The Scandinavians call it Jantelagen, Nietzsche called it slave morality, we call it the Tall Poppy Syndrome, but it all amounts to the same thing – a horizontalisation of social attitude that bitterly refuses to give credit where it’s due; a sneering, snivelling resentment that seeks to rip down anyone who distinguishes themselves for any reason.
Unlike us, the Scandinavians and the Continental Europeans are sophisticated enough to appreciate that this is a phenomenon of their culture and are able to consciously work against it. So too do the British recognise that their tolerance of eccentricity has enabled them to produce the geniuses necessary to remain a world power.
The gormless peasants that make up the bulk of the New Zealand populace are yet to comprehend such a thing, however, and so the lawnmower mows on.
So neglected are we down here in the world’s arsehole, so starved of genuine regard from those of other nations that we have gone blind in the darkness and turned on each other.
We should be ashamed for our Tall Poppy Syndrome. It really makes us look like a nation of cucks.
After all, it’s a classic expression of slave morality. Tall Poppy logic is even more resentful than Christianity.
Resentful Christians tell themselves that “the meek shall inherit the Earth” to make themselves feel better about how easily their massively egotistical selves can be made to feel fear and consequently how easily they can be intimidated away from conflict.
The modern Kiwi tells himself something very similar. His byword is “the mediocre shall inherit the Earth.”
In this environment, the worst insult of all is to be a “try-hard”. This is to commit the sin of putting an effort into something, as opposed to the socially approved method of doing a half-arsed job that soon has to be fixed.
The logic appears to be that if anyone did anything properly, then overall standards would soon rise and soon people would be demanding that we did everything properly. And that’s just a hassle.
Therefore it’s better to half-arse everything so that no-one has to feel bad for being incompetent.
This is how we arrived at the Orange Man animation that the television shows us to try and entice us into giving our consent to be ruled by the political class.
Whichever creative agency that invented the Orange Abortion no doubt would have paid due caution to ensuring that the image intended to represent the New Zealand voter didn’t exclude anyone.
Because if it did, they would have resented the shit out of it. We know this because that’s our culture.
Therefore, the New Zealand voter ends up being represented by an amorphous orange blob – one that stirs precisely zero national sentiment in the viewer.
This feeble absence of passion is the inevitable result of a national morality based on resentment. Nobody gets to have anything interesting or do anything interesting.
We have created a culture so boring that our young people would rather cheat death by smoking random chemicals sprayed on dried plant matter purchased from known criminal gangs than partake in society.
A nation so petty that the Government pissing $400,000,000 up the wall every year on the War on Cannabis goes without censure, but a future Green MP defrauding the same Government out of a few hundred dollars to feed a dependent child twenty years ago sparks a national outrage.
It’s time for a radical revaluation of values in New Zealand.
New Zealand – paradise if you’re wealthy, but if you’re not (and especially if you’re also young), living here is a curious psychological torture. We have the highest teen suicide rates in the developed world, and this essay looks at some reasons why.
Like every other country on Earth, our mainstream media likes to paint a picture of everything being excellent and the country having never done better – this being the well-known strategy for putting the receivers of such media in the optimal mindset for buying the products advertised in it.
Our mainstream media has a unique level of shamelessness in doing so, however, because in no other country in the developed world are teenagers as likely to decide that they’d rather be dead than living here.
New Zealand is close to the worst country on Earth to be young. There’s nothing to do here, we’re all psychologically damaged and our authority figures lie to us all the time.
This is especially true for the current generation of youth, who grew up in the wake of Ruthanasia, the sadistic welfare policies of the Fourth National Government. These policies taught our youth that the country couldn’t give two shits about them and that empathy is for the weak – once you’re born, you’re on your fucken own.
The consequence of this lack of empathy is a generation of youth without much empathy, and a consequence of that is that they kill themselves at world-record rates. There’s nothing surprising about it – they’ve simply internalised the lack of worth with which they were treated.
Understanding how we got like this requires that we understand how isolated New Zealand is. Australia is itself an isolated country at the arse-end of the world, but they’re practically Greece compared to us.
In almost any other country on Earth, it’s possible to get into a car, drive a short distance across a border and have an entirely different cultural experience, with new people, new thoughts and new ideas.
We don’t have any of that in New Zealand. We’re stuck here. For all of the generations before the one that grew up with the Internet, all we had was the television, and that taught us to consume, not to think.
And as we stagnated, we turned our rages on each other.
Perhaps the worst thing about New Zealand is the petty, vicious, cowardly streak in the national character that has us always lashing out at the person at the bottom of society rather than daring to criticise the people at the top.
This is reflected in our obscene school bullying culture. Unfortunately for New Zealand teenagers, our culture of abuse is so deeply entrenched that many teachers will argue that bullying is a good thing because it forces kids to develop social skills or “toughens them up for the real world” (or some other 19th-century logic).
It’s also reflected in our third-world mental health system, which regularly throws sick people out onto the street with no help or funding. Many teenagers have committed suicide after trying to get help from the New Zealand mental health system only to find that no-one working in it could care less about them.
Unfortunately for this country’s mentally ill, especially if they are also young and poor, being mentally ill is still seen as a personal failure in New Zealand – depression is a failure to harden the fuck up, bipolar disorder is a failure to calm down, schizophrenia is a failure to sort your shit out.
In this way, New Zealand has failed to move on from the 1950s, in contrast to almost everywhere else.
A natural consequence of this brutal, brain-dead attitude is a national unwillingness to talk about mental illness. Doing so engenders so little natural sympathy that our youth would rather kill themselves than try and broach the subject with an adult New Zealander.
Not only do we have less of an influence from without, but we actively stomp down any new thought that might arise from within – and not only through the Tall Poppy Syndrome.
