Kia Kaha
I'm not an activist. It's just not who I am; it's not an integral part of my personality. I don't rock the boat, I don't put myself out there, I don't march or protest or any of those things. I get angry, I get passionate, I write long, impassioned screeds, but I don't DO anything about any of the things that get me going.
That is ... I wasn't any of those things until the last year happened. I thought that on this anniversary I would feel something ... I don't know, something big. Last year I felt a huge swirl of emotions and found it very hard to separate any of them out into a coherent 'thing' to be feeling. This year it's a lot more crystal clear. I still have a swirl of emotions but I can identify every single one of them. Anger. Grief. Fear. Disillusionment. Disempowerment. Unlike last year when my brain tried to feel everything about everything that had happened, this year the focus has shrunk. It is small, and personal ... and huge despite its smallness.
Earlier in the week they released the CERA wellbeing survey and trumpeted how great things are going in the city. They congratulated themselves on how many people are feeling happy or awesomely happy, about how many positives have been identified by people in the city. This shows, they say, how 'resilient' the city is (oh, that despised word again!). They didn't look at the negative numbers; they wouldn't have fit the message that it's all just going so well. But I am one of those negative numbers. Some people may remember that I was writing a series of 'Rediscovering Christchurch' posts. I was, if not totally positive, then at least excited about the city. I loved it, I wanted to share it. I wanted people to be excited about it too. I don't feel that way anymore. It's been months since I posted an entry and there's been only one in the last year. Why? I don't think I love the city so much anymore. I'm not excited about the CCDU plan for the central city. I'm incredibly cynical about what they are planning for the suburbs. I smile wryly when I see streets on the west of the city being dug up to lay 'ultra-fast broadband cable' while I still bump over potholes and often-flooded streets just to get to school or work. In September I was able to put that aside and focus on the love. Now, not so much.
As far as wellbeing goes I've slipped backwards. I'm not as immediately emotional as I was in the early days, when lots of things would set me off to the verge of tears even if I hardly ever let them fall. But I just feel really blah, like I don't care about pretty much anything anymore. I remember the last time I felt happy. I was outside in my garden, my hands in the dirt, sun shining in the sky and I was happy. I remember pausing and reflecting and thinking 'you know, life is actually pretty good.' That was September 10th last year. It was a few days since I'd written a love letter to the city for the anniversary of the first quake, and I was actually positive and forward thinking - all those things the CERA survey is trumpeting the city is right now.
Then came September 13th and the terrible pall it has cast over my family and community. It was like a kick to the guts. My friend describes it as the 7.1 quake of the schools 'shake-up' (stupidly insensitive wording used to describe what is happening to education in the city) - sudden, shocking, bolt from the blue threatening our school. Monday just gone was the 6.3 - not unexpected, but the intensity of how much worse it was stunning in its impact. To those outside it's a smaller thing, and they almost don't understand why we are so devastated. The impact of the date change and the consequent way the merger will work have been another huge blow onto an already stressed populace. But the thing is it's not getting any attention this time, sympathy is in short supply even from those in the same city. Because this is 'less than 1% of the city's school children' (a number I dispute - that may the number from the closures, but it's certainly not the number from the mergers) people are handwaving it away. Other people are either legitimately grieving for the people they lost in the quakes, or remembering the places they went which are now no more. Or they are reflecting on how far they have come in the last two years. But we are in a new state of shock, with a new thing to deal with. I can't reflect on how far I've come because I feel like haven't come anywhere.
So many things have got me angry during the last 2 years. I have been angered over TC3, I have been infuriated by what they re doing to the cathedral and other historic buildings, I have been reduced to incoherent rage over insurance issues. But I have never been an activist until this last half year. It feels appropriate, then, that today the way I am planning to commemorate the anniversary is to go to a friends house and work out what we can possibly say to make the ministry see our school is worth saving. That's all I have right now. It's that personal small, and yet so huge, feeling I have around this issue that has pushed me into action. Like I said the other day it's ultimately futile - but I can't give it up. Some things are important enough to fight for even if there's no hope; it's all about the message - and the message is you don't give up on things that you really believe in.
