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Friday, May 31, 2013

The Ōtautahi Two Step






There seems to be (town and gown) rumblings of neo-liberal class-cleansing in Ōtautahi. A sort of south island 'pogrom' kicked off and marshaled by the usual cabal of old boys. Old boys seizing the post-tectonic moment.

In-town racetracks are a sign of things to come....the members stands have gotten exclusive in ways that foreshadow larger social shaping. So, you see, even if you own a horse that's in with a win -unless you have the right genetic strands or social markers - you'll be out in the rain with the also-rans.


The pinched & poor? The low-rent creative classes? Well they'll be pushed farther afield by rents and other market mechanisms. Low decile schools merged into super-sized factory farms ... the working-poor's brats; the educational equivalent of battery hens.

Higher education here makes no bones about striving to smell more of science and engineering than of paint rags and modeling compound. Downtown will be Albert Speer tidy - ladies who lunch and their brioche-winning men, in pin-stripes and canoe toed brogans, will have no one left to talk to (or endure) but one another. Ho-hum.

How long then before the poor dears tire of trading commonplaces amongst themselves ... tid-bits about holidays, holiday homes, window treatments and whiskey tastings. There will be no artist's precincts - but, retail outlets for north-island art-studio-by-products will still be in evidence. No squalid lofts or former workman's bars, provisionally colonized by students and hipsters, will be permitted. Cathouses and show-bars will be upgraded and retained, of course ... where else would hard-charging, self-starting Toms  properly blow off steam before heading home to  mater.

Light rail to the airport will make more sense than ever 'cause  swells and their blood-line will need fly out to find real cities to frequent. And there they'll sit mournfully at sidewalk cafes ... staring wistfully ... as what was lost back home, goes strolling by, hand in hand, on glorious and squalid display.

R.I.P. CCH.