Alcohol reforms miss the point
13th November 2010

Driving through Ashburton on a hot Thursday evening I notice two young women sitting cross-legged on the grass of the Borough school’s playing field, sharing a bottle of Bernadino. They are a picture of summer.

As I drive past the radio reports progress on the government’s alcohol reform bill. If it becomes law it will almost certainly remove the bottle of Bernadino from this happy scene.

The government has grazed across the 150 or so recommendations of the New Zealand Law Society to reform liquor laws in the face of growing unease about our booze culture. In doing so they have chosen to focus the spotlight of reform almost exclusively on the drinking behaviour of 18-20 year olds.

If the government’s bill becomes law this age group will face a zero blood alcohol limit for driving and a split drinking age of 18 for on-license consumption and 20 for off-license purchases. Adults will face fines up to $2,000 if they serve alcohol to young people without their parents’ permission.

Public health advocates criticise the reforms for appealing to populist sentiment while ignoring the real drivers of booze culture. They argue that 18-20 year olds comprise fewer than 10% of binge drinkers and that the reforms fail to address issues of advertising and price-cutting. Opposition speakers in parliament claim National is skirting the tough issues around alcohol law reform for fear of getting offside with middle aged voters and the powerful alcohol industry.

The focus on youth shows the government clearly bending to public pressure from recent high profile deaths of young people after binge drinking. They aim to turn back the clock on youth drinking which many believe has got out of hand since laws were relaxed a decade ago.

It’s hard to see the proposed changes to access and supervision having much effect on young people’s drinking habits. Even 35 years ago when I was just 17 and the drinking age was 21 we could still buy booze. If we couldn’t find it in Invercargill we drove up the road to Winton where they would slip us cartons of Speights from the back of the bottle store. Then we’d retire to somebody’s front room and get happily plastered, sitting on our cartons so nobody could knick our beer.

The question of supervision strikes a tender spot in kiwi culture. As a teenager I don’t remember anybody’s parents pulling me up for having alcohol in the first place, never mind the effect it was having. Perhaps they were quietly looking out for us, knowing that if they got too heavy we’d just go and drink somewhere less safe.

I took a similar approach with my own children and I am sure I would have driven them off if I had expected their friends to show up with parental permission before drinking in my home. This part of the proposed reforms will be unenforceable and probably counter productive.

What restricted my drinking as a teenager was not access or supervision but price - we simply couldn’t afford to buy a lot of booze. Alcohol was not a grocery item as it is today. It was not marketed aggressively through advertising and discounting, and there was certainly no youth market. In this context the government’s unwillingness to address price and advertising severely limits the usefulness of any reforms.

Underlying everything in this debate is our society’s deeper relationship with alcohol. I am no more of a drinker today than my parents were but that hasn’t stopped my children having the occasional bender any more than it stopped me when I was 18. For better or worse, alcohol is a rite of passage for our youth that sadly becomes a way of life for some in adulthood. As long as we allow alcohol to fill this role any law changes will be window dressing.

Warner Brothers presents The Hobble
30th October 2010

Smaug Warner, king of dragons, reclined on a bed of diamonds in a vast cavern deep beneath the Hollywood hills. His enormous body was encrusted with jewels and the scales on his long neck were trimmed with all the currencies of the world. Giant screens around the cavern displayed the many cash cows of Smaug’s global empire and from a hundred ATMs an unceasing flow of cash fell like gentle rain on Smaug’s back.
Faceless, Smaug’s executive, slunk into the cavern, a frown on his brow.
“Your Warneriness, I have troubling news.”
Smaug turned a malevolent eye on his servant, “trouble for who, Faceless?”
“You should see for yourself, oh Smaug.” Faceless waved a remote control at one of the giant screens. An image flashed onto the screen of a city in a distant land, bathed in sunshine. On the streets of the city a crowd was marching and shouting angrily.
“What ‘as this to do with me?” grumbled Smaug.
“It’s Muddle Earth, your Smaugness, where you sent the new cash cow. They don’t like it.”
“Don’t like it!” bellowed Smaug, “I’ll roast their hides. Who’s our man in Muddle Earth?”
“His name’s Jackass. Sir Peter Jackass. You remember, he has served you well in the past.”
“So, why doesn’t ‘e serve me well now?” Smaug stopped suddenly and a small flame flickered around his nostrils. “Faceless,” he whispered, “I think it’s time for you and me to take a little trip.”
The following afternoon at about 3pm the sky over Wellywood, capital of Muddle Earth, darkened as the great shadow of Smaug fell upon it. The enormous dragon circled the city once, twice, and landed heavily on the waterfront, crushing the national museum and upsetting coffee cups in a hundred cafes. Sir Peter Jackass was waiting to greet his master.
“Jackass”, growled Smaug, “I want answers and I want them fast or you’ve seen the last of my cash cow in this miserable place.”
“It’s the hobbles,” wailed Jackass. “They’ve got this onion and are refusing to feed the cash cow.”
“Onion?!” raged Smaug. “My cash cow will not eat onions!”
“No, no, it’s not an ordinary onion. It’s a trayed onion.”
“Enough! Who runs this country?”
“Ah, that would be me,” simpered a voice beneath Smaug’s left shoulder. A smallish man with a nervous smile stood on the waterfront. “Please don’t do anything rash, Mr Smaug, your highness. I’m sure we can sort this out.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jonkey.”
“Donkey?”
“No, your Smaugness, Jonkey.”
“Jonkey, my ass! You’ve got about 15 minutes to sort this problem or we’re out of ‘ere.”
Jonkey looked around nervously. “Will the other Warner Brothers also be coming, your Smaugness?”
Smaug lifted his head and roared with laughter. “The other Warner Brothers! You know what ‘appened to them?”
“No.”
Smaug’s giant face came to rest within inches of Jonkey. “I ‘et ‘em.”
“You ate them?”
“First I ‘ated ‘em. Then I ‘et ‘em. And that’s just what I will do with you if I don’t get some answers quick smart!”
Jonkey shuffled nervously. “We’ll do anything to keep the cash cow, great Smaug. I’ve talked with my advisors and what we’ll do is make an example of some of these troublesome hobbles, smash their onion, you know the sort of thing, and I’m sure the rest will see sense.”
Smaug looked menacingly at Jonkey. “I don’t want them to see sense. I want them to suffer, I want them to be my slaves!”
“Slaves, oh yes, I’m sure we can do that. Slavery should be no problem, oh magnificent Smaug.”
Smaug leaned closer until his smoky breath made Jonkey’s eyes water. “You believe in free trade, don’t you, Mr Donkey.”
“Yes, yes, indeed. We welcome free trade.”
“So do I, especially the free part. So ‘ere’s what else I want. You and your miserable ‘obbles will pay for all the feed my cash cow eats.”
“Certainly, great Smaug, an excellent idea,” nodded Jonkey helplessly.
“And if you take very good care of this cash cow, I may send you another one some time.”
“That would be very desirable,” glowed Jonkey.
“And then again, I might not,” grinned Smaug.
Several weeks later Jonkey stood at the window of his office looking across Wellywood. Lines of hobbles, their backs bent under huge loads, struggled beneath ashen skies towards a far hillside where the great cash cow dominated Muddle Earth. Crowds of sullen and angry hobbles clamoured at the gates.
His advisor watched the gathering crowds uneasily. “Me and the lads have been talking, Jonkey, and we think you should make yourself invisible for a while, just until things calm down. “
Jonkey sighed, “invisible? Yes, perhaps you’re right. Well, that should be easy to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had a message from Smaug. He said he’ll give me a ring next week.” Jonkey smiled to himself.