New New Zealand.

I am always moved by the grand sweeping landscape and subtle colours when driving over the Lindis Pass on a journey north. The gaunt beauty of those moody tussocky hills is as powerful now as it was in the early seventies when I first passed this way. But lest we forget those among us who resent our appreciation of natural beauty, graffiti vandals have left their mark on a shed close to the road.  

For once I risk the madness of Christmas holiday traffic.  The Lindis, for the first time in my experience, is relatively busy. Fortunately the traffic is all coming towards me heading for Wanaka and Queenstown and all points Central. Only two mad drivers. One overtaking on a blind bend and another shooting out of a concealed side-track a few minutes later.

At the foot of the Lindis, Omarama is also undergoing its yearly influx. Tents sprouting everywhere and vehicles jerking in and out of look-alike service stations. Omarama is not pretty. It is what it is; a junction servicing travellers. At other times of year it has a spacious, almost empty slow-moving rural charm but at holiday time, forget it. 

On to the Mackenzie Country on a road so straight and easy-riding you could be excused for thinking any speed limit is unreasonable. At the Omarama end, giant irrigation machines are a disquieting reminder that dairy conglomerates have a predatory eye on the stark beauty of this basin. Further on young wilding pines are creeping over the landscape. Greed and neglect combine to threaten what once seemed immutable. But for the time being the majestic sweep of open country nestled between ever-changing mountains continues to be a source of inspiration. 

And then Tekapo. It is inconceivable that this magnificent basin could contain such a cramped, shabby little money-grabbing tourist trap but sadly, it does. And it’s getting worse by the year. Overflowing litter bins, scruffy toilets, souvenirs ad nauseam, an unkempt mini-golf course and, desecration upon desecration in this land of mighty mountains, large fake rocks for the puzzled gaze of tourists. A little further away parked cars and camper vans disfigure the once solitary Church of the Good Shepherd. Is it too much to ask tourists to walk a hundred yards?  

The final insult reduces visitors to walking with elbows tucked in. The footpath fronting the line of devouring business premises is like a third world alleyway, squashed between advertising boards and cars parked a few feet from shop fronts. It is oppressive. Tekapo Township is a blot on the landscape, a lucrative cash cow. And so long as the milk is flowing no one cares how ugly the cow has become.  

On past Burks Pass and Kimble, a little township that is homely, civilised and discrete. The absence of crass commerce is a relief. Then Fairlie which also retains the sense and deportment of an old New Zealand rural township. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, the busses pass it by. 

Geraldene alas, has been captured by the passing tour-bus dollar. The country is now littered with look-alike refreshment places that suck you in take your money and spit you out without eye contact. Where food has the look and taste of produce manufactured deep in the old soviet empire before being shipped on an old tramp steamer to Auckland then rumbled, eventually, down to the South Island.

A Darfield cafe restores my confidence. Competent yet friendly service, good Darfield food, comfortable and tasteful surroundings. A spacious, leisurely township where you think of lingering before getting back behind the wheel.  

Why would anyone pass through Christchurch unless they had to? Most of the space in that city is given over to selling, repairing and elevating motor vehicles to icon status. But not only motor vehicles. Big signs everywhere defile a beaten landscape. Buy! buy! by! is the blatant cry. Wherever the eye turns the head is pummelled by migraine inducing advertising graffiti. Only Hagley Park, and to a lesser extent the old cultural centre of the city, retains the aesthetic values bestowed by Christchurch’s visionary founders.    

Finally, Kaipoi. A first time visit for me. I am surprised to find an Egyptian restaurant, an Indian restaurant and an excellent Working Man’s Club in this small Canterbury town. Something of pre dollar-hungry New Zealand hangs in the slow-moving air. 

My biggest surprise is a visit to the Picture House. A modern place with a comfortable lounge where tea, coffee, food and alcohol is served. The pleasant atmosphere suggests   excessive consumption will be frowned on. The owner provides friendly service. The auditorium is furnished with astonishingly comfortable couches. Lots of leg room. 

The film is Five Minutes of Heaven, which proves to be a powerful, intense, intelligent drama. The lights dim on time. No adverts. Straight into the film. No intermission to sell stuff. No distractions. Now, if only this was the new New Zealand.      

Assets

We don’t have holy men singing eerily from the mosque. We have the people’s television. Every day a kind of rosary for the souls of speculators. Others may have to attend a special indoctrination class to understand the prayers: The Fed, The Dow, NZX Fifty, The FTSE show. 

We read of discount book value and cash flow, hedge funds, futures markets, complex portfolios, assets and asset stripping, profit margins and high geared corporate debt, Collateralised loan obligations, depreciation and low productivity.  

But even the uninitiated are able to pick-up the meaning of “shedding” workers. And who needs language to get the message when factories are fleeing the workers that made them, or the push for Easter opening? 

We need more investment, apparently. Ahem! We have one hundred and fifty thousand idle workers.  

Happy Christmas.

   

Private Prisons

Why not privatise the army? The Americans have gone some way along that road in Iraq. It’s a lucrative business. In New Zealand schools airlines, banks and railways continue to be tempting for investors with short memories. Way back, private Catholic schools had to be rescued by taxpayers. Had they not been bailed out they would have closed. And it is much too recent (and painful) to discuss the sad tale of our bank, railway and airline. 

One can see the temptation. The argument goes that bureaucratic institutions are expensive, inefficient and archaic. Private enterprises are cost-conscious, efficient and innovative. To believe this one would have to ignore the hundreds of shops, cafes etc. that provide awful service. Accepted, the argument goes, but we are talking of large institutions run by qualified and experienced people. Like banks and finance companies for instance? 

