Politics in New Zealand

Before you start thinking that this is the Mecca of peace, prosperity, and scenic views, do consider a few aspects of New Zealand politics, government, and economics:

Does New Zealand have a constitution?  Most people I’ve asked say “not really.” The World Book notes: “The United Kingdom gave New Zealand a constitution in 1852, when it was a British colony. But through the years, the New Zealand legislature has changed almost all its provisions. For all practical purposes, the nation today has no written constitution.”  Their tax rate is very high; with income and GST combined, their top rate approaches 50%.  There are numerous social benefits for the unemployed, single parents, homeless, etc….even a stipend for $400/week if you are an Artist.  Some people bemoan the fact that in various situations, you can get more money in welfare than you could by working full time! The redistribution of wealth is in full swing, and there seems to be no abatement in sight.

NZ has had a socialist, feminist, (and believed-to-be-a-lesbian) Prime Minister (their chief exectuive) in office for 8 years now. Some families I’ve met are desperately hoping she will lose the next election, but she’s evidently somewhat corrupt, basically buys votes from the public by promising extravagant benefits, and supports a lot of anti-family laws and programs.  One one hand, we can look at this and think, “Yes, I suppose we can survive a Hillary presidency like NZ survived the Helen Clark regime,” but on the other hand things are evidently a lot worse here than they were a decade ago.

One example of such is the recently passed national “Anti-Smacking” law, which makes spanking children illegal, even though over 70% of the general public did not favour the bill. Most homeschoolers are very much against this, and trying to collect signatures for a referendum to overturn it, but I get the sense that many of them feel that their government is out of control, and that the socialist, atheist state is now a permanent fixture. The general feeling I get is that most people feel revival is very unlikely if not impossible. Many are leaving for Australia, and there’s even signs up trying to discourage the “brain drain” that’s happening. 

Really, I doubt that the future here is much brighter than it is in the US or Canada. Although the population is small (just over 4 million for the whole country), there seems to be a strong central government that gets reelected by promising the redistribution of wealth to those who can’t or don’t want to work. Although their government has no great debt, their economy is very tied to the US, and they will definitely suffer during the coming global depression.  (Note: always end your blog post on a positive note!)

However, the people I’ve met are happy, caring, cheerful, hardworking folk, and so whatever the state of politics, there will always likely be some who will keep on praying for their country, and their National Anthem is a gem. One would think that as long as they don’t change that song, they’ve got a chance.  The first two verses are:

God of Nations at Thy feet, In the bonds of love we meet, Hear our voices, we entreat, God defend our free land. Guard Pacific's triple star From the shafts of strife and war, Make her praises heard afar, God defend New Zealand.   Men of every creed and race, Gather here before Thy face, Asking Thee to bless this place, God defend our free land. From dissension, envy, hate, And corruption guard our state, Make our country good and great, God defend New Zealand.   You can read the whole thing and/or hear it at: http://www.mch.govt.nz/anthem/index.html

Thursday • Early Flight to Auckland

Evidently, the South Island folks have an attitude about Auckland—that the big city folk are less friendly and a bit snooty.  So far, I haven’t noticed that; it’s a pleasant place (for a city of one million!) Our flight was uneventful, the way airplane flights should be, and I finally made it to a hotel around noon.  (After 5 days in people’s homes, a hotel room was a peaceful retreat.) The view is of the harbour from the room window.  We are anticipating a large number of conference participants, perhaps as many as 400 on Friday and Saturday. This will conclude the trip and I’ll be on a plane home Sunday.  I am missing home.

Wednesday • Waitangi Day—A National Holiday

Wednesday was Waitangi Day, a national holiday commemorating the treaty signed at Waitangi on February 6, 1840, an agreement between the British Crown and Māori chiefs. It paved the way for British immigration to New Zealand and for a national government to be established. It also guaranteed Māori rights and privileges.  According to the government’s web site: “New Zealand’s bicultural society is based on the treaty, which also gives the political system its legitimacy.”  It seems, however, that politically, the Maori have become allied with the liberal politics and socialist economics of the country, and have used their position as native descendents to extract more privileges and benefits from the public treasury than may be appropriate or healthy. It seems that some may view them as freeloaders, as illustrated by these two jokes told to me by an anonymous student: 

Q: What’s the fastest thing in New Zealand?   A:  A Maori with a Burger King coupon.

Q:  What’s the second fastest thing in New Zealand?    A: The white guy he stole it from.

In any case, the conference in “Palmy” was very well attended, with over 150 people, mostly homeschoolers, and a few teachers, it seems. I was happy to see a large number of fathers in attendance, which is probably due to it being a national holiday. My talks went from 9am to 9pm, with tea and lunch breaks, and it was a long day. One family I met there not only has relatives in Atascadero, but an adult daughter named Genevieve (who just got engaged)!  Small world, eh?  Dot was pleased to have sold a very good amount of IEW materials, and I was happy for her. 

