“What the world needs now is love, sweet love” It’s been playing over and over again in my head lately, amidst a chronically depressed culture, amidst colleagues whose impressions of the world around them are peppered with despair and hopelessness, amongst managers with stress steaming out of their eardrums faster than Wile E. Coyote. The world needs love. I’ve taken a passive approach to letting my light shine for the past way too long. I think it’s time to be more active. Rather than simply existing and hoping that my happy smiling face makes a difference, I need to start actively making a difference, getting out in the world, standing up to injustice and racism and negativity. The darkness cannot exist where there is light. Even the smallest glimmer of a flame will extinguish the penetrating darkness. We need to start seeing our shadows.
My adventures have been numerous this past month. I spent a lovely day hiking around the suburbs and hills around Napier in what turned out to be 90 degree weather. My best guess is that it was about 25 miles and 11 hours or so of walking. It was glorious. Everyone thought it was mad to walk so much. Perhaps in the hostel-world that I live in, where privacy simply doesn’t exist, what I really value is the opportunity to be alone with my thoughts, to reflect and simply get away. And of course a little sweat never hurt anyone. Part of this walk took me through the Napier suburb of Marewa, full of funny-looking little Art Deco houses. It struck me as looking an awful lot like Orange County, except for one little difference I couldn’t put my finger on. Then I realized what it was…the sky was blue. Many places in the world have nice palm trees and 1920s buildings, but only Southern California has a sky burnt as brown as the sand is golden. And of course there are the sparling new and classic cars on every corner. Marewa, like the rest of New Zealand, still has a love affair with the generic roundness of the 1990s auto. It was also during this walk that I realized New Zealand doesn’t have Gatorade. The drink that single-handedly raised me until I was 17 but I’ve weaned myself off of lately came rushing back to the forefront of my mind as I was tramping up a hill about 8 hours into my walk. I ate dinner that night at the McDeco McDonald’s, America’s favorite fast food joint housed in an old Art Deco building. It holds the distinction of being one of only 2 McDonald’s in the world housed in old Art Deco buildings. Still, no matter how neat the building was, I was struck by another major absence I hadn’t noticed before…no McNuggets. The food that single-handedly raised me until I was 17 but I’ve weaned myself off of lately (since they got rid of the yummy dark meat nuggets) is also noticeably absent in New Zealand. I remember the days when the holy grail was a 20-piece McNugget, some dipped in honey, some eaten breading first, meat second. I could have eaten 40 that day.
And while we’re on the subject of honey, NZ readily redeems itself here. I never realized there was more than one type of honey before. It was always just gooey yellow sweetness coming out of a plastic bottle shaped like a bear. In NZ, they have spreadable honey…thick, creamy honey. Our usual honey comes from clovers, but bees can make different types of honey based on the nectar they gather from different types of flowers. Honey from thyme, for example, tastes distinctly like Dick’s Sporting Goods. It was shocking. I ate this stuff and all I could think of was a shoe store. I learned all this from the bee and honey museum attached to the factory of NZ’s largest honey manufacturer. And some good English lessons too. For example, the world “sincere” comes from the Latin “sine cera” meaning “without wax.” In those generic olden days, sculptors would use wax to cover up defects in their creations. “Sine cera” came to epitomize those sculptors who were authentic and without deception or cover up, they were honest and…sincere. And “honeymoon” harkens back to a tradition of drinking honey wine for one month after the wedding, for one lunar cycle. And the phrase “bee line,” as in moving quickly to a place comes from the bee’s tendency to always take the shortest, quickest route wherever they go. And what exactly is beeswax anyway. How do they make the honeycomb? Would you believe beeswax is actually tiny scales that are “sweated” out from in between the sections of a bee’s abdomen? And that honey in actuality is just regurgitated nectar from the inside of a flower? And this, my friends, is why I read everything when I go to museums!
I have been really really into food lately. On top of the honey museum, I went to another small chocolate factory with accompanying museum that so inspired me that I’ve spent hour upon hour here researching the history of food and food manufacturers and looking up information on the last thing I ever ever thought I’s be interested in…cookbooks. I still have trouble not burning my hot dogs, but soon that will change. Soon that will change. I become quickly famous wherever I go for being the greatest frequenter of the “free food box.” Anyone can be a food snob, but it takes a genuine lover of food to love all food, no matter what the taste or expiration date. They even have a name for people like me who love food and hate waste – freegan. But no dumpster diving for me. Trash cans maybe…if it’s wrapped up.
