Community values and the "Death by a thousand cuts"

Dear Editor,

Rituals, customs, and community practices occupy an important role in human life and community. They are symbolic acts of togetherness, of identity, which bind community members together in spirit. Through their self-sameness, and repetitiveness they stabilise life. Such rituals and practices are particularly important in small isolated communities such as Norfolk, which often have to rely on community binding to get through difficult times when needed resources are not so readily at hand as elsewhere.

Some of these Norfolk rituals, customs and community practices are visible, such as Foundation Day and Bounty Day celebrations. Others are less visible – particularly for visitors and those who are outside the community – such as the traditional gathering of women on funeral mornings to make wreaths for the departed, or the particular manner in which family inter-generational relationship can be expressed in Norf'k language. Despite often being unseen or unheard, and lying outside economic calculation, such rituals, customs and practices are genuine jewels of community life.

"Death by a thousand cuts" is an expression that describes the idea that substantial change in society can go unnoticed if it happens in small and unnoticed steps. It also carries with it the idea that the change would be unwelcome if it were clearly perceived. In the recent economic and bureaucratic upheavals on Norfolk Island we need to keep cognisant of what has been and may be being lost, particularly in relation to its rituals and customs.

Many and various examples of such losses on Norfolk are at hand, so let's look at a few. The Norfolk Island Post Office, prior to the 2016 takeover was situated in the front part of the Bicentennial Centre building in Taylor's Road. It was a spacious area in which citizens could exchange pleasantries with each other, chat with staff, or just sit on the benches ranged along the wall and rest weary limbs. It provided not only a postal service but a valuable social function as well. Then, by fiat of the Commonwealth's Transitional Administration this was all swept aside, presumably in the name of economic efficiency, but nowhere was the social and community loss acknowledged.

Or again, consider the four old lighters by the Kingston pier, described by Mary Christian-Bailey in an article in the local paper as "decaying with dignity against the backdrop of the ocean where they have worked our ships over the decades. They have been placed there on the grass as a mark of respect for the fact that they have been a lifeline for this community, and in recognition of the skill and workmanship that went into their production and use, and their significant part in our heritage and culture. We have a feeling of comfortable nostalgia when we see them, and our visitors love to photograph them." However, the same lighters were described in a KAVHA Cultural Landscape Management Plan document as "unloved lighters (four) at the Pier, crumbling into the landscape by neglect."

Or again, consider Norfolk's bank installing security screens running the length of the counter and stretching from counter to ceiling. These are apparently called "jump screens" designed to stop thieves and brigands from jumping the counter and grabbing money or attacking staff. (Similar screens were installed in all the bank's branches across Australia, it was understood.) Such an action on Norfolk Island was not only absurd but also in a sense, demeaning. Ever since banks were present on Norfolk Island there has to my knowledge never been a theft or attack of any sort, let alone an over-the-counter attack. There are good reasons for this: brigands cannot escape the island except by plane, staff are known to customers and vice-versa, see them socially and in local organisations, and customers know other customers.

Although there may be some miniscule benefit to bank security on Norfolk Island, there is also a social cost to the community, and to the bank. The construction represents not only a physical but also a psychological barrier between bank and clients, staff and customers – one that says "I don't trust you", and represents a small but real undermining of community values and expected behaviour. (The distancing of the bank from its clients was further emphasised by the removal of the Norfolk Island pictures that graced the bank's walls.) The only circumstance in which I personally would be supportive of jump screens on Norfolk Island would be if the bank staff themselves had asked for them: and to my knowledge they did not. (The later advent of Covid in the world did however give good reason for barriers of this sort.)

Or again, consider the altercation between a group of mainly young post-Christmas revellers and the Australian Federal Police (as Norfolk Island Police) at the Emily Bay Salthouse on the evening of Sunday 27 December 2020. Although specific details remain in dispute, it is understood that there was little or no direct contact between the two groups. However the fact of the matter is that one police officer called to the scene arrived dressed in riot gear and proceeded to capsicum-spray some of the revellers, even in their swimsuits. The incident was finally defused when an elder of the Norfolk Island community arrived and after some well-chosen words told the revellers to "Go home!", which they did. (Some slept in their cars.) The incident was well-recorded on social media channels at the time.

What these examples have in common is the imposition on the Norfolk Island community by large organisations having authority on the island, of actions that serve to undermine the community's belief in itself and its values. The actions serve neither the community nor the organisation itself. For those in authority, the avoidance of such impositions requires forethought, sensitivity and genuine engagement with the community, and the need to temper decision-making in regard to possible misunderstandings. Furthermore such losses need to be considered against the substantial positive contribution that traditional island mores make to tourism on Norfolk Island – a contribution acknowledged regularly in letters to The Norfolk Islander by people who have been touched by the enchantment of "the Norfolk way".

With all that said, let's end on a more positive note. Norfolk Islanders have always waved to each other as they pass on the road, now in their cars, and previously on their horses (if they didn't stop to exchange pleasantries). It is a gentle practice of reciprocal acknowledgement that builds community. And it is a practice that I would urge all living on Norfolk Island to adopt. And then again I'd be relieved and delighted when NIRC gets round to replacing the current American mobile phone assistant voice with one with a Norf'k lilt, even if it has to be in English.

– Chris Nobbs.