On NZd's Darkest Day

I am writing because I was too upset to press 'refresh' on the news pages any more times.

I am writing because I tried to read my bedtime book and I cannot focus.

I am writing because I just want to eat salt and vinegar chips until I pass out but I have no chips left.

I am writing because I need New Zealand to know what in spite of what Jacinda said about why they chose us, and in spite of what many are saying across social media* we have to own our shit and recognise that New Zealand is still largely a racist nation.

Yes, the nutbar gunman social media live streamer said he chose us precisely because he wanted to demostrate that 'this' could happen in even the quietest place.  And yes, that nutbar gunman was Australian.  But if you think he and the other gunman acted alone then you are kidding yourself.

How did they get access to weapons here?  How, under our strict gun laws, do you think that happened without help from people here?  And why would this happen in Christchurch?  Why not Auckland where we have bigger, more populated mosques?

I cannot recall the amount of times I have witnessed racism during my life because it is countless, but I can recount some events.

Like how when my Kiwi Chinese Uncle got beaten up in Kaitaia so badly that his jaw was broken and needed pins put into it just because some randoms decided he was a 'g**k.'**

Like how in my first ever job an older colleague told me knowledgeably that all Islanders were lazy which I thought was an odd thing to say given there were almost zero Islanders in the small town we lived in and I had said nothing at all about Pasifika peoples.

Like how when I called the local police that time our neighbour was beating the shit out of someone on their deck their response was 'Are they coconuts?'  They're probably coconuts.  They're always beating each other up.  Don't worry about it.'  I was too gobsmacked to say anything (I was 18).

Like how my Kiwi Chinese boyfriend wouldn't tell people his ethnicity in certain circles and just let them assume he was part Maori so he could keep skateboarding in Helensville without dramas.

Like how I've only seen my POC boyfriends*** get punched in the face by random strangers and never my Pakeha boyfriends.

Like how the first time I visited the Gold Coast I found it so racist I cried and wanted to go home after the first two days but the thing is, the people who were most racist were all ex-pat Kiwi's who said things like 'at least they know how to treat their Blacks over here.'

Like how I had an argument about anti-Muslim ideologies with certain family members whilst on holiday in Rarotonga and was told to walk away so as not to ruin our holiday.

Like how I'm still having to argue with people on social media about systemic inequality and why Māori scholarships are not racist.

Like how I'm still having to explain income inequality due to ethnicity using basic statistics anyone could easily find themselves if they could be bothered.

Like how I had to tell my four year old that her friend telling her she should only be friends with white people was wrong.  And I had to hear her friend was bullying a new kid at Kindy because of her skin colour.  And how I then had to front up to Kindy and tell them this awful thing, in a place we had chosen for our kids because it reflected the diverse community we live in.  And I had to remind my daughter that her friend was not a bad person, she had just been taught unkind things.

I see and experience racism in New Zealand on an almost daily basis.

And this is what this terrorism is about.  The gunman's manifesto is largely anti-immigrationist and separatist.  In one part it states: “We must crush immigration and deport those invaders living on our soil. It’s not just a matter of prosperity, but the very survival of our people.”

So it is no surprise he chose New Zealand as a place to carry out this horrific act of violence.  Here, we are all immigrants or descendants of immigrants.  From the Māori who traveled here from Hawaiki, to the Pākehā who have arrived here steadily over the past 200+ years, to our Pasifika, Chinese and Indian communities and our refugee communities.  We, or our parents or Grandparents or distant ancestors came here to Aotearoa to find a better life.  In this, we are all the same.

Yet still, so many of us are focused on our differences.

No, casual racism is not the same as spitting bullets in a mosque during prayer time.  But it builds the culture that grows extremists.
 
We spent some time in our honeymoon in Brunei, and what struck me about being in this predominantly Muslim country was how friendly it was.  We were welcomed into the homes of strangers.  We got into cars with strangers.  We experienced hospitality and kindness from this community every day we were there even though we were different.  Even through we were travelers who were not only not Muslim, but not religious.

If any good is to come of this horror it should be that we think about how we treat others.  We need to acknowledge our failings as a nation and accept that we need to change.

We can do better.  We need to do better.  And we need to start now.



*Fucking Aussies!

** Just a heads up - this isn't a euphamism for 'geek'

*** And no, they weren't getting lippy.  Both times, they'd not even engaged in conversation with their face puncher.

Why I will not listen to Michael Jackson any more

So this morning while driving to Pak n Save I was startled by the opening throngs of Thriller on full blast.  And I wanted to cry.

Thriller, reinterpreted by Taika Waititi in Boy.

But I wasn't surprised.

Because this is the world I've grown up in.  A world of rape culture.  A world where people will fight for their right to keep the status quo at any cost.

Jimmy Safechuck with MJ                    

While I was gladdened by Mediaworks and NZME's response to the Leaving Neverland documentary I knew that by pulling Michael Jackson from their playlists there would be backlash.  That many, many people would say James Safechuck and Wade Robson had made it all up for a little bit of fame and money.  That people from Jackson's past would come forward to protect his image, his legacy.  I knew the likelihood of hearing more classic Michael Jackson tracks pumping out from sound systems around the world.

I know this because this is how society responds to rape accusations.  This is how society responds to any kind of abuse accusations against anyone who is not a random scary guy in the bushes.  Especially when that person is deemed exceptional, as if talent translates directly to moral fortitude.  I have lived with the consequences of standing up for myself against abuse*.  My abuser was not exceptional, just a regular charismatic and likeable person.  But no matter what my abuser had actually done, speaking out would put me on the stand to have my personhood questioned.

