Paul Thomas: Quake response needs the best from all of us

Christchurch's prosperity is epitomised by its grand homes, such as this building in Hagley Park. Photo / Supplied

The theory of six degrees of separation holds that a chain of acquaintance of five people connects us to any other person on the planet.

The term comes from a 1967 experiment in which Americans in the Mid West were asked to send a package to a stranger in Massachusetts.

They were given a name, occupation and general location, and told to start by giving the package to the person in their circle of friends most likely to know the target.

The process was repeated until the package reached the recipient. In most cases it had to pass through only five to seven intermediaries.

There are even fewer degrees of separation in our neighbourly if taciturn little community here at the end of the world, though we sometimes put distance between us in the name of politics, race or parochialism.

Nature's pulverising attack on Christchurch is a reminder that we are one tribe, albeit scattered throughout a spacious land. Every New Zealander had a loved one, a relative, an acquaintance, a friend or a friend of a friend at ground zero.

The earthquake was felt as far north as New Plymouth and as far south as Dunedin. The fear and pain were felt everywhere.

When I was nine, my family moved up in the world from Timaru to Christchurch. Our place in Riccarton had a large, flat lawn, ideal for cricket. I broke three windows in the first week.

I went to a prep school where we had classes on Saturday mornings, played cricket in long grey flannels, performed a Gilbert and Sullivan light opera every year and swam in the nude. Even so, I was crestfallen when my parents announced we were moving to Auckland.

After several decades, I became reacquainted with Christchurch. A brother-in-law and family moved down so we began visiting. Old friends from previous lives popped out of the woodwork.

Last year our 19-year-old enrolled at Canterbury University. The trips south became more frequent.

I eagerly looked forward to these visits. Driving away from the airport in Auckland and Wellington you could be excused for thinking you've landed in some scruffy and indeterminate agglomeration clinging to first world status by its discoloured fingernails.

The same journey in Christchurch creates an impression of orderliness and prosperity, which intensifies when you hit Fendalton with its grand houses and sounds of swimming pool horseplay and brisk rallies floating over high walls.

Of course Christchurch has its ugly places where the tourist buses never venture. All cities do. I worked in a grimy corner of southeast London that bore no resemblance to the cityscape that's launched a million postcards. When people talk about Paris being a living work of art, they mean a handful of central arrondissements, not the wasteland north of the Boulevard Peripherique ring road.

By pure coincidence we learned one minute after the quake struck that our 19-year-old was okay. Inured to the aftershocks as everybody was, we didn't appreciate the significance of it. We hadn't yet seen the footage of buildings flattened like crushed beer cans, didn't realise that Christchurch was bleeding, oozing liquefaction from a thousand ruptures, hadn't grasped that that this time it was a catastrophe, not a miracle.

The city has been likened to a war zone; just as well Kiwis are good at war. In his book Report on Experience, Christchurch-born John Mulgan, an expatriate serving in the British Army, recalled an encounter with the men of the 2nd New Zealand Division who fought the Afrika Korps to a standstill at Ruweisat Ridge, turning the tide of the North African campaign:

"They were mature men, these New Zealanders of the desert, quiet and shrewd and sceptical. They had confidence in themselves, such as New Zealanders rarely have, knowing themselves as good as the best the world could bring against them. Everything that was good from that small, remote country had gone into them - sunshine and strength, good sense, patience, the versatility of practical men. And they marched into history."

It was heroism - Charles Upham and Keith Elliott were awarded VCs - and blood sacrifice. In these actions and the subsequent battle of El Alamein 1300 New Zealanders died and 3700 were wounded.

In the seven decades since, New Zealand has rarely been called upon to show such stoicism, determination and unity. We are being called now.