Othering New Zealanders

All summer, I leave the outside door to my bedroom open at night and listen to the river flowing past, the muted chatter of people walking home, the occasional bark of a dog and my thoughts. It’s an illusion of normal.

As much as I try not to, I loop back to the same thing, the feeling of grief and the tumbled, confused at times thoughts that companion it. All summer, I don’t want to be me, thinking this way, feeling the feels, yet here I am tiptoeing between worlds that no longer feel familiar.

How did I not know I was grieving?

How did I not know that the stories I held space for added to my grief every day? How did I not know the breadth and depth of collective loss was in the water that flows past my door, on the breeze, all around me. How did I not know that ordinary conversations whispered unspoken undertones? Did you know?

I discovered a word this week that describes the flavour of my grief — othering; it’s the opposite of belonging. We are othering each other; sometimes, it’s subtle, other times vicious, hurtful and denigrating.

People are lumped into categories, name called, gaslit, stripped of their professions and community standing, backs are turned on those we said we love, families abandoned, businesses isolated, dreams lost. For what?

We are told to follow the science, but whose science? Because now there are new terms for information, mostly disinformation and misinformation, especially when the viewpoint differs with the NZ government. Jacinda Aderns statement “we are your trusted source of information.” has lost its credibility. Isn’t this an echo chamber predestined to keep us contained within one viewpoint?

The cognitive dissonance is so loud now it’s like tinnitus in the ears. The Ministry of Health has not updated its website in nine months, the data coming in from overseas is like a tidal wave the New Zealand Govt is trying to stem. Why? Because science has left them, their policies and mandates behind.

Now the country is rising, people are travelling from all corners of the country to participate in a peaceful freedom protest on the grounds of Parliament. Yesterday we witnessed heavy-handed police brutality instigated by the government, and the people stayed peaceful. The effect of yesterday was to inspire more people to join the call for ending the mandates. Today, convoys 70km long are travelling the length of New Zealand to support the cause.

I saw Police pulling a seated woman out of the protest by her hair, I saw a teenager pinned to the ground with a policeman’s knee on his head, I saw police crying at what they had been asked to do. I sobbed and cried and wondered what has happened to this country, our people and our rights.

Independent Live feeds showed what is happening on the ground. It bears no resemblance to mainstream media versions.

It hurts my heart — the trauma, the betrayal, the cry “we’ve done everything you have asked of us, that’s enough now” — come and speak to us, let’s korero (converse) this out.

Yet, there is an initiation at work in the bigger picture. One that invites you to disentangle yourself from the dominant cultural norms and dissolve the boundaries that contain you. Until you do, how will you know that this is really who you are or want to be? Burning in the fire, letting the world be as it is while you individuate, is potent work. As one who has burned many times, I know this place.

The Initiation

• Leaving the world as we know it.

• A radical shift in one’s identity.

• A deep, life-shifting realisation that we can never go back to the world that was.

This rite of passage has three phases, inviting you to understand where you are now, to navigate through, learn, embody this learning and become a wiser person for it. Something that becomes impossible when crawling in the mud of othering, or maybe that is the lesson for humanity. First, being other’ed and then finding a way to regain one’s agency and power.

This initiation is a chance to let the river of sorrow flow through us, to find ways to stop it metabolising within us. To find ways that allow our hearts to stay open, fluid, responsive and compassionate to this aching world. We can traverse these vulnerable terrains until we reach healing ground. There we will find community, a gathering of like minds, a place where rituals of belonging are free of dogma and doctrine, and all are welcome.