The Insatiable Appetite

I want to express how passion and a sense of duty will always transcend a temporary “flavour of the month.” I love using food metaphors all the time for everything, because universal themes like FOOD connect us all. They come reasonably naturally to me when I try and portray my views and tell my stories. So, here we go again.

The first point I want to make is around the word APPETITE. The Oxford Dictionary describes appetite as “a natural desire to satisfy a bodily need, especially for food” – the other definition is “a strong desire or liking for something.”

On both definitions, I like this word, what it means, especially when you think about what drives appetite? FYI, these explanations I give are authentically me, no ChatGPT or plagiarising, only when I reference as above, e.g. Oxford Dictionary – but these are innocently my words, my perceived interpretations, the world described through my eyes, through my words.

What drives an appetite?

Sweetness? Savoury = preference? Repetition? Convenience?

When I ask people from a different region or suburb about “where’s the best pies in your area?”, I find most people recommend their local bakery. I find that most of the time this is purely because that is what is conveniently available to them and, in reality, it’s a 6/10 at best. But that convenience, coupled with the repetition of indulging in it frequently, becomes a taste that is familiar, and they have “attuned” themselves to the 6/10 – not having surveyed and canvassed “all” pies within a 3km radius, they settle for convenience.

When an outsider has a bite of that Steak & Cheese Pie and thinks, “This isn’t that great,” you’re probably right. But in context, a local 6/10 pie becomes a 9/10 when it is only 5 minutes’ travel time to consumption and is an assured “safe taste” for that individual = CONVENIENCE.

What else drives appetite?

When you’re scrolling social media and see some of your “friends” with reasonably good taste buds say, “You need to try these Tacos!”, and then these Tacos are seconded by some random influencers with their boujee editing on their videos – and then, to top it off, your partner mentions to you, “My friend said we need to try these Tacos.”

So now you have been validated by 3 points of contact (safe use of ladders reference – this is lowbrow H&S humour), so you are now intrigued by these Tacos, and your appetite is ignited.

It’s not long until the charcoal briquettes are ashed over and the appetite is now a roaring 250°C (this is highbrow BBQ humour).

Thus, a Saturday lunch is scheduled at Brokeboy Tacos in Mt Albert to try these famous TACOS everyone’s been talking about!

It doesn’t help when your stalker phone is listening to your every word and starts bombarding a TACO algorithm to your feed…

FYI, those Tacos are the bees knees.

Appetite – it’s what sparks your interest into whether, first of all, you like it or not. Furthermore, whether you will act on it or not.

Like most things, it has a spectrum. On one end, it’s too inconvenient to satisfy it and may not be worth the effort, or it could be driven by your financial position – I can afford it? I can’t afford it?

Or your energy position – I’m tired? I’m motivated?

Or it could sit at the other end, where it has been made desirable by everyone else. Everyone’s talking about it, and it seems to be the place to be, the thing to eat, the gadget to have, the exciting new craze, fad.

Like when Chatter rings came out. I loved these things as a kid. Now, as a father, I will not and will never purchase these for my children. My Niuean kids don’t have an off switch, and they will be clanging these things at 1am given the chance.

But where it sits on the spectrum would determine how you act on it, or even how long you act on it for until the novelty wears off and the new novelty is here.

I’ll park this “appetite” in the metaphysical carpark and come back at the end, when it will be the feature in a third-act flashback that serves as the climax to the grand finale. I’ll try not to be Bob the Build-ups and finish strong.

I have chosen a narrative of the H&S profession that I have an insatiable appetite for: the betterment of the most vulnerable demographic impacted by poor H&S systems and the understanding of adopting a culturally responsive approach to engagement.

They are the victims of workplace incidents yielding the highest disproportionate injuries. They are demographically my people, my cultures (I am of both Maori and Niue descent), my Niue grandparents’ vision in relocating to NZ, and, like many other Pacific folk that have come here, it is beautifully summed up in the late Fa’anana Efeso Collins’ maiden speech:

“I am well aware of the giants whose shoulders I stand on and the masters whose feet I learnt at.”

As per the title, CHEWING GUM is today’s metaphor.

