Just Like Yesterday (part 3)

Early morning mist creeps through the hills of Kelburn.

Jade zones out to some meditative music on her portable speakers. 'Jade, have you seen the pegs?' - Flattie. Type A: very intense. 'No.' The flattie clomps over loudly. 'They're right beside you!' - she grabs the pegs. 'Hey!' 'Sorry, but you're so useless sometimes.' - 'So, what do you do for fun?' - Caliope, buying more weed off Sean. 'I surf. Play some footy as well' 'Tackle?' 'Touch. Mixed league.' The van is roomy without the seniors. Caliope loads her pipe. 'Are you doing anything on Wednesday?' - Sean. 'No.' 'My flattie has a gig. I reckon you'd enjoy meeting her.' 'What does she do?' 'Singer/songwriter, plus these folk songs that she's really into' 'Folk songs? New Zealand has folk songs?' 'Yeah, they're all from the South Island.' A long pause. Caliope smokes her weed. 'Ok!' - A balmy summer evening. Tim wears a skirt with a blouse and kerchief. Jade wears her

leather jacket with plain T-shirt and jeans.

Walking and talking...

'You used to get these comics in the kids pack for a Crusaders game. They were about a boy who discovers magic boots and becomes a rugby legend. I wanted something like that, but to be a girl.' 'Like magic heels?' 'Heels make me stand out too much.' 'What about makeup?' 'I'm not a drag queen, Jade! My style is au naturel. All that glam crap sexualises trannies, and then they wonder why it is that straight people think we're into sex all the time?' 'So you're anti-drag?' 'No, but they're hardly pro-Tina. It's social conditioning that makes people think makeup is pretty: I prefer people that don't wear it.' Tina turns to Jade, who is dolled up. She rather likes makeup. 'You know, you're not a girl. Like, you might be the most femme guy that I've ever met, but you've still got a dick.' - Jade. Tina sighs. Loudly. 'Yes, but she's femme too. All this Western crap is so confusing. In the Islands, they have this whole philosophy of in-between genders, like non-binary, but it's also a social role. Whakawahine is the Māori term; that means 'becoming a woman', and that resonates with me a lot more than drag queen or transvestite. It's about the spirit, not the clothes.' 'So, you'd be Tina even in men's clothes?' 'Ok, it's about the clothes too. But that's a choice: not everyone has balls of steel.' 'What do you mean?' 'Well, you know that look that the rich white boys give you?' 'What look?' 'The 'I dunno about her' look.' She knows that look. 'Well, picture that a hundred times a day for several years, then you're getting close to how it felt to become Tina.' She's speechless. She wasn't expecting such a dramatic convo. 'What about transgender?' - Jade. 'What about it?' 'You're the one debating terminology, not me!' 'Well... those words are tainted by the culture wars and the TERFS: coding us as the new moral battleground in sexual politics.' 'Stop being so picky, Tina! It's all linked, right? Like being Gay with extra steps.' Tina stops her right there. Sticks her hand up. 'I hate it when people call me gay. However, living feminine means attracting male attention, which is... complicated.' Tina and Jade's eyes meet. 'That's why I don't identify with gay people. I desire women carnally -- though my organ doesn't really come into it. You remember that song I wrote about cunnilingus?' Jade laughs. 'Would you chop her off?' 'I'd rather not. You know, it's a very Abrahamic thing to want that. Before the Muslim invasion of India, hijra typically weren't castrated; now they are.' 'So, down with the Abrahamic patriarchy?' 'Yeah.' They turn to walk down the waterfront. 'So, what do you identify as?' 'I aim to live as a woman. No-one says you have to be born a woman to do that.' 'And the clothes?' - She's wondering if she can be seen with him like this. It's a gaudy, bohemian style, and she thinks that it's a bit tacky... easy for her to say with her steady job, while Tina is stuck on the dole. 'They're the real me.' 'But they attract attention!' 'Yeah, and I got over that. If I was your girlfriend, would you be saying that?' 'Shit... I didn't mean it.' 'Yeah, you did. It's ok to be shallow, Jade; just tell me if that's why you're uncomfortable.' She thinks for a second. Tim was never this commanding... Tina is something else entirely. 'I'm sorry.' Jade squeezes him on the shoulder. 'Not like I'm uncomfortable with androgyny, Tim.' 'Tina. And yes, you're uncomfortable with my androgyny.' Jade takes a deep breath. He's really getting up her nose now. 'This sanctimonious shit is getting real old, real fast, Tina.' 'Yeah, people say that; they're wrong, though. This attitude is how I won the daily fight of being accepted on the streets. Most gurls quit .. non-binary until graduation. That's a little phrase that I coined.' Jade's upset. She was going to share a big emotional story, but now she's afraid that Tina will slap her down with some more cutting remarks. 'Ok, I want to share something. Promise me you won't interrupt me or laugh at me.' 'Ok, Jade.' 'Well, when my Dad died I used to wear his shirts to the office. It made me feel grown-up. He never saw me hold down a real job, but sometimes I could feel his spirit. One day, it was so real... he must have been looking down to check on me.' She reaches for Tina's hand. 'Why did you stop?' 'Didn't want to chase a dead man's approval anymore.' Finally, the conversation is over. The two of them stare at the ocean silently. - Caliope is taking notes during a lecture. Sally and some other post-grad students are sitting in a small seminar room. 'The traditional ways of ordering knowledge for Māori in the Far South concentrated it in the bodies, minds and mouths of select experts, as well as objects such as rākau whakapapa that only revealed meaningful information when held by specific individuals.'