My research into food history has led me to what always turns out to be my favorite period of American history (which is telling in itself, that even though I’ve been out of America for almost 2 years now, I still think in terms of American history). The 1950s beat me by 23 years. I think I love the inherent contradictions of that jubilant decade, the ambiguity of it all. On one hand, it is widely regarded as the beginning of everything I think is wrong with America today – consumerism, materialism, suburban sprawl, exodus form city centers (the white flight), and the god of convenience. But on the other hand, it’s the only decade on record characterized by prevailing and unflinching optimism (that didn’t end with a major depression). In the 1950’s we really thought we were on the verge of greatness. Everything was new and exciting and wonderful. All of these things, consumerism, suburbia, convenience, we really thought were the answer to our happiness. We’d never had leisure time before like we did now, and we wanted to buy things to fill that time. Cities were crowded and dirty so we wanted space to connect with nature in the suburbs. Convenience items would give us more time to spend with the ultimate god of the decade – our families. As we were becoming more disconnected with our communities, we were becoming more connected with our families. It seems perfectly logical that transporting ourselves back to the ‘50s, we really had no idea consumerism would grab society in an ever-increasing chokehold, that suburbia would later mean we distrusted even our closest neighbors, that convenience meant we’d become too lazy to get up and change the channel on our TVs, that blind faith in technology would lead to iPads and vacuum cleaners with tubes built into the walls of houses. What lesson do we take from all this? How do we maintain optimism and couple it with foresight? I love the ‘50s.
They were also a time before we knew smoking was bad for you. We’ve figured it out now in the US, but the rest of the world hasn’t yet got the memo. Despite cigarette cartons with graphic pictures of disfigured teeth and lungs, smoking is an epidemic either among backpackers or Europeans, I can’t figure out which. It’s always boggled my mind, the obsession the counterculture has with smoking, an antiquated notion propagated by cigarette companies during the conformist 1950s. Every anti-authoritarian bohemian who buys a pack of cigarettes is putting money in the pocket of the very definition of corporate fat cat. I’ve given up on being attracted to any girls I meet here. They get about an hour of attractiveness before the puffing starts and then it’s all over. Still, I’ve heard it said that smoking (and the other great social ill of hunting for sport) will both be extinct in the developed world by the 2050s. Let’s aim high and make it 2030s! I still wrestle a bit with a visit I took to a sheepskin factory. It was a fascinating tour, with lots of beautiful dyed slabs of wool just like the one hanging in my hall at home, straight out of the ‘70s. It was awesome being the only one there. I got a private tour, and thought he factory was closed for the weekend, it made it all the more interesting to be so deserted. They don’t have anything to do with the killing of the sheep. They just use the residue. The sheep is already slaughtered for the meat, and the leftover skin and wool is sent to the sheepskin factory. But I suppose this is the same debate as stem cell research or clubbing baby seals in Canada. Demand for the byproduct may help sustain demand for meat. Does buying sheepskin support sheep slaughter? Does using dead stem cells support killing babies? Does buying Canadian seafood support an industry that clubs baby seals for sale to Asian markets? Interesting questions.
I’ve generally been doing better about not missing home so much lately. This is mostly due to the disturbing fact that American Idol is shown on TV here. All it takes is 1-2 minutes of reality TV, and any nostalgia I have for the U.S. of A. scurries away faster than a cockroach toward an apple core. There’s a yin to every yang. I burnt myself pretty bad working in the commercial kitchen I’d been in for a while here. The chef had told me she was turning the over to “grill.” Unless I missed this, which I likely may have, American ovens are either on or off and you set the temperature accordingly. Here ovens have a “grill” setting that essentially means it’s really stinking hot inside. Of course the kitchen has no hot pads, just tea towels folded over on one another a few times. So naturally, not knowing that “grill” means “really stinking hot,” I neglected to fold my tea towel over the requisite 75 times to prevent burning and I ended up with a good deal of pain. Suffice to say I feel quite bad for all those “witches” who were burned at the stake so long ago. The reaction of the chef to my legitimate pain further convinced me that empathy is not a value taught in New Zealand schools, or perhaps it is, and like so many Americans, they grow up and forget to actually do it. Working under a series of increasingly unbearable bosses here has given me ample opportunity to solidify and concur with every scientific study ever done on the subject of the efficacy of fear as a motivator. Every boss I’ve had here operates very firmly under the “punish bad behavior” framework. The idea is that people respond the way you want them to because they are afraid of being punished if they don’t. Despite the fact that it has now been conclusively proven that this style of motivation is effective only in the short term and in the long term actually produces the opposite result, armies, governments, corporations, animal-trainers, and part-time managers continue to persist in keeping alive a paradigm whose death knell should have been sounded long ago. A much more effective way to motivate people is by rewarding good behavior, by encouraging people to do the right thing simply because it is the right thing. It’s important not to make greed and personal satisfaction the primary motivator, but rather to promote an environment where people desire to do the right thing because they know it is right, irrespective of the consequences. Look at dogs. A dog can become a vicious killer if it is beaten into submission or a loving companion if it is treated with respect. The killer dog would turn on its owner in a second if it had the chance. The companion would protect it to the death. Therein lays the difference. Non wonder most part-time jobs have such high turnover.