But let us concede that government institutions run by bureaucrats are stodgy and are not famous for startlingly innovative service delivery. These institutions often operate excessively rigid and complicated procedures which are tiresome. They would argue that where important public institutions are concerned caution is a necessary watchword. Currently millions of investors throughout the world argue that caution was exactly what was forgotten by the innovative stewards of their investments.

Now, to cut to the chase: Privatising prisons has nothing to do with penology, the study of punishment and the ethical considerations of locking people up. It doesn’t even have anything to do with prisons. It is about unchanging political attitudes, selfish voters and political parties whose central policy is expedience. 

Listen to ordinary people before an election: What’s in it for me? They don’t vote for a healthier environment or social cohesion or a legacy for their children’s grandchildren. They have money on their minds. Money now. Hence the focus of policy makers seeking to attract the only two streams of voters that matter to mainstream parties; those who imagine they can make money running prisons and those - the majority - who hope that leaner prisoners equates with reduced taxes. 

I think the saddest part of this legislation is that it highlights the dearth of vision in New Zealand politics. Norman Kirk was able to inspire with his vision but died before he was tested. David Langi, although he did not follow through, had the potential to be an inspirational leader. Helen Clarke was able and competent but lacked the ability to inspire. John Key seems affable and reasonably competent but if the tired old ploy of privatising prisons is an example of his vision I think we’d better prepare for many more years of mediocrity.   

One of the boys.

Witi Ihimaera, novelist and Auckland University professor, was in a plagiarism row last week over his new novel, ‘The Torwenna Sea,’ which included uncredited material from books written by other writers. Ihimaera has apologised and as good as admitted plagiarism. Yet today he was named as a New Zealand's Arts Foundation Laureates for 2009 and awarded $50,000.   

According to Auckland University dean of arts, Associate Professor Jan Crosthwaite, Ihimaera’s plagiarism had been investigated and it was found that there was no deliberate wrongdoing. This follows the Race Relations Conciliator’s obsequious judgement on Hone Hariwera’s inflammatory comments and is equally hypocritical.  

Ihimaera belongs to an academic clique that changes the rules according to who is breaking them. On this occasion it was blatantly one of them. Had it been a student cribbing someone else’s work for an essay, the consequence would not have been a reward of a title and $50,000. but the boot. 

As far as I’m concerned it is not only Witi Ihimaera’s reputation that has been diminished by this affair. 

 

Junk

The Key Government went to great lengths to protect the health of the relatively few New Zealanders who use the illegal drug Methamphetamine, commonly called P. So concerned was it to ban this junk from society that in the process it banned a useful drug that was harmless, effectively relieved the symptoms of cold, and was popular with many thousands of sensible, law-abiding New Zealanders. The problem was that some people were using certain ingredients of the good drug in the manufacture of the bad drug. So we all had to be punished.  

Block punishment is a well known ploy in reformatory circles. It goes like this: One or two inmates break the rules. Everyone is punished. It’s a bit like giving all drivers in Christchurch demerit points because of boy-racers. The effectiveness of this behaviour modification strategy lies in its powerful peer-pressure effect. Well, it works in boarding schools. Perhaps that’s where the Ministers learned the trick. Perhaps they were too busy to work out that even when block punishment works it breeds resentment.

Then there’s the strange case of the junk that all schoolchildren were being sold in school canteens. In this case the previous (nanny) government banned the junk and insisted that canteens stock only healthy food. But the Key Government reversed the ban. Presumably on the premise that if children want to eat food that is bad for their health it is not the government’s place to intervene. 

It gets worse: In Britain the top drugs advisor made the mistake of embarrassing the government by stating the well known scientific fact that cannabis, ecstasy and LSD were less dangerous than alcohol. He was sacked.

No wonder the Green Party stopped talking sensibly about cannabis years ago.

So, nicotine, which kills in the thousands, is okay provided it is regulated and the tax is paid. Ditto for alcohol which is responsible for lowering the inhibitions of most of the violent offenders in our prisons. Bashed women and children and abused Accident and Emergency staff have alcohol to thank for their pains. Or, let’s be accurate here, they have to thank those who abuse alcohol. 

If they weren’t banned I’d pop an ecstasy pill.  

Competition.

Monopolies need to be kept honest so I don't mind the Act Party's insistence on opening the Accident Compensation Scheme to competition from private insurers.  Just so long as they deliver on the long-term care of broken backs along with the sprained fingers.  

Death in the cosmetic lane.

A little while ago I saw a televised insurance advertisement featuring Keith Quinne, rugby broadcaster. In a sensible matter-of-fact way it dealt with the possibility of sudden death and the financial consequences for bereaved families. Who put the ad on? I didn’t notice. But I certainly noticed the ad now showing on TV.    

Sovereign Finance’s current effort at selling insurance on television is also about providing for your loved ones after sudden death. The about-to-be-deceased, portrayed by telegenic male and female actors alternately, no doubt in the interest of gender balanced marketing, is supposedly talking to the grieving children after the funeral. But not to worry because Mummy or Daddy smile throughout. No room here for sense or seriousness and certainly not sorrow. Hey, this is not a big deal kids, they seem to say. See you guys. Have a nice day. 

While I gazed in wonder at this ad man's idea of an impurity deleted view of the world, the man himself was probably celebrating a bonus for finally de-griefing death.