My new favourite thing is custard powder. There's something about a bowl of cheap, yellow, thick, wobbly sweetness that is unendingly comforting. In these bizarre times, when everything feels out of control and nothing much makes sense, I've found it's the little things that help to tether you (howevertenuously) to sanity.
It's hard to imagine the ways in which our world has irreversibly changed while we remain confined to our four walls. The cheery greetings between neighbours out on their daily walks are testament to our ability to adapt, connect and soldier on. Beneath the eerie simplicity of our locked down lives, however, is our justified anxiety. Hard times have already arrived for many New Zealanders and they're on the horizon for many others.
The fleeting, yet deeply pertinent connections between neighbours that have flourished over the past four weeks provide an important tool for us to keep close during the coming difficult months and years. We've heard pithy slogans like "a team of five million" and "one big bubble" thrown around recently, but it's when Covid-19 ends that our teamwork will become most important.
When the true extent of the economic devastation caused by the lockdown is realised, care for our neighbours is going to become more important than ever. Despite the comparisons drawn between Covid-19 and wartime, the battle is far from over. Even if we manage the Herculean task of eradicating the virus in New Zealand, the suffering will continue for years. Although every piece of good news is welcome in these uncertain times, we're very much still in the trenches.
On my mind particularly are Kiwi kids. While the threat of a global pandemic and the strangeness of the resultant lockdown will have been alarming to most children, those who were already living in hardship likely face a punishing next few years. There will also be a new group of children that will suffer, whose families have never needed to ask for assistance before but now will experience significant financial struggle. I'm a director on the board of Variety – the Children's Charity, and we're already seeing a huge increase in need. This is only the beginning. It will get much worse before it gets better.
My biggest hope for the next few years is that once our isolation orders lift we'll reach over our fences to help our neighbours. That if we find ourselves in a position to give – whether it be a bag of groceries for a struggling neighbour, a monthly sponsorship of a vulnerable Kiwi child, or a hot lunch for a homeless person, we will be generous. We will understandably need to look after our own families first, but I hope that these difficult times will inspire a renewed sense of community and solidarity for our fellow New Zealanders.
It's not all doom and gloom. I've heard some incredible stories over the last few weeks. One that sticks in my mind is that of a salon owner in New Plymouth, who's working nightshifts in a supermarket to keep her business afloat so her five staff have jobs to return to when we get to Level 2. We're a nation of Kiwi battlers facing a monumental challenge. It won't be easy but if we pull together, we'll get through this. Let's shop local, travel domestically and look out for each other.
Tough questions must be asked
Let's not confuse national unity with national groupthink, however. With the constant references to war appearing in our national conversation at the moment, Anzac Day seems even more poignant than usual. As we remember the sacrifices our soldiers made, let us also remember that they fought for our freedom. Part of that freedom is our right to express our views, even if they diverge from popular opinion.
Particularly in times of uncertainty, it can be comforting to accept surface explanations without question. When everything feels overwhelming, robust debate can feel jarring and disruptive. Although it may be confronting to listen to critique of those in power, I desperately hope that we resist the urge to squash dissent. We haven't faced a challenge of such magnitude in generations. Critical thinking is more important now than ever. We're in uncharted waters, and tough questions must be asked at every change of tack.
Seeking out different perspectives, even if only to agree to disagree, is vital. If there's one thing that writing this column has taught me, it's how much there is to be gained from learning to understand the worldviews of others. Whether we're young, old, conservative, progressive, Māori, Pākēhā, straight, gay, whatever . . . we all have valuable contributions to offer each other, even if only to encourage us to interrogate our own assumptions.
Many of you have made me interrogate mine, and I will be forever grateful. Your feedback and insights have changed me in ways I could never have foreseen. Through conversations in supermarkets, airports and service stations, comments on social media, and letters to the editor, you have made me think about things in different ways and I thank you for that.
What a difference four years make. My first column for this paper was published in January of 2016. I was 26, brazen, vulnerable and determined to fight every battle. Now I'm somewhat more gnarled – having had my milk teeth knocked out in the hurly burly of public discourse – less green, but no less appreciative of the privilege of writing for you all.
It has been an honour. Whether we've seen eye-to-eye or not, I've greatly appreciated your readership over the years. I've also been extremely fortunate to work with two fantastic editors and I thank them wholeheartedly.
If you wish to continue reading, you can find me online on Facebook and Twitter, and you will find my writing at villainesse.com, the independent media outlet I started nearly five years ago to offer opportunities to young writers. For now, however, I send you all humble thanks, aroha, gratitude and solidarity as we face the challenges ahead. Until we meet again.
