Pike River: When it happens closer to home, it's a very different story

Journalists spend their days trying to break stories. In 2010, there was a lot of ‘breaking’ going on, but almost none of it was caused by the media. In September, the ground beneath the Canterbury region shook, swelled and split. The damage: many broken vases. Perhaps, broken bones. Some business owners certainly ended up broke. But, miraculously, no deaths. But then, in November, the ground moved again. This time, beneath the Pike River Mine. It shook, it smoked, and spat out fumes. Here, the result was more devastating. Broken families, and broken trust. But the community pulled together. Yes, Greymouth and Christchurch provided the two most compelling, dramatic, moving stories of the year. But journalists had an easy job of piecing together the usual stories, in the usual order. First, the bare facts. Second, the community’s reaction. Next, the human insights. And finally, the analysis: the blame game, the hand-wringing, the inquiries – and a look at the future.

It was a strange old year for New Zealand; a country which rarely experiences an event on the scale of a national disaster. But in 2010, there was a strange sense of deja vu. Not because we had experienced a major earthquake or a mine disaster, but because we’d watched two other countries go through that hell. In January, Haiti was hit by a 7.0 magnitude quake. A quake that seems remarkably similar to Canterbury’s. A quake that killed 230,000 people. Even the Pike River Mine crisis felt familiar to begin with. In Chile in October, 33 miners were rescued. A tragedy became a triumph. Kiwis were transfixed. And while we hoped the Pike River crisis would have a similar ending, it didn’t.

It’s fair to say that most Kiwis, including myself, live comfortable lives. Yes, we’re “global citizens”, and we’re “connected” with what’s happening in many far-flung corners of the globe. And yes, we have our own share of problems. But none of those problems compare to those experienced by millions of other people around the world. If New Zealanders learn anything from 2010, I hope it is this: what we see in the media is not always the clearest version of reality, but it is a version of reality nonetheless. And reality, in many places, is brutal.

It’s too easy for Kiwis to flick on the news or flick through a newspaper. Often, we view major overseas events as if they are part of a soap opera, with plots and characters and cliffhangers. The cynic in me believes many Kiwis were only interested in the Chilean mine crisis because of the compelling twists and turns in the rescue saga. Would they live? Would they die? Did Kiwis follow that story because they cared? Or because of the drama, the tragedy and the triumph?

I can’t answer that question for all New Zealanders. But I know for sure that there was no ‘triumph’ for the 29 men who died in the depths of the Pike River Mine. It’s a story which affected all New Zealanders. It hurt because they were members of our community. The event happened on our turf, under our watch. This was not just another story or drama to play out on TV. This was reality. We mourned for 29 men who spent their last moments stuck down a mine. And yet there are millions of people living in holes around the world. Victims of conflict and poverty, many of them suffer equally tragic deaths. But for them, there is no drama, no cameras and no script. No glorious tributes, no extended news coverage, and no investigations. Sometimes I get angry at how parochial we are as a nation. But now that we’ve been reminded what it’s like to experience tragedies on a large scale, perhaps we’ll live a little bit differently in 2011.

Social networking: how much is too much?

I imagine a vegetarian would have a hard time trying to tell a carnivore to avoid meat. It’s even harder, however, for a Facebook non-believer to convince a Facebook believer that the social networking empire is built on shaky ground. It’s a challenge that I’ve embraced with gusto this year, in a desperate attempt to offer a critique of social networking and a reality check for the hoardes of Facebook lovers I know. I kicked off with this confessional in Canvas Magazine, and continued with this commentary in Idealog. Both stories ask whether our social media love affair is going too far, whether it’s taking the place of ‘real’ relationships and ‘real’ interaction, and whether social networking is as ‘revolutionary’ as it is made out to be. These questions are hard to answer. And they’re questions which most of us don’t want to answer. But while we watch Facebook continuing its ‘meteoric’ rise, its forerunners remain in pretty dire straits.

