The beauty of a multicultural NZ

We are undeniably a vibrant multicultural society. We are becoming more multicultural with each passing year and I love this about us. At the same time, our discourse around race is dominated by different dimensions to biculturalism so the two concepts are in tension.

Here, two memories keep flooding back to me. One harks back to 1998, when I was at Ohio State University learning about political psychology with a bunch of academics and spooks. There were about 60 of us. The group immediately split into two, black and white.

I went over to one of the black students and tried to get to know them but the attempt soon petered out. A spook in his 50s told me: ‘‘Told you so. It’s not worth the effort.’’

Over the next six weeks I saw how white and black Americans could not, would not speak to each about that which divided them. Race. Their history got in the way. I’ve seen that scene repeated endlessly in my time spent working and travelling there. It’s a scene I hope to never see take grip here.

Another memory, a decade old, was when a Pasifika leader came up and gave me a big hug. They’d read an article where I explored the tension between biculturalism and multiculturalism. They told me: ‘‘You’ve said what my communities have wanted to say for the longest time but are too scared to.’’

What I said was it doesn’t matter how many times an Asian or Pasifika or any other type of ethnic Kiwi is told they are Pa¯ keha¯ , as biculturalism necessarily assigns them, if they don’t identify as part of that in-group or feel that way, they feel excluded. Biculturalism is exclusive of our demographic reality. Multiculturalism embraces it.

I’m for the largest, most inclusive unit, one called New Zealand, and biculturalism is too self-limiting and excludes too many for my tastes. But each to their own. Many obviously feel very differently.

Race discourse right now is in a cul-de-sac. The cancel culture crowd, weaponising wholly reductionist terms like white privilege, institutional racism and colonisation, are turning many New Zealanders off.

Hysteria reached absurd levels when Auckland’s School Strike 4 Climate cancelled themselves for crimes including white privilege, racism and being too slow to de-colonise.

Supporters of lowering the voting age were strangely silent about this surprising turn. No wonder, the franchise’s history is steeped in white privilege so they must be worried 16-year-olds will selfcancel any future opportunity to vote.

What seems to happen here when race becomes dominant in our public discourse is that, after an intense media and public furore, sometimes lasting days, sometimes months, sometimes longer, a slightly modified equilibrium emerges. But we’re not there yet.

Treaty and race discourse here has twin tracks. One sees Ma¯ ori and Pa¯ keha¯ elites exaggerate their differences through their rhetoric, often inflammatory, and with selfinterest frequently their silent partner.

The other is found in the daily lives of Kiwis. In pubs, clubs, marae, homes, beaches and our bedrooms, race relations are conducted with more understanding, humour and fulfilment than found among our squabbling elites.

Our current race discourse is indeed humourless. Stifling orthodoxies and absolutist claims do not admit doubt, let alone humour. Yet humour pervades, every day, right across our country.

Among activists and elites at loggerheads, there is none. That is not us. It’s our ability to laugh at ourselves, and our sense of irony, that others find charming. That is also why, ultimately, our race relations are self-correcting. We eventually get fed up with the noise.

Time would be better spent on finding policy solutions that work for our marginalised. We’ve spent 30 years and who knows how much treasure on any number of policies that have failed to lift them. That’s probably not James Cook’s fault.

Maybe the problem rests with me but seeing my country through American or Pasifika or Asian or even my dad’s Danish eyes, leaves me thinking that our search for a unifying national identity remains elusive.

Among activists and elites at loggerheads, there is no humour. That is not us.