In my experience, the early weeks of living in a new country is a time for generalisation and exaggeration. In a desperate attempt to catch up on decades of unlearned cultural knowledge, one extrapolates what they can from the limited sample of data they’ve collected. The observations of a tourist pronounced with the authority of a local. When I moved to New Zealand, suddenly people weren't ‘funny’ but ‘emblematic of the Kiwi sense of humour’, a political opinion became ‘the feeling on the ground’, and a quaint cricket ground in Mount Cook became inactive of the egalitarian utopia I believed New Zealand to be.

I instantly fell in love with The Basin reserve. Here was a venue of architectural beauty and historical significance unsullied by commercialism. I was captivated by the pitched roof of its pavilion, its old fashioned manual scoreboard and the monument that sits upon the hill. Most of all, I couldn’t believe I was there. The public are free to wander through The Basin at their leisure. My amazement at this fact may seem odd to Wellingtonians. The cricket grounds of my homeland dictate a strict adherence to the class hierarchy the game was founded upon. A day at the Sydney Cricket Ground was once cut short because my shirt wasn’t collared and my friend’s dress was too short. Our ticket required us to walk past the members stand. Heaven forbid should the elite witness such degeneracy. The thought of popping in for a leisurely stroll on a day off is preposterous. So as I snoozed in the sun overlooking long on, watching people walk their dogs or ride their bikes around its perimeter, I came to the conclusion that The Basin is a microcosm of everything great about New Zealand.

As the months go by, and you settle into your new home, nuance creeps in to play spoiler to those initial assertions. It becomes obvious that universal truths about a nation can’t be extrapolated from one sunny afternoon on the green. I decided to take a deeper look at The Basin. I soon realised that for many in its history, The Basin was not as welcoming as I found it on that afternoon. 

When the Black Caps or the White Ferns lead New Zealand to victory, the entire nation shares in the glory. Their achievement on the pitch feels like our collective achievement as a country. But can we truly celebrate these wins if not everyone has been included in them? “No one is winning unless everyone is winning” (Tibble 2019). I found myself reassessing my hasty assertions about this country and this ground at the same time. As I read the myriad of stories these old grandstands have borne witness to, I began to wonder: what can we learn about New Zealand from The Basin; those who came together to build it, as well as those who were excluded from it.

Digging in after a top order collapse 

The Basin stands as a monument to New Zealand’s seismic vulnerability. The Basin area was originally designated as a place for ships to dock safely inland, with a canal stretching to the harbour. In 1855, an 8.1 magnitude earthquake caused topographic uplift in the swamp, draining the water from the reserve. To date the most powerful earthquake since European settlement, Wellington was devastated. In the Basin, this young city had seen a vital part of its maritime infrastructure destroyed in just 50 seconds. The city had seen potential in this unassuming marsh, but mother nature had spoken resolutely that such things were not meant to be. Left uneven, potholed and sloped, surely The Basin should be written off. Within two years the council accepted the citizen’s petition to turn the site into a cricket ground.

The resilience to rebuild from the rubble of devastation is something I have witnessed in New Zealand. Everywhere I travelled in the South Island I was met with a common lament: “if only you could have seen Christchurch before the ‘Quake”. Their despairing words gave the sense that what remained of the city’s history stood only as reminders of what could never be recovered. What I found was a community committed to restoring the architecture that had been damaged, as well as creating a greener, more efficient city. Colourful murals cover scaffolding on dilapidated heritage buildings assuring the city that “all will be well”. If the Basin’s history has taught me anything, it’s that what’s next will be special. Aotearoa has seen its fair share of disaster, but shows incredible resilience in its wake. Christchurch, just like the Wellingtonians of 1855, are building something to be proud of for generations to come.

