This is a strange moment of identity crisis for me.
I’m a kiwi living in Australia. I still measure my current Aussie experience in months, not years; like a toddler - 20months old. I still call myself a New Zealander. I am. Or … was. But I still am.
This weekend New Zealand is voting in its general election, and my friends and family are getting into a lather (albeit very different shades and colours) about policies, lies, smear campaigns, personal attacks - and getting out there and voting.
But not me.
I haven’t heard the daily media phaffle, or the statements from the politicians, contenders, community and business leaders.
I haven’t woken up to the bamboozling array of placards that threaten, cajole or plead. I am confused from afar by the strange characters I see joining the political fray - people who just don’t belong in politics - or don’t belong together in politics. I have not been part of this journey.
Aotearoa is in my blood, my DNA and my worldview. But its current politics is completely out of my field of view (It’s only been 20 months!). So this will be the first time since I turned 18 that I have not voted in a general election for Aotearoa.
Which is strange. I believe in this weird democratic system of ours, and am passionate about voting as a form of participation in it. That’s what citizens do.
However I can’t vote. In all good conscience. Whether it is because I have not lived and breathed it in these few months past, or because I don’t believe it is about my (immediate) future. Maybe it is because our current political environment is short-sighted - only about a short term window of Campaign-ElectionDay-TermOfOffice. Or maybe it is because, at this moment, I don’t belong - enough.
Where do I belong?
An identity crisis in liminality - brought on by a voting paper.