Murdoch-owned MySpace re-launched this month, but it’s still ad-heavy and cluttered. Bebo has lost its old school cool, and was sold earlier this year. The golden child, Twitter, is still useful for musicians, marketing gurus and media types, but is completely irrelevant to ordinary Kiwis. Facebook, it must be said, has held up admirably well over the past few years, but it has also taken many hits from critics, due to Mark Zuckerberg’s light-handed approach to privacy. Given the incredible sway that social media has, it seems remarkable that we have had so little discussion about its pitfalls, vulnerabilities and weak points. This, despite our growing reliance on social media, our willingness to trust its leaders with our data, and our willingness to dedicate time and energy to it.

The reason for our blind trust in social media is that the people who have the power to change are minds are the same people who have a vested interest in keeping social media alive. Mainstream media have embraced social media, especially social networking, with great enthusiasm. They have little choice. If newspaper and magazine publishers fail to capture the social media market, they have little hope of winning the ‘war against the web’. It is a war that has already caused many media organisations to go bust. Corporates, too, aren’t interested in challenging the validity of social media. It’s a fresh source of free advertising and free  chatter. In dollar terms? Priceless. And finally, the people we love to love, and love to loathe: celebrities. Social media lets us get closer to celebrity culture than ever before. It’s a vital tool to keep the fame flame alive.

So it’s no surprise, then, that the social media beast has risen so quickly. Of course, it’s been useful. Of course, it’s made it easier and more enjoyable to communicate, share and interact. But social networking sites are much more than just modes of communication. Facebook is an environment.  It is public. And the way we interact on social networking sites is radically different to the way we interact in real life. We need to examine it more closely. And although I’ve been harping on about this all year, it’s going to be hard to shut me up.

More than just a pretty face?

As the experts are telling us, newsrooms are getting younger. For many, it’s cause for concern. TV reviewers lament that the quality of news reporting is under threat, because of the sheer inexperience of the fresh-faced, wide-eyed reporters who’re delivering it. It’s an interesting debate; a debate which recently hit a new low when long-time television journalist Janet Wilson claimed that today’s youngest female TV reporters are hired “because they simply look good”. Another former broadcaster, Brian Edwards, weighed in. “How you look has become more important than how much credibility you bring,” he says. The argument is that celebrity-addled news bosses are hiring beauties, rather than beasts. And we all know that good journalists need to be beasts, right?

Good journalists are defined by the depth of their stories and the thickness of their contact books. But TV is a visual medium. It’s unrealistic to demand that all reporters are hired solely on the basis of their credentials, with no regard for how they look or sound on camera. Wilson is being overly cynical when she claims that female reporters are solely hired because they’re attractive. She’s implying that there are other strong, intelligent young female journos out there, who would do well in TV, but aren’t given the chance, because they aren’t hot enough. But where are these talented, would-be TV reporters? Do they exist? Have they resorted to working in the seemingly un-sexy world of print media, because the image-obsessed TV networks won’t hire them? Or do they simply not want to parade themselves in front of half a million people every night?

Having worked in both television and print, I’m not very convinced that these intelligent-but-not-quite-attractive-enough-to-be-on-TV journalists actually exist. And even if they do exist, they’re not desperate to work in telly. Young reporters in other parts of the media are no more or less intelligent than those on TV. They will do well in any medium if they are given good opportunities to develop their skills. But in any case, TV bosses don’t have a lot of choice when hiring young reporters. Many have a broadcasting qualification, and many have another degree. But apart from a few star contenders, it’s a pretty level playing field, and the candidates’ journalistic credentials are homogeneous. So it’s only natural that those who come across best on camera will be hired. Some excel; others fail to live up to the standard expected by those who hold the remotes.

Wilson and Edwards may argue that the solution is to stop hiring fresh, young reporters. Instead, maybe news organisations should invest in senior reporters with strong track records. But as Wilson and Edwards know, many newsrooms are now operating on the smell of an oily rag. Why employ one senior journalist when you can hire two hungry graduate journalists for the same price? It’s this commercial reality which is causing newsrooms to become younger. It’s unfair and sexist for Wilson to lump the blame on young female reporters; reporters who, in many cases, have been thrown in at the deep end and are doing their very best to do the job well, and to meet the expectations of their producers. And why doesn’t Wilson doesn’t mention male reporters? Are they all serious news hounds who’re hired solely on the basis of their credentials? I think not.

Can you be too qualified to push one of these around?

