ABUSING POWER AND ITS MALCONTENTS: DEMYSTIFYING NEW ZEALAND

          Being an outsider to New Zealand, looking in, I can attest to the positive images portrayed by New Zealanders about New Zealand to the rest of the world: New Zealand is a multicultural society, accentuated by reticent landscapes and inhabited by equally restrained people eager to share space and stories with strangers. I also often hear this self-characterization from people here: Kiwis like to help people. In small strokes, perhaps New Zealanders are helpful, but when it really counts, the well-being of the average everyday Kiwi is stymied by this inexplicable, understated desire to undermine others. Or, at least, that is what I interpret in the conduct of those in authority, after learning from people victimized by abuse of power, who relayed to me their experiences with institutions of power. I have to admit that the stories of Kiwis willing to share their personal challenges with me reveal behavioural patterns of authority that are telling of an underground narrative that belies corruptions in many forms, albeit not readily discernible to the unsuspecting stranger.

            I happened upon a book, Dirty Politics (Hager, Craig Cotton Publishing 2014), which sheds some light on a psychology proudly brandished by the characters the author highlights in the book that got me thinking about some of the underhanded ways in which Kiwis operate using authoritative channels. The author highlights the people, who have inherited power through political party affiliations, using their prestige to influence public opinion, even if their representations are based on lies. The book’s author will have one believe that the culture of New Zealand integrity is gripped by the loose morals of National Party acolytes. He names several individuals with birthrights in or loyalties to the National Party who can easily influence institutional politics – and even people.

            I had initially discarded the contents of this book as unconnected to the deceptions with which I had had to contend at both universities, Massey and Auckland . . . until I read page 60 of the book, in which the author names a member of the University of Auckland Council (whose contract ended in December 2014), who has served as a National Party lawyer. This bit of information got me thinking about how deeply into the operations of these educational institutions the tentacles of the National Party reach. And how much their influence disturbs the system of checks and balances normally guaranteed by laws protecting civil and human rights.

            When I learned of this lawyer’s political connections, I knew my suspicions about the education at the University of Auckland as being more political than educational had merit. This attorney, being schooled in the law, has the authority to advise people – I would even conjecture – incorrectly on the specifics of the law. As today's blog will eventually inform, other authority figures in various circumstances have similarly failed to scrutinize the legality of advice or conduct of professional peers. Because there are impacts on the individual – the victim, if you will - if accountability is not upheld; failing to exercise accountability also signifies violations of human rights standards in New Zealand, as elsewhere.

Words, such as respecting one’s dignity, autonomy, and integrity are included in such doctrines to prevent anyone in authority to have unilateral control over the life of another. Freedoms of choice and from suffering are considered inalienable rights, as is the freedom to pursue a qualification that could potentially open doors is. Under human rights conditions, these freedoms are supported and fostered through law. And so, when anyone in authority is engages in wrongdoing, the systems holds that authority figure accountable. Checks and balances are, understandably, regarded to be integral to human rights.   

Yet, when I think back to the number of times in which deception had influenced my decisions and resulted in financial and time losses to me, I remember feeling no sense of autonomy. Moreover, at no time during the 29 months of studying here, filing informal and then formal complaints with the appropriate authorities, and asking for assistance with changing supervisors so that I could make progress on my doctorate thesis, could I remember when either university had been forced to take responsibility. Take, for instance, the false scholarship letter from Massey University sent to me, which influenced my decision to attend Massey. Only later, after arriving at the school, did I learn that the person who had signed the letter did not exist. There were no offers of an alternative scholarship to replace the alleged offer of a scholarship with a real one. When I complained about the assaults on me by my primary supervisor while at Massey, this concern was treated with humour by those in authority. The other staff, who had accompanied this supervisor to the lounge, had thought the abuse to me was simply funny, revealed through the snickering of some staff in the 3^rd floor lounge, because the personal development of my primary supervisor there was closer to that of a child, so her academic friend had opined.  