I know what it is like to struggle to find the language to articulate what was wrong in my life because I was a child.  I know how it feels to grow into an adult and find a voice and words to express what happened.  How I've had to do this tactfully, with minimal detail.  Because I still love the person who impacted my life in this way.  And because I am still fearful of the consequences of speaking out**.

Because even though I was only a child, and never possibly to blame for what happened, I would be blamed for speaking out.  When the truth is difficult for others to hear or comprehend, the fate of the speaker is to be silenced.

Me and a cousin as kids in the early 90's

I have experienced this silencing in many forms.  Firstly, I have had my personhood discredited.  It was my fault I could not process my abuse.  The abusers place in this was never mentioned.  The abuser was never a concern.  And this silencing began when I was just 14 years old***. 

I was told as a child I was 'too sensitive', 'over-dramatic', 'too contrary.'  When I did find words to wrap around my experience it was minimised.  I was told by people who never asked what happened to me that what happened was not that bad.  I was told the actions I was taking for self preservation were unfair and cruel to my abuser.  Sometimes I am still told these things now.

The hardest part about this is that the people silencing me were my family.

My family simultaneously saved me from my situation whilst never really speaking about it.  I never felt I was encouraged to speak, and to be fair I was also very scared of what might happen if I did.  Part of me is still fearful.  So it certainly wasn't easy for them.  In defense of my family, we are not taught how to speak about these things.  But a part of me believes that even had I been specific about the abuses I suffered it would have made no difference to my family's response.

This is Andrew.  He was always the
perfect gentleman.  He helped us get
gigs.  He helped me contact The Labour
Party when they were late taking their

hoardings down.  He is also accused of
abusing young women.

Because no-one likes to believe that people they know are capable of such acts.  Including me.  A few years ago Andrew Tidball was accused of having inappropriate relationships with very young women.  Initially I was shocked.  I was one of the many people who 'liked' his initial statement on Facebook.  He had never been anything but a gentleman to me.  My gut response was that it could not possibly be true.

But after thinking about it, and reading more about the specifics of the accusations I thought about his accusers.  What did they have to gain by making this up?  I was not his target demographic for abuse.  While I was young when I met him I was over 20, white skinned and bolshy.  Like most abusers he will have crafted his friend group and situation so that he was always seen as the good guy.  Like most abusers he hid in plain sight.  Like most abusers, he had most of us suckered even though, retrospectively, there were signs that things were not right.

My gut reaction was because I didn't want it to be true.  I didn't want it to be true because it meant I had, in effect, supported someone who abused young women.  And that was a horrible feeling.  I think this is a common response.  I suspect why now we are seeing all these articles by MJ's staff and friends is precisely due to this same gut reaction.  That if the accusations are true, we are guilty by association.

These days I have heard enough stories of abuse to just believe them without question.  These days I know that only 2% of rape accusations are false.  I know that of 100 sexual violations in NZ only 9 will be reported, and only one of those abusers convicted.  Knowing this, I know how few people will share their story.  How can I not believe that Michael Jackson sexually abused those boys?

I cannot believe they had motive in making this documentary other than to have their voices heard.  I cannot believe that the award winning director, Dan Reed, would stake his reputation in film-making on a flimsy premise.  What I can believe is that enough time has passed since MJ's death - almost 10 years, that they felt safe enough to talk about what happened to them.  That they needed to talk about what happened to them to assuage the pain and guilt they felt about not talking about it.

And I am glad they did.  I know how hard it is to talk about this stuff.  I know the likelihood of having your truth stomped on.  I know that 99 out of 100 times someone is sexually violated in NZ the abuser will walk away with no comeuppance.  And I know this is due to our culture.  This is because we don't want to talk about the fact that our friends, our parents, our siblings, our coaches and teachers are also our abusers.  Because we know what happens to people who talk frankly about their, and our, reality.

Michael Jackson's estate has sued HBO.  His estate will do whatever it takes to silence his victims.  They will discredit their words.  They will minimise their accusations.  They will call them thoughtless and cruel.  They will do what the rest of the world does to any one of us who calls out our abusers.

We have only to look at the changing face of Michael Jackson
to see how unhappy he was with himself.  How broken he was.

We know abuse begets abuse.  It's common knowledge that Michael Jackson was sexually abused as a child, that he was beaten by his father, that he had no normalcy in childhood.  This does not make what he did ok.  Rather than focus on the why, we should be focused on what we can do as a society to break the cycle of abuse.  Why did those boys, and countless others have to live through what they did when instead, their abusers pain could have been addressed?

We have the power to re-educate ourselves so our children do not have to live as we did.  We can teach them how to understand feelings, and that they have a safe space to express them to us.  We can encourage transparency by showing them unconditional love.  We can educate ourselves the impact of childhood trauma so we can recognise and repair it.  We can empower our children so they can live different lives than we have.

I know this is not easy.  We are working against what feels natural, particularly here in Aotearoa with our 'she'll be right' attitude.  Things are not right.  33 - 39% of our wahine will experience physical and/or sexual abuse from their intimate partner.  We have the 5th worst child abuse rate in the OECD.  Things are not right and we cannot change this until we acknowledge what is wrong.  We need to start building safe spaces for people to speak.  We need to start listening.

When I heard Thriller booming out on a strangers stereo this morning all I heard was an attempt to drown out the voices of the abused.  And I know this is not how most people will feel.

But I will not contribute to the drowning out of those voices.  Because mine is one of them and it is one of many.

* In my case the abuse I'm referring to was not sexual.  But it was still abuse.  Of course I have a litany of other sexual trespasses against me that will also inform this feeling.  You can read about them here.

** Like most of us, my abuser was known to me.  And like most of us, they too experienced horrific childhood trauma.  Trauma is cyclical.  Trauma is inherited.

*** Even earlier if you take into account the atmosphere of my childhood.