Politixia
Joel Maxwell is a senior writer with Pou Tiaki.
OPINION: I’ve written previously of the miserable-mayor phenomenon across Aotearoa in the current council term, a group of seething Pākehā dudes of a certain age who emerged from the culture-war-and-Covid gloop of the early 2020s.
They won a seat, or indeed the mayoral chains, but somehow wild political popularity only made them more embittered. Success was a reverse tonic. Give me the good old days when politicians felt the obligation to kiss voters’ backsides, not punish us for having the gall to elect them.
Anyway, these people have led the charge against the scourge of karakia at meetings and various other vital council issues. On the upside, when confronted, they at least offered qualifications and justifications, compromises.
That is until chairman of the Strath Taieri Community Board, Barry Williams, took up the challenge, and apparently abused a staff member at a packed pub with a racial slur after a meal mix-up.
Dunedin’s council subsequently voted to send a letter to Williams asking for his resignation as chairman.
How quaint. I’m hopeful Morse code can truly capture the nuances of “WTF bro?” as they likely had to telegraph that letter to Williams’ brain: Last-known-address – somewhere in the early 1900s.
There was, however, something thoroughly modern about his response when asked by McNeilly if he would resign. “Why the f… should I?”
To be fair, Williams had apparently previously apologised.
Seriously, at this point, I haven’t got much left in the tank to say about racism in Aotearoa.
Firstly, and obviously, if you’re prone to insulting people, then rejoin the public and let someone with self-control and mana sit at the big table with the grown-ups.
Secondly, I can’t say I’ve been called a black b…. myself but in general terms, I can describe what it’s like to be on the receiving end of racial slurs.
These days Māori have to put up with a bunch of racially charged (mostly online) general insults – we’re fat, we’re lazy, we’re stupid. But the last time I copped direct racial slurs was as a kid. I took them on the chin even though they burned and were revelatory.
It was weird, but they were life changing, in that little-big way we lose our childhood, piece by small irreplaceable piece.
It was weird to know I was surrounded by Pākehā who were apparently aware of our differences the whole time, when I thought we were all the same: you know, just people.
And it was weird for a kid to have to look at the brown on their arms and wish it were a few shades lighter. But obviously you can’t run away from your skin.
The pearl inside this particular bitter oyster was that even back then I felt certain that things, personally and generally, would get better.
Which brings us back from 1981 to 2023 – that bright future to which a skinny kid once looked forward expectantly.
God, WTF, bro?
OK, maybe time doesn’t rush forward into progress and enlightenment. Although it certainly does rush. I guess we have to grab opportunities to make things a little better whenever they appear.
I know what some of you are saying: Why the f… should I?
I don’t know. There’s probably a kid in all of us who wants to avoid disappointment.
Actually, there are a bunch of real kids who could learn that racial abuse is wrong. That we grownups can take responsibility for our mistakes, and not be miserable mayors and councillors and board members all the time.
Can we learn new things over the years? I think so – I hope so.
I learned the most amazing thing is that there’s no way to run away from your skin, thank God.