Is there anything to stop a political science graduate from working behind a supermarket counter? Work and Income seems to think so. It advised 22-year-old Natalie Meehan to wipe her degree from her CV when she applied for jobs at Pak’n’Save and KFC. The reason? WINZ was afraid that a prospective employer may be “intimidated” by Meehan’s academic transcript. But why? Most graduates have slaved away for years, in musty lecture theatres and alongside stacks of textbooks, in order to get a degree, to help them score a job. Any suggestion to dumb down your CV, by hiding your degree, must seem like the ultimate slap in the face.

It’s not often that a fresh, young graduate is told they’re ‘too qualified’. More commonly, older job candidates are knocked back. Surely, it’s embarrassing that spineless employers can be intimidated by confident job applicants. Being ‘overqualified’ should only be a problem if the applicant’s previous experience prevents them from doing a new job well. And why would a political scientist be less capable of working in an entry-level retail job? At a fast food outlet, would she reveal to the customers how the globalisation of fast food is having a rather devastating effect on developing countries? Unlikely. In a supermarket, would she expose the evil capitalist systems that are undermining the distribution of food around the world? Probably not. All she wanted was to earn some cash.

But if Meehan tells a prospective employer that she is a recent graduate, they may conclude that she will not stay in the job in the long-term. No surprises there: no university graduate wants to flip burgers for a living. But in any case, we shouldn’t be encouraging 20-somethings to work in low-wage, low-skilled positions. Sure, supermarket checkout jobs allow students to kick-start their working lives. But recruiters must not be under the illusion that a 22-year-old would be committed to a long-term career in supermarket retail or fast food, regardless of whether they’re qualified or not. Meehan should be able to apply for one of those jobs while being upfront about the fact that she has a degree.

Dumbing down your CV is consistent with the Kiwi mentality. We’re afraid to overstate our abilities. As a result, employers lose access to good talent, while talented people are left out of work. Sure, today’s employers are met by a sea of candidates, most of whom have identical qualifications. But graduates’ areas of study are less relevant than ever before. What any employer want to know is that the person they’re hiring is capable. Doing a degree requires intelligence, sacrifice, commitment, original thought, and a desire to learn. Dumbing down a resume leaves the graduate, and their prospective employer, feeling cheated.

Eleven years on, the memory of Columbine is still fresh

It’s not easy to write about a problem that hasn’t really become a problem yet.  The media are often blamed for putting fear into the hearts and minds of ordinary people, in a bid to sell more newspapers or magazines. That’s often true. Sensationalism is, and always has been, a journalistic hazard. But simply because a problem hasn’t come to the surface, that doesn’t mean the media should avoid covering it to avoid scaring the public. In fact, the media can often prevent a problem from developing. It’s usually dubbed “preventive journalism”.

That was the intent behind my feature in today’s Sunday Star-Times; a report on whether New Zealand schools are prepared for an armed intrusion. A school shooting? Not in this country, many would say. But perhaps that’s the problem. When I began writing the story three weeks ago, I was met by a wall of silence from the authorities. The Police, the Ministry of Education, the teachers’ union and many principals refused to be interviewed. Whatever their reasons were, it was clear that school security was not at the top of the priority list. On Monday morning, that all changed. A 13-year-old boy stabbed a teacher at Te Puke High School in the Bay of Plenty; the second such stabbing in two years. The wounds were not fatal, the boy was caught and charged. Just three days later, another incident, this time at Hamilton Girls’ High, where a distressed student produced a knife she had purchased during morning tea time. In a matter of days, the issue of school security had made it to the top of the news agenda.

Last week’s coverage focused on the safety of teachers, and whether they should have increased powers to search and seize weapons in the classroom. But one angle was missed altogether: whether our schools are prepared for an armed intrusion. While many schools have introduced ‘lockdown’ procedures, many are keeping students in the dark about what would happen (and how they should act) during an armed incident. Without that knowledge, students will be vulnerable. Many schools overseas have learned that the hard way.

Given the events of the week, the story is timely, and has a bit more punch than it would otherwise have had. But I’m often frustrated by our unwillingness to consider issues like this before it’s too late. Some readers choose to dismiss such stories and blame the editors and reporters for hyping up a non-story. Editors are often to blame for failing to present these stories in a way that is relevant but cool-headed. In any case, if we choose to sit around waiting for a social problem to hit us in the face before we’re ready to talk about it, we’d miss an opportunity to minimise the damage. Let’s keep our eyes on the ball.

