Last year, one of my classmates (Ben Hasko) said “New Zealand is not part of the West. We [Westerners] don’t run around in shorts and play with sheep!” It just so happens that running around in shorts and playing with sheepies is exactly what I’ve been doing. But how far from Western culture am I, really? Walking down the street I hear more languages and see more races than in most airports–Maori, Indian, Korean… Yet there are still the same old suburbs and supermarkets. What is truly different and special about New Zealand? I think it’s something about the philosophy, the spirit. You’re supposed to take responsibility for yourself here, and for the environment, too. Contrast this to America, where between lawsuits and warfare, you’ve always got to blame someone else. Paka from Whale Rider repeatedly asks that same question–”Who’s to blame?”–when its his own need to place blame that brings about disaster.

Last month I read 1984 for the first time. George Orwell is a genius to realize that by controlling language, one can control thought. Many of the same ideas I’d seen before in Animal Farm, in which “all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” I don’t believe language can be controlled so easily, though. The part I found the scariest was the parallels between 1984 and the current American presidency. Bush has now admitted to playing Big Brother, and I wonder who will call him on it. Remember when he switched enemies from Al Qaeda to Saddam Hussein? A bit like switching from Eurasia to Eastasia (or was it the other way around?). I myself did little more than scratch my head, trying to understand the connection that lead from one to the other. Soon enough, Afghanistan seemed to have been forgotten, and 9/11 and Iraq might be uttered in the same breath. Whether these are conscious efforts of the American government to control its citizens or side-effects of some less sinister plan, I have no idea. I wish I could just ignore the politics and go live my life how I want. Is that cowardice?

Right now, New Zealand is different from America. You can look up the Prime Minister in the phone book and give her a call, so I doubt she’s doing much in the way of spying. But I wonder how long the way of life here can withstand the pressures of assimilation. There is hope, though. The beautiful countryside, quaint towns, and ineffible spirit that I’ve only caught glimpses of so far seem strong and vibrant. I think New Zealand can survive, and always remain a place for me to “run around in shorts and play with sheep.”