Aotearoa's silent epidemic: our horrific road toll.
Hundreds of New Zealanders die on our roads every year - I think we should be talking about it.
TRIGGER WARNING: Topics discussed include death, car accident fatalities, grief and graphic descriptions of fatal road incidents. Please read with caution.
Aotearoa has suffered an epidemic for as long as I can remember. I’m not talking about the virus that has stricken our planet over the past almost-two years – although here in NZ we seem to have better control over that than we do our other plague. It’s not a sickness, it won’t make you ill, per se, but it is devastating and scary and – here’s the thing – it should be completely preventable. I’m talking about our road toll. You know – the figures they stick up on TV over holiday weekends to let you know whether it’s been a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ weekend on our nation’s roads, measured in how many fatalities there have been, how many lives have been destroyed in an instant. In terms of social discussion, it’s an almost silent epidemic. Yet it’s one that affects so many of us, at some point in our lives. So, why don’t we talk about it? And why are road accidents – particularly fatal ones – so rife in our so-called slice of paradise?
It used to be that I had a litany of irrational fears – flying was the main one, but there were many others – starting right back when I was as young as seven or eight and had a morbid obsession with learning about the holocaust, and a completely paralysing fear of atomic warfare (yes, in Aotearoa). But, as I get older, and particularly now that I am raising a child of my own, I realise some of the fears that have stuck with me throughout my life are in fact very rational and very, very real. Ok, so I don’t freak out every time I go camping because I think I can hear ‘radiation’ in the air (that was circa. 1997) but I am seriously terrified about just a few things – in particular, climate change and our roads.
I feel very, very, very lucky to have made it to the grand old age of 36 without being personally affected by a road incident. Of course I’ve had accidents myself – we are talking about New Zealand after all! It’s almost like a shamefully wrong and twisted rite of passage in this country. I’ve also been first on the scene at a couple of extremely serious accidents in which the drivers and passengers were lucky to get away with their lives and minimal injuries - think car upside down in a tree hanging over a river, and loaded car skewered by a barrier next to a cliff. In one of those accidents speed, recklessness and terrible judgement were to blame, and in the other it was a potent mix of alcohol and again, speed. But I have not lost a loved one to the road and I am absolutely mortified that by even just writing this I will somehow jinx our good luck. Because, in my mind, that’s all it is – good luck. I know many friends of friends for whom that luck has run out. A split second decision, or the decision of another driver, has cost them their life – and in many ways, the life of the friends, family and loved ones they’ve left behind. When a person is taken from us in sudden and horrific, often preventable circumstances, they leave behind an ill-fated legacy of devastation, loss, questioning, anger and grief that can last well beyond a lifetime.
On Sunday morning, Aotearoa woke up to the news that five teenagers had lost their lives in a car crash the previous night. Five. The car they were travelling in hit a lamp post at high speed and split in half, with the front of the car ending up 40-metres away from the back of the car. The driver, incidentally, survived. Reportedly, alcohol, high speeds and the insufficient use of safety belts were involved, making this the worst road incident the South Island has seen in two decades. Five human beings, not even a third of the way through their lives – gone. Five children/siblings/friends/students/members of a close knit community – dead.
Let that sink in.
On Sunday morning, five families in a small town in Aotearoa’s South Island started on a journey none of them ever asked for nor could have imagined in a million lifetimes; a journey down a path decimated by trauma, navigating the black and blurry lines of grief and devastation. And for what?
I have tears in my eyes just writing this. Not because I know the deceased or their families. Not even because I am mentally putting myself in their shoes and imagining that it is me going through this horrific tragedy. I feel sorrow and sadness purely because this is such an unfathomably senseless loss.
We have this horrible attitude towards accidents and danger in Aotearoa – it’s known as the ‘she’ll be right’ mentality, and it’s often talked about in a jovial sense. Sometimes, thinking ‘she’ll be right’ works in our favour. Many times, it does not. Perhaps you have this attitude to life and, in particular, driving on our less-than-adequate national road network. If you don’t, I can guarantee you know someone, or many people, who do. Maybe it’s your dad who, having sped along the same country roads for the past forty years – cutting corners and drifting over the centre line – likes to exclaim merrily; “Don’t worry! I know these roads like the back of my hand! Not like you bloody Jaffas!” or something to that effect, as he overtakes a milk tanker as it’s about to turn into a driveway. Perhaps it’s your best friend who is permanently late for work and speeds through 50km zones at close to 80, singing along to their favourite radio station and arriving at the office flustered, with a coffee in hand. Or is it your partner, who is infamous for being able to get from the Auckland CBD to Ohakune in under four hours and likes to brag about it over pints at the pub (before driving home, tipsy)? I mention these specific cases, because I know them. And you do too. We’ve heard the stories, the not-so-humble-brags, the ‘near miss’ tales that make a person sound like a ‘hero’ but incite a collective shudder of fear. These people are the average New Zealander; the quintessential Kiwi who thinks it will ‘never happen’ to them. The thing is, the people who die in traffic accidents also believed, wholeheartedly, that it would never happen to them. And yet, here we are. Two hundred people dead on our roads so far this year, and we still have just over four months left of it.
