Tell Me Why I Don’t Love Fridays – Tara Te Heke

August 15th, 2009 at 9:52 am by Tara te Heke

Friday’s aren’t very special when you are on the benefit. I mean you don’t work during the week so for me every day is a Saturday. I’ve got no money spare so I can’t go out and even if I could I’d have to find someone to sit the kiddies. The best we get is watching Sky and grabbing some takeaway or looking on the internet.

I sit at my window glancing down the street watching over mortgaged, over financed people arrive home from work after 7pm and I ask myself, why?

If Fridays are a huge relief then what are they a relief from? Working. If working is so horrible then why do people do so much of it? To buy their over priced homes, to drive in their over priced car so they can send their children to over priced schools in the hope they won’t turn out to be like me.

Then we have low income workers always upset about low pay, but what do they do about it? Join a Union to pay for someone else to go and bargain a higher pay rate so they can afford more debt on more things.

I ask Kiwiblog readers, why? Why do you bother working say more than 9-5pm five days a week. Does it get you anywhere? Does it make you more money than standard hours. Does your employer value your extra contribution? Is your small business making you money and therefore worth the effort, or is it all just a giant waste of time and effort?

If it is and you are disciples to the Friday evening, then why do you do it?

And don’t just answer to pay for people like me. That’s a cop out.

If I wasn’t here you’d be contributing to some other taxpayer funded scheme or whim. Because you are all the same. You all like paying tax else you would vote for parties like ACT that would make me get off my backside, hand me a mentor such as Muriel Bloody Newman and monitor my life like Gestapo.

You feel guilt. You feel as though taxation paid gives you cleansing of that guilt.

It shouldn’t. I watch you arrive home at 7pm on a Friday straight from the office and I keep wondering.


Who Am I? Who Are You? – Tara te Heke

August 12th, 2009 at 8:30 am by Tara te Heke

There’s been plenty of discussion in my posts as to whether I am “real”.

Rather ironically mostly from people with pen names and I see when I log-in to post my pieces, clearly fake email addresses on sign-on to Kiwiblog.

So the question I have for you all who doubt that I exist – are you “real”? Are you all really of the opinion and confidence you portray here? Or are your views privately very different from the clear lack of confidence I bet you display publicly?

Hundreds of comments from the same sort of people, same names. What kind of person comments in that I should have an abortion? Or have my children taken off me? That I am some sort of low life. That I don’t count because I’m not like you. While some comments have been supportive (thank you) and some constructively critical (thank you), plenty have just been far too personal and utterly vile.

Clearly there are two sorts of people who read Kiwiblog, those intelligent souls who read, absorb and think (the vast majority of thousands), then the small amount (about 20-30) of absolutely nutters (commonly termed David Farrar’s troll farm) who feel free to spout nonsense that they wouldn’t freely speak of for fear of being written off in public as sad, old and downright creepy.

Little wonder women do not blog if this is the reaction they get for being opinionated and not deemed high achieving enough to be accepted by men. And its not right or left wing here that is the issue, it seems that the hatred is not even political as I haven’t even started to post about who I vote for and what policies I support. Little wonder I cannot use my real name. I would fear that one of you were nutty enough to turn up on my doorstep.

A lesser person would be put off but I shall continue posting until David returns from his well deserved holiday to listen to your abuse. For no other reason than I am better than all of your hatred. That’s right, freezing works and all I’ve seen slabs of dead meat with more love and kindness than the 20-30 of you that ruin it for the rest of the audience.

Trolls is not a good term for it. Trolls are fun and amusing and serve purpose in children’s tales. You guys are just pathetic and need to stop spreading your negativity, either get more gainful employment, girlfriends or get out and meet people that aren’t just like you. Because you all live your lives around this blog and your computer.

That is really sad.

Middle Class Witches

August 10th, 2009 at 2:38 pm by Tara te Heke

We are not so different.

You don’t work.  Neither do I.

We both wanted children to keep our man happy.  We expected it to mean forever.  That the word is bond.

You live in Remuera in your big mansion, I live up the hill overlooking you in Orakei.  We share the same view.

You drive a Mercedes and it guzzles gas, I drive a Mazda-bator and it leaks oil.

We drive the same road you and I.  The same side.  The same direction.  Under the same rules.

You are happily a beneficiary of your husband and his labour.  I am reluctantly a beneficiary of the State, the taxpayer and theirs.

