New Zealand came 3^rd in the world as a safe place, a good place, to live. Behind Iceland and Ireland. So concluded the annual Global Peace Index (GPI). By using a set of quantitative and qualitative data, the GPI tracks 23 indicators, from external conflicts and military expenditure to safety and security measures like terrorism and homicide.

But it also includes those indicators that make for community wellbeing. Like neighbourliness, fairness, and the gap between the poorest and richest. It is a commentary on a country’s institutions and structures, the level of trust in politicians and other public servants. The GPI tries to measure things like resilience, fear, and hope. They have been measuring for a couple of decades.

Aotearoa’s 3^rd placing came as a bit of a shock to me. I would have been surprised if we were in the top 20, let alone the top 3. For I’m well aware of our child poverty statistics, numbers in prison, numbers of homeless, the backward steps the current Government has taken regarding gender pay equity and the affirming of New Zealand’s bicultural future. And I could go on. There’s lots around here that is less than ideal, that depletes hope, and cultivates fear.

But sometimes, like when I read about New Zealand as a good place to live, I realise that I’ve fallen prey to the daily doom and gloom that is the main dish of our media, and the side dishes of money matters and sporting results. It’s like I’ve been so fixated on the track I’ve been treading, dodging mud and fallen branches, that I haven’t stopped to appreciate the wonder and the beauty of the whole bush. I haven’t stopped long enough to be thankful, or to say to myself, “Aren’t I lucky.”

I received a book in the mail the other week titled, “Arohanui: My Aotearoa NewZealand.” It’s a coffee table piece, full of great photos and short quotes from some 100 New Zealanders. There’s a lot of them I don’t know, and – being New Zealand – quite a few I do. There’s some of the famous like Sam Neill, Chris Tse, Sue Bradford, and Beauden Barrett. There’s some who should be famous, or more famous. But the great thing is that the book is unashamedly and wonderfully positive. It celebrates the diversity that is us. There are even a few dogs in the book.

It's one of those books that makes you feel good, even after only a few minutes of reading. All these characters tumbled together, telling the stories that make us us. It’s a reminder that this is a good place to live.

And, full confession, Finn and I are in the book. So is Winston Peters. If Finn can tolerate him, I suppose I can too. After all, I believe in an Aotearoa New Zealand where there is room for us both.

Glynn

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