There's nearly always someone in any walk of life who unwittingly sticks their head above the parapet and screams "abuse me". Sometimes they actually try to shrink below the surface in the hope of avoiding said abuse but generally to no avail. It's hard to put your finger on exactly why they command this level of hate but, generally speaking, it comes down to the nature of us humans. Just as there always emerges a "leader" among a group of cohabitants, there inevitably emerges a victim as well.
It's not always the obvious target either. Think back to the school yard; yes, it was easy to pick on the ginger but often he or she had an endearingly cheeky streak to them plus they could be wildly unpredictable and prone to rage, thus making them a valuable playground ally.
The fat kid was like a red rag to a bull when it came to hurling abuse, but it was so obvious and easy it lacked gratification on the part of the abusee. Chubs was also often accompanied by an equally large brain so was good for copying homework from and to sit beside in class, provided he hadn't been running round too much at playtime working up an awful sweat chasing kids for their lunch money. He could also be a good scrummager.
The smelly kid was inevitably a struggler when it came to academia and was forever haunted by the time he wet his pants in Year 1. He usually wasn't worth abusing.
No, the ones who commanded the most attention were those who were of a duplicitous nature. They could be valuable on the one hand but wouldn't hesitate to tell the teacher if you'd been fighting at lunchtime. They would let you join in their game of cricket but wouldn't help you with some insufferable mathematics. They may have had the best toys, but wouldn't necessarily share them. They could be friendly and untrustworthy, which made you wary of them, hence their propensity to be cast in the role of villain.
The workplace also has this phenomenon about it. The leader is in that position via official appointment but the whipping boys emerge in the same fashion as they do in the schoolyard and, indeed, as I've said, many walks of life.
So I'm not surprised at all that dairy giant Fonterra is copping a decent serve from all and sundry at the moment. A $4.40 payout, $5.25 for next season, the Commerce Commission suddenly taking more than just a passing interest regarding what level of competition they're facing and a good deal of suppliers wanting to cut ties with Fonterra, especially if you're not obliged to buy shares; all this plus the natural frustration of economic hardship is making Fonterra a rather juicy target.
We've been receiving a deluge of abuse directed at Fonterra via our social media platforms at the Farming Show, most of which are unfit for publication. The critics are lining up by the day. Federated Farmers dairy chairman Andrew Hoggard recently told Farming First one of the first things they needed to do was ditch the Power Point presentations. They're reportedly confusing and drenched in insufferable management-speak.
Exactly how the regulated farm-gate milk price is set is contained in a tome that would apparently test the mental fortitude of even the most dour and studious of academics, let alone farmers who have many varied tasks to deal with on a daily basis.
Granted, Fonterra's fortunes remain at the mercy of price-sensitive commodity exports, but it appears the more adversity comes its way, the more it entrenches. From personnel changes to simply front-footing issues like the fortnightly global dairy trade events, Fonterra clearly needs to up its PR game. At the time of the botulism scare, it emerged nearly 30 Fonterra managers earned over $1 million each the previous year and the CEO is one of the highest paid in New Zealand. Much like the kid who has the latest gadget but won't let you have a turn, Fonterra's fast becoming everyone's favourite target for a punch in the face.