That is ... I wasn't any of those things until the last year happened. I thought that on this anniversary I would feel something ... I don't know, something big. Last year I felt a huge swirl of emotions and found it very hard to separate any of them out into a coherent 'thing' to be feeling. This year it's a lot more crystal clear. I still have a swirl of emotions but I can identify every single one of them. Anger. Grief. Fear. Disillusionment. Disempowerment. Unlike last year when my brain tried to feel everything about everything that had happened, this year the focus has shrunk. It is small, and personal ... and huge despite its smallness.
Earlier in the week they released the CERA wellbeing survey and trumpeted how great things are going in the city. They congratulated themselves on how many people are feeling happy or awesomely happy, about how many positives have been identified by people in the city. This shows, they say, how 'resilient' the city is (oh, that despised word again!). They didn't look at the negative numbers; they wouldn't have fit the message that it's all just going so well. But I am one of those negative numbers. Some people may remember that I was writing a series of 'Rediscovering Christchurch' posts. I was, if not totally positive, then at least excited about the city. I loved it, I wanted to share it. I wanted people to be excited about it too. I don't feel that way anymore. It's been months since I posted an entry and there's been only one in the last year. Why? I don't think I love the city so much anymore. I'm not excited about the CCDU plan for the central city. I'm incredibly cynical about what they are planning for the suburbs. I smile wryly when I see streets on the west of the city being dug up to lay 'ultra-fast broadband cable' while I still bump over potholes and often-flooded streets just to get to school or work. In September I was able to put that aside and focus on the love. Now, not so much.
As far as wellbeing goes I've slipped backwards. I'm not as immediately emotional as I was in the early days, when lots of things would set me off to the verge of tears even if I hardly ever let them fall. But I just feel really blah, like I don't care about pretty much anything anymore. I remember the last time I felt happy. I was outside in my garden, my hands in the dirt, sun shining in the sky and I was happy. I remember pausing and reflecting and thinking 'you know, life is actually pretty good.' That was September 10th last year. It was a few days since I'd written a love letter to the city for the anniversary of the first quake, and I was actually positive and forward thinking - all those things the CERA survey is trumpeting the city is right now.
Then came September 13th and the terrible pall it has cast over my family and community. It was like a kick to the guts. My friend describes it as the 7.1 quake of the schools 'shake-up' (stupidly insensitive wording used to describe what is happening to education in the city) - sudden, shocking, bolt from the blue threatening our school. Monday just gone was the 6.3 - not unexpected, but the intensity of how much worse it was stunning in its impact. To those outside it's a smaller thing, and they almost don't understand why we are so devastated. The impact of the date change and the consequent way the merger will work have been another huge blow onto an already stressed populace. But the thing is it's not getting any attention this time, sympathy is in short supply even from those in the same city. Because this is 'less than 1% of the city's school children' (a number I dispute - that may the number from the closures, but it's certainly not the number from the mergers) people are handwaving it away. Other people are either legitimately grieving for the people they lost in the quakes, or remembering the places they went which are now no more. Or they are reflecting on how far they have come in the last two years. But we are in a new state of shock, with a new thing to deal with. I can't reflect on how far I've come because I feel like haven't come anywhere.
So many things have got me angry during the last 2 years. I have been angered over TC3, I have been infuriated by what they re doing to the cathedral and other historic buildings, I have been reduced to incoherent rage over insurance issues. But I have never been an activist until this last half year. It feels appropriate, then, that today the way I am planning to commemorate the anniversary is to go to a friends house and work out what we can possibly say to make the ministry see our school is worth saving. That's all I have right now. It's that personal small, and yet so huge, feeling I have around this issue that has pushed me into action. Like I said the other day it's ultimately futile - but I can't give it up. Some things are important enough to fight for even if there's no hope; it's all about the message - and the message is you don't give up on things that you really believe in.