Recognise our humble heroes
If we were looking to scrub the monarchy from our currency – which we should – I’ve got three suggestions of people to replace them with.
I’m writing this late at night, days after Cyclone Gabrielle slammed into the country, and undoubtedly long months before the full extent of the tropical storm’s destruction is known.
Of course, what we currently know is more than enough to understand the personal hells already suffered by New Zealanders, as well as both the individual and national ones still waiting in the wings. That’s why there’s no need to repeat the stats, facts, or include a succinct little recap of how things currently stand: we all know that what’s been left in Gabrielle’s wake is horror.
Even for those of us fortunate enough not to be personally affected by the cyclone, the never-ending news cycle takes its own toll.
Just as with most disasters, reporting began with, well, reports. We started with weather predictions and warnings, then official responses, national preparations and, as the storm made landfall, rolling accounts of the conditions it brought. And eventually, as it always does, the stories of everyday people begin to be heard.
That’s usually the point when the incessant cycle hits home; for me, it happened on Saturday night and likely later than most because years of working in the cycle has a way of numbing a person.
But back to my nominations for who could and should replace the late Queen Elizabeth on our banknotes.
Earlier today I flicked a message through social media to Mikey Kihi, a man my colleague thought might be one of the anonymous heroes who’d rescued four people from their Esk Valley home.
That family, after hours sheltering in their roof cavity with their furniture bobbing against the ceiling below, had heard an approaching motor and screamed out their whereabouts.
When Chris Barber yelled ‘‘are you guys the navy?’’ he got perhaps the most Kiwi reply ever uttered: ‘‘Nah, we’re just three Māori boys.’’
Mikey Kihi admits it was him, Rikki Kihi and Morehu Maxwell in the inflatable boat last Tuesday morning, and graciously answers my gentle probing about what went down during that terrible, miraculous day.
In long messages he recounts not just the Barber family’s rescue, but those of so many other people the trio encountered desperately needing help. Included are the couple of ‘‘old guys’’ stranded on their tipped-over caravan; a man on top of a vehicle and another clinging to a tree. There’s the group trapped in a truck; another family in danger, then a man standing on his deck in the middle of the raging river. ‘‘We yelled out for him and his partner to climb aboard. He refused and said he had a brother with his family, who he feared the worst for. He yelled: ‘No, get them please! They have young kids!’ ’’
For the past few hours, the dinging of my message alerts has heralded new recollections from this everyday man who stepped up with his mates when there was no-one else to do it.
It’s stories like Mikey’s that have brought a bit of respite from the ceaseless reports of devastation, and he and all our umpteen heroes must be recognised for their actions.
And yeah, perhaps it’s trite to highlight the positives while the horror still mounts in the north, but happy news often serves to heighten the tragedy from which it stems. ‘‘You guys should be on our banknotes,’’ I type in response to one of Mikey’s last messages, then put my head in my hands and finally cry my heart out.