Even the glasses couldn't prepare Bieber for his day of Kiwi drama

Days before teen star Justin Bieber touched down in Auckland, the media were predicting the sudden onset of ‘Bieber Fever’. Like swine flu, it came with little warning. Bieber’s music had only been on New Zealand radio for a matter of weeks. And, like swine flu, Bieber Fever posed a major security threat. The previous week, in Sydney, his concert was cancelled after many teen girls were hospitalised after being injured or, in some cases, fainting due to hyperventilation. But while the threat of swine flu had virtually no effect on New Zealand, ‘Bieber Fever’ sounded much more serious. And by the time he stepped out of the arrival gate at Auckland Airport, the ‘fever’ had turned into a pandemic. He was welcomed by screaming fans, bemused journalists and, ahem, police officers. Rather than spending the evening fighting crime, they’d fight a wall of teenyboppers to keep The Bieb safe. But as soon as he arrived, his visit lost its sugar coating.

The teen throng knocked his mother over. Unpleasant. But I have no sympathy for Bieber in regards to his stolen hat, which was pinched by an enterprising fan, as he was leaving the airport. He shouldn’t have been wearing a purple hat in the first place. But the hat debacle was only the tip of the iceberg. At What Now he was given a shaken-up bottle of L’n'P, which exploded, causing him to walk out. (He’s lucky he didn’t get gunged). On Twitter, he told off his Kiwi fans for “pushing” each other around. At a school, he pinched a chocolate bar from a fundraising container. When asked to pay, he claimed to have no money, but offered to sign the wrapper. But there were happier moments too: he sang at a school, he met some of the fans, he wore an All Blacks jersey, he jumped off the Harbour Bridge and he decided that Air New Zealand is the world’s best airline. Bieber may have given the New Zealand brand a boost.

But the way his visit was covered by local media was bizarre at best, and embarrassing at worst. Today’s most senior journalists have a tendency to jump on ‘new’ and ‘emerging’ stories which may attract a young, hip audience. (Bieber’s surname sounds like the name of a tween social networking website, although I’m not sure that had any bearing in this case…) On the day of his visit, One News led with storis about tobacco tax, brothels, childcare subsidies, the ANZAC tragedy and cannabis raids. Bieber turned up later in the bulletin. But 3 News had the gall to put Beiber at the top of the news hour. The first two stories were about him, and his missing hat. It’s a very dark day for journalism when the lead story on the evening news is about a 16-year-old’s missing hat. Even the Weekend Herald‘s editorial was about the Bieber boy’s big day out.

Why did the media go ga-ga? Because, unlike other teen sensations, Bieber ended up on our shores at the height of his popularity. The attention given to his one-day promotional visit was extraordinary, and what it shows is that the audience is gaining increasing control of the news agenda. Sure, the singer’s audience is a small and ardent one, but the wider public watched his visit with curiosity. And he’s paid to put up with the attention. There’s nothing worse that a complaining celebrity. Of course, Bieber should be credited with his success. (A bottle of water he drank from while in Auckland sold on TradeMe for almost $900). But as a wise old entertainer once told me, ‘The star that burns brightly burns out quickly’. Bieber should buy another purple hat to block out the rays.

Well, I'm not using text language...

Boardgamers are outraged. Bored gamers are rejoicing. A new version of Scrabble will accept proper nouns, including names (Meatloaf?), brands (McDonald’s?) and places (Macau?). The aim is to encourage more young people to play the boardgame; young people who don’t have the patience or the vocabulary to play ‘traditional’ Scrabble. In other words, most young people. Harsh? Perhaps. But no one’s denying that the English language has gone to custard. Why else would Scrabble throw out its rulebook? The purists aren’t happy. They’re intent on protecting their beloved game. But it seems Scrabble is the last bastion of literacy. It’s the only domain to be ruled by the dictionary. And in the war for words, the Scrabble board is the final frontier. But why would a teenager learn to spell a simple but irrelevant word like ‘buoy’ (9 points), when the longer but popular name ‘Beyonce’ will score 14 points?