And then, the efforts I made to replace my current PhD Committee with two academics, who took their responsibilities more seriously, fell on deaf ears. Despite filing three separate forms requesting a change of supervisors, I received no answer from the Graduate Centre. And when I asked for a more objective review of my academic work, I failed to get that – only more loyalties from the other workers. I wondered if someone in greater power was pulling strings and influencing the people, who had the power to affect my doctoral candidacy. In the end, they did.

In the US, breaching civil and other laws, as well as university statutes carries penalties. The university, for instance, will lose federal funds, including the chance to compete for government-funded grants. Professors acting against the educational interests of students are generally punished by being forced to go on a leave of absence or are terminated. Academics overall do not retain their job if they do not take their responsibilities seriously. Deception, moreover, is not tolerated at any level. The university takes responsibility and the student is generally compensated if complaints are filed. There are examples of cases in the US, where punishments due to regulatory or legislative violations have been carried out.

My alienation from New Zealand, I have since learned, is shared by others, some more rooted to New Zealand than even those who proudly call themselves Kiwi. What happens when accountability and thereby human rights principles are not upheld? Their stories reveal a more accurate truth. There is the story of a Maori man convicted of rape and murder in the absence of DNA evidence directly linking him to the crime. The victim had not this convicted man’s DNA on her body, but that of another. The prosecutor and police knew this about the evidence, but the Maori man was convicted anyway. Because of the refusal to accept the more truthful evidence, public sentiment was that the person whose DNA was found on the murdered victim was a police informant.

This verdict further conveys that anyone can be fingered for a crime and be found guilty even in the absence of physical evidence.

New Zealand is free from accountability – and in some instances I have learned about outright refusal to take responsibility to the extent that they will create new interpretations just to suit their purposes of covering for another entity. My friend calls it double speak – or finding excuses to circumvent responsibility. My friend has been victimized by this double speak witnessed by me. Over the last eight months, we have been in a dispute with an energy company, which refused to accept responsibility for the money laundering it experienced by two of its employees. The white collar crime made the New Zealand Herald, albeit not front page news. (Only rugby news gets that honor). Instead of addressing the crime in isolation of its customers by taking the loss, but investigating ways they could cushion it using the full extent of the law, I deduced that the company tried to compensate for the money lost in the laundering by charging debts to their customers. We questioned the truthfulness of the debt, reviewed his receipts and asked for invoices from the energy company so that we could corroborate their information with ours. We learned that he did not owe any money on the large portion of the debt and are now disputing the amount of the other portion. Not to ask for compensation, mind you, but so that my friend can pay what he truthfully owes rather than pay a fabricated amount. Up to now, the energy company has not responded with the correct amount of his debt despite reassurances that someone will "get back to him."

This same energy company refused to pay him his annual dividend, guaranteed to anyone who is a member of the energy company, although he was sent a letter some months ago telling him to expect one. My friend phoned to enquire after it a few days after the disbursements ended, and he was told by a clerk at this organization that his address had been listed as “vacant”. (But, the letter of dividend notification safely arrived at his house). This latest action indicated that someone was playing games, and possibly punishing my firend for complaining about his outrageous bill.

In another case, a Hungarian immigrant cum Kiwi, who helped me get my pay in February from the onion contractor, told me that he had lost $35,000 on a house deal. How does one lose that kind of money if the paperwork is in place? I didn’t get the impression that this immigrant was innocent about business dealings. Another family from the Middle East also lost a considerable amount of money following the signing of papers to invest in New Zealand. This family owns a resort in the Pacific and is I assume knowledgeable enough about business investments to be able to read the fine print. So, how did they lose money on this investment?

After my experience with these two universities, in which the leadership has demonstrated only the ability to find excuses and a governance in the country that refuses to respond constructively and lawfully to laws that protect individuals from being swindled, I can only guess that those in authority choose not to act.

To get away with swindling, defined by the Oxford English dictionary as the “use of deception to obtain money or possessions from someone,” one would either have to outright lie or reinterpret the terms of, for example, a contract or a written agreement without accountability. In other words, those in higher authority would have to enforce the law when breached, but what happens when violations are merely ignored? When government officials fail to enforce, they participate in the deception. This is called racketeering.  

