People key to post-quake city
Eight years ago, the ancient rock beneath us shuffled and heaved as it has always done, but to us in Canterbury it was a surprise, a shock in every sense.
It used to be that I could instantly recall every detail of that 40-second earthquake on September 4, 2010, magnitude-7.1 at 4.35am. Now I have to Google it.
I never noticed time passing, but already it’s a long time ago. At the very least it feels like progress that Geonet is no longer among my most-visited websites.
I can still recall the fear I felt and the struggle to reach and protect my sleeping babies. But now my memories of that earthquake largely revolve around people.
Like the woman whose Darfield farm was right at the epicentre, who whispered to me her feelings of fear. The force of the earthquake was so strong she could not stand, or move from her bed. The experience had a profound effect on her. It was humbling to hear her story.
As each anniversary rolls around, the memory of that earthquake fades a little more, but I do always think of her, and wonder if she still feels the lingering aftershock of memories.
Walking around the streets of suburban Christchurch the morning of September 5, 2010, the sunshine seemed glaringly bright, the birds eerily quiet.
Neighbours gathered bricks from fallen fireplaces and reshaped them into barbecues on to which the contents of their freezers were cooked and shared with elderly neighbours.
With the city’s chimneys felled in one great swoop, our children cried that Santa would not be able to reach them.
We had no way of knowing the devastation that would follow just a few months later, in February 2011.
For eight years many of our homes, streets and day-to-day lives
have been impacted by earthquakes in some way, shape or form.
Even if determined to ‘‘move on’’ we live with constant reminders, be it that never-ending swarm of orange road cones or road works. At every school music recital, restaurant et-al, we are informed what to do in the event of an earthquake, or shown the exits ‘‘just in case’’.
Sadly, some of our residents have been badly let down and treated disgracefully by their insurance companies. Many are still trying to regain some semblance of normality in their lives.
This is a matter of national shame. Eight years. Has it really been that long? Sometimes it seems both close, yet far away.
Ten years after an earthquake, I have been reliably informed, all vital lessons have typically been forgotten.
It will soon be eight years since the February 22, 2011, earthquake. It was a terrible time in our history and we still mourn the 185 souls we lost that day.
In the immediate months following the disasters we cared for each other and checked on our elderly and vulnerable citizens. It felt that, despite all that we had lost, we possessed an enviable community spirit.
Remember how the Farmy Army helped? The Student Volunteer Army grabbed shovels, waded into liquefaction and changed lives and outdated stereotypes as it did so.
Remember our city’s teachers, who held our precious children and comforted them as they screamed in terror at every aftershock? For eight long years our priceless teachers have guided our precious children through a challenging time.
Remember the way our doctors, nurses, health professionals and other everyday heroes went above and beyond in our hours of need?
In time, I assume our earthquake memories will fade completely, to become stories we tell less frequently.
But I hope we never forget the way the dark days of the earthquakes united us as a strong community.
Christchurch’s strength lies not in its buildings, but in its people.
Language matters. We are not merely ‘‘rebuilding’’. We are ‘‘reimagining’’ – our lives, our city and who we are as a community. Good things take time.
He aha te mea nui o te ao. He ta¯ ngata, he ta¯ ngata, he ta¯ ngata.
What is the most important thing in the world? It is the people, it is the people, it is the people.
Kia kaha Christchurch – not just today, but every day.