In New Zealand, youth literacy has proved a headache. Back in 1999, the Government launched a literacy taskforce, with a daft and unattainable goal: “By 2005, every child turning nine will be able to read and write”. Universal literacy, along with hovercrafts and jetpacks, didn’t arrive by 2005. Five years on, the stats are still pretty grim. The Government says one in five students leave school without adequate literacy skills. The media are often blamed for dumbing down our language. Schools are blamed for being too lenient. Parents are blamed for failing to encourage literacy in the home. And governments are blamed for not spending enough on remedial education for struggling students. The current government has launched a literacy ‘crusade’. The results won’t be seen for years, but there are high expectations that the policy will succeed.

Literacy remains a problem because society does not place a premium on the skillful use of words, especially by youth. ‘Text language’ is an adequate form of communication, because it gets the message across. Error-laden essays are often deemed acceptable as long as it’s clear what the student is trying to say, regardless of how they say it. Incorrect grammar in everyday conversation is overlooked, because no one is pretentious enough to correct someone else’s speech. There is no incentive, and no imperative, for young people to master the English language. Of course there are exceptions. Many students enjoy and excel at English. They enjoy communicating, and they are highly adept at it. But for the majority of their mates, learning English is little more than a chore.

The United Nations has declared that this is the ‘Literacy Decade’. It’s an odd concept, but the justification is sound: one in five of the world’s adults cannot read or write. One in five: the same statistic used to highlight the number of Kiwi kids who leave school without adequate literacy. It’s a strange comparison. Millions of children in developing countries have never seen a classroom or a textbook in their lives. Our youth are much better off. Yet many are not ready to communicate effectively in their adult lives. What’s required? A cultural shift. And there is no reason why that shift can’t begin on the Scrabble board. If you’re going to use an obscure word, you might as well learn to spell it.

Happy buzzwords about leadership. Are you feeling inspired yet?

I’ve always been suspicious of people who claim to be “leadership experts” or “motivational speakers”. According to who? In reality, it seems many of those on the speaking circuit don’t have anything original to say. In fact, many of them resort to tired cliches about “climbing mountains”, “reaching your dreams”, “fulfilling your potential” and “becoming everything you’ve ever wanted to be”. Sadly, we’ve become accustomed to this mumbo-jumbo.

When we talk about leadership, it seems we start speaking another language; a language of cliches and catchphrases, with a sprinkling of “deep” quotes from Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King Jr. and Oprah Winfrey. How many times have we been told about “passion” and “potential”? Do we really need to be told that leadership is not about “power”, it’s about “people”? Many motivational speakers wrap up this empy rhetoric in different ways, and somehow, they sell it to their audiences. We get a buzz. We laugh. We may even clap. But then we go home and think, ‘Hang on, does that help me to understand leadership? Does it give me any tools to become a better leader?’ Often, the answer is ‘no’.

In New Zealand, leadership training for youth is woefully inadequate, especially in high schools. Many schools have poor selection criteria for appointing student leaders. Those who are chosen are often given no mentoring or advice, and are left with little responsibility. Some schools invite leadership experts to provide seminars for their senior students, but many of these programmes fail to equip students with a practical understanding of how to lead. As a result, many young leaders fail to develop their talents. Some principals have told me that they feel ill-equipped to provide their students with more robust leadership coaching.

Some organisations are working to fill the gaps. For a decade, the Halogen Foundation’s National Young Leaders Days have drawn large crowds of high school students. Having gone to the event when I was at high school, I seized the opportunity to speak at this year’s forum. I have no intention to “motivate” or “inspire”. Nor do I claim to be a leadership expert. My aim is to challenge and frustrate the students. Some of them switch off. But most of them get it.

“It seems unreasonable, and a bit ungrateful, to feel frustrated in being presented with such a vast amount of opportunity in this day and age, but I guess that frustration is really just a representation of my fear,” wrote one student in an email to me after last week’s Young Leaders Day. For a high school student, it’s a remarkably honest realisation. These are the kinds of conversations about leadership we need to have.