You go to lunch with your friends by the water, drink champagne and nibble at salad and woodfire pizza. I have lunch on my lawn overlooking the water with my mates drinking beers from the bottle shop and pizza from the Pizza Hut.

Your friends compliment Parnell resident John Key and how he’s getting on.  My friends and I discuss how lucky John Key is that he couldn’t get pregnant while living in a State House.

When you need help you call the cleaner, the gardener, the plumber and the nanny.  I can only call my mother and she can’t help today.  She says sorry.

You worry about your kids getting into Kings.  I worry about my kids getting to school at all.

Your kids get to go to Kings.  If Housing NZ decided to move us, mine could go next door to Otahuhu.

If my children work hard they could sit next to yours at University.  The same place.

You worry about your husband working late, not getting home and helping you with the kids.  My man was at the pub with his friends as well.

You worry about your husband and the new secretary.  I worry about my man and the next woman just like me.

Your husband says sorry with diamonds and holidays.  My man beats me and the children and I leave.

Will you when he treats you badly?

Or will you stay for the money?  The prestige?  To just not be like me.  Alone with children.

You leave and get half of everything you haven’t earned and gain the sympathy of your friends.  I leave and have to go to welfare and gain the disdain of the nation.

We are not so different.

You and I.

Guest Poster – Tara te Heke

August 9th, 2009 at 8:13 am by Tara te Heke

Kia ora koutou

When David asked me to write a few posts while he was away I was surprised. I’ve only known DPF a few years and it was trusting of him.

What? A Maori solo mum of 3 children, write of thousands of you angry white middle aged male computer geekoids on Kiwiblog? But you know, needs must and I have a tonne of time on my hands because Paula Bennett said so.

Anyway I have promised to put on my best Bill English and write to you whiteys about some Maaaaori issues and first up being a solo Mum.

So what’s it like? Pretty choice actually. In between rorting the taxpayer of heaps of dollars, raising my kiddies without their father and surviving without any trips to Ozzie or even struggling sometimes to get a ride into town when the car has blown up it’s really awesome.

Like when I left school at 16 I went to work in the local freezing works. It was seductively a great job as I was earning more pingers than anyone I knew and even more than University graduates. At 19 I found the man of my dreams there. Big, strong and brown. To start with it was like a fairytale. Then he got angry easily and gave me the bash. Often. I thought if I gave him some children it would be better, that he would grow up and be a great Dad.

I had the first one at 20 when is topped working. My man had a good job and we were getting by okay. I didn’t have to work, in fact he liked it that way as it made him feel like the hunter gatherer, the provider. Just me and the baby. Our little team. But the worst happened and he lost his job. Man that was hard. He hated going to welfare so I would have to go. He got depressed and angry again. And took it all out on me. I’d get the bash for anything. Like the time I cooked dinner and the roast spuds got a little burnt and he enraged and chucked them all over me. The pan smashing my head and I ended up the next day in A&E when my best friend T came to deal with me and wouldn’t accept that I’d walked into the door.

This continued another few months and in that time the sex was brutal. Drunk sex. Not Once were Warriors sex or anything but sex to punish me for spending time with bubs and not him. I got pregnant again and then my heart sank as I found out I was having twins.

My mother was at least helping as the same had happened to her, but she knew something was wrong with me. I knew that twins would mean now 3 times the work, 3 times less income left and more violence when my man worked out he was more useless and couldn’t afford to keep us together without help from welfare. Mum had to help my sister as well. And our brother who has a handicap and can’t work so gets a sickness benefit.

When my Man started to bash up the little ones I knew I had to leave. To get out and not go back. It was my fault if I didn’t and I had all the power. I had 3 kids and went to welfare, sitting in the office and crying. I was a number but they were okay, there was worse than me in the waiting room.

Then I got angry. What made it worse was I knew he was getting away with it. I had three kiddies to feed and he had none now. He could divorce our family and pay nothing, have no responsibility and do it all again. He would find another woman and repeat it all on her.

So when you all get down on solo Mums you have to remember there are solo Dads as well. We haven’t left them by choice, none of my friends have, most of us have had to leave like me with the violence, friends of mine who have been cheated on and had to leave, and some others whose men have just walked out and never bothered to come home, let alone send a cheque.

There are some awesome Dads out there who spend every last cent they have on their kids. They take the time to look after them and be a part of their lives. But they are few and far between. I haven’t been blessed meeting one. My man is a deadbeat.

Still no job, hooked up with a girl I went to school with. I only hope she’s not getting the bash like I did. Other than that, she’s welcome to him.