Emergency Services and The Storm
As we listened anxiously to the weather warnings on Thursday evening, my wife and I went through a familiar routine. Living as we do on the Eastern Bay of Plenty coast, just above the beach, we are used to the dangers that attend those “exposed” areas that are especially vulnerable to high winds and heavy rain – both of which were promised us in spades by the weather forecasters.
So, we moved all our outdoor furniture to positions that would ensure, we hoped, that even if they were picked up by the gale-force winds they would not be hurled through a window. I cleared the drains in the hope that they would be adequate to divert the waterfall that would surge down our drive so that it would not flood our garage. And I checked that my chainsaw was in working order and would be up to removing from our drive the tree trunks and branches brought down by the wind and threatening to block access to our property.
Most importantly, we checked that we had matches, candles, torches and batteries in the event of a power cut – almost an inevitability in rough weather – and that we had enough bottled gas to fire up the barbecue so that we could cook – or at least make a cup of tea.
But as we went through our check list, I remarked to my wife that the people I felt sorry for, as we and they waited for the storm to hit, were those emergency workers who would know for a certainty that their evening and night were going to be disrupted by call-outs, and that they would have to leave the comfort of the family hearth and go out into the foul weather.
I was thinking of course of the firefighters who, by virtue of their expertise in using long ladders, seem to be the first port of call to resolve almost any problem – from a roof blowing off to a pet getting stranded.
And then there are the electricity line workers, struggling to identify and then to rectify the problem that might have left thousands without light or heat or the ability to cook. And spare a thought for the hard-pressed call staff, having to be polite as stressed callers insist on an explanation and a prediction as to when power will be restored, even when the technicians themselves are still searching for answers.
And never forget the ambulance staff and the police whose normal workload is usually trebled by the manifold accidents that inevitably attend severe weather. We, the public, are a demanding and often ungrateful lot (as will be certified by anyone who has ever had occasion to deal with “the public” at first hand) and most of those who undertake these difficult tasks get precious little by way of thanks in return.
So, as I spend Friday morning clearing up the mess, looking in wonder at the mountainous seas that – driven by the super moon’s king tide – are obliterating our beach, and wondering what worse is yet to come, I am grateful that I, like many others, can rely on being able to call for help when it is needed. It is good to live in a society that is sufficiently well-organised and caring to make provision for coming to our aid when our own efforts alone are not enough.
These services cost money, of course, and probably more than is actually made available – and they are only the tip of the iceberg, since they have a higher profile and visibility than other services, by virtue of their importance in emergency situations. Behind them, though, are many other public services that have a less high profile, but are equally important over a longer period of time, in helping us to overcome life’s problems.
The resources needed to maintain these services have to come from somewhere. A moment’s thought will tell us from where – from the bills and taxes we pay. The next time we grumble about paying our taxes or our bills to public utilities, let us reflect that some of our fellow citizens are ready to go out on a cold, wet, miserable and dangerous night and will use the resources that we help to fund so as to help us through our difficulties. Well done them!
Bryan Gould
5 January 2018
We Didn’t Do Badly in 2017
The New Year should be, and no doubt was again this year, an opportunity to celebrate as we look forward, but we also have cause for congratulation as we review the year just ended. 2017 has left us in good shape, and having successfully surmounted one of the great challenges of a democratic society – a general election.
Not everyone will applaud the outcome of that election, but it is worth reminding ourselves that it was conducted peacefully and in orderly fashion, that there were no allegations of corruption, that there was a substantial turnout, and that we were able to effect a transfer of government from one group of parties to another without violence or threats.
These are all the hallmarks of a mature and well-functioning democracy. The list of significant pluses can be lengthened. Our new Prime Minister is a woman – our second elected woman Prime Minister – no glass ceiling here! And, with her relative youth, she has taken her place in a new generation of younger leaders worldwide.
Nor should we under-estimate the civic discipline required to remove a well-established government from office and to replace it peaceably with another. This is a trick that many other countries have found it difficult to pull, but we managed it without any great dissension.
We managed it, despite an electoral system that made a “hung” parliament virtually inevitable (in itself no bad thing and producing a more representative parliament). The negotiations needed to form a government were conducted with good faith and decorum and (by international standards), in remarkably quick time.