I know these conferences have been a blessing to many people. One email I received yesterday expressed one mom’s gratitude: “I've been looking at putting my daughter back in school because I was tired of competing with the invisible majority of kids who are chugging merrily along in state schools while we are trying to catch up with achieving at my child's grade level. Your seminar was VITAL in giving me hope to try again. Thank you so much! Even my husband was inspired and delighted that he attended today!

It's good to be appreciated.

Tuesday • Travel to Palmerston North

Tuesday we flew to Palmerston North, a small town inland on the North Island.  There is nothing particularly notable about the city, and I was told it didn’t have any especially interesting scenery and was generally considered rather windy.  So, I thought I would be able to catch up on emails and blogs.  However, my afternoon was entirely consumed by the charming nine children of a doctor’s family who hosted me. Therefore, I spent the rest of the day telling jokes, talking about America, giving pro bono violin lessons and being climbed on by an eight year-old boy. All in all it was a delightful respite from the rigors of seminars and travel, and an excellent excuse for having got no real work done.  In the picture you see the view of Palmerston North from their deck.

On to Nelson

Nelson is at the North tip of the South Island, and you might be able to find it on a map.It is a big tourist spot, and you can see why—the peaceful bay, the long white beaches, the tranquil atmosphere, the semi-Hawaiian relaxed feel, the sailboats tranquilly floating on the ocean; it has all the makings of paradise (and the property prices reflect that, I’m told).

Dorothy and I had a lovely 45 minute flight up here, where we were met at the airport by Scott and his wife (local homeschoolers of course), got a quick tour of the city (with a scenic view stop), and were then transported to their farm about 40 minutes away. They have about a hundred cows and calves, a bunch of sheep, 40+ acres with several buildings and a couple thousand trees on the edge of a forest. Their farm is nestled in among rolling hills, and they produce a lot of their own food, also trading with other local growers for fruits and grains that they don’t grow. Julia, you would think it perfect! It seems that most everyone I have met has at least a few animals for milk or food, and the agrarian culture is strong among the homeschoolers here.

Tomorrow we do the small conference for the Nelson area folks in a cute, very old church near a very, very old graveyard.  I’m feeling at peace, and ready to get an early sleep.

Sunday • “Preaching” at the Baptist Church

We arrived at the church at 10:30. The drum set was front and center. I began to worry.  Although everyone was cordial, I was definitely over-dressed in a suit and tie; standard summer apparel for this church seemed to be shorts (skater style optional) and flip-flops. A few of the older, more serious-looking men wore polo shirts and slacks. I was greeted and sat down. The music started and I wanted to run out of the building. But I knew I couldn’t. This was one of the few times I have been truly nervous. Fortunately, their prayers and hearts were sincere, and I felt a modicum of grace.

Although I had planned a talk on the responsibility of parents for the education of their children and intended to introduce the Character/Knowledge/Skills curricular model, subtly (or not-so-subtly) inferring that people who really care about the future of the world and the preservation of Western Civilization should not put their children in government schools, something rather different happened. That morning in the car, I had asked Ian Brown to pray for me, and he really did!

As I sat, listening to a missions video, waiting for my time to go up on the platform, I was doing a last minute search for a few good Bible verses to support my presentation, and I came across Psalm 127 (the one with the  “full quiver” quote). I read it and realized how much it told the story of my life, and I flashed on what really needed to be said to this audience of mostly young Protestants. At first I really balked, objected, rebelled.  I said “NO!” I couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t mention such a thing.  But the Holy Spirit convicted me, and I got up at 11:25 and began to talk. 

First, I told a bit of my personal history and gradual conversion to Christianity. Then, I explained that I had read some of the writings of historical Christianity… and… that… I... came to find that… contraception had been a grave sin in all churches and denominations until about 80 years ago. I then proceeded, much to my surprise and with great conviction, to explain why it was wrong, how it was so directly connected with abortion, and I challenged every one in that room to examine their beliefs and practices, and whether they were already married or if they were in the future, to be open to life, and to have many children and not worry about the expense, and that they would be profoundly grateful. (By the way, it seemed that most of the young children were in Sunday school, so I think this only hit the teens…) By the time I regained my senses and realized what I had done, most of the time had been used up on this shocking moral lesson, so I had only about 10 minutes left to give the entire education paradigm speech, which went be very quickly, very passionately. I finished by reminding them that the only way we could conquer a corrupt culture was by out-populating and out-educating the bad guys. I could have gone on for an hour, but finished on time at 11:58.  Bill Gothard would have been pleased, I think.

