When I was at school in Taranaki, we’d have regular drills for earthquakes. The school bell would ring and we would drop whatever we were doing and hit the floor under our desks. The bell would stop and we’d arrive on the field in lines of two, hoping that we would be the lucky class to win the prize for doing the drill in the orderly and fast fashion. There were earthquakes but damage was rare. There was an earthquake when I was in Wairoa over Anniversary weekend, but it was only a 4.3 so I didn’t even get out of bed. My cousin awoke in a panic because she grew up here in Auckland and so didn’t know what to do. I assured her that if it was bigger, I would’ve dragged her out of bed to the doorframe. Until last September, people in Christchurch hadn’t had an earthquake but because of our building codes and the time it struck (early morning – late enough for party people to have drunkly stumbled home, but early enough that early morning people weren’t up yet), no one died. There was significant damage caused by the 7.1 quake, but no one died. We patted ourselves on the back, made noises about how well prepared we were, about how invincible we were.
Aftershocks came and went, some more places were damaged but we remained solid. There was a 4% chance that a 6 or higher quake would strike, and people were confident.
At 12.51pm on Tuesday 22nd February, Christchurch was struck again – not by yet another gentle rolling aftershock, but by a 6.3 monster. This quake was only 5km deep, and only 10km out of the city. It happened as people were out at lunch, in meetings, at school, driving, being tourists, just being people. The violent ferocity of the quake was nearly twice the force due to gravity. In those few seconds, buildings were brought down, people were thrown from one place to another, objects in houses leapt from their resting places with devastating effects. There have been some harrowing stories of people in the CTV building, in the Pyne and Gould building, in the Press Building, on the street.
More photos here. I won't share the ones of grieving people, because it's part of the media I can't agree with, but they are heartbreaking.
In a country of only 4.2 million, every one knows someone who has been affected by this – my family down there are okay, their house is severely damaged (they are near the epicentre), my friends families are ok, but we still don’t know the full list of the ones who are gone and the missing so we still don’t know.
Video of the moments immediately after the quake
I get that to the rest of the world, 113 might not seem like a lot. But Christchurch only has a population of 390,300. That’s one death for every 3534 people. If this was extrapolated to the population of London -that’s nearly 4000 people, to New York – 2000 people, to Sydney – 1200 people. But New Zealand as a whole is not that big, we are just the size of Sydney (4.2million) so the 6 degrees of separation is only two. With family down there, it is almost certain that they know someone who died.
It is heartbreaking to see this land, this land that I love and my forbearers have died for, rise up against us. I’m not sure this is understandable, but we have a very close association with the whenua, our land. I feel betrayed.
I cried, listening to this song on the radio today. This is New Zealand's National Anthem, usually not sung past the first two verses, but today it was right that they sung all the way through.
Kia Kaha, Kia Mana, Kia Arohanui, Christchurch.
Me ngā whakaaro, inoi aroha atu.