Whatever view we take of these matters, we should acknowledge that a change of government is healthy for our democracy. A government that has been in power for nearly a decade and that has won three elections in a row inevitably becomes accustomed to manipulating the levers of power. A certain arrogance creeps in, an assumption that government by that party is the norm, and that only exceptional circumstances will disturb the status quo.
It is, in other words, good for the country that there should be a recognition that democracy always implies the possibility that power will change hands – and the big gain from that change is that a fresh approach may produce new solutions to old problems and identify new problems we didn’t even know we had.
But the cause for self-congratulation can really be made when we compare our experience with what has happened elsewhere, and particularly in that self-appointed exemplar of how democracy should work – the United States.
They, too, have recently had a change of government – they have a new President and a new Republican majority in Congress. The process by which that change was effected, however, was far from straightforward, with threats, charges and counter-charges made during the campaign from all quarters – and the outcome was one that prompted marches and demonstrations by those who were appalled at what the democratic process had produced.
The “glass ceiling” was well and truly in operation, so that one of the candidates seems to have suffered some loss of support on account of her gender – and the electorate revealed itself to be deeply divided as to the merits or otherwise of the new administration’s proposals as to racial and religious discrimination, and the priority to be given to the interests of the “haves” and the willingness to inflict further pain on the “have-nots”.
And that is to say nothing of the growing evidence, now impossible to ignore, that the successful candidate is totally unfitted, in terms of both personal and professional qualities, to undertake his onerous new responsibilities. That realisation is not matched, however, by any will to remedy the situation – the Republican congressional majority prefers to maintain its own ascendancy, even if it means taking major risks with the country’s future.
Our 2017 exercise in democracy looks, by contrast, to have been pretty successful. We have no reason to question our processes or to doubt the democratic commitment and good faith of the government we have elected. The coming year is one we can welcome, secure in the knowledge that our new government, like its predecessor, will have to satisfy the voters – in a properly functioning democracy – that it merits their support.
Bryan Gould
31 December 2017
The Season of Goodwill
“Nice” is an odd word – one of our most widely used adjectives but of imprecise, not to say amorphous, meaning and often pressed into service just to signify anything that is vaguely pleasing.
So, when I say that, living as we do on the outskirts of Opotiki in the eastern Bay of Plenty, we are privileged to rub shoulders every day with “nice “ people, I had better spell out what I mean.
When I say that the people we have dealings with are “nice”, I have in mind our neighbours who, following one of the winter’s most damaging cyclones, drove down our drive to check that we – their septuagenarian neighbours – were all right.
I think of our neighbour who, realising that my wife was about to come home from hospital following surgery for breast cancer, and that, following a couple of accidents, our rainwater tanks were empty, rigged up a connection that enabled him to pump water from his own tank into ours.
And then there are our friends who – on an almost daily basis – delivered to us freshly baked cakes and fish caught off our beach, filleted ready for eating, and others who brought us hot meals, at a time when neither my wife nor I was able to focus much on cooking or shopping.
But even these acts of thoughtfulness and generosity do not quite capture the “niceness” I have in mind when I think of those with whom we interact on a daily basis. I think of the local retailers and tradesmen, and the receptionists and check-out girls, and the unfailing good humour and courtesy with which we and they are able to conduct our transactions. It is hard to overstate what a pleasure it is to do business with “nice people”. The business has to be done, whether or not the people involved are “nice”, but how much easier and less stressful it is when one can count on the good faith and desire to please of those with whom it is done.
I think I am now getting close to what I mean when I refer to “nice’ people. I mean people with good hearts – people who take it for granted that we share the same life and that we ’re all in it together, and that things will go better for us all if we try to help each other. I mean people with a generosity of spirit, who are ready to ease any situation with a smile or a cheery greeting or a kind word.
These are people whose “niceness” comes naturally to them, without thought or design or ulterior motive. They are the strangers one meets in the street or walking on the beach and who are happy to catch one’s eye and to say “Good morning” or “nice day”. I know it is easy to idealise these behaviours and to read more into them than they merit. But they are also simple expressions of a community spirit that enriches the lives of all of us.
We know that New Zealand is a popular destination for overseas tourists, and that the scenic beauty and sense of space we can offer are among the major attractions. But I also think that the natural friendliness and good manners of New Zealanders also play a part – and, judging by my own experience, they are more likely to be found in small rural communities than in the big cities where the pressures on time and space take their toll.
