Disastered Out

A Bit of a Dag

Disclaimer: We are kiwis--and as such we have been socialised into reflexive cultural cringe.  Consequently we can expect a visceral reaction when we are daily confronted with warnings of Armageddon happening off the coast of Tauranga.  One gets the strong impression that media organs are trying to cover the "big one" in such a way that they emulate more illustrious main stream media in the world.  "We can do it too", is the impression.  We can foot it with the big guys.

A container ship heeling over, we are told, is New Zealand's worst maritime disaster.  Puleeze.
  Exactly how many lives were lost?  Zero, zip, nada.  How many lives were lost when the SS Wairarapa went down near Port Fitzroy in thick fog on October 28, 1984?  Oh, a mere 121.  But that was nothing, nothing we tell you, compared to a container ship listing over and leaking some oil. 

But consider the environmental damage.  We weep for the pristine beaches.  We hold daily mourning sessions over the number of birds killed (is it hundreds, thousands)?  We do not know--all sorts of different numbers are found everywhere in the media like quavers in a musical score.  Ah, now we know why this disaster is our greatest.  What are 121 human lives compared to the wicked, untimely deaths of thousands of birds?  Very little it would seem.

Then the faux anger.  People are mad.  Yes, mad we tell you.  They want to blame somebody for doing this.  Unfortunately, there is no big corporate, like BP to demonise.  Only a tawdry little man who was the captain--and he is a Philippino.  So it is hard to get payoff from demonising the poor chap.  So, its the gummint.  Blame the gummint.  Daily TV news has endless interviews with people who are just plain mad, and sad, and about to breakdown.  The anger rumbles through the community like Waiouru on a Ruapehu-bad-hair-day.  When people who have made the gummint their god they get real mad, read quick when their god doesn't act like it.

There are real physical dangers as well.

The Bay of Plenty Public Health Service is warning that direct contact with the oil could cause a rash or nausea and vomiting if ingested. 

Yup, eating bunker oil may cause vomiting--even on a good day.  

The psychological impact also is devastating.  People who have seen dead birds are offered counselling.  At least someone is doing something useful.  Cometh the disaster, cometh the counsellor-heroes of the hour.

We have seen all of this before.  Remarkably  it is almost scene for scene, word for word out of the media script when BP's oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico sprang a leak, after an explosion on a deep sea rig.  The beaches.  The fishermen.  The wildlife.  The nasty gummint.  The NZ media trying to show themselves and the world that they can put on a good sensationalist show as well. "Me, too"--ah yes, good old Kiwi cultural cringe. 

Roll forward.  Where are the headlines screaming about the Gulf of Mexico now?  Why don't we have daily shots of the environmental devastation in that region?  Why?  Because the environment is remarkably robust and adaptable.  With a bit of help it recovers.  We confidently predict that in the Bay of Plenty Armageddon will pass us by this time.  Catastrophism--the sensational hyping of a calamity into a portent of the end of the world--will be left exhausted and spent, as always, after its brief paroxysm.  The news cycle moves on, don't you know. 

Behind it all, away from the madding crowd, responsible people are going about their work.  Jettisoned containers are being tracked, corralled, and captured.  Beaches are being cleaned up (by an army of enlisted volunteers).  Oil is being pumped off the stricken ship.  Birds are being cleaned and protected as best they can.  Local governments have combined to provide some organizational resource to ensure that volunteers get trained and deployed appropriately.  We confidently predict that in a year one will struggle to find any evidence of the "greatest New Zealand maritime disaster" at all.  They will have to send in forensic teams to find it. 

Now that is the real kiwi culture--and a culture of which we can be proud.  Rallying to a need.  Pragmatic solutions.  Realistic expectations.  No bleating.  Just results.  It is the "Good on ya, mate" response.  No cultural cringe there. 

But as for the sensationalists, the media--ever seeking sales and ratings--ever wanting to find their moment of glory, their place in the sun, their moment at the Qantas media awards, they rattle around like dags at the back of a sheep.  Ugly and of no use. 

Everyone knows what you need to do to get rid of dags.