Occupying the crease, refusing to walk

The equity of access to the Basin confirmed a notion I already possessed about New Zealand. To this day, the nation’s early adoption of women’s suffrage enforces New Zealand’s utopian reputation. New Zealand maintains an international image as a “social laboratory”, a place where social reforms are granted through electoral politics. But once you move past the country’s projected image you realise that, like anywhere in the world, rights are not given, they’re taken.

Perhaps no Kiwi cricketer exemplifies this struggle than Ina ‘Pic’ Lamason. Pic assisted in the formation of a ladies' competition in Wellington, as well as campaigned for better sporting facilities for girls (Jenks, 2018). Under Pic’s direction, the women’s game flourished between the World War’s. But when the men went away to fight in Europe and the Pacific, all women’s sport was cancelled (Taylor, 1966 pg 513). On top of their household duties, women were expected to fill the absences in the workforce as well as volunteer to defend the home front. In 1941, women were no longer playing at The Basin, but rather digging trenches into it. Hundreds of female volunteers laboriously transformed the Basin into a bomb shelter, only for the plan to be abandoned after one day of digging (pg 513). Pic and her teammates had seen their fixtures cancelled and their ground excavated. The team waited patiently for international tests to resume. After ten long years, the team took matters into their own hands. With no support from the cricket establishment, Pic led an unofficial, six week tour of Australia. There are no match records from the self-funded tour, and until the recent discovery of a team photo, the tour was doubted to have happened. Men and women now share The Basin equally, a testament to the women who refused to be excluded and fought for their right to play.

A monument to a turbulent century

Perhaps the biggest misconception I held about New Zealand regarded the nation’s racial history. New Zealand is often held as an example of racial harmony in Australian discussions of Indigenous rights. Before my arrival, I was aware that inequality and racial injustice remained to some extent. I had some vague knowledge of the frontier wars and the Treaty of Waitangi, but I lacked an understanding of broader, ongoing conversations on the topic. When I first sat on the Basin’s brick steps, I had no idea I was sitting in the shadow of that very injustice.

Atop the hill at The Basin sits the William Wakefield Memorial. The cupola style monument honours William Wakefield, a trader for the New Zealand Company. William Wakefield, and his brother Arthur Wakefield, aggressively seized Māori land by use of misleading contracts (Temple 2022). A vehement racist with a contempt for Māori, Wakefield’s tactics were controversial even in his own time. Prior to his arrival in New Zealand, the Wakefields were arrested for the kidnapping and forced marriage of a fifteen year old girl (McManus 2020). The presence of The William Wakefield Memorial stands in stark contrast to The Basin’s inclusive exterior. While much work must be done to move past cricket’s white, colonialist roots, several Māori players have represented New Zealand at the highest level (Hamilton 2021). But how can these players feel truly included when a symbol of this nation’s dark past looms over mid wicket? How can we feel true pride in our national achievements when we’re haunted by the ghosts of our past?

My extended residence in New Zealand has not shattered my idyllic view of the country. Rather, it has enforced that to understand something as complex and intangible as a national identity, one must cast aside their preconceptions and initial assertions. From my leisurely stroll through one specific aspect of Kiwi history, I saw how this country comes together when united by disaster. I also learned how the advancements that this country takes pride in have been achieved by those brave enough not to take no for an answer. I also got a sense of where this country needs to go next, how we need to grow and move forward together. A great deal of winning has been done at The Basin; a great deal more is yet to come. I hope we can all win together.

References

Davis, P., 2014. New Zealand as a ‘Social Laboratory’: James Cook Fellowship.”. New Zealand Sociology, 29(2), pp.118–122.

envirohistory NZ. 2022. Basin Reserve: how an earthquake turned a lagoon into a cricket ground. [online] Available at: https://envirohistorynz.com/2012/02/21/basin-reserve-how-an-earthquake-turned-a-lagoon-into-a-cricket-ground/.

Taylor, N., 1986. The Home Front: The New Zealand people at war. 1st ed. Wellington, N.Z.: Historical Publications Branch, Dept. of Internal Affairs, pp.513-515.