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22 October 2006

A weekly column published in the ‘Sunday Star-Times'

FIREWORKS: LET ‘EM RIP!

This is wowser season. That traditional time of the year when spring ripens and the PC troglodytes emerge from their illiberal winter caves, determined to stop people having fun.

They cloak their constricting narrowness within the verbiage of care and safety. But, really, they’re just repressed little kids who grew up and now want everyone to be as miserable as them.

Starting with the usual suspects who perceive anything uniquely Pakeha as uniquely wrong. Especially Pakeha traditions, like Guy Fawkes.

Of course, if Maori had a revered tradition of unloosing accelerants or Somalians scattering incendinaries, then we’d excuse their excesses as a sign of cultural tolerance. As there are those who excuse suicide bombers – when most of the said morons are just looking to get laid in the afterlife.

Well, it’s time for the oppressed majority of this country to start asserting their cultural rights. I claim, as part of my whakapapa, my geneology, my commune with the earth Sun and the sky Moon … that it is my inalienable Pakeha right to burn a Guy, ignite a Mt Vesuvius and direct my Thunder Downunder at the neighborhood cat. But most of all to welcome my new children to pyrotechnic heaven and all the family fun that entails.

Indeed for a child there is nothing quite so liberating as lighting the blue touchpaper and pretending to stand well clear. Dodging the Sparkler sparks, evading the errant skyrocket or screaming in delight at the mini-volcanoes that erupt on their back lawn is a white rite of passage.

Then there’s the wonderful acridity of all that gunpowder and smoke. Drifting over the aged relatives as they shrug off their weariness and delight in their grandchildrens’ excited squeals.

Of course it’s no surprise to see that the anthropomorphic SPCA and the indolent HQ of the NZ Fire Service are leading the wowser way. Aided and abetted, this year, by tennis ball stuffer David Benson-Pope. Woe betide, the former teacher hectored us this week, if you don’t behave. I may just have to confiscate your fun for good.

Like bloody Hell, you will, mate. Like most males my age, I will be ensuring that this burning tradition survives the despotism of PC. There will be a garden shed laden with the latest conflagratory confectionary from China and that will be sufficient, if detonated, to visit UN sanctions upon this country.

Of course the NZ Fire Service – whose job, by the way, is to fight fires have a vested interest in this issue. Last year, they claim, they attended 700 minor fires caused by errant fireworks.

Crap. Last year they attended 700 minor fires caused by errant individuals. If one was to follow the logic of their ineffably pompous PR person Ian Butler, then cars, guns, motorbikes, playgrounds and rugby should be similarly banned. All cause more mayhem, create more injuries and cost taxpayers more than Guy Fawkes. One can never insure oneself against the irresponsible actions of others.

The SPCA is a different beast - they inherently believe that animals are more important than people. You can’t reason with these people because each seems touched more by their pet experience than any human relationship. Like most such people in community care, we let them get on with their lives.

But the moment their pets become more important than my Pakeha culture or my family’s innocent enjoyment … I draw the line.

Besides, Guy Fawkes is my chance for revenge. For the other 364 days and nights a year when my enjoyment of life is hindered by dogs barking in the wee hours or attacking my rubbish bags. By cats spraying over my backyard or decimating the native bird population. They deserve everything that’s coming.

Then there is the other great sophistry launched at us by all these wowsers. We’re not going to ban fireworks, they smirk. You’ll still be able to go to public displays and take your family.

Two things. First, public displays are, by definition, not family occasions. They are often inconveniently timed and placed and don’t fit the pattern of most family’s lives.

Second, public displays attract all the above wowsers, who have denied their kids the chance to unleash their own devices. In other words, full of self-righteous prigs who think fun should be structured, ordered and meet all OSH requirements. Dear God, that these people even have sex is a miracle all of its own.

Although perhaps the weirdest contribution to this week’s debate was provided – as one might expect – by a Green MP. And an offensive contribution it was too, from their Maori Affairs spokesperson Metiria Turei.

First, she dissed my culture by suggesting that Guy Fawkes was “incredibly strange and meaningless” in celebrating “the actions in Britain of a religious zealot and terrorist of 400 years ago.” Sorry, Metiria, but we’re celebrating his failure (which is why we burn the Guy) and this tradition happens to be part of my Pakeha birthright.

But second, her solution was to abandon Guy Fawkes and “celebrate the Maori New Year (Matariki) instead, which would be consistent with the Chinese.”

Yes, that’s right. Colonise my heritage with a made-up Maori ceremony and the tradition of people even more remote than the UK.

No way. We’ll be keeping our traditions thanks and woe betide, Mr Benson-Pope, anyone who seeks to mess with them. A guaranteed way to lose the next election.

E-mail: mlaws@radiolive.co.nz