I know there will be people reading this who have lost a friend or loved one to our roads. My heart feels tight in my chest thinking of all you have had to go through and there will never be enough words to express how deeply sorry I am for your loss/es. For those of you fortunate enough to not have experienced that, I am sure you have had your own ‘close calls’ or situations that could have very easily taken a tragic turn. I remember my own sliding doors moment very clearly, despite it being 13 years ago. My boyfriend at the time and I were travelling the South Island in a campervan and had made it to Wanaka to stay with a friend at his shared flat. Our friend invited us to go rafting on the Clutha River and we excitedly said yes. There were some logistics involved in getting there, however, as we were going in a big group – we needed some cars at the end of the river for when we finished rafting, and some cars to drive us out to the start of the expedition. We offered to park our campervan at the end, in exchange for a lift out to the start of the river with our friend’s flatmate. After parking our camper, our friend and his flatmate and one other guy picked us up in their Subaru Legacy. Being the nervous person I am, I noticed its big exhaust and lowered suspension immediately and thought – “weird, I thought we were over that phase” because at the time we were in our early 20s but these guys were older than us, and I hadn’t seen a ‘done up’ car since I was in my teens, let alone ridden in one (I mean, right away we can see he must have been such a cool guy amiright?). We headed out of Wanaka towards the start of our river adventure and it wasn’t long before we were in a 100km zone, on straight rural roads. As the scenery changed, the guy driving put his foot down and, from the back seat, I watched the speedometer climb up past 100, the exhaust roaring as the car picked up pace. Soon we were going 120km…. 130….. 140…. At this point, I wrapped my hands around my seat belt, my knuckles white with fear. I assumed I was potentially about to be killed by a complete stranger, all thanks to his desire to show off his pathetic excuse for masculinity; the modern day version of a neanderthal thumping his chest wildly while the rest of us cringed at his inability to read the room. We flew – as in literally got air – over a hump in the road, but nothing would slow this loser down. We were now going 160kmph. My boyfriend grabbed my hand and we looked at each other – me, terrified, and him, furious. You might be wondering why neither of us said anything, and the answer is probably the same as it would be for many people who have found themselves in this situation, or similar: we were young, these guys were older; I thought if I said something, the others might laugh and it might egg the driver on to go even faster; I was so terrified and sick to my stomach, I couldn’t physically speak; my boyfriend was probably worried about being mocked or looking ‘uncool’ in front of these dooshbags; sometimes with youth comes silence, even when we are internally screaming. The hell ride soon ended – safely, by some miracle. My boyfriend got out of the car and walked away, shaking his head, perhaps feeling foolish for not speaking up or just mad at the entire situation. I exited the car, not saying a word and slamming the door as I went. I walked over to him, still unable to speak, my entire body convulsing with terror. I remember my boyfriend angrily cursing, “that was F&*%ED” and apologising for putting me in such a situation, despite neither of us possibly being able to know ahead of time that we were getting in a car with such a dangerous driver. My stomach churns just typing this. And, you know what’s interesting? The majority of people I told about that experience, laughed in my face. They thought it was funny. Sure, they thought the driver was a major loser, but they also found the whole story somewhat…. amusing.
Since then, I have always spoken up when I feel uncomfortable as a passenger. And I wholeheartedly urge you to do the same. I’ve told off drivers all over the globe from the Greek Islands to Nicaragua, London to Istanbul. Different country, different rules? I don’t care. You slow the F down, or I get out. That’s usually enough to make a taxi driver slow down, but I understand that sometimes it’s your own friends or family who are the most indignant when it comes to keeping their precious cargo safe. Plus, there’s your own cringe factor to contend with, I suppose:
“Isn’t it embarrassing, to call out someone else’s driving?”
“Shouldn’t you just let them do their thing and not make a fuss?”
“Maybe they know the roads really well?”
“They’re a really good driver, though!”
Mate, I don’t care if they’re Lewis Hamilton – they’re not psychic. They don’t know what is around the next corner. They don’t know if the road has changed overnight – if a tree has come down, a pothole has appeared or roadworks have been set up. They don’t know for sure that someone isn’t overtaking up ahead, or about to pull out of a driveway. Most people aren’t driving defensively or paying total attention to the road and its surroundings. If they were, we wouldn’t have such a deadly road toll.
