blame? The monkey with the gun, or the muppet who gave the gun to the monkey? Have your say. I dare you.

Tired From Sleeping

On Monday, four sleeps before Big Day Out, headlining act The Black Keys cancelled their appearance, citing exhaustion. Now, I know playing music is tiring. Bruce Springsteen is known for his three hour sets, during which he plays several instruments, sings every song, runs up and down the stage, even knee-sliding and windmilling; and all of this in his sixties. Bob Dylan, who turns seventy this year, has been touring non-stop since 1988. During his Bat Out Of Hell tour, Meatloaf frequently passed out on stage from physical exertion. The Black Keys, on the other hand, are aged thirty and thirty-one, and they play the blues. Their tour began last year. And the slot they were scheduled to play was fifty minutes long.

There are so many things wrong with this picture. In the same week Mos Def "postpones" his show because a band member is unwell, NZ concert-goers can't help but feel we just aren't taken seriously as a market and, by extension, an audience. This is more true of the market to which these musicians appeal - Leonard Cohen treated his fans to an extended show last year which received rave reviews; Lily Allen, by contrast, played her Big Day Out set with a cigarette hanging from one hand, a drink in the other, and a glazed expression that suggested the minimum wage her young fans had saved up to see her had gone straight to the Headhunters' sales division.

By perpetuating a capitalist system where exchange-value far exceeds use-value, we have to accept some responsibility for rockstar behaviour, even when it goes against our 'harden up' natures. But as consumers, we have to assert the power of our dollars. We are paying substantial amounts to see artists play venues where we can't even take our own water, and when they let us down with lack-lustre performances or no-shows, what are we going to do about it? What can we do about it? Have your say.

Bully for Restraint

Last weekend while conducting a tour of Auckland, I stopped by 56 Paritai Drive, better known to most as the rubble monument to greed and deceit formerly inhabited by Mark 'Leave my family out of it' Hotchin, and his [you-know-what]. The spectacle was shocking, but not nearly as much for its obscene enormity as, aside from the construction, the fact that everything remains intact. The stone wall, the letterbox; everything that could have been destroyed by anyone seeking some kind of revenge, or at least catharsis, is completely untouched.

Why? I struggled to decide. Would it be considered an exercise in futility? Is the address too intimidating? Do we all have that much faith in the legal system? In karma? Or, as one of my companions suggested, is it because the Ma and Pa type of investor who lost their money is more likely to retreat, embarrassed by their loss, and be more likely to take their own life than that of this unapologetic coward, who continues to walk around, living a life of excess and privilege?

And if that is the case, why aren't the rest of us doing anything? Are we all content to express our contempt over the dinner-table, or the TV3 feedback page? Where is our anger for these people? Is action, even symbolic action, a thing of the past? Has passionate action, like kicking in the letterbox of a man who has wantonly destroyed people's lives, become something we're too civilised to do? Do we even care? Have your say.

The Medium is the MassAge

Living in a country where deregulation has long been the name of the game, we're no strangers to commercially driven news. Gone are the days of front pages consisting only of text; the days of thirty minutes of actual news, rather than an hour's worth of sensationalised headlines from around the world (the world of the UK and USA, of course), and a story about a South Canterbury farm-dog with ESP/HIV/[insert acronym here], read out by someone who can name every designer to show at Fashion Week but didn't know why Sarah Palin's pledge of support for North Korea was funny. The consequences of deregulation are, for the average kiwi, many and varied. We have to channel surf a lot, because of all the ads. If we actually want to know what's going on in the world, we have to be prepared to spend a lot of time trawling the internet, reading what's in the lines and what's between them. We have to accept that our state-owned TV network has abandoned the quaint idea that media should be the fourth estate, and considers us all to be a pack of cooking-show obsessed imbeciles.

We also have to accept that, being driven by money, media outlets will be completely irresponsible and unethical as long as someone will buy it. We saw it for years on TVNZ's conservative morning orgy, Breakfast, where Paul 'Mouthpiece of the Nation (while I make a hundred times what you do)' Henry was continually allowed to make offensive comments because Ken loves a good gay joke before going to work and sexually harrassing his secretary. Last month, the Herald published a column written by a contributor we'll call Hannibal, in which he argued that abortions carried out between 1974 and 2009 are largely to blame for the problems we face now with national superannuation. Putting aside for a moment the absolutely ludicrous nature of the claim, we have to ask: how was this published? If mass media is not going to fill its other functions as fourth estate, why is it allowed to provoke a debate for which it will never provide a fair forum? When will someone stand up and say publishing this kind of view is completely irresponsible, and an abuse of access? We all know that whenever a documentary about white supremacist groups is broadcast, membership increases. Maybe we are the moronic consumers we're presumed to be; but if we are, isn't there more responsibility to use mass media, well, responsibly? Have your say.

