In the Northern Hemisphere they have an expression, an expression that evokes the ultimate in urbanity and sophistication: mid-Atlantic. To say that someone is a mid-Atlantic person or that they have a “mid-Atlantic sensibility” is to say they have drunk deep of the two great troughs of Western culture, American and European.
Such people have probably lived on both continents; they will probably speak English and one other European language (preferably French even now). They will quote European philosophers and American popular culture interchangeably.
It has struck me how we do not have an equivalent term for someone who embraces both sides of the Tasman, a mid-Tasman person. This is of particularly importance to me, of course, because I like to think of myself as a prime candidate for the appellation.
As there is no such expression, the qualities a mid-Tasman person would have to display is up for grabs. But leaving that aside, I’ve come to realise there is one essential reason why the term will never catch on. Where up north there are two clear undeniable cultural power blocs, for Australians there isn’t anything very important on the other side of the Tasman to start with.
To coin such an expression is, in effect, to grant New Zealand and New Zealand culture some sort of parity. There is absolutely no reason why Australia would do that, especially as whenever something worthwhile comes out of New Zealand it is simply co-opted as Australian. This week on TV, for instance, we were treated to The Horse Whiperer, starring “Robert Redford and Australia’s own Sam Neill”.
This blatant cultural co-option is a common kiwi complaint, so common I don’t want to go on about it. Suffice to say it is particularly galling to the Girlie, who is still naive enough to believe in concepts such as decency and honesty.
But I do want to make a suggestion. In situations where there is a clear disparity of military power the classic response from the weaker side is guerrilla warfare. This can work in matters cultural as well. Guerrilla tactics worked for the Vietnamese, they can work for us kiwis too.
Sometimes the Aussies are genuinely surprised when you inform them Split Enz, Crowded House, Jane Campion, Sam Neill or Phar Lap are actually kiwis. If you mention Russell Crowe, though, they usually appear relieved.
What I do to liven up this ultimately boring and repetitive game is go one step further. I add Paul Kelly’s name to the end of the list and wait for the inevitable reaction.
“What?”
“Paul Kelly.”
“What do you mean Paul Kelly?”
“He’s a kiwi.”
“No he isn’t, mate. He’s true blue. He’s from Melbourne.”
“Brought up in Melbourne,” I reply casually. “But he was born in Taranaki. That’s not a tan, you know, he’s one eighth Maori.”
"No ..."
"Ngati Ruanui, mate."
This really slays them. The sudden insecurity on their faces is priceless. They walk off, head down, turning it over and over in their minds. “Could it be?”
So, I would now like to invite you all to join me in claiming Paul Kelly as a long-lost kiwi son. If we succeed, who knows, I may be able to start calling myself mid-Tasman after all.