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Royal Australian Navy sailors participate in a simulated beach assault during Rim of the Pacific (RIMPAC) Exercise 2014. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class Corey T. Jones/Released)
Royal Australian Navy sailors participate in a simulated beach assault during Rim of the Pacific (RIMPAC) Exercise 2014. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class Corey T. Jones/Released)

OPINIONPoliticsJune 10, 2020

Dear New Zealand, please don’t bring your war games to my Hawaiian home

Royal Australian Navy sailors participate in a simulated beach assault during Rim of the Pacific (RIMPAC) Exercise 2014. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class Corey T. Jones/Released)
Royal Australian Navy sailors participate in a simulated beach assault during Rim of the Pacific (RIMPAC) Exercise 2014. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class Corey T. Jones/Released)

The biennial Rimpac military exercises in Hawai’i devastate the environment and disregard the rights of its Indigenous people. New Zealand should not participate, writes Emalani Case.

When I was growing up, I learned the 3 Rs. Yes, Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic, and lessons in how to Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle were part of my school’s curriculum. But, those aren’t the Rs I’m talking about. I also learned the 3 Rs of Explosives Safety: Recognise, Retreat, and Report: recognise when you’ve stumbled upon unexploded ordinance, retreat immediately, and report it to an adult.

I grew up in Hawaiʻi in a small town called Waimea. Whenever I say this, people smile, imagining palm trees, white sandy beaches, perhaps a few hula maidens and surfers, and lives that must be good because they’re being lived out in “paradise”.

What people don’t imagine when they think of Hawaiʻi are bombs, submarines, tanks, military attack helicopters, and live-fire training. What they don’t imagine are the large tracts of land that were stolen from Hawaiian people and then used by the US military. They don’t imagine ongoing colonialism and certainly don’t imagine military occupation.

Growing up, the military was normalised. It was normal to be instructed in how to deal with unexploded ordinance on the playground because my town once served as a training camp in World War II. It was normal to hear and feel bombs because my house was only a 45 minute drive away from Pōhakuloa, one of the largest military training facilities in Hawaiʻi. It was normal to spot helicopters flying overhead. It was even normal to be in awe of them.

Waimea, Hawai’i (Big Island), with Mauna Kea summit visable in the background (Photo: Getty Images)

It wasn’t until I got older that I realised there’s nothing normal about your islands being used as bombing targets, nothing normal about heavy chemicals seeping in your lands and waterways, nothing normal about your people being continuously displaced and disregarded. There is nothing normal about an entity like the US military pretending to act in your defence while simultaneously putting you in danger.

I begin with these reflections because the picture of paradise that dominates imaginations around the world operates to conveniently disguise the fact that Hawaiʻi is like other parts of the Pacific in being deemed expendable by colonial powers, or only seen as valuable for how they can be sold, used, and abused. I also begin in this way because the normalisation of militarism continues, even in the time of Covid-19.

As New Zealand has moved through various Covid-19 alert levels, I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about so-called “norms” and about what it means to be Indigenous in a global pandemic. Though now-popular narratives have often tried to put all of us into the same metaphorical lockdown bubble, all “fighting” this disease together (the allusions to war being both frequent and problematic), the truth is that Covid has impacted, and continues to impact, some people disproportionately. This is because colonialism, racism, and militarism do not end or take quarantine naps in a global crisis. They don’t move through alert levels and make adjustments. Instead, they take on new guises and continue to impact in increasingly cruel and deceptive ways.

All of this is no more apparent than in the current effort to cancel Rimpac, the Rim of the Pacific maritime exercise scheduled to take place in August of this year. Hosted every two years in Hawaiʻi by the US Navy’s Indo-Pacific Command, Rimpac is international, bringing together nations from around the world to simulate war exercises. In 2018, Rimpac drew in representation from 26 nations. Together they brought 46 ships, 200 aircraft, five submarines, and over 25,000 personnel.

New Zealand was one of those participating nations, sending over 300 defence personnel to Hawaiʻi’s lands and waters. In April, an open letter was sent to prime minister Jacinda Ardern urging her to withdraw New Zealand’s participation in Rimpac this year, citing concerns about the exercise being held during a global pandemic, while also highlighting the devastation it causes every year.

