For one lockdown escaper the worst was yet to come
Thursday, 16 September 2021
OPINION: Wānaka is beautiful this time of year.
In the first weeks of spring, the last vestiges of snow still cling to the hilltops like an entitled rider to a bolting horse. When the sunset reflects off the lake, and the mountains perfectly frame the famous Wānaka willow, it is as picturesque as any photo hanging in an Auckland law office.
The town itself is full of locals happy to tell you how many generations their family have been there (and why their prices are better than Queenstown) as well as overseas tourists surprised that the Māori name for Wānaka is in fact Wānaka. And of course there are Kiwis with holiday homes, enjoying a break from the draining toil of city life. Not that many can afford those million-dollar houses, but then it is a small, secluded town.
Still it remains the perfect spot for a relaxing, romantic, getaway … provided said getaway is legally allowed, and not taking place while the country reels from a generational, global, catastrophe. In such very specific circumstances, it is probably best to simply view Wānaka online, planning for an eventual visit.
**READ MORE:
* Covid-19: Law Society to investigate rule flouting by lawyer who fled to Wānaka
* Queenstown mayor wants Wānaka lockdown breach couple to face prosecution
* Wānaka lockdown breach couple named, apologise for 'irresponsible and inexcusable' actions
* Official's son caught breaching lockdown rules granted suppression
**
William Willis (horse owner) chose another way. A wonderfully selfish, and yet selfless way, almost as comically beautiful as Wānaka in spring.
Along with Hannah Rawnsley (lawyer), he has managed to make Te Wiki o te Reo Māori, just for once, a time when racist diatribes are not constantly shouted at expressions of the Māori language. Instead Kiwis of all races, from all parts of Aotearoa New Zealand, are shouting at him. People have been knighted for less.
While it is not certain what motivated this show-jump across the Cook Strait, it is possible, as always, movies are to blame. The late 1980s filled the heads of men now in their 30s with ideas of big romantic gestures, many of which involved bending and breaking laws in the name of lust. The plot for this exemption excursion reads like a Kiwi boil-up of Weekend at Bernie’s, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and, perhaps most appropriately, Say Anything.
Still there remain questions more puzzling than all the puzzles in Wānaka’s famous Puzzling World. Why couldn’t they wait? Where did they say they were going? What part of this seemed like a good idea? Most of all, why did these two old-enough-to-know-better people initially seek name suppression? Was there more to this mischievous mystery weekend than a simple snow-capped snuggle?
The man works with horses. Could this be a secret meeting to secure an international contract for unlimited Ivermectin? That would explain the need for a lawyer. Or perhaps they were attempting to solve one of the many crimes New Zealand television assures us happens in central Otago. A show jumper, a lawyer, and a decades-old mystery. The movie rights could cover their legal fees.
Then his mother, Mary Beth-Sharp (judge), released a statement saying she had no clue what they were up to, and suddenly it all fell into place.
Who among us has not wanted name suppression to prevent our mother discovering what we did in the weekend? Like so many 80s films, once the parents find out, the fun stops and the serious introspection begins. Now, for all the legal trouble Willis was worried about, he has landed in the worst trouble of all … Mum Trouble.
There is no money, no amount of privilege, no horse fast enough to save anyone from Mum Trouble. When a mother uses the word “appalled” to publicly describe a child’s behaviour – even if said child is a fully grown 35-year-old man – it is the precursor to the kind of private lecture that stings more than any public flogging could. Mothers do not care for defence counsel, they do not hear appeals. Judgment does not begin with a word, but with a look. That look.
There is a slow, long exhale draining away the last retorts of defence; a light, motherly wind of justice that produces a nervous sweat from Samoan church boy and Pākehā show jumper alike. The words “How could you be so stupid?” are often used as a starting point, and then the sentencing begins. It lasts, depending on the level of stupidity, anywhere from several hours to several years, often sneaking back into family gatherings to go along with a cheeky card and wacky pair of socks.
Of course there will be forgiveness, eventually, from both mother and country. But it will take some time, and probably a lot of whatever the rich-show-jumper-wānaka-holiday-home version of “dishes” is. Manure shovelling perhaps?
For now, if the visceral response of the nation seems extreme, it’s because we’re all not just upset. We’re very, very disappointed.
James Nokise is a New Zealand comedian, playwright, and podcaster of Samoan/Welsh heritage.