Ashleigh Young
Ashleigh Young on why tedium is now rich, complex and vital to holding life together
Walkers in a pandemic look different from walkers in ordinary times. They are fully immersed in the business of walking. They are not going anywhere; they are only walking. Most walk at a moderate pace, neither brisk nor ambling. Some are tilted slightly forwards, with hands clasped behind their backs. Some walk on the road, which lends a cinematic quality to the walking, as if they are striding coolly ahead of a sky-high explosion. And because there is so much space between the walkers, they bring an autumnal feeling with them, all lightness and drift. It’s like that Simpsons episode where the “Itchy and Scratchy” show gets cancelled and all the children emerge from their houses at once, rubbing their eyes.
As I cycled past the walkers this morning I was thinking about this column and how maybe I would have to write about what the pandemic means to us as a nation. A few minutes later a bug flew into my mouth and went straight down my windpipe, not even touching the sides and I started hacking. And I thought, it’s not right to ascribe meaning to any of this. Or not yet. We’re all just going in circles, swallowing flies. Even that bug was probably just on its daily rounds when, out of nowhere, it was scooped up and swallowed into a great darkness.
I find that I want to read about the small circles we are walking in. Once I’ve taken in the big-picture stuff, from the PM and Ashley Bloomfield and Dr Siouxsie Wiles, I want to read about the sandwiches people are eating. I want to know their thoughts on the best shoes for remote working. The things that are newly irritating about partners and families and flatmates and neighbours. What the spiders that live in the corners of their lounges are up to. I want to read about existential dread, too, because so many of us feel it; the dread is always hanging in the air like a cobweb you don’t see until you’ve walked through it. But mostly, I want stories of daily tedium. That tedium is suddenly rich and complex, holding the days together and connecting us to a sort of normality and to one another. In her 2015 essay, On Darkness, Helen Garner wrote: “At times of great darkness, everything around us becomes symbolic, poetic, archetypal.” Everything becomes more compelling too. We see more and maybe want to hold on to what we see. Maybe there’s something about this that feels like getting older. Like grandparents who want to record every moment of their grandchildren.
And so I plead with all those who work in media to make their content as boring as possible. Beauty writers, tell us the best technique for washing your face with a flannel. Food writers, I want to see you boiling an egg. Science writers, tell us what we need to know about the virus — but then move on to why scratching an itch feels so nice or whether a cat can be both a solid and a liquid. Tech writers, tell us why the sound of a time-lagged voice in a Zoom meeting is so uniquely horrifying. Sports writers, tell us why the hell I’m not allowed to run with the ball in netball and why exercising in front of people who are not exercising is so embarrassing. Political reporters, you’re on your own.
When all of this is over, we will be reading about the virus for many months. We will be reading poetry and some of it will be unspeakable. Anthologies of pandemic lit will be launched and sombre speeches given. At writers’ festivals, novelists will discuss how the virus has changed our lives and art. And I will get a front-row ticket to those events and I will stand up at the Q&A and I will line up at the microphone and then the chairperson will say, “We have run out of time for all of the questions.” I will shuffle back to my seat. But, until that time comes, there are infinite small, boring things to be observed all around us. These things feel newly precious, weird and comforting. Let’s not waste them.
NEXT WEEK: Steve Braunias
Talking to Waikato geopolitical analyst Brian Main, you could be forgiven for thinking he has leapt out of the pages of a John le Carre spy novel.
Every day, closely watching global conflicts to look for clues on how they might impact New Zealand, this 80-year-old is in communication with people all around the world — the US, Israel, the UK, Australia and the Middle East included — to share and collect information.
Who are these people? “Oh, I can’t tell you that. But they are people like me; it’s like a giant jigsaw puzzle and over the years a picture gradually develops that reveals the players (in conflicts) and their agendas.”
It is how Main keeps communicating with these people as much as what he learns that is fascinating. A retired New Zealand Army major and former principal lecturer at the Waikato Institute of Technology (Wintec) he is, unlike many in his age-group, extremely comfortable with technology.
He has to be. As vice president of the Waikato branch of the New Zealand Institute of International Affairs (NZIIA) he needs to keep abreast of world developments. Thanks to his fibre broadband connection, he is easily able to do so.
He says most nights he is up until 2am communicating online with contacts around the world: “The introduction of fibre and the high security systems that can accompany it has made my activities possible.”
Much of this information gathering and sharing is channelled through NZIIA (an independent, non-governmental group) which aims to foster an understanding of international issues and “its impact on globalisation that New Zealand is now very much part of”.
Being connected, he believes, is essential — even for (and maybe especially for) those over 60 as it gives them a huge window on the world. US research from last year showed that Americans aged 60-80 are spending more time on their screens, now spending more than half their leisure time connected. Meanwhile, only 14 per cent of Americans aged 65 and older were internet users in 2000, compared to 73 per cent now.
Main says while older people may not be confident with technology, the best help can often be gained from grandchildren or others in that younger age group: “They are only too willing to do so and don’t mind having to tell you time and time again.”
Here in New Zealand, a recent study by Chorus found 62 per cent of respondents aged 60-plus felt connected to their local community with over a third reading the news online at least once a day. Like Main, many expressed they’re still looking to learn and discover into their golden years, with over 42 per cent interested in starting a new project in the next five years.
Main’s connected life sees him examine issues ranging from concerns over global warming to the sourcing, processing and conservation of fresh water in a world where populations are rapidly expanding.
Access to water, he believes, could pose a threat to New Zealand’s security in the future: “We have a situation now where there are 7 billion people on planet Earth and many scientists think it will ultimately only be able to sustain between 8 and 9 billion.
“Population explosion is accelerating global warming which in turn is limiting access to clean water,” he says. “I can see a time when other countries will start looking at water-rich nations to invade in order to survive.”
That eye on the future gives him an enthusiastic interest in life, carrying on from his 36-year army career where he served as a radio and telegraph technician and later as a military communications systems engineer. It was during the Cold War that he developed his interest in international affairs.
In his time he was sent on a Russian language course, posted to a joint US/NEW Zealand Antarctic research station operated by the US Marine Corps and trained as a UN military observer (a posting subsequently cancelled because of an international development).
Not exactly secret service stuff, but it is easy to see how he could have fit in as a character in a le Carre novel (the highly regarded British author has penned more than 20 espionage novels and, during the 1950s and 1960s, worked for both the Security Service and the Secret Intelligence Service).
Main also has a passion for teaching and, after retiring from the regular army in the mid-1970s, he went into academia lecturing at Wintec until his retirement in 2009. Initially he taught radio technology, maths and electronics, with advances in technology soon meaning his speciality morphed into IT.
“We actually used to build computers and programmes and I literally lived through the birth of modern computers,” he says. “That’s why I am very comfortable with technology.”
Main is enthusiastic about his role with NZIIA and in his capacity as the Waikato branch vice-chairman has organised speaking engagements with many high-profile diplomats including the US ambassador and, more recently, the Israeli ambassador.