Rimpac is highly destructive. It pollutes and contaminates our lands and water, it threatens wildlife, and it puts a strain on Hawaiʻi’s already fragile ecosystems. Every year, it results in an increase in toxic waste, noise pollution, and unnecessary, preventable damage. It also contributes to the ongoing dispossession of Indigenous lands. This year, all of this is to take place again, only this time with the added stress and uncertainty of Covid-19.

Rather than being cancelled, however, Rimpac 2020 has been altered, with the US Navy now saying all training exercises will be “at-sea-only”. Though war simulations may be restricted to the ocean, this does not mean people will not be coming to land. Logistics teams and other support personnel will come ashore, and with over 20 participating nations this could still result in hundreds of international visitors. The promise of “at-sea-only”, therefore, does not, and cannot, promise safety.

Ships and submarines participating in Rim of the Pacific (RIMPAC) exercise 2012 sail in formation in the waters around the Hawaiian islands. (U.S. Navy photo by Chief Mass Communication Specialist Keith Devinney/RELEASED)

Thankfully, Hawaiʻi’s people are not alone in demanding the cancellation of Rimpac, this year and every year. The recent open letter delivered to the prime minister, for example, is indicative of a growing solidarity among those who want to put an end to these biennial war games. As a Hawaiian woman currently living and working in New Zealand, I find this comforting. I find it reassuring that there are people, both Indigenous and non-Indigenous, who see us and who care.

Unfortunately, minister of defence Ron Mark did not agree with the many people who signed the letter. He responded that Rimpac is essential because it allows the NZDF to train with other nations and argued that the exercises prepare troops for more than just security operations. As an example, he mentioned the delivery of aid to Pacific peoples in Vanuatu, Fiji, and Tonga in the wake of Tropical Cyclone Harold, essentially using our Pacific relatives as an excuse for war games. In doing so, he not only perpetuated the racist framing of them as dependent aid receivers, but also used the issue of disaster relief while ignoring New Zealand’s own complicity in creating disaster in Hawaiʻi.

Since his response, the NZDF has confirmed they will be participating in Rimpac 2020 by sending the HMNZS Manawanui, a hydrographic dive vessel that can carry a crew of up to 66. Though this may seem small and inconsequential, participation still signals disregard for the safety and wellbeing of those in Hawaiʻi who will have to once again bear the pain and destruction of Rimpac, this year amid a global pandemic.

As we move through the alert levels and adjust to new norms, we have the opportunity – or rather the responsibility – to question, challenge, and dismantle the structures that have normalised destruction  and the ongoing racist disregard of Indigenous peoples. This starts by looking down at the lands we stand on, recognising how our lives have been made possible by the dispossession of tangata whenua, and then using that recognition as a chance to support sovereignty here. We have the opportunity and the responsibility to get out of our isolation bubbles to see how we’re connected, to see how militarism here in New Zealand, for example, contributes to disaster in Hawaiʻi.

Finally, we have the chance and the responsibility to envision and build better futures that are grounded in a different set of Rs. I’d like every child to know Resistance, Resilience, and Restitution. If Covid-19 has taught us anything, it is that we are capable of quick and drastic change. While Ron Marks’s response was disheartening, we will continue to push forward, both here and in Hawaiʻi, calling for the cancellation of Rimpac and dismantling the structures that enable it.

Keep going!
NZ will vote on legalising marijuana on September 19. (Photo: Getty Images)
NZ will vote on legalising marijuana on September 19. (Photo: Getty Images)

PoliticsJune 10, 2020

What 40 years following thousands of NZ people tells us about cannabis harm

NZ will vote on legalising marijuana on September 19. (Photo: Getty Images)
NZ will vote on legalising marijuana on September 19. (Photo: Getty Images)

Longitudinal studies have a huge amount to teach us about the impacts of using cannabis, writes Joseph M Boden, director of the Christchurch Health and Development Study.

In 101 days, New Zealanders will determine whether or not cannabis should be legalised. In making that decision, there is plenty to learn from the Christchurch and Dunedin longitudinal studies, which together have contributed a vast amount of knowledge regarding cannabis-related harm. 

The Christchurch Health and Development Study and the Dunedin Multidisciplinary Health and Development Study were both founded in the 1970s. Each includes more than 1000 participants, with individuals followed into their 40s. Along the way we have repeatedly asked about their involvement with cannabis and problems arising from this. Professor Wayne Hall of the University of Queensland, an internationally renowned figure in substance use research, has referred to our studies in the context of cannabis research as “the best designed and most informative of these [epidemiological] studies”.