The season of goodwill is of course the ideal time to pause and reflect on such matters. Nothing encompasses the Christmas spirit better than the readiness to think and take account of, and give time to, others. Christmas is after all the time for families – and families are like communities, in that we don’t choose our family members, any more than we choose those in our community – they just are. And, as the time for New Year resolutions approaches, what better than to resolve that the season of goodwill should be extended well into 2018? The lives of all of us would be immeasurably better – in all sorts of immeasurable ways.
Bryan Gould
24 December 2017
A Merry Pohutukawa Christmas
In 1962, a Rhodes Scholarship took me to Oxford University – and I didn’t get round to coming back home for another 32 years. Those 32 years in England have of course left their marks, one of which is my abiding expectation that Christmas means cold temperatures and warm fires. After being home again now for 23 years, I confess that I still can’t quite get used to Christmas on the beach.
Perhaps it is the prospect of the cold and dreary months of January and February that makes the lights and music and good cheer of a northern winter Christmas so welcome and memorable. The Christmas festivities play an important role in lifting the spirits when that is most needed.
Barbecues and picnics in the sunshine, enjoyable as they are, don’t have quite the same buzz. But there is one aspect of a New Zealand Christmas that never fails to please me – especially in the wonderful Bay of Plenty where I grew up. I am always delighted to see the riot of colour when the pohutukawas blossom as Christmas approaches. As we walk along our beach, the great trees that cling to and support the cliff faces are ablaze, and the tracks and roads are carpeted with red – and our own property boasts from every viewpoint centuries-old specimens of our own Christmas trees so that, truly, “every prospect pleases”.
But, this year, that pleasure is tempered by the unwelcome realisation that “myrtle rust” might mean the demise of this spectacular witness to the Christmas spirit. Like kauri die-back, this uninvited visitor from overseas threatens the survival of one of our most iconic species.
Unlike the PSA outbreak that shook the foundation of our kiwi fruit industry, the incursion of myrtle rust does not seem to be attributable directly to human failings. But all of these threats to our environment arise directly or indirectly from human intervention – and we are not just talking of plants and trees at risk, but of many of our birds and marine species as well; that should surely induce some serious consideration as to what aspects of human activity should be modified if we are to avoid irreversible damage to our natural environment.
The first lesson we should learn is that it is the human need to move ourselves and our goods from one part of the globe to another that creates the risk. We would probably not have to put up with myrtle rust or kauri die-back if the scourge had not been spread by humans. This realisation should immediately impose an obligation to take more care than we currently do to avoid such blights. At the very least, we are entitled to expect that our public services are adequately funded to provide the required protection.
Saving money on biosecurity is surely a false economy and a short-sighted dereliction of duty. As always, prevention is better and easier than cure, and our new government should immediately take the opportunity to make good the deficiencies in this respect of its predecessor.
But there is a wider message as well. It may not be possible to identify in every case precisely how and why diseases like myrtle rust, kauri die-back and PSA reached our shores, but we can be sure that these calamities occurred because human (usually economic) needs were thought to take priority over the survival of our environment and the species with which we share it.
Our mindset has, in other words, been for far too long that “turning a buck” is the most important goal and will justify taking whatever risk is involved. In this Christmas season, and while the pohutukawas still bloom, we have the chance to re-order our priorities. What will it avail us to have more money in our pockets if the price we pay is that we live in an impoverished environment?
We should all stop to think. The fate of other species should not be relegated to the bottom of our priority list but should always be at the top of our minds. The survival of our environment – its diversity, its integrity and inter-dependence, and, yes, its beauty – should not automatically take second place to the constant priority given to a single bottom line.
Bryan Gould
16 December 2017
In 1962, a Rhodes Scholarship took me to Oxford University – and I didn’t get round to coming back home for another 32 years. Those 32 years in England have of course left their marks, one of which is my abiding expectation that Christmas means cold temperatures and warm fires. After being home again now for 23 years, I confess that I still can’t quite get used to Christmas on the beach.
Perhaps it is the prospect of the cold and dreary months of January and February that makes the lights and music and good cheer of a northern winter Christmas so welcome and memorable. The Christmas festivities play an important role in lifting the spirits when that is most needed.
