Editorial - Tuesday December 18, 2012

So that's it then

WELCOME to the final Northland Age Tuesday editorial. That's assuming the Mayans knew what they were talking about, of course. If it turns out they didn't there will be more editorials, but there doesn't seem much point worrying about what will need to be done post-December 21 until we know for sure that the Northland Age editorial suite and all other signs of human (one hesitates to say civilised) existence are not going to disappear in a great ball of fire and brimstone.

Like most apocalypses, this one seems to be a little short on detail, however. In fact there is enough confusion to enable some to think that they will be able to escape the worst if they head for high ground here in the Far North. Singer/songwriter/talent quest judge Jason Kerrison is one of those. He's been widely reported as having established a bolthole somewhere in these parts, beyond the reach of a tsunami (although there are those who reckon they will be the least of our worries) and with enough tucker to last him and his fellow refugees for years. And there was another bloke with more money than brains who apparently constructed a bunker deep underground somewhere in the Bay of Islands (unfortunately for him, this has since gone to mortgagee auction. We don't know how much unused bunkers, one careful owner, command even in these precarious times, but he's no doubt done a large chunk of his dough).

The question we might be asking is how we will know if we are experiencing a genuine apocalypse or just an especially grim Friday. The writer is planning to attend a lunchtime barbecue at the Northland Publishing Co headquarters in Whangarei, where great balls of fire could be a precursor to the end or simply a sign that regional manager Greg Alexander has got a little carried away with the meths in a bid to get everyone back to work as quickly as possible. Presumably, if the end really is as nigh as some believe the Mayans predicted, there will be more reliable signs than sausages burned beyond edibility though.

In the meantime it would seem prudent to forgo paying the rates, water, power and phone bills, and not to stress too much over last-minute (or first-minute) Christmas shopping until Saturday dawns, if it does.

One suspects, however, that the doomsayers are destined for disappointment. In fact one feels justified in saying that those who harbour genuine fears that mankind has three days left are stark raving mad, living proof that for all man's technological advances and the ability they have given us to bring order to our world we haven't actually fallen far from the tree planted by our superstitious ancestors.

That assessment will be vindicated when nothing happens on Friday, except perhaps for the dollar rising against the greenback and Kim Dotcom grinning all over the six o'clock news after another victory over a legal system that no one understands any more. On the other hand, if the doomsayers are right, no one will be around to write to the Age pointing out that we were wrong. We can't lose.

One issue that does not seem to have been factored in, however, is the effect time zones will have on this prediction. One assumes the Mayans were a day behind us when they deduced that the world would end on December 21, 2012, which means we in New Zealand will have to wait until Saturday. The precise moment when we can expect this cataclysmic event isn't clear either, so it will probably pay to go about our ordinary Saturday business as if nothing is going to happen, until it does. Wouldn't seem to be much point in dead-heading the roses or mowing the lawns though.

Of course we have been here before. The writer's mother was one of a flock of Epsom Girls' Grammar girls who trudged up Auckland's One Tree Hill one night in the mid-1920s, confident that the world would end before the sun rose again and determined to get a good view of it.

If memory serves nothing much happened, and they all trooped back down the hill in the early morning for breakfast.

In fact there have been numerous predictions of imminent doom over the years, and the Bible promises that we will be in no doubt that big changes are afoot when Christ returns.

It seems doubtful that details of His second coming were leaked to the Mayans, but there are those who claim that the Book of Revelations makes it clear that these are the "end days", which begs the question as to why we are spending so much time, money and energy trying to slow the rate of climate change.

These might not be the end days, but they are certainly interesting, even weird ones. Could anyone blame God for looking down upon His creation and deciding it was time to pull the plug?

And every cloud has a silver lining. If the world does end on Friday (Mayan time) we can comfort ourselves with the knowledge that we will never hear Dotcom's name again. We won't have to worry whether David Bain is a victim of the so-called justice system or a cold-blooded killer who's finally got away with it, and whether he deserves compensation. We won't have to lie awake at night worrying what the South Africans are doing to the Black Caps (has anyone else noticed how their slide into laughing stock status coincided with the imposition of that ridiculous name?) and the All Blacks will forever be the world champions, whatever England did to them at Twickenham, with a little help from the Empire.

The big losers though will be the loan sharks who are reported as offering one-week interest-free loans for Christmas, with interest of 500 per cent, and penalties, kicking in on day eight, leaving borrowers of $500 with a $2790 debt after 12 months. Something appropriately Old Testament about that. "And on the eighth day interest began accruing."

At the end of the day, no pun intended, it'll probably be best just to carry on as usual. If the Mayans were right there's nothing we can do about it, and if they were wrong we can all enjoy a laugh at the expense of those who thought they could cheat the end of the world by digging a hole in the ground and stocking it with baked beans and candles. And, one assumes, a spare tin opener or two.

Imagine the horror of waking on the first day of the post-apocalyptic world to discover that some idiot had forgotten to get one.

Meanwhile, trusting that we'll still be here on Sunday, best wishes from everyone at the Northland Age for a merry, safe Christmas and a happy, prosperous new year, comfortable in the knowledge that the worst that will happen to us in years to come is that our rates will continue to go up, Kim Dotcom and David Bain will succumb to old age before their appeals for justice are answered and Russel Norman will become the Minister of Finance.

It might be best to mow the lawns and dead-head the roses before the festive season begins in earnest too. It might be years before we get another invitation to believe that the end is not so much nigh as here.