We’re not only a country of drivers but a country of car lovers. Big, fast cars are readily available – as are the goons who drive them – but our roads are not equipped for the pace and unpredictability of the drivers on them. Most of the time, a thin painted white line is all that separates two lanes of traffic going upward of 100kmph. And it’s not just that. There’s a list a mile long of all the reasons Aotearoa has such a horrendous road toll, ranging from dangerously unmaintained roads to poorly monitored high traffic areas, and unsatisfactory signage to just plain idiocy. Every year, we’re shown a new set of driving-related ads on TV – we are educated now, we know the consequences of driving drunk, speeding or being distracted whilst behind the wheel. Don’t we? Or are people still not getting it? Where is the missing link? Why are we still losing our teenagers, our mothers and fathers, friends and partners, our precious siblings? Like who still needs to be sat down and have this spelled out for them? I ask myself this, but then a tiny little negative voice surfaces and it says: what if everyone does understand and get it …. but some people just don’t care? And that’s what really freaks me out – knowing that I, and my precious, precious family, are sharing the road with Sally who reckons she can smoke a cig and text her mates when she’s four chardys deep and speeding through stop signs in her neighbourhood; or old mate Kev who’s been driving these roads since the day he was born and thinks the speed limit doesn’t apply to him (no offence to the Sallys and Kevins out there who are safe, careful drivers). I will never not be afraid when one of my family members is on the road – be it my husband driving home from work on Auckland’s north-western motorway, or my mum driving between my place and hers with my toddler in the car. I trust their driving implicitly but like I said, all it takes is a Sally or a Kev for life as we know it to be upended.
In my experience, nowhere in Aotearoa is safe from dangerous drivers and careless driving. We live in a townhouse in the innocuous suburb of Hobsonville Point. All around us are 50kmph roads and lanes, with wide footpaths for child- and dog-friendly walking, biking and scootering. Yet every night – either during the 5pm rush or the wee hours between midnight and the next morning – I’ll hear cars racing along our road, exhaust pipes screaming under pressure, only to thump to a near halt when they reach the speed bumps scattered down our road. Why they need to go almost double the speed limit along a road with frequent speed bumps is so far beyond me, I don’t think I could understand it in a million lifetimes. When we go to visit my parents in Whangaparaoa, we sit in their lounge watching the news or a family movie and brace ourselves at the frequent sound of screeching tyres as people speed down the narrow lane which winds past their house. We’re all waiting for the day or night when someone overshoots the corner and collides with the centuries-old Pohutukawa tree in their front yard – which would thankfully prevent them from coming through the lounge window. Mum regularly stands on their driveway shaking her fist and shouting at people to slow down. You might think that’s funny – a tiny little Boomer mum angrily yelling at the local boy racers – but what gives them the right to dominate the quiet beachside roads, putting us – and themselves (after all, they are someone’s son or daughter) – in danger with their poor driving skills and distracted nature. If my parents had a dollar for every person they’d seen texting as they speed down the lane…. And you’d be amazed at the number of driver-texters who also have kids in the back, many of whom appear to be unrestrained. The consequences almost don’t bear thinking about. Yet they do – and we should all be thinking about them, all of the time.
So, what is the answer? What can we do about this almost wholly preventable plague that touches every corner of our nation? Of the 200 people who have lost their lives on our roads so far this year, 153 of them identified as male and 40 were people under the age of 25. Are we failing our young people? Are the men of this country failing us? At what point can education have a real impact on those impressionable enough to learn about safety and taking care of others? Because that’s what this is partly about, right? Taking care of our fellow human beings. Yes, it’s about having the skill to safely operate a vehicle and make critical decisions regarding the environment in which you drive, but it’s also about having compassion for your fellow road user. It’s about being patient when someone is taking their time at an intersection or actually driving to the road conditions. It’s about knowing when to pull over and take a break – and using that break to change your playlist or podcast, rather than doing it at the wheel. It’s about not only respecting those you share the road with, but those you carry in your vehicle – those who have said, ‘I trust you, now please get me home safely’.
I know that, no matter how many articles like this I – or anyone else – writes, the sentiment will fall on ears that refuse to listen, or the wrong ears. You’re probably like me – perhaps not as dramatic, but I’d wager you share my concerns. The guy speeding home on a Friday night or the woman racing down my parent’s lane won’t read this and, if they do, they’ll think “Ha, whatever nana! I’m a great driver! She’ll be right!” and history will continue to repeat. In fact, a Snapchat message has reportedly already gone out among friends of the dead Timaru boys, about a ‘car meet up’ to be held this Friday in memory of the lives tragically cut short. The message encourages attendees to – and I quote: “Feel free to tear up the road as much as you want...” Have they seen the images of their friends’ car – cut in half? Firefighters didn’t do that with their jaws of life. That was done by speed, alcohol and a solitary lamp post. Have they no compassion whatsoever for the boys’ families? It’s beyond comprehension.
For the time being, I’ll continue to demand that my family text me as soon as they’ve arrived at their destination – hoping the whole time that one of these arrogant ‘it’ll never happen to me’ drivers never enters their sphere. And when my son grows up and wants a car of his own to drive? I shudder at the thought. I can only pray we’re all in slower, smaller, electric vehicles by then and have perhaps learnt some patience and compassion for those around us. I hope the ‘she’ll be right’ attitude dies with the generation who seemingly invented it. I hope our motto in the future is something along the lines of, ‘I’m just a simple human being behind the wheel of a moving pile of steel and glass, I should stay focused on the task at hand and watch out for my fellow beings’ – although that has much less of a ring to it.
Above all, I hope the families of those lost to road accidents – both this past weekend and the many, many years before it – eventually find some sort of peace in their grief-stricken lives, and that we can try and do these senseless tragedies some justice by just getting home safely.