Marineland: a chequered past and an uncertain future

Most New Zealanders, including me, have fond memories of their childhood visits to Marineland. The animal attraction, proudly placed on Napier’s waterfront, has been one of the cornerstones of Hawke’s Bay’s tourism industry for 45 years. In its heyday, Marineland’s performing dolphins and seals attracted thousands of visitors each week. Now, the gates are shut. The grandstand is empty. The dolphins have died. The crowds have gone. Marineland sits in the shadow of its former glory. In today’s Your Weekend magazine, I report on Marineland’s past, present and future. In the 1970s, dozens of dolphins died. As early as the mid-80s, the future of the marine zoo has been uncertain.

I travelled to Napier to interview the key players. Gary Macdonald, the former manager of Marineland, resigned in November after admitting he had falsified reports about fur seals which had been taken from the wild. Macdonald gave 37 years of his life to Marineland, but now says it’s time to let go. He was, and still is, Marineland’s staunchest ally. One of his critics is Ada McIlroy, the widow of a former Marineland manager, who spoke to me about the dolphin deaths in the 1970s. McIlroy, who remains hurt by the way the dolphins were treated in Marineland’s early days, wants the marine zoo’s gates to be closed for good. But Napier Council’s tourism staff could shed almost no light on Marineland’s future, because the Council has not decided whether to close it, or revive it.

We photographed McIlroy in her garden, standing on the spot where her late husband had buried two dolphins which died while under Marineland’s care. The official documents paint a bleak picture: a long list of dead animals from the 1970s, identified only by a serial number. The dolphins, which were caught in the open ocean, could not handle the stress. In the years since, Marineland’s animals have been well cared for. Many have lived much longer than expected.

But although Marineland has left a strong legacy for Hawke’s Bay, it has also left a stain on New Zealand’s reputation as an ecologically-progressive nation. In 1991, Marineland was banned from catching wild dolphins. It has also been prevented from importing zoo-bred dolphins. Marineland’s supporters say the zoo could be turned into an animal hospital, or a breeding zoo for endangered dolphins. Its detractors argue that marine zoos have passed their use-by date. Whatever decision is eventually made by the Napier Council, Marineland’s 45- year history will not be easy to erase from New Zealand’s history books.

Are we on helpline overload?

In New Zealand, social helplines are hard to ignore. Want to quit smoking? Call a helpline. Feeling depressed? Pick up the phone. Got a migraine, STD or bladder control problem? Believe it or not, there’s a helpline for each of those problems too. My feature in today’s Herald on Sunday asks why helplines are in such hot demand. I was curious. Why are so many New Zealanders picking up the phone? Have we developed a quick-fix ‘helpline mentality’? Why are we so willing to dial a freephone number and speak to a stranger about our problems, rather than seeing a doctor or confiding in close friends and family? As for the helplines themselves: do they simply provide a band-aid for people who have much deeper health concerns?

I don’t doubt that, for some callers, the act of calling a helpline in their time of need can save their life. But the majority of people who call helplines are not in crisis. Most people who call helplines are looking for advice, reassurance, tips or guidance which they’re simply not getting elsewhere. Surely our growing use of helplines suggests that we’re becoming increasingly disconnected from our own support networks; disconnected from the people we would normally turn to for help. I wondered whether our dependence on helplines was unhealthy.

I visited the call centre of one of New Zealand’s oldest helplines, and spoke to many people who have manned the phones, and some people who have used helplines themselves. What I found was a helpline ‘industry’; an industry which is growing. The reason the industry is growing is because demand is rising. On the whole, it seems more New Zealanders are phoning helplines than ever before. But rather than providing a crutch for people who aren’t getting the real help they need, I found that helplines are providing a vital safety net for people who would otherwise fall through the cracks of the health system. Most of the people who call these lines don’t do so because they’re bored, compulsive, lazy or pedantic. They do it because they’re desperate for conversation.

I suggested to the manager of one of these services that, in an ideal world, we wouldn’t need helplines. “That’s like saying that in an ideal world we wouldn’t need supermarkets because everyone would grow their own vegetables,” he said. Fair call. But if helplines really have become a valid, necessary, useful, unavoidable part of modern life, perhaps we need to do a better job at making sure that they’re working well. Their practice is not monitored. Their funding is unstable. Many helplines are duplicating services. And despite all that, the callers are still phoning up in greater numbers. Who are these people; these nameless, faceless, anonymous callers? How can we find them? How can we help them? They’re tough questions to answer, but I reckon we ought to try.