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SocietyMarch 4, 2023

What does the emergency mobile alert sound like to you? 

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Parts of the country are becoming increasingly familiar with the Civil Defence emergency mobile alert. We asked some experts to describe that indescribable sound. 

Over the past few days, weeks, months, years, people across the country have had their lives periodically punctuated by a loud warning screech emitting from their phone. Some of these have been warning of unusually heavy rain, others of a nationwide lockdown, most recently of Cyclone Gabrielle. It’s a dreaded sound that many will be increasingly (and unfortunately) familiar with – but how exactly would you describe it? The start of the dial-up tone? The traffic lights at the start of Crash Team Racing? Or like the gates of hell opening up for us once more?

We asked some of our finest writers, musicians and thinkers to weigh in.

Sharon Lam, Writer

It 100% sounds like a robot Pingu going NOOT NOOT, right? With glowing red eyes? Surely everyone will also say this?

Joanna Cho, Author

I’m with my nieces in Auckland and I said “the alarm sounds like Pingu” and they said “what’s that” and I put on Pingu on YouTube and now they’re lying around my work computer watching Pingu so I can’t work, fine by me.

The Beths, Band

The notes that make the tone wouldn’t be out of place in a song like Silence Is Golden, but if we did that, we’d have a count in! No count in is just wrong. It’s also twisted how it calls and answers to itself when you’re in a group of people. It’s a bit of a musical cheat code – it is “harmony”, but most harmony suggests a place it wants to go, or at least a place it came from – that’s what brainy musicians call “function”. The emergency tone screams for attention, but doesn’t really suggest any movement. Ironically, this makes it musically “non-functional”.

Haz Beats, Producer

A Tsunami siren. The big panic apocalypse end of the world type lol. Definitely a siren.

Jess Molina, Writer

Sounds like I’m about to panic over not panic-buying toilet paper

Toby Morris, Illustrator

I remember reading about the concept of “the brown noise” in WWII, where they researched finding a perfect note that’d loosen any bowels. I feel like the emergency noise has gotten close to that, combined with the visual equivalent – when they researched the most unpleasant possible colour which they used for non-labelled cigarette packaging. It’s giving uncomfortable meets unnatural meets poo, basically.

Aaron Yap, Psychic Glands DJ

It sounds like a chintzy 1950s sci-fi movie robot vaporising you with its laser beam.

Alan Holt, International Manager at New Zealand Music Commission

Off the top of my head it reminds me of a quite a few things – side two of Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music around the 10 minute mark