The Tall Poppy Syndrome

The tall poppy syndrome is apparently alive and well in the United Kingdom, Australia and certainly in New Zealand. The meaning is well enough known – a propensity to chop down anyone who is doing well in any given field.

Before the advent of professional sport, New Zealand was known for fair play and fairness – giving people a fair go. These days, being paid to win has filtered through society so that being fair or ‘sporting’ is not so often encountered.

The tall poppy syndrome is boosted by the anonymous nature of social media were there is open slather for the use of vitriol.

As a Kiwi I rejoiced when Eleanor Catton won the 2013 Man Booker Prize for her work The Luminaries.

Being a nutter on history, her research impressed me.

When news of her win came through, we were told that she was the youngest person to receive the prize. In itself that is indeed an accomplishment but the term ‘youngest person’ has connotations of inexperience, which looking at her profile is unfair.

A Man Booker Prize winner rightly becomes a celebrity in the literary world and Ms Catton has been on the speaking circuit, most recently at the Jaipur Literature Festival.

Within her speech she said that: ‘New Zealand is run by neo-liberal, profit obsessed, very shallow, very money-hungry politicians who do not care about culture.’

Obviously the New Zealand politicians were none too happy to hear that! But the job description of politicians is to have a rhinoceros hide and none of them should have been offended – raised eyebrows maybe.

Some radio jock though comes out and calls Ms Catton a ‘traitor’ and used another insult that was totally inappropriate.

This started a furore against Ms Catton that outstripped any misdemeanour she may have committed. Social media did its usual anonymous best to throw vitriol all over her!

Hang on though: wasn’t there an uproar about a magazine that printed a cartoon and everyone was standing up for their right to freedom of speech? The tall poppy syndrome seems to be denying Ms Catton of that right.

Of course she is perfectly capable of speaking up for herself (and more eloquently), but there is no harm in showing support.

Obviously Ms Catton has her own political point of view gleaned from her experience and what her eyes tell her, so she would be letting herself down if she did not express her views through a forum she has worked to establish. That’s a way to achieve change.

Her views will be different to mine because I’m an old bugger with different experiences. Still, I’m happy to listen to her point of view and as well prepared to debate with her.

About those politicians; she has right on her side.

The bottom line is that there is a right of free speech and equally the right of reply, but there is no right to insult or to cut our best and brightest off at the knees.

Go Ellie.

Mugged

The alarm went off and the noise sent Elsa and Anna scurrying inside where they raced up the stairs to peer out the window as two police cars arrived emptying their constables out at the house opposite. It was very exciting for the girls. But it turned out to be a false alarm.

‘Granddad,’ Anna asked later, ‘have you ever been robbed?’

‘Yeah, several times.’ Replied Granddad rubbing his chin remembering the circumstances.

‘Tell us pleeeze.’ Asked Elsa, wanting to be told a story.

‘Ok, I’ll tell you about being mugged for my cell phone.’ He smiled.

‘It was in Arusha and I had left the Landrover at a workshop for repairs. The workshop was out of town so to fill in time I walked to the Agency office because I had some business to do there. It is about an hour’s walk away.

‘There is a little duka there.’

‘What’s a duka?’ Anna interrupted.

‘A duka is a shop – this one is just little, it sells sodas and some food.’ Granddad told them. ‘I had a Coca Cola.’

‘You don’t drink Coca Cola!’ insisted Elsa.

‘I did then,’ Granddad replied seriously, ‘in the African heat you have to keep your fluids up and Coke is a safe to drink. As well there is a lot of sugar in it which kept me going if I didn’t stop to eat.’ He didn’t mention the caffeine.

‘I had some business to do in the main part of town, and I remember texting Granny when I was near the central market. I had been looking for a price to buy more polythene tubing to make planter pots.

‘I never wore shorts when I was in town – to be polite to the culture – and I wore a polo shirt, not tucked in. My cell phone was in a pouch and clipped to my waist on the right side.’ He showed the girls where.

‘It took me perhaps fifteen minutes to walk on past the new supermarket called Shoprite and from there, really it’s not the safest place to be.’

‘Why not?’ asked Anna.

‘Well it is a poorer part of town.’ Grandad explained. ‘And the young guys don’t have much to do. They are not bad but always looking to get money. People who are not local don’t usually walk there.