Afterwards, a few people offered me encouraging comments, a few seemed very touched, and one man commented that this “must have been awkward to say” in the most “vasectomized” country in the world. The man next to him mentioned adoption. I didn’t stay long, not only because we had to meet some other folks for lunch and catch a plane at 3:30, but because I didn’t really want to talk to any upset people. Probably if there were any truly upset individuals, they would have just driven off in a huff and I wouldn’t really have had anything to worry about. But I was dripping with sweat. Who knows why I had to do this? Who knows what God might do with my radical statements? In any case, I now feel confident about “preaching” in a Baptist church whenever I might be invited to do so.  The Holy Spirit will take care of the content.  J

Latin With a Kiwi Accent

My hosts are most considerate, and arranged for me to attend a Latin Mass at the Cathedral in Christchurch (I wonder if there’s a “Christ Church” in a city named “Cathedral” somewhere in the world).  By coincidence or providence, several of the families participating in the conference were Catholics, and a couple of them also attended the Latin Mass on Saturday at 5:30 with me.  Evidently, they’ve had one a week there for some time, and they are doing their best to keep it going. The present bishop seems supportive. 

The Cathedral is beautiful on the outside.  However, a few years ago, the lovely wood pews were replaced with ghastly metal chairs, and the kneelers were replaced with awkward foam pads that hang from the back of the chairs on little hooks. You have to take the pad of and put it on the floor, and it’s rather small; it was hard for me to keep my knees close enough together to fit on the pad. Well, discomfort is good, I thought, and the foam pad was better than the marble floor.  Additionally, someone had put a large, modernistic crucifix right in the middle of this magnificent building, and it was all I could do to not stare at the ridiculousness of it—a rather fat Jesus with a hideous face and absurdly long spikes protruding from the feet.

The mass was Tridentine, and I was provided with a missal book. The Priest was quiet and reverent, with a good homily delivered in a rather monotone voice. I confess I dozed ever so slightly. The Latin was spoken rather speedily, with a strange variance on some of the vowels. Finally I realized that this was Latin with a New Zealand accent!  Who would have thought?  In any case, I enjoyed meeting the other Catholic homeschoolers (wonderful people, all), conversing briefly with the priest at the church (who seemed to want an in-depth conversation about Rousseau and Dewey and education…), and having a peaceful mass in a reverent environment. Most notable was the magnificent Bach fugue played after Mass on the large pipe organ, resounding throughout the great domed church. I might be willing to go back and kneel for 20 minutes on those little foam pads just to hear it again!

Yes, There Are Sheep Everywhere

New Zealand has fewer than 5 million people in an area larger than California, so the population density is quite low. Driving out of Christchurch to the Brown’s farm, I saw animals everywhere—even a commercial deer operation!  NZ exports 15 times more milk than they consume, and could evidently feed several other entire countries. The people are very friendly, reminding me of Americans in the South, but of course have a different kind of drawl.

Friday & Saturday • Christchurch in Two Days; Hogget for Dinner

This is definitely a “wirlwind” tour.  Arriving on Thursday (having missed Wednesday entirely) and meeting a few families for dinner and desert, I had time only to sleep a half-dozen hours before the conference in Christchurch began early on Friday, continued to Friday night, went all the next day, and finished at 5pm on Saturday evening. What superb, enthusiastic homeschooling families here in the Christchurch area!  The family pictured (charming children) are big fans of our writing program, and they may be visiting California in August. 

All the talks went well, even the “Humour in Teaching and Speaking” which I was so anxious about. The New Zealand folk do laugh properly, and they were extremely appreciative. The only trouble I had in teaching here was during the session on spelling.  I tried to point out that “ea” can say “ee” as in “bead”, can say “e” as in “head”, and “ay” as in “steak”.  I was informed, however, that “head” is actually pronounced “hid” (with a long, drawn out short “I” sound) and so to categorize “ea” as a short “e” sound was wrong.  After failing to spell “logorrhea” with the correct British spelling (evidently it must have an “o” before the “e”), I quickly wrapped up the talk and retreated to the “Gents” room to check my schedule in private and see if I had to do this spelling talk in any other city.  Sadly, it looks like I have to do it in every city (three more times)! Oh well…

At Ian & Dorothy Brown’s house on Saturday night, we had a splendid meal of hogget, potatoes and salad. Hogget, a term I’d never heard before, is sheep meat, older than lamb but not as aged as mutton. It was excellent and I ate more of my fair share, which seemed to please them. Our dinner came mostly from their farm. Ian, Dorothy, & Leeanne (their adult daughter still at home) have a 12 acre farm with 26 sheep, 2 cows, 3 calves, and 1 steer (soon to become freezer beef!), 2 horses, 2 dogs, 14 chickens, 8 hives of bees, and an uninvited hedgehog which terrorizes the baby chicks (and will likely take a permanent underwater swim as soon as Ian catches him). The Browns make their own jam & butter, too. On top of all that work, Ian does counseling and ministry, healing the sick and saving lives and rescuing souls—he is truly a remarkable man. Dorothy supports homeschoolers and organizes events here on the South Island, duplicates and distributes our IEW materials, and seems to have countless other projects. Industrious is the word to describe the Browns!