Class Dismissed

This week's New Zealand Listener features a none-too-original article on happiness and how to have it; another dumbed-down take on what philosopher Alain de Botton wrote brilliantly about in his 2004 book Status Anxiety. Being in Christchurch at the time, I began to think about the way the city clings to its English heritage, and the implications of this in terms of the city's development, and the happiness of its people. Class, based on old money and the first four ships, is truly alive and well in Christchurch; meet anyone for the first time and they are bound to ask you where you went to school, and if it didn't have a sacred lawn... well, they know a little more about who you are than if they'd asked if you're an Elvis or The Beatles. Obviously this lends to feelings of inadequacy, frustration, and confusion; this is New Zealand, egalitarian dreamland, America of the Pacific... isn't it?

Other cities have their own criteria. While Auckland might have state-houses in expensive areas and be large enough that different socio-economic groups are not constantly and necessarily coming into contact with each other, our class system is based on something even more insidious; "personal" success, which nearly always ignores factors such as opportunity and background - look at old state-house John; if he can do it... This measure of worth is no better than Christchurch's; both are equally anti-egalitarian in their denial of the fact that what we are born into has nothing to do with us, yet what we do in life is largely determined by it.

It's one thing to know this, but quite another to believe it. So we go on comparing ourselves with our peer groups, congratulating ourselves on owning things they do, beating ourselves up when we don't; in one way or another, always trying to keep up with the Joneses, and keeping that class system in place.

In a few days it will be 2011, and I have some new year's resolutions for all of us. Let's stop comparing ourselves with each other. Let's stop measuring our worth by what we have and how we make money (not to mention how much), and start measuring it by what we do that actually means something; who truly loves us, whom we make laugh. Let's hang out with friends and not contacts. We're all doing the best we can in a race that was never going to be fair; let's stop pretending it was, and give ourselves a break.

Have your say.

The Etiquette of Rights

Every Wednesday morning, three middle-aged to elderly men gather on a street corner in Auckland and exercise their right to freedom of speech. The street corner is Manukau Road and Greenlane East, just along from Greenlane Clinical Centre, and the three men stand there from about 8am to 11am, holding signs which read 'Abortion Kills Children' or depict full-term babies in utero, with bible verses underneath.

When I see these men, I grit my teeth and remind myself that one of the wonderful things about our country is that we are permitted to do this - to stand on corners or march up streets, and tell everyone what we believe. I maintain this, and acknowledge it as a crucial part of democracy, even when I vehemently disagree with what is being freely expressed. More and more, however, when the Paul Henrys and Michael Laws' of the country vomit out their views, and people leap to their defense crying "PC gone mad!", I wonder when the right to speak ones mind, on any issue however trivial, became more important than being kind? Just what it is that makes an old man's right to hold up a sign more important than the agony of a woman in a difficult situation driving to a doctor's appointment on a Wednesday morning? The fact that he could be bothered putting aside his empathy and getting out his paintbrush?

Freedom of speech; the right to express our views, is, like all rights, one that comes with responsibilities. I'm no Emily Post but I do believe common courtesy is always appropriate, even in politics, and that just because we can does not mean we always must or should. Free speech is vital but politeness is not a crime, as it seems to be when labelled "political correctness". And when we use a medium that is not easily responded to; a billboard for instance, or a television show to which few people have access, isn't it just a bit gutless to spit out what we want to say and claim free speech?

One morning, I had enough. I crossed the road and exercised my right to freedom of speech. It ended with me also exercising my right to freedom of offensive gesture, and doing something I'm glad my Mother (also no Emily Post) didn't see; telling an old man to [something people do when they love each other very much] off.

I maintain that, as the respondent, I was not primarily to blame; but I was by no means blameless. And I wonder, for both myself and the old man - was it worth it? I believe what I had to say was important; clearly so did he. We always do. But is free speech a reason to forget our manners? Is it always more important than being considerate? Have your say.

Can I Help You?

Laugh all you might - but it really ain't easy being a shop girl.

After working behind various counters for much of my life, I have realised that there is a fine art to retail, especially if you care and you want to get it right. We're there to do a job - one that is as far from rocket science as it gets - but there's a science involved nonetheless. It's a science of people; reading and relating to people in a way that can either make their day or ruin it.

We've all had nightmare moments . The assistant who doesn't acknowledge you. The one who tells you their life story in the first five minutes. The one who takes too long, or the one who rushes through. The one who looks blank when you ask a question, or the one who answers you with a tiresome spiel of details that you don't need.

The fact is, it's not as easy as it looks. At this time of year, I meet all sorts - from people in a rush who need quickfire, no nonsense help, to those who are wandering without aim and who are grateful for all the help they can get. There are people who want to talk and explain and enquire, and people who simply want to point and pay and leave.

I love my job because I love people and I love beautiful things . You'd be amazed at the stories I hear and the friends I make through selling stuff . But it's Christmas - tensions are high, money is low, patience is fair to middling - so as you power through the final days and expect the world, spare a thought for those of us on the frontline. We have sore feet and hoarse voices and our faces hurt from smiling, but we will soldier on, for you. We will even gift-wrap.

What's your shopping pet hate ? Have you enjoyed great customer service over the Christmas period, or have you had a nightmare moment ? What do you wish shops would do, or stop doing, to make your visit more worthwhile ? What makes or breaks a good shopping experience ?

Have Your Say New Zealand !!