‘I had walked through the busiest part, were there was hustle and bustle so relaxed a bit – I never felt unsafe.

‘Suddenly I felt someone slap both my shoulders from behind and then someone made a grab for my phone!

‘Why did they slap you?’ asked Elsa.

‘To distract me,’ replied Granddad, ‘twice pickpockets have done similar things, but they got away with nothing.

‘My phone fell to the ground but I was first to pick it up, so the thieves ran off. They knew exactly where my phone was, so I reckoned they had followed me all the way from the market.

‘I decided it might be safer to catch a bus, then decided not to as I was just twenty minutes from my mechanic. So I tucked the phone at the front of my trousers and off I set again.

‘They came back though! Only five minutes later, but this time one of them held me in a bear-hug from behind. I wiggled nearly free but the other grabbed the phone and the pair ran off into an alleyway.’

‘Were you scared?’ asked a wide eyed Elsa.

‘No, I just wanted my phone.’ Replied Granddad. ‘I went to run after them but a woman selling roasted maize cobs warned me that it would not be safe. I knew that already, but her timing was good and it did stop me – they might have had a knife.’

‘Did you speak her language?’ asked Anna.

‘Yes I spoke Kiswahili.’ He replied. ‘I walked on to the workshop and phoned the Agency. Musa came because we had to go to the police station and make a report so I could get an insurance refund.

‘While we were there, I spoke to this big Maasai man.’

‘What’s Maasai?’ asked Anna.

‘They are a well-known tribe who prefer their own traditions and clothes – but they have a reputation of being brave. Musa was Maasai and we lived with a Maasai family for two years.

‘Anyway this big fellow also had his phone snatched. It was in his shirt pocket and they just pushed him and as he fell back the grabbed his phone.’

‘Did you get your phone back?’ Asked Elsa.

‘No, they would have thrown the simcard away and sold the phone for a very cheap price. But it was a good phone and I missed it.’

The girls returned to their colouring books and Granddad put the kettle on.

Mrs. Stevens

My niece asked me to act as Master of Ceremonies at her wedding and as I have great respect for the young woman, I reluctantly agreed and the wedding went along very nicely.
When it came time for me to introduce the speakers, as a warm-up, I handed her a small pot with some daffodil bulbs in it.
Then I told her [including the audience] about a woman who had inspired me.
Not so long ago, as a young forest ranger my job included converting marginal farmland into sustainable, productive pine forest.
In 1965 there was an enclosure within the forest of about forty acres situated on Middle Ridge Road. The area was mainly gorse and there was a small homestead made from native timbers. To the South there was a hugely overgrown Macrocarpa hedge, and as it was spring, there was a mass display of old fashioned daffodils.
We cut down the Macrocarpa hedge and dismantled the old homestead, which while sturdy, was of no use to us.
About a year later, I was checking on the progress of some trees to the East of the old homestead and came across a rock bluff that previous landowners had used as their rubbish tip. At the bottom of the bluff I found an assortment of artifacts, among them a black button-up shoe that I guessed belonged to Mrs. Stephens. I decided to ask old-timers of the district what is known of the Stephens.
Records available to me showed that Nathaniel (Nat) Stephens had bought the property during 1920 and had built the small homestead. It was a simple one-roomed hut at first, until his wife arrived.
Sadly nobody could recall the Christian name of Mrs. Stephens, but many knew the legend.
Nat sent [home] to England for his family to find him a wife!
A young woman was chosen and was married by proxy to Nat in the local English village. The new Mrs. Stephens wore her wedding ring on her finger during the long voyage to New Zealand.
She spent one night in Christchurch, at the dry hotel called The People’s Palace and caught the steam train the next morning to the Otepopo Station, Herbert, North Otago.
It is presumed Nat had sent detailed directions, because he never met her, nor did she have contact with anyone. And following the route to the farm is no mean feat!
This brave young woman carried one bag with her and walked down Glencoe Road, then down to the river, where there is a ford. She waded through the river and climbed up the steep, roughly formed Middle Ridge Road, to Nat’s hut.
She went up to the door and knocked! When Nat opened the door, man and wife met for the first time!
That journey from the station to the homestead would have been arduous and no doubt daunting!
I have covered the journey on horseback and it took me more than three hours! It would have taken Mrs. Stephens much longer!
In Mrs Stephens’ bag, she carried some daffodil bulbs from her mother’s garden, in England. those daffodils  flourished  around the old homestead on Middle Ridge Road.
Have no doubt; the Stephens faced hardship, as conditions were primitive with no electricity and only unreliable rainwater. The distant creek was also unreliable during summer droughts.
None of those daffodils flower there today after two crops of pine forest, but some of us kept bulbs to remind us of the brave Mrs. Stephens.
While the flowers are not spectacular, they are special and I do not part with these bulbs easily.
I hope you find this story inspirational and that the bulbs multiply to give you both joy.
Nat and Mrs. Stephens had seven children.

Wealth II

Oxfam is rightly concerned that by 2016, one percent of the world’s population will share some fifty percent of the world’s wealth. By ‘wealth’, they are probably talking about money, which is an indicator but other forms of wealth are arguably, resources, land and health.

Stats can be boring for non-statisticians, but to back up Oxfam’s claims, some are necessary.

50% of the world’s population have an income of less than USD2.50 per day.

80% of the world’s population have an income of less than USD10.00 per day.

The richest 20% earn 75% of the world income.

76.6% of the world’s consumption is by 20% of the population.

There was a time when a country’s wealth was measured by its gold reserves – but how was that value quantified? Perhaps it was a global market where countries could buy and sell gold depending on need.

The system would work like this: A bridge is needed, so gold is somehow converted to cash and the bridge is built. A toll is introduced for the use of the bridge and when enough is collected, the gold is replace into the reserve.

Or, the county’s gold reserves allow a specific amount of cash to circulate so funds for the bridge are raised through taxation.

The other option was to borrow the money from another country and pay it back – sometime with interest.

Perhaps the gold standard was an impediment to growth so it was abandoned. Banks found another way: create money from fresh air.

I have a dollar in the bank, can I look at it? What does it actually equate to? What is it based on?

I have a house I bought for $100 000 five years ago and I sell it for $200 000 today. All very nice but where did the extra $100 000 came from? Inflation and demand. Those two things can’t be held nor can they be sold so actually I made $100 000 over five years by doing nothing.

Some countries have a capital gains tax, so they take (or rob) a proportion of this made-up new wealth of mine.

The people elect governments whose employees are called ‘public servants’, but they make rules and charges that enslave the people – how do they get away with that?

Governments have been running the country(s) for ages and one would think all the laws are in place, but they keep adding to them and making errors that need more modifications. The Commandments only had ten laws and they are plain and understandable, not like this lot.

Councils are perhaps worse than central governments, gradually increasing their sphere of influence with resource consents adding to the cost of any project and employing extra people to do the checks, which somehow is not totally ‘user pays’, but adds to the rates bill.

Councils also engage in activities outside their core responsibilities by sponsoring events, which increases the rate bill (local taxes). This transfers wealth from stakeholders, people, to corporate entities who again are supposed to be public servants but who in fact crack the whip.

Past governments have used taxpayer money and natural resources to set up businesses. Water, power, forests, airports. When the books don’t balance, they sell the business off! But who owns those businesses? The government or the people? And where does the wealth go?

You go to a lawyer to source funds for a mortgage on your property, so the lawyer holds your title deeds ‘as security’. But then the lawyer uses your property documents as security against other loans that they take out.

This is a thing called securitization and banks are rather good at it. It is a complicated thing but any borrowing you do, especially if there is a security like a home or a car, to them is an asset – sure money to come in. So as an asset, they can further borrow using your debt as security.

The money you borrowed in the first place wasn’t even real money just some electronic accountancy that banks and the families that control them have generated - every transaction making them more powerful.

It is unwise to meddle with the status quo, any action could result in an unpredictable domino effect. For example if we raise the wealth of the middle 20% of the population, what impact would it have on the globe’s resources?

However the status quo is not reckoned to be sustainable and something, sometime but will cause a shift in wealth.

It is likely the old guard will shake itself and start again.

One last stat: 33% of the food produced globally is wasted!

Does this means you are paying 33% too much for your groceries? Or rubbish disposal can be reduced by >33%. Or, could more people be fed?