Barbecues and picnics in the sunshine, enjoyable as they are, don’t have quite the same buzz. But there is one aspect of a New Zealand Christmas that never fails to please me – especially in the wonderful Bay of Plenty where I grew up. I am always delighted to see the riot of colour when the pohutukawas blossom as Christmas approaches. As we walk along our beach, the great trees that cling to and support the cliff faces are ablaze, and the tracks and roads are carpeted with red – and our own property boasts from every viewpoint centuries-old specimens of our own Christmas trees so that, truly, “every prospect pleases”.
But, this year, that pleasure is tempered by the unwelcome realisation that “myrtle rust” might mean the demise of this spectacular witness to the Christmas spirit. Like kauri die-back, this uninvited visitor from overseas threatens the survival of one of our most iconic species.
Unlike the PSA outbreak that shook the foundation of our kiwi fruit industry, the incursion of myrtle rust does not seem to be attributable directly to human failings. But all of these threats to our environment arise directly or indirectly from human intervention – and we are not just talking of plants and trees at risk, but of many of our birds and marine species as well; that should surely induce some serious consideration as to what aspects of human activity should be modified if we are to avoid irreversible damage to our natural environment.
The first lesson we should learn is that it is the human need to move ourselves and our goods from one part of the globe to another that creates the risk. We would probably not have to put up with myrtle rust or kauri die-back if the scourge had not been spread by humans. This realisation should immediately impose an obligation to take more care than we currently do to avoid such blights. At the very least, we are entitled to expect that our public services are adequately funded to provide the required protection.
Saving money on biosecurity is surely a false economy and a short-sighted dereliction of duty. As always, prevention is better and easier than cure, and our new government should immediately take the opportunity to make good the deficiencies in this respect of its predecessor.
But there is a wider message as well. It may not be possible to identify in every case precisely how and why diseases like myrtle rust, kauri die-back and PSA reached our shores, but we can be sure that these calamities occurred because human (usually economic) needs were thought to take priority over the survival of our environment and the species with which we share it.
Our mindset has, in other words, been for far too long that “turning a buck” is the most important goal and will justify taking whatever risk is involved. In this Christmas season, and while the pohutukawas still bloom, we have the chance to re-order our priorities. What will it avail us to have more money in our pockets if the price we pay is that we live in an impoverished environment?
We should all stop to think. The fate of other species should not be relegated to the bottom of our prioprity list but should always be at the top of our minds. The survival of our environment – its diversity, its integrity and inter-dependence, and, yes, its beauty – should not automatically take second place to the constant priority given to a single bottom line.
Bryan Gould
16 December 2017
In 1962, a Rhodes Scholarship took me to Oxford University – and I didn’t get round to coming back home for another 32 years. Those 32 years in England have of course left their marks, one of which is my abiding expectation that Christmas means cold temperatures and warm fires. After being home again now for 23 years, I confess that I still can’t quite get used to Christmas on the beach.
Perhaps it is the prospect of the cold and dreary months of January and February that makes the lights and music and good cheer of a northern winter Christmas so welcome and memorable. The Christmas festivities play an important role in lifting the spirits when that is most needed.
Barbecues and picnics in the sunshine, enjoyable as they are, don’t have quite the same buzz. But there is one aspect of a New Zealand Christmas that never fails to please me – especially in the wonderful Bay of Plenty where I grew up. I am always delighted to see the riot of colour when the pohutukawas blossom as Christmas approaches. As we walk along our beach, the great trees that cling to and support the cliff faces are ablaze, and the tracks and roads are carpeted with red – and our own property boasts from every viewpoint centuries-old specimens of our own Christmas trees so that, truly, “every prospect pleases”.
But, this year, that pleasure is tempered by the unwelcome realisation that “myrtle rust” might mean the demise of this spectacular witness to the Christmas spirit. Like kauri die-back, this uninvited visitor from overseas threatens the survival of one of our most iconic species.
Unlike the PSA outbreak that shook the foundation of our kiwi fruit industry, the incursion of myrtle rust does not seem to be attributable directly to human failings. But all of these threats to our environment arise directly or indirectly from human intervention – and we are not just talking of plants and trees at risk, but of many of our birds and marine species as well; that should surely induce some serious consideration as to what aspects of human activity should be modified if we are to avoid irreversible damage to our natural environment.