Why are longitudinal studies so important in understanding cannabis-related harm (or indeed, many behaviours and life circumstances)? First, in longitudinal studies, we observe people on repeated occasions. Repeating observations allows us to capture events which might occur over a long period, or that have a particular pattern or trajectory. This generally leads to more precise estimates of behaviour such as cannabis use. Second, longitudinal studies (including ours) are often carried out prospectively. This means that assessments are done at or near the time that the behaviour occurs, which increases accuracy, due to the fallibility of human memory for past events. 

Third, longitudinal studies, particularly those such as ours in which participants were enrolled at birth, have the ability to collect data on a wide range of family, personal, and social circumstances which can influence the relationship between an event (for example, using cannabis before the age of 15) and an outcome (such as failing to attain NCEA levels). By accounting for these factors, we can use correlational data to model a causal relationship. In this example, the question is “What is the relationship between using cannabis prior to age 15 and not completing secondary qualifications?”, and part of the answer lies in ruling out the influence of factors and circumstances other than early cannabis use that contributes to this relationship.

The Christchurch and Dunedin studies have additional notable features. One is that both are representative of the population of each city at the time the study was established. For example, in the Christchurch study, 97% of the infants born between April and August 1977 were enrolled in the study. This means that people from all walks of life were included, and therefore when we estimate the prevalence of a behaviour such as cannabis use, it is more likely that these estimates will be accurate. A second key feature is that over time, both studies have had excellent retention of their cohorts. In longitudinal studies it is not possible to replace participants, and people often drop out of studies in predictable ways. For example, in both studies, those born into families of lower socioeconomic status were more likely to drop out over the years, and as larger numbers of people drop out, the more likely it is that the data will be biased. Thankfully, for both of our studies this has not been a cause for concern.

Research into cannabis use began in both studies when the cohort members were in early adolescence (1980s and 1990s). The period when this research was being conducted was a time at which youth cannabis use levels were quite high in New Zealand. At mid-adolescence we began assessing both their frequency of cannabis use, and also whether they were experiencing any problems related to cannabis, in order to establish whether cohort members met criteria for a cannabis use disorder. Using these data, we were able to estimate how many cohort members had used cannabis, assess rates of disorder, and link cannabis use to other health, mental health, and social, economic and criminal justice outcomes. 

What did we find? We learned that cannabis use is very common, with as many as 80% of participants having used cannabis on at least one occasion. Rates of regular use (using at least weekly) were far lower (35%). We also found that higher levels of cannabis use, particularly at younger ages, were related to mental health problems including increased risk of cannabis use disorder and major depression. Most strikingly, earlier and heavier cannabis use was also related to increased reports of psychotic symptoms in the Christchurch study, and increased risk of meeting criteria for a diagnosis of psychotic illness in the Dunedin study. Further research by both studies has found that long-term cannabis use is also associated with gum disease, impaired lung functioning, and cognitive problems.

In addition to these findings, we also found that earlier and heavier users of cannabis were less likely to complete educational qualifications, and were more likely to report being unemployed, or receiving a benefit. In addition, while only a minority of cannabis users went on to use other, possibly more dangerous illicit drugs, those participants who were heavy cannabis users in adolescence were especially at risk.

Given our research on the risks associated with cannabis use, why do the directors of both the Christchurch and Dunedin studies maintain that cannabis should be dealt with as a health issue, and not a justice issue? The reason again is related to our findings. 

First, despite being a banned substance, cannabis is commonly used across both cohorts, indicating that prohibition does not stop people using cannabis. Second, we found that those who were arrested or convicted of a cannabis offence did not reduce their use of cannabis (in fact some increased their use), suggesting that being subjected to the force of the law does not deter people from using cannabis. Third, the Christchurch study found that Māori were three times more likely than non-Māori to be arrested or convicted on a cannabis offence, showing that prohibition law is enforced by the police and courts in a racially biased way. 

Collectively, our findings suggest that cannabis prohibition laws are not fit for purpose, and that in the 21st century we must deal with the problems associated with cannabis in a way that promotes health, equity and justice for all New Zealanders. The way forward is through legalisation and strict regulation as provided by the Cannabis Legalisation and Control Bill.

Professor Joseph M Boden is director of the Christchurch Health and Development Study at the University of Otago, Christchurch

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