             Based on the number of stories I have heard from others regarding their doctoral experience and with authorities in New Zealand, and on my experience with the University of Auckland and Massey University, I would classify the failure to uphold the law and protect victims from suffering the financial and emotional consequences of deception as racketeering. This is because the New Zealand system tends to misrepresent itself. The New Zealand legal system misrepresents its commitment to human and civil rights. The universities misrepresents its capabilities ad services. Misrepresentation of services or academic capabilities is reflective of the dishonesty exercised by these universities to attract both domestic and international students. The same has been evidently true with other business dealings, according to the testimonies of others, who have been burned by the Kiwi system. Double speak, indeed.           

THE NORTHLAND DISTRICT

On the weekend of Febuary 14^th, I was invited to a weekend meeting held by my friend’s hapu. We stayed at their marae (extended family) in Hokianga, a tiny rural community in the Northland District. This building, consisting of a large meeting room, which doubles as open sleeping quarters, a dining space conjoined to the spacious kitchen, and male and female bathrooms, overlooks the Tapuwae (Sacred Feet) River. This river runs further inland and spills out into the Hokianga Harbor. Just beyond the water sits the Rawene ferry harbor. A vehicular ferry crosses the short distance between Rawene, a costal fisheries town, and the Kohu Kohu ferry landing. Hokianga Road leads visitors farther east and west. A ten minute drive along the north-eastern route on this road takes ferry riders to Kohu Kohu, an equally small town with an illustrious history of wars, trade, and missionary settlements.   

The ambience of the Kohu Kohu is punctuated with historical artifacts, which give it a feeling of settler quaintness. The first rail carriage is displayed at the edge of the town centre; the first bridge in New Zealand is preserved and the history of how it came to be in Kohu Kohu is written on a board. Where tall high rises would be, there are instead mostly single story, colonial-style and bungalow buildings. A memorial to fallen war heroes, marking the entryway to the town pier, commemorates these communities’ intimate relationship with patriotic losses. Maori history in contrast is more subdued, interwoven quietly into the strands of the more vocal, European fabric. The small town character is further pronounced by the typical sounds of nature; noises associated with traffic and industry are replaced by the rustling of leaves that brush against foliage, the high-pitched squeals of sea birds, and the steady murmurs of insects.

There are many reminders of colonial settlement here. The marae, too, reveals its ties to the past. The walls of the marae are filled with photos of kin, who had served in wars, had built the first, thatched-roof marae, and those who had built the first Catholic Church in Hokianga. This church, its stature dignified by a large cross at the steeple, can be seen clear across the Tapuwae River from various points along Hokianga Road. The marae’s family tree is illustrated through last names. Proof of bloodline is in the faces of extended family members who bore traces of features inherited from their progenitors.  

Traces of this history are mapped on the face of my friend. His nose resembles that of a dark-skinned uncle and his mouth and chin look very much like those of a matrilineal aunt, whose features divulged a strong, European lineage. His face leaves no doubt that he is a part of these souls. He had told me that he was Maori by virtue of his birth mother; he talked occasionally about his family in the North, and explained bits and pieces of Maori culture to me. His words would sometimes be peppered with Maori terminology, informing me that he understood the language better than he had at first let on. Not able to speak or understand the language, I often got lost during revelations about his other culture.

On the day of the meeting, I decided to walk to the local library, a mere 6 kilometers away from the marae. Along the way, however, I ran into a black-and-white “backpackers” sign pointing to a dirt road to the left of me. A sign at the edge of this dirt road identified it as the Tree House Backpackers. Certain there was internet connection there, I turned in and made enquiries. The owner greeted me and offered to sell me internet time and a cup of coffee. As we went through the motions of paying, setting me up with the internet so I could send my curriculum vitae to a research institution in Potsdam, Germany, and serving coffee, I learned that the owner and her husband, both from Australia, sort of came into the Tree House by chance. After letting people traveling to the Northland stay on their property, they decided to convert it into a backpackers’ hostel. They built and expanded over a number of years, adding bungalows and more rooms, to become a full service hostel.       