The first lesson we should learn is that it is the human need to move ourselves and our goods from one part of the globe to another that creates the risk. We would probably not have to put up with myrtle rust or kauri die-back if the scourge had not been spread by humans. This realisation should immediately impose an obligation to take more care than we currently do to avoid such blights. At the very least, we are entitled to expect that our public services are adequately funded to provide the required protection.
Saving money on biosecurity is surely a false economy and a short-sighted dereliction of duty. As always, prevention is better and easier than cure, and our new government should immediately take the opportunity to make good the deficiencies in this respect of its predecessor.
But there is a wider message as well. It may not be possible to identify in every case precisely how and why diseases like myrtle rust, kauri die-back and PSA reached our shores, but we can be sure that these calamities occurred because human (usually economic) needs were thought to take priority over the survival of our environment and the species with which we share it.
Our mindset has, in other words, been for far too long that “turning a buck” is the most important goal and will justify taking whatever risk is involved. In this Christmas season, and while the pohutukawas still bloom, we have the chance to re-order our priorities. What will it avail us to have more money in our pockets if the price we pay is that we live in an impoverished environment?
We should all stop to think. The fate of other species should not be relegated to the bottom of our priority list but should always be at the top of our minds. The survival of our environment – its diversity, its integrity and inter-dependence, and, yes, its beauty – should not automatically take second place to the constant priority given to a single bottom line.
Bryan Gould
16 December 2017
Mike Hosking’s Special Pleading
Mike Hosking’s musings on current affairs usually follow a fairly predictable course. But his piece in Wednesday’s Herald on the new government’s attempts to help those in need – the children living in poverty, pensioners struggling to stay warm in winter – took a rather different tack.
He seemed to concede that the attempts were worthwhile, and might even work up to a point. His case against them was that they were poorly directed and not adequately focused – the spending was, he said, “too loose”. The help would go, he objected, to everyone and not just to the needy.
He had earlier in the same piece drawn our attention to the fact that the help was being funded with the money saved from the tax cuts “we didn’t get” – spending and no tax cuts was, he said, typical of centre-left governments whereas centre-right governments offered tax cuts as a reward for national economic success. There could be little doubt as to which of these options he favoured, though he didn’t quite get round to conceding that the majority of voters had rejected the prospect of tax cuts in favour of greater spending on better health services and education and on the alleviation of poverty.
Now, Mike Hosking is, as the blurb that precedes his article in the Herald reminds us, one of our most successful broadcasters – and one of the most ubiquitous as well. He must be presumed at least to know what he is talking about and to have thought through the opinions he offers us. So, when he tells us that directing help to those in need will be ineffective because it is “too loose” and poorly directed, and implies that tax cuts would have been preferable, we should sit up and take notice.
But, hang on a minute. Isn’t there a pretty obvious flaw in his reasoning? If a government finds that it has a bit of money to spare, what is more likely to achieve the outcomes preferred by the voters – tax cuts, or spending to boost the incomes of poor families and to improve the level of critical services?
The answer is surely a no-brainer. There is nothing less well directed than an across-the-board tax cut and, if the criterion that matters is that the help must be properly focussed, the last thing you would offer is a tax cut which would fail that test at the first hurdle. Offering a tax cut across the board will be so poorly directed that it will guarantee that a disproportionate share of the benefit goes to the better-off, and that the poor, typically enough, have to make do with the leavings.
Those who gain the most from tax cuts are those who pay, usually by virtue of their large incomes and wealth, the most tax. To use the available money in this way is to ensure that the benefits do not go primarily to those in need but to the well-off – and, in terms of what would most benefit the economy, it is obvious that money in the pockets of the poor will get spent and will boost economic activity, whereas tax cuts for the rich will just end up enlarging their wealth and the income they can make from it and will do little to stimulate the economy.
Mike Hosking purports to be making a value-free critique of the new government’s commendable efforts to help those in need. But if we accept his argument that a clear focus and direction should be the cardinal feature of such attempts, then the last policy we should consider is an across-the-board tax cut.
We are forced to the conclusion that Mike Hosking’s conclusion is not the product of careful and value-free reasoning but is rather the confused product of a lazy manifestation of, at best, gut feelings (aka political prejudices). We are entitled to expect better from “one of our most successful broadcasters” – and certainly from one who would no doubt benefit particularly from the tax cuts he advocates.
Bryan Gould
14 December 2017