Chewing gum has a simple purpose. By design, it is not meant to last forever. Most gum doesn’t last any longer than 3 minutes.

You get started, and the taste needs to be “chewed out”, and then it’s at its most prominent. Each chew is detrimental to the life of the chewing gum. As you chew, it loses its flavour. It was only intended to be a short window of opportunity.

Sadly, I have seen appetites for narratives of H&S for Maori & Pacific have similar longevity/commitment as a piece of chewing gum.

Yes, some “brands” of chewing gum have better resilience than others, but they meet their inevitable demise, which is usually once the novelty has worn off, the flavour has dissipated, it is spat out, or is pressed under the table of any high school desk.

It is discarded, and in the same fashion, it is discarded without any dignity.

Examples?

If those with the most influence of the PCBU don’t have the appetite for responsivity for the Health & Safety of their Maori & Pacific workforce, they spit out the gum.

When priorities change and the funding agency has shifted their priorities, and the funds that were allocated to that narrative aren’t available anymore? They spit out the gum.

When an Organisation says, “We are on a journey,” and uses cultural values like only picking the attractive flowers out of the bouquet and then leaving the rest, then there is a change in Government and all Maori narratives regress to its Pakeha name, they spit out the gum.

The gum has no more relevance.

The flavour is gone. The novelty is worn off – we have done our best whilst it was enabled, but values, morals and ethics aren’t enough to maintain that narrative or revive the taste the gum once produced 2 minutes ago, lol.

As hard or easy as it is for an Organisation, an officer of a PCBU, to spit the gum out because priorities have shifted, or the “appetite” has changed, I (and others, of course) don’t have that luxury of spitting this out.

I am morally, ethically, culturally, biologically tethered to my people.

It will take more than “our priorities have changed” or “there’s no more budget” to stop my insatiable appetite to serving my people, because that defines Pacific leadership – “service”.

If there are people in need, there is an opportunity to be humble and serve them, and if you can serve, you can lead.

So I lead, by serving.

Spitting the gum out for me is like spitting on my Grandparents’ dream.

Spitting out the gum for me is spitting on Mana Motuhake for me as a Maori.

Spitting out the gum for me is spitting on the safety of the workplaces my children will work in, my grandchildren, their cousins, and wider than that, every other Maori & Pacific rangatahi/generation.

Business leaders and those with the positional influence simply lose their appetite, and spitting gum is justified because it’s seemingly beyond their circle of influence – the wind has changed direction and we will fill our sail wherever the wind blows.

If your entire workforce was your future children, siblings, nieces and nephews – you would find a way.

It isn’t because there is a new Chewing Gum Flavour everyone is talking about called Cultural Intelligence that segues into Equity and can be an attractive product for your catalogue.

The Health, Safety and Wellbeing of my four Maori & Pacific sons is not a novelty. They are everything to me, as your children are to you.

My appetite is not driven by external factors.

It is not because it is convenient that I do what I do: “I am of Maori & Pacific descent, so I might as well try and be the token Maori & Pacific H&S Professional.”

It is an inconvenience in that aspect because of the dire situation that my people get injured when they work.

I don’t say this lightly, but I am scared for the future of my people, that “I” won’t figure out how to improve the system and more of them will be seriously injured and killed as a result.

And I get emotional about it.

This isn’t a piece of gum to me. It’s as precious as water.

For living things, water is a fundamental element for survival. So is the health, safety and wellbeing of ALL people.

I’m just starting in my backyard, is all.

That’s my story.

Change appetite to the term survival, and you may wonder, this fulla’s being dramatic?

“We aren’t in survival mode.”

After taking time to listen to the stories of those who have lost loved ones to workplace incidents, and the future workplace(s) my children will walk into, looks dire to me.

I’ll be dramatic for them.

We are a quarter of the working population here and produce a GDP of eight billion dollars per annum to Aotearoa’s economy, and that isn’t earned by high-salaried, safe, cushy executive roles.

It’s our people driving the trucks, forklifts, manual handling, labourers, deboning meat on the factory line, manual handling Gib sheets in construction, working in the searing heat on ride-on mowers, caring for the elderly in rest homes – washing, showering and manually moving them.