I must say that I was impressed by the cleanliness of the hostel and the hospitality of the owner. Although I wasn’t a paying guest there, she accommodated my needs, very much like my hosts at the marae. The hostel is surrounded by nature, as the sleeping and eating quarters are nested in the back of the road towards the mountains. I perused through the tourist materials as I waited for my coffee to steep in the press, and discovered that the owners sponsor nature walks amongst the kiwi birds that as I learned over this weekend are plentiful in this area. Most importantly, this cul de sac of a hostel is extremely quiet. On this particular later morning, the fruit trees growing in the property and wildlife kept me company. The only sounds indicating the presence of humans are the muffled conversations of a couple in the parking lot and the distant shuffling of footsteps in the main room below where I sat with my book and brew.

The beautiful setting of the hostel rivals that of this area. Apart from the occasional car on the road, tranquility characterizes the ambience of Kohu Kohu and Hokianga. The landscape is dominated by green hills, coastal waters, swampy river banks, and lush foliage. Losses of Kuari forests, while devastating to the balance of the ecosystem, failed to destroy the beauty of this cresecent-shaped community in the lower northland. Even the Lonely Planet seems to know nothing about it. The pages devoted to the Northland District acknowledges Whangare, Keith Urban’s hometown, the Coromandel Region, the Kauri Forest Coastline, Waitangi, and Thames. Not surprisingly, the Lonely Planet devotes most of the pages written about this district to European settlements. There are no words on the changing demographics of this region; it could be that compared to the Auckland districts, the migration patterns of this region is somewhat inert and doesn't inspire analysis from some visitors.

Something else I found remarkable about this area was the food. Though much of what is produced here can be bought anywhere in New Zealand, the flavors of the lamb from a lamb farm not far from the marae of my friend’s cousin and the kumera, which I bought from the local pub, tasted sweeter and more wholesome than any other I had tasted in my time in New Zealand. The cousin had fed us on the evening of our arrival, treating us to a fare of roasted lamb and root vegetables roasted in his oven in a very simple way. On our final hours, we were treated to mussels and sea urchin harvested from the coast. The flavor of the urchin lingered on my tongue, attesting to the freshness of these newly harvested water bounties. The sweetness of the sea urchins was especially delightful since the ones I have tasted in Japan were a little bitter. Besides being sweet, these also had the texture of durian flesh. Mmmmmmm.

At the end of this weekend, my friend’s hapu took a boat ride along the Tapuwae. This ride exposed the channels, which jut out onto the mainland, and gives a different scenic view. One of the elders told stories about the times when, in his childhood, they collected mussels buried in the sandbanks of the River and fished for mullet, which still inhabit the river. No doubt these fish find sanctuary in the tangled roots of the mangroves that are planted like permanent fixtures all along the length of the river’s edges.

It was a learning weekend for me, one that allowed me to understand a little more about European-Maori relations and to catch a deeper glimpse into the beginnings of this relationship. Upon reading more about the Northland District in the Lonely Planet, I learned that this district bore the marks of the first European settlements and the painful concessions made by the Maori in the Waitangi Treaty. Land contestations continue today. 

           

The marae

A view of the Tapuwae River from Hokianga Road

Sunrise at the Marae

The Tapuwae while on the boat ride

Another view of the Tapuwae at the edge of Hokianga Road

Scenic view from the hill next to the Catholic Church

Coastal view on the drive to Rawene Ferry landing

Catholic Church built by Rob's kin

On the same route along Kauri Coastline

The vehicular ferry running between Hokianga and Rawene

Kohu Kohu

Arc commemorating fallen war heroes

Maori wood carvings on display near Kohu Kohu centre

Rob's carving

View of tin coastal settlement from Kohu Kohu town

THE SCRAMBLE FOR JOBS

I listened to the sound of the wind gaily whistling above me. I could see its shadow circling high above my head, forming elongated halos against the clear blue sky. Not a grey cloud in sight to threaten rain. Across the endless rows of red onions, I watched black-hooded goats nibbling on un-mowed grass, braying to no one in particular in between mouthfuls of green blade. The goats and I were separated by distance and a wooden fence. The gaps between each post were covered with chicken wiring, allowing me to take in the gentle scenery of rolling hills and wildlife.