New Zealand managed to produce an intellect great enough to win a Booker Prize recently in Eleanor Catton, and Prime Minister John Key bullied her out of the country by publicly stating that her opinion on intellectual matters wasn’t worth more than that of a rugby player.
No other country is shit enough to do that. Almost anywhere else, it would be recognised that intellects like Catton’s are necessary to prevent a culture from rotting from the inside, and especially so in New Zealand where new ideas do not flow in from across the border.
We weren’t always like this: studies have shown that our teen suicide rate actually used to be lower than that of other countries.
But in the mid-80s we got sucked into the con job that was neoliberalism, and none of our current politicians have the guts to suggest any change of track.
The country that once led the world on social issues like women’s suffrage and old-age pensions is now more backwards than South Africa on social issues like gay marriage and cannabis law reform.
Without a fundamental change of attitude that brings us into 21st-century modes of thinking, the standard of living here will only continue to deteriorate, and our teen suicide rates will only increase.
Big old poof, sittin’ in the sky
Bossin’ us ’round,
I guess He doesn’t have enough to do,
Can’t sort His own shit out
So He has to give us arseholes
About feeding skinny kids
Why doesn’t He feel bad?
He’s the one who made them,
Racist, too, since he made all the poor ones black.
Or did he make all the black ones poor?
Simon P. Murphy is the author of His Master’s Wretched Organ.
Down And Out in Nelson and Stoke
On the fuckin’ benefit.
His case manager Te Aroha gives him arseholes.
A right fuckin’ rark up.
Doesn’t want to thin apples,
Doesn’t want to fillet Hoki.
Just wants to write about the psychic elements
And the topography of impinging dimensions
Not much good being a smart cunt if he’s sitting at home on the dole
Not working for his money.
Te Aroha’s had a bloody gutsful
And so has Raelene
No more going to the drags,
No more car shows at Rangoon,
No more midget stock car racing
Til he gets his fuckin’ act together.
He thinks he a smart cunt,
Says he can invert mental polarities
And formulate a geometric model for translating
The operations of higher dimensions into the lower,
But he can’t even remember his 9-digit client number
Or where he last saw his community services card.
Te Aroha has just about lost all hope,
Raelene is sick of Hell’s Angels knocking on the door
Looking for Hermes after selling them a bad batch.
Maybe what he needs is to sort his shit out,
Go on an Outward Bound course,
Might get his foot in the door with the army,
Maybe even an apprenticeship.
Maybe he could do his fork-lift licence,
Or maybe go back and finish his School Certificate,
Instead of poring through the Necronomicon
Or scrying alien constellations.
Simon P. Murphy is the author of His Master’s Wretched Organ.
It is said that “politics makes for strange bedfellows”. Well, so does the sister industry to politics, prostitution. The major difference between politicians and prostitutes, as this essay will illuminate, is that there are things that prostitutes are too ashamed to do for money.
The Sanders-Clinton alliance was weird, but not especially weird by the standards that we have now degenerated to. It’s not especially surprising that a defeated social democratic candidate would endorse the more left-wing of the remaining two.
One truly weird one that has been going strong for over a century is the Marxist feminist – Christian fundamentalist anti-porn and prostitution alliance.
These two forces both have an immense hatred of natural sexual liberty. The Marxists want to destroy all natural sexual impulses and pervert them into worship of the state, whereas the Christians want to lay guilt trips on people for these same impulses and call them sinful.
For these reasons the two have combined against women.
This was never going to be a particularly strong alliance, though, for the reason that the Marxists want to promote all manner of sexual degeneracy in place of natural sexual relations, whereas the Christians want to suppress and repress everything, natural or otherwise.
Another unusual alliance is that of the various control freaks who oppose cannabis law reform.
This has seen the Police (who do not want to lose the power they have to control people or the funding given to them to do so) and the alcohol companies (whose product causes over half of the damage that the Police have to clean up) to get into bed with each other.
Here it is really the Police that have been cucked by business interests. Because alcohol and pharmaceutical companies see cannabis as a competing product, they have bribed the people that the Police answer to to make it illegal – and the men and women of the Police force pay the price.
The fact that this has resulted in making life immensely more difficult for the Police themselves, who have to face the carnage wrought by booze on a daily basis, appears to be completely lost on them – they continue to vocally oppose cannabis law reform.
Even weirder are the shifting anti-nationalist forces that have opposed Brexit, Trump and which now oppose Marine Le Pen.
This alliance has seen trendy liberals who consider themselves leftists coming out on the side of the political establishment (including the conservative parties), the international bankers, the corporate media and the unelected European Commission against the working class that the left supposedly exists to help.
This column has previously raised the possibility that these people may, in fact, be crypto-conservatives, and it’s certain that some are.
Most of them, though, are genuinely stupid enough to believe that they are acting in favour of the underdog and the unfortunate when they come out in support of the same globalist forces who have spent the past 30 years attacking the standard of living of the working classes.
The pro-Islam league of homosexuals, however, tops them all.
It appears that, because Muslims are generally considered outsiders in Western society, other groups who are also generally considered outsiders have decided to see Islam as a kindred spirit under the motto of “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
Unfortunately for the homosexuals, the Muslims they love and the Christians they hate are both Abrahamists, and as they are both male supremacist religions they share a common hatred of homosexuality.
Indeed, homosexual conduct is punishable by death in all of Afghanistan, Brunei, Gaza Strip, Iran, Iraq, Mauritania, Nigeria, Saudi Arabia, Sudan, United Arab Emirates and Yemen.
But thanks to a mutual hatred of The Man, homosexuals are frequently willing to passionately defend a religious tradition that would like to see them thrown from rooftops.
That has to be the West’s weirdest political alliance.