It’s generated from jobs like working behind the counters, working behind cones whilst vehicles whizz by at arm’s length that are meant to be going 30km/h but think 60km/h because “they’ll be late”.

Then having professionals and politicians bash on “cones” when these mundane plastic 25kg objects are the only separation for their safety from a 700kg–3-tonne vehicle operated by people in a rush.

A lot of these roles are frontline, coalface, field workers…

And these roles don’t pay 100k.

They are minimum-wage workers who often have to deal with the clients and customers, and when things aren’t going well, it is your frontline worker that has to moderate their selfish and, at times, hostile behaviours upfront.

This is not a rant, folks.

This is the reality for life as a Maori & Pacific person/worker in Aotearoa.

I do not expect everyone to embrace this, and why should you?

We are not your responsibility.

Or are we?

We are our responsibility.

I am responsible, so I accept this blessing to serve my people.

As a Maori/Pacific kid from South Auckland, at one point in my life, I felt that society had told me that I grew up in poverty that’s self-inflicted.

I will lead a life of crime because I am of the ethnicity that is statistically known to be incarcerated and then have a 70% re-offending rate, so might as well make a lifestyle of it.

If I don’t get good at sport and I’m not built like Jonah Lomu, I will be Jonah Lomu the labourer.

I got told Maori are beneficiaries and I will lead a life of lazy unemployment.

The destructive alcohol behaviours I grew up around, I will become, apparently.

I will inherit these and many more narratives will be my trajectory because I was born a Maori & Pacific male in South Auckland.

All isn't lost.

I am blessed.

I have a beautiful family whom I love and my wife, whom I adore. I have found my place in the world through service, by serving my family, then serving my community, then serving humanity, personally and professionally.

Mike Tyson recently said LEGACY is a lie – no one will remember you after 100 years.

Money, cars, houses (I am yet to experience the luxury side of that, FYI Mike Tyson) – these belts are material nothings.

Your kids will hold your memory for a little bit, and their kids will have some remnant of who you are, but their kids and their kids won’t even remember your name.

They will carry it if you’re lucky to have a succeeding bloodline.

Coming from the once most dangerous man on the planet.

What matters is what I do now.

I will serve with my hands, walk this path with my feet, and my actions, I hope, will influence today for a better, safer future, especially for my kids.

I love you, Hudson, Rylee, Logan & Xander-Kane.

Dad is trying to figure out how I can prepare the way for you and your generation.

And my personal saviour that God has placed in my life to save me from myself is my wife, Vicky.

Thanks for picking me and making a man out of a boy from the hood.

If she was a piece of gum, she would be…

Pause…

Ummm, yeah-nah, anything I say will be used against me in the Court of Law, especially when comparing your wife to gum.

Even if it’s the best gum in the world, I lose.

So yeah, just a simple I love you, Vicky will suffice.

The H&S profession is just one of my streams to discharge my values, not governed by my fluctuating appetite or mood, financial wealth (that will be nice, though – the appetite of these four Island boys is taking its toll on my food bill HAIYAH!).

This article isn’t about chewing gum.

It’s about finding your “why” and flooring it.

To the uninitiated, that means putting your foot down on the accelerator till it hits the “floor” – preferably in a grey, 1971 V8 HQ Holden Monaro with Cragars.

FUIYOH!

Your why will permeate to every fine asbestos fibre of your being…

Mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually, religiously, culturally, in your relationships, in your professional career, to the point where no one can stop you from doing your why, because it’s more than a fleeting piece of gum.

You’ve found your purpose.

And we will live for it.

And, as those Tongans say at the RWC:

“Mate ma’a Tonga.”

They will die for Tonga…

It’s a bit dramatic, you Tongans, and it gets annoying when you jump out in front of my car waving flags and dancing, “kuz I’m not Tongan, I wanted yous to lose!”

But I say that in my mind, in fear of being killed like Mufasa by the horse stampede.

Ofa atu, my Tongan faamili…

Live for your Why?

Die for it?

Whatever.

Hopefully, it’s for those who need you to pave the way for them.