The smell of the onions lingered in the air. Unlike the late summer scent of strawberries at the previous farm by the airport, a sweetness inviting me to work faster and to keep going, the onion aroma was somewhat nauseating and made me want to stop every time I progressed an inch towards completing the row.  

With this job, I was on my hands and knees most days, overworking my bones just to finish so I could get paid. Although this job brought me outdoors, I was not satisfied picking onions. The pay at thirty five cents a meter was low; even after clipping for eight hours, the average hourly wage was less than the minimum. Against the law in New Zealand, I think, but those responsible don’t seem to be held accountable.

The attitude of the contractor made the job even more unbearable. It was difficult pinning down exactly where I would be clipping next, which made it difficult to predict what would happen in the next few weeks. Since I am still in the middle of my appeal at the University of Auckland, but this time was awaiting responses from three entities external to the university responsible for ensuring policies are followed, I needed to work in order to be able to pay my room and board.

It was also hard getting a time-frame from the contractor about the length of the onion season. When I asked, she didn’t answer, which is not an unusual response from her. Silence was usually the go-to answer even if she had one. This lack of information made it difficult to prepare for my next step: will I need to find another short-term job or will the onion season last long enough to keep me employed until the end of the March, when my student visa expires?

It was equally hard getting the contractor to give an honest measurement of the onion rows. The measurements she gave while the rows were being clipped were different from those when the rows were completed. After the second time, it was obvious she changed the measurements, feigning ignorance about where in the block I had clipped, in order to pinch me of some dollars. In the most recent interaction we had, she even claimed that I hadn’t returned the clippers she had lent me and was, therefore, withholding $50.00 until the clippers were returned. After informing her that I had returned the clippers to the husband of the family she knew, she declared in her shouting voice, “I don’t know that family!” I retorted, “Yes you do. Their children are students at the school where you teach and you had spoken to the wife of this husband on the day they gave me a ride to the Papakura rail station.” Funny enough, when he asked for those clippers to be returned to him, he used the same reasoning as the contractor – that they belonged to him, that they cost him $36.00 each. 

These employment issues merely added to the weight of the burdens forced onto me by the politics of the University of Auckland and the bureaucracy of the New Zealand government. I was forced to enter the labor market during the appeal process with the university leadership at the University of Auckland, in which I pointed out the failure of the university to objectively evaluate my academic work. I was not prepared to begin searching for jobs, and certainly not prepared to work in low-skilled employment, since my intention in coming to New Zealand was to be trained as a career academic. I had planned to study full-time, intended to devote all my time to designing my doctorate research, preparing for my fieldwork, and then completing the writing of my thesis before the doctoral examination. This thesis would have given me entry into a career in which I could influence my field, so one can imagine how important this training was to me.

When I entered the appeal process at the University of Auckland, I was forced to be a competitor in the low-skilled labor market just so I could have a place to live and to eat. I decided to look for farm jobs because most were seasonal and picking and packing did not require a lot of training. I wanted to be in and out so that I could file the paperwork to resume my studies and leave for my fieldwork. Since I have been in this situation, I learned that the Kiwi job market is much tighter and constrained than policymakers would have one believe. This was the case even in the farm industry; finding farm work has not been as easy here as it was for me when I did the Harvest Trail in Australia many moons ago. In New Zealand, there aren’t that many farm jobs and most are not advertised. Moreover, many of the jobs I approached tended to protect certain ethnic groups, whereas my experience in Australia demonstrated little barriers. As long as I wanted to work and was willing to learn how to grade fruit or to spot the fruits the farmer wanted picked, I got the job. The reality I was seeing here was far different from the reality portrayed by the New Zealand Herald and the Ministry of Economic Development, both of which tend to put the job market in a more positive light.

