The Herald and the drug industry
“Auckland’s phoney homeless make $100 a day on the streets” is a Herald piece by Amanda Saxton, about a few skid row alcoholics who assemble early each morning to sit together and drink.
A group of apparently lazy, cynical, dishonest parasites, permanently partying, preying on each other and neglectful of their own children.
“They look homeless, act homeless, and half of them actually are homeless.
But Phillip and the group's kaumātua Sole Johnstone have houses to go home to each evening.”
"Why would we work, slaving 40 hours a week, when we can get $100 a pop sitting here? And I can get drunk at the same time."
“On a good day, Phillip makes about $100 begging. On an amazing day, $200 – that's on top of his benefit and his partner's salary.
He says he spends about $100 a day on beer and the odd bit of whiskey”
“Phillip says he's proud of his lifestyle, but sombres when asked what his 13 kids and seven grandchildren think of it.
He admits his drinking was a problem during their childhoods: "but it is what it is and I can't change," he says.
Some of Phillip's kids are currently homeless themselves, which he says "is their choice".
“A dishevelled, jittery old fella named Joseph staggers over and slips $20 to one of the seated men.
Its recipient – Mark Phillip – carefully moves two cans of Kingfisher beer from under his hoody to behind his bread crate, stands up, and sets off for the convenience store across the road.
"Joseph can't buy beer there 'cause he's been trespassed," Phillip explains, upon his return. "So one of us goes, and charges for 'gas money'."
When asked if it isn't a bit harsh to take money from a visibly struggling friend, Phillip winks.
"It's a tax, it's one of my hustles – it's what we do out here," he says.
Some of this description resonates with my own experience. In 1972 I lived with a circle of street alcoholics, when I ran a doss house in Newtown. The advanced stages of addiction to a lethal poison are not pretty to observe. Far worse than any clumsy street antics are the scenes late at night when addicts are dry retching and delirious, in terror of demons in their minds. In daylight, when first drinks briefly take the hell away, bravado is common enough. It shows some sort of human spirit, struggling beneath ruin wrought by the liquor industry. And of course, these few pathetic Herald paraded victims are the very least of the overall picture.
Alcohol-related harm in New Zealand has been recently estimated to cost $5.3 billion per year. A cost of $14.5 million every day.
This carnage of alcohol fueled accidents, health destruction violence and misery is set to continue, and grow
In the 12 months to March, alcohol sales reached $1.6 billion - a $200 million increase from last year, Statistics New Zealand figures show.
There will be snowstorms in hell before the Herald rouses indignation at the boardroom beneficiaries of New Zealands most destructive drug trade.
Expect instead more diversion from the problem by putting boots into the victims. Amanda Saxton’s final sentence aptly sums up the social responsibility of capitalism.
“As the men drink more, get rowdier, and make less sense, we do a round of fist bumping and leave them to their hustles”