I have a new empathy for the millions of Americans and citizens of the world living their lives as part-time hourly workers. I am quite thoroughly convinced that it is simply not sustainable. The importance of paying a living wage is so crucial. The problem with hourly pay is that there is simply no security in it. There’s no way to plan anything, to understand the value of saving, when you have no real security in knowing that the money will be there. The focus becomes on simply getting by rather than saving for a rainy day. It’s not a sustainable way to live. The rainy day will come and you’ll need to pay it off, and credit card companies will more than happy to begin the vicious cycle of debt accumulation that led us to the financial system we’re in. Salaried, full-time work for every citizen I believe could create a culture where assurance of future income would lead to better saving and spending habits and help get us out of this mess. It may sound a little communist, and I have no idea how to make it work practically, but the seed is germinating. Another basic human right I’ve become more convinced of is access to free libraries. I know the free library movement, in the grand scheme of history is a fairly new one, and as evidenced by the charges incurred for everything here in New Zealand, an idea not yet fully accepted even among developed countries. I have always taken for granted that in America, anyone no matter their socioeconomic status, level of education, skin color, or any other basis for discrimination in other sectors of society…absolutely everyone has access to free libraries in every community and thus access to knowledge, power, and opportunities for personal betterment. Libraries, and the resources provided by them to access literature, film, music, information, and community resources, are one of the if not the single most important elements of a free and equal society. A library creates universal equality of opportunity. Even if you cannot read, you can go to a library and talk to someone who can point you in the right direction to learn. If you are homeless you can go into a library and shelter yourself form the cold and pick up some skills from a book that might help you make some money and get off the street. Libraries will not sure all the social ills of society, but they certainly can help. And charging for the services of a library is discriminatory, exclusivist, elitist, and ethically wrong. By putting a cost of entry onto knowledge, you are locking out the very people who are most in need of that knowledge for reasons other than mere entertainment. I think my favorite thing about being back at home will be libraries. I have taken them for granted for too long. The potential for city transformation with a good library is incomparable. I had heard many times before coming here that New Zealand is not known for its cities; it’s famous for beautiful scenery, not beautiful buildings. There are many beautiful buildings in New Zealand, but it is quite apparent that, as a general rule, New Zealand cities are subpar. Much of this I think is because many of them were largely unplanned, because of the country’s cultural inferiority complex and constant identification with Mother Britain, and a cycle of degradation that has perpetuated the belief that the cities stink and the scenery is pretty so throw more money into the existing cash cows. But I’m glad to have been here, because it makes the exceptions to the rule so enlivening (and there are many), and in a way I think the best examples of how to build a good city come from seeing how not to build a good city.
And on final reflection on cultural difference. As my college-educated, smiling, optimistic self was getting frustrated with lack of success in the job market, I came to the conclusion that the basic value system in America is quite different than it is here. Whether it is entirely true or not is another debate, but the great vision of the “American spirit” as one of enthusiasm, gusto, and go get em sticktoitiveness resulting in success is not shared by New Zealand. Threaded through American culture is the idea that if you try and keep trying and remain positive and work hard, you will meet with success. This is the American dream. New Zealand operates under a different framework. Here enthusiasm is viewed as suspect. “Tall poppies” who have succeed beyond others, whether from hard work or pure “luck” (whether or not luck actually exists is another debate) are to be cut down so all are equal. Garrison Keillor often talks about the create melancholy of the Midwest, and it’s funny and lighthearted and quaint when we know it’s really just humility and compassion in disguise. I know I keep coming back to it over and over, but the cultural inferiority complex here is just so prevailing and pitiable that it can’t be ignored. Here trying hard means you think you’re special or more deserving than others. And the great New Zealand virtue is equality. This is, of course, a very noble virtue, but the problem is that the ideal has become equality in failure rather than equality in success. The most basic way that I operate simply is not rewarded under this scheme the way it would (I believe) be rewarded at home. We are all equal, and by no means am I in any way implying that any human being is more or less valuable than any other. Absolutely nothing can affect the inherent value of human life, but the inherent value of life is something quite different from the inherent value of hard work. Perhaps this is the very slightest hint of genuine Republican ideology slipping into my worldview, but I’ve always maintained that I support what I believe morally right and ethical, regardless of which political party claims it. Of course the big old elephants go a bit too far, but isn’t there a way to reward effort without consequently breeding contempt for the lack of it? Perhaps in the end, I’m still just anti-apathy. Brother and sisters, you’ve gotta gotta show a little love. It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of.
Jeremy