In New Zealand, with respect to the first job to which I had applied, I was not called for several weeks. On the application, I pointed out I had farm work experience and was consequently familiar with the nature of the work and its physical demands. Only after I had spoken with a law firm through the services offered by the Mangere Community Law Centre about another matter, whereby an attorney at this firm had asked me whether or not I had been looking for work, and if so, where, did I get a call from someone who I presumed to be one of the owners of this farm. With the second job, on the onion fields, I had to call the number listed in the ad several times before the contractor relented and allowed me to start. The barriers remained, however, as the owner failed to show up at the agreed upon meeting spot at the Mobil gas station in Mercer, forcing my co-clipping, co-worker and I to look for the farm.    

Unfortunately, the headaches with this onion contractor didn’t end at the completion of the block. After repeated attempts of texting and calling her in order to find out when to pick up my wages (although with onion pickers belonging to her ethnic group, she offered to drive to their house, to districts as far away from her house in Pukekawa as Mangere, which is where I live) and where, she eventually informed me in a very loud and terse voice that I will have to go to her house (more than an hour away) to pick it up instead of meeting at a place that we both could easily reach – say, a place like Pukekohe rail station.

This woman’s ugly disposition did not end there. On the day she relented to pay me, I was driven to her house by my companion and his friend. What I thought would be a peaceful exchange turned out to be a verbal onslaught of accusations from the onion contractor and justifications for her actions. She accused the driver of swearing at her husband (he did not) and seemed to accuse me of wrongdoing, but I couldn’t pin down what this was. I wanted to get paid for the work I had done, at times in the sweltering dry heat, and once in a drizzle. The only thing she had demonstrated with her actions is that she is a pathological liar and a cheater: she lied about my not returning the clippers just so she could pinch my wages, about not knowing the husband who claimed he was the owner of the clippers so she could justify pinching my wages, and the length of the rows I had clipped so she could pinch my wages. All of this from a contractor of a large, agribusiness, who simply just had to do her job, professionally.

The disposition and the conduct of this onion contractor are reminiscent of those of the academic staff and leadership at the University of Auckland. She, as they had, treated the time and energy I expended into the required work as if they were insignificant and of no consequence. The proof, though, is in the results of my efforts, and the proof of the consequences are in the money I will owe after having invested a sizable amount of federal loan funds into my education and the inability to live here to continue my appeal if I am not paid.

With respect to the latter and in light of the latest development in regards to the work privileges of my student visa, I am convinced that authorities may be creating problems for me on purpose. In recent days, even though my student visa clearly states that I can work at any Occupation for any employer, I was asked by a potential employer (speaking for a low-skilled, seasonal job opportunity) to obtain written confirmation from Immigration New Zealand that I still have work privileges. I pointed out that my student visa clearly states that I do, but what was in question for this potential employer was whether or not I still had work privileges following the university’s withdrawal of me from my doctorate program. So, I made the trip to the Immigration NZ Auckland branch and requested this written confirmation. I was pretty confident that I would have no trouble getting this, as an employee of the Palmerston North branch where the student visas are processed informed me in July 2014 that my work privileges are valid until the expiration date of my student visa. I suspected that the immigration clerk at the Auckland branch already knew this, but wanted to create problems for me. In the time I have lived in New Zealand, I noticed that creating problems for foreigners is a sport for some and shows a lack of consideration for the scope of responsibilities with which an individual might have to contend on a daily basis.

During these trying moments, I try to focus on the rays of light that have come onto my path from time to time throughout my doctorate life in New Zealand: the people, who had offered me rides when I hitched to and from the onion farm just so I could work for the day and get home safely; those who sought workers through Student Job Search, who dutifully paid me when the job was done; those who kindly responded to my questions when most people who are supposed to be in the know choose to deflect my questions or respond to a question I don’t ask. I’ve lived as a foreigner in a variety of countries; I would say that being a foreigner in New Zealand has been more challenging than most.