Having spent about half of my last 60 years in other countries, I’ve lost any sense of nationalism. That’s because one soon realises that, in essence, everyone is basically the same.
So when I hear people say they’re proud to be a New Zealander, I flinch. First because of their language misuse, pride after all relating to accomplishment and simply being born is hardly an achievement.
On the other side of the ledger there’s two uniquely New Zealand occurrences that have made me embarrassed to be a Kiwi.
The first was the Jacindamania insanity (for which I don’t blame Jacinda) when the nation lost its sanity.
The old boxing adage, “the bigger they are, the harder they fall” springs to mind when, having initially decided Jacinda was the second coming, this insanity then swung 180 degrees to equally irrational hatred, which prevails still today.
The other national embarrassment is the bloody haka.
If readers don’t share that antipathy (and I suspect most don’t) then I challenge them to try this.
The next time you’re watching the All Blacks haka, turn the sound off. Trust me, that will convert you instantly to my view of this massive embarrassment as you watch adult men, eyes blazing, infantile co-ordinated ape-like prancing, tongues out, reducing themselves to world-class buffoons.
This article was originally published by No Punches Pulled.