Rākau Whakapapa. The notches reveal a whakapapa chain.

Sally writes on the whiteboard: 'Then - colonisation!' 'In the terms of Harold Innis, these conventions were "time-binding", while Western conventions of knowledge are "space-binding". With the printed word, ideas became reproduced across the colonies instead of across generations of chosen people.' She draws a timeline across the board. 'This allowed Kai Tāhu to reconnect with Northern iwi for the first time in centuries, via the print media that Euroamericans brought to Aotearoa, strengthening the Māori identity movement of the 19th Century.' 'What happens to the old ways?' - Caliope, the eager beaver. 'They vanish, or become mediated by dominant ways of seeing.' Sally writes another thing on the board: 'Modernity (and post-modernity).' 'Now, of course, we're colonised by online media. However, like the old tribes, we are not passive consumers: we are constantly engaged in making and remaking culture on our own terms.' The students dutifully take notes. - Caliope is walking through Aro Park. A derelict man -- bald on top, but shoulder-length sides brushing against his shabby suit -- debates a young student in the thoroughfare.

His cross-legged pose and koha hat recalls an Indian yogi.

'Kids today are all shell-shocked soldiers of consumer warfare. All in the throes of PTSD from their video games and energy drinks.' - the derelict man. 'But video games are an art form.' 'Nuh-uh. They're military propaganda. Funded by the United States Defence Department.' 'Maybe initially, but it's a different world now.' 'That's what they all say!' - the crazy man is starting to stir. His hair is shaking with anger. The student hurries off. Caliope strolls up to him. 'Hi Charlie!' Charlie ignores her. He pauses for a moment, then starts on a new tangent. 'Media is propaganda.' 'Agreed. But life is propaganda. We propagate the species, after all.' 'Mother Nature doesn't have an agenda.' - Charlie, taunting her. 'Sure she has. They call it Gaia theory.' Caliope stands her ground. She's not afraid of this old homeless bloke. 'Maybe, but the kids are too deaf to hear it these days, shielded by entertainment.' 'Like what?' 'Like everything. Even their music.' 'What music?' 'Listen ... doof, doof, doof, 1,2. 1,2. 1,2. Goosestepping off to the virtual culture wars.' 'Is that how it works?' Charlie doesn't reply. His eyes begin to glaze over. Caliope puts a coin in his hat. 'See ya soon, Charlie.' She walks off. - PS: Charlie was actually the name of a real homeless person that I met on a few occasions, and that description is him. Yes, I used to talk to bums at 4am on my way to work when I had that Isentia job. -