No Spitting in the Rubbish Bin

This must have been a problem at the Auckland Airport International Terminal at one time…

Massage in Nadi Airport

Fijians are dark—much darker than I would have thought.  Their lovely, musical accent sounds similar to East Indians or Jamaicans. It must be the result of mixing a British accent with a native tongue—it’s perfectly literate, correct English, but just sounds like it’s their second language, even though most all of them have been speaking it since childhood.  Fortunately, having got accustomed to this type of accent by spending hours on the phone with various customer service centres (notice British spelling!) in Calcutta and Delhi, I had no problem understanding the charming Fijian lady at the “Island Massage” booth in the airport when she asked if I wanted a massage.  Strangely, I did.  

After a 11 hour flight from LAX (most of which I slept through, but in an economy aisle seat), a massage sounded almost better than a cup of coffee.  And since I knew I had time for both, I went for it.  Cost: $15 for 15 minutes, US$ or FJ$, your choice.  They were very happy about my paying in US$, because evidently, the US$ is still higher than their local dollar (as I learned later when buying a $5 cup of coffee with a slightly tattered Abe Lincoln note (I just love getting that guy’s picture out of my pocket) and receiving two Fijian $1 coins in change.  So that massage lady got a good bonus with me paying in US$ (and leaving a tip!) 

The shocker, however, was when she said to take off my shirt.  Now I have seen people getting massages in airports in Seattle, Phoenix, Chicago…but I have never seen anyone naked from the waist up getting their massage.  At first, I objected, and wanted to walk away, but I know she would have been much saddened by losing a customer (especially since it was 7am), and so, considering it an opportunity to practice humility and charity, I bared my slightly fat and very white (especially by Fijian standard, I’m sure) body to the massage lady and the few people who happened to be passing by.

 I got over it quickly, especially as the warm coconut oil soaked into my skin.  However, I quickly realized that all my older children are much more competent at massage than an airport masseuse.  I’m very blessed, but now a little worried…will I really have to pay them $1 per minute?  And will that be FJ$ (worth about 65¢ it seems), or will I have to pay in US$?  Or will they continue to do it for love?  It’s really dangerous telling your kids that they’re as good as a professional if it makes them get dollar signs in their eyes…

Landing in Nadi, Fiji

The airport at Nadi, Fiji, is not air-conditioned.  It’s a bit like Honolulu, but a little more foreign. Upon disembarking and entering the terminal, we (the 500+ passengers from LAX were greeted by a group of traditional (I assume) Fijian singers (four guys dressed in gray skirts and matching aloha shirts), playing ukeleles and guitars. That was a mixed blessing, since they really didn’t sing what one would call “pretty” music. It was, in fact, rather grating.  However, they did collect a few tips (not, however from me), and it made the time pass by while standing in the Transit/Transfer line to get back into the terminal for my continuing flight to Auckland. I feel that I have now experienced the slowest airport security people yet; the team in Fiji was far more lethargic than any TSA agent, or anyone in any South American airport. I wanted to buy them some coffee so they would move faster and get me to the front of the line, but I had to wait in line before I could get into the terminal where the coffee shops were.  My charitable idea was in a Catch 22.

Off to New Zealand

The first thing one notices about a 747 is how big it really is.  The airport was crowded.  I thought, “Wow, the airport is crowded for a Tuesday night at 10:00."  There were no seats in the small deli/bar on the South wing of the LAX International Terminal.  So I ate a cold turkey wrap standing up (not knowing what AirPacific would serve for “dinner." It was a good thing, too... ;)  There were no empty seats in the waiting area, and certainly no seats near an electrical outlet.  I thought, “Where are all these people going?”  

Well, it turned out that we were all going to Fiji.  A full 747 can hold over 500 passengers, and it was full.  But that’s okay with me.  Whenever I ride a full airplane, I think, “Good, this airline is making enough money to stay in business and keep fares low.”  Besides, AirPacific Los Angeles to Aukland was about half what Air New Zealand or Quantas would have cost, and a stop in Nadi, Fiji, sounded interesting.

Unfortunately, it’s hard for me to fly over the pacific without flashing on Tom Hanks in Castaway, and think, “This is a big plane…it holds over 500 people…that’s a lot of people to die all at once if this plane crashes.  Of course, I would be one of the survivors, having to float to some deserted island and then face all my personal demons alone while living in solitary confinement for a decade with only a face painted on a volleyball to talk to.  My only real worry?  Where am I going to get the volleyball?