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Paul Maunder's blog

Month

March 2017

Rapanui: The Song of Stone

On Thursday we had something of a visitation in the form of a story telling show by Nelson actress, Lisa Allan. Great for the show to come here, and it also christened a new intimate venue (something Greymouth lacks), an upstairs space in the Regent complex whose only disadvantage is the lack of disabled access.

Rapanui, The Song of Stone, has to be considered from two angles: as a performance and as a content. Lisa Allan is an experienced and very competent performer, always a pleasure to watch. Movement, voice and choice of costume and props were all graceful. There was a touch of the cute little girl in her acting, but that was forgivable.

When it comes to the content, things became more complex. Solo performance is often closely linked to the performer who has devised/written the piece, often as an expression of self, so that the boundary between objective and subjective content is seamless.

Home and belonging provided the theme. Each member of the audience was greeted by Lisa, offered a small stone and asked, Where is home for you? She then proceeded to explore the topic for herself, using stone as the symbol of absolute foundation – of the planet, the universe, the soul etc. Where to from there? A bit of intergalactic travel, an encounter at a Reiki workshop, and it was threatening to become a new age ramble until we hit the real story: the Waitaha project.

This is a contentious project, which has led to something of a cult. Waitaha were a tribe living in the south who were conquered by Ngati Moemoe and then by Ngai Tahu. The cult belief is that they were the founding people of Aotearoa, here before the Northern tribes turned up. They were a peaceful folk, in touch with the strong spirits of the island – hence the cave drawings. The mythology has been taken up by some Pakeha, for it fits into the noble savage paradigm. It is also a way of avoiding the more earthy and challenging Tiriti and colonising dramas and their impact on Maori and the subsequent need for reparation. Instead, Pakeha can join Waitaha in a retrospective new age, leaving behind the hurly burly of the 21st century for a more spiritual time. This cult is a curious South Island phenomenon.

Nevertheless, the next day I was feeling a spiritual connection with the extraordinary landscape that is Te Wai Pounamu, a different landscape and a different sort of connection from that which one has with the more intimate and softer Northern island. So, I thank Lisa and her storytelling for this.

Kia ora.

Sport

Sunday: Stiff, but happy, after the annual cricket game between Blackball and the Christchurch Larrikins, a team cobbled together once a year by Dave, who owns a holiday house here.

It made me realise yet again, how far away we have moved from the true function of sport, defined by the OED as ‘amusement, diversion, experiencing life as a game…’ And ‘to play’ is ‘to move about in a lively fashion, frisk, flit, flutter and frolic’ (a lot of f words).

Instead, sport has become a commodity, the players are ‘brands’, with agents seeking their millions before the body gives up. Game plans are analyzed by coaches, psychologists, strategists – the whole thing a military operation, with the public bemused and mystified consumers as players troop around the world like mercenaries, selling themselves to the highest bidder. At the same time, followers of teams are supposedly rooting for local pride and tradition. It’s as mad as Donald Trump.

But on Saturday, down at the domain, sport and play existed for an afternoon. The field had been lovingly mowed and we marked out the pitch with a paint brush and some house paint. The gear was ancient, no one was particularly skilful, everyone had a bowl (so there were lots of wides), the pitch was surprising (despite a modicum of rolling), there were many spectators, a lot of beer was drunk and children tossed the newly-mown grass at one another. Nevertheless, competition was keen.

The Larrikins, having urban pretentions,  brought with them a short section of picket fence so that they could enter to bat through a gate. They scored a miserable 126. Blackball had a perhaps fatal runout early on, but put their heads down. By 5,30pm the Larrikins were somewhat staggery after the fourth drinks break and Blackball seemed to have it in the bag until a ball skidded along the ground to hit the wickets of in-form Michael and the last batsman had to be shown how to hold the bat – not a promising sign. Two runs to go and Jerry struck the ball hard at a stout fielder at close mid-wicket. It stuck in the flesh as it were and his hands enfolded the hurt and fatefully, the ball. Much amusement – and it had been serious enough to be a contest. The sun had shone and everyone was content. No money had changed hands.

As one of the spectators said, ‘It’s lovely to do nothing for a day. ‘ Meanwhile another was going through the feelings of the last year – his wife having died – a soft murmuring. The kids continued to frolic, and a nice story was told at the group photo, of this bloke who used to surreptitiously expose himself on such occasions, until taught a lesson through a cigarette lighter being equally surreptitiously applied.

There was much shaking of hands, pride at it having gone so well, a wheelbarrow of empty bottles loaded onto a trailer to be taken to the dump and everyone would have some new images in their head.

There is a phrase, cricket was the winner. On this occasion, community was the winner. And it hadn’t required any government intervention, or NGOs, charitable funding bodies, advisors, criteria, visions, missions, objects or outcomes.

Just some people experiencing life as a game.

Changing behaviour

The French philosopher, Michel Foucault, observed that as the state imposes restraints on what it considers dysfunctional behaviour, the behaviour being restrained bubbles up in new forms and with new energies. Thus, child abuse, paedophilia, sexual violence, sexism, homophobia and chemical abuse should have disappeared by now, but in fact continue to be issues.

The problem lies in the state (sometimes disguised as ‘community’) campaigns, via which the behaviour being negated is actually given a starring role. Starring roles are about time on stage. You give them time on stage, even while negating them, and they are given power.

This was perfectly illustrated in the last two weeks with the case of the Wellington College boys who posted boastful comments on a social media site about raping comatose teenage girls at parties. Something of a media frenzy resulted and counselors are knocking on the school doors. There’s been a flurry of despairing commentaries on the seemingly ineradicable patriarchal fantasies of the male adolescent, these commentaries articulated within the persecutor, victim, rescuer model.

But there’s been something missing; questions not being asked. Is it okay for adolescent girls at parties to get drunk to the point of unconsciousness? What are we doing with regard to this? When I talked to my daughter about whether this occurred during her teenage years (and I’m sure I’d asked her at the time), she said, ‘Occasionally, but we looked after one another.’ Which makes total sense. Handling booze is a learned skill. When someone is still acquiring that skill, their mates look after them. Should the national media stage not have been given over to the need for girls to look after their mates, given over to the value of solidarity among teenage girls? Should not counselors be knocking on the doors of schools to talk to the girls about the need for such solidarity? And this is not a ‘blame the victim’ line, but rather how to prevent victimhood. And not relying on the educated young male with whom the power is still assumed to lie?

Of course, the media wailing took place within the sphere of scandal: disgust, prurience, class envy (Wellington College is an elite school), subconscious images of the rape… the usual stuff. Solidarity on the other hand, is not scandalous, nor prurient; nor envious. The core value is simple: An injury to one is an injury to all. Imagine the effect of a line of girls picketing the gate of Wellington College with Solidarity signs. Imagine the mass distribution of a badge saying, ‘My mates are looking after me’ to be worn at parties. Already social change is taking place, a movement forming that gathers energy, moving into other areas like pay equity, like representation, like proper funding of organisations dealing with crisis…

Finally, the question was not asked regarding the swamp of pornography through which the young wade. When watching the occasional sporting fixture on Prime, it is easy to switch to the music channel during ad breaks. Virtually every music video is soft porn. And this is mainstream television, itself floating in the ocean of porn on the web. Adolescents will always have sexual fantasies, but now these are colonised by the digital empires. Collective resistance from the colonised must be the first step in getting rid of the empires.

Tweets

I’ve never tweeted, having a deep aversion to the idea. Of course there was once, the medium of the telegram, where one paid for each word and which was delivered to the door by telegram boys. They were used to mark emergencies, deaths, births, or celebrations: telegrams from absent friends and family would be read out at weddings. The knock of the telegram boy during the war was a feared occasion. But tweets have none of that. They are chat. Yet they seem to be ruling the world of communication. So, here’s a first attempt.

Tweet 1: In Saturday’s Press there was an oddity: one of the columnists, instead of being witty or ironical about ‘whatever’, wrote of her current bout of depression.

Tweet 2: I had to read it twice, but yes, this was real – a cry from the heart. The context still overwhelmed- after all, we are generally represented by consumer desire…

Tweet 3: … desire for house, car, phone, clothes, holiday or achievement of goals or good works, perhaps temporarily handicapped by an injustice of ethnicity, gender or sexuality.

Tweet 4: The selfie is me somewhere interesting or with someone, preferably a celebrity, or doing something – exciting!!! The rest of the paper was still pushing these things.

Tweet 5: But me on Freud’s couch, where acting out is frowned upon as a barrier to self realisation? Where desire is a dream filtered through repression?

Tweet 6: Forget it. Uncool. This is a culture based on acting out. Desire is desiring an attractive object or being an attractive object to be desired (often the easier option).

Tweet 7: Who owns the words Trump speaks or with which he thinks? Who gives him the words? The images? Sony Corp? Google? Face book? Twitter?

Tweet 8: Actually, we give him the words which are our words fed back to him via algorithms. Some agency set up by yet another billionaire analyses social media for key words, themes, concerns.

Tweet 9: They then change the message or reinforce the message via banks of robotic twitter accounts. This explains Brexit. Trump.

Tweet 10: If our words are no longer our words but disembodied words owned by someone else who is not even a person but an algorithm, that is a description of psychosis.

Tweet 11: But psychosis is a matter of badly behaving synapses, a chemical imbalance. Even the words expressing alienation are alienated from themselves – as meaning.

Tweet 12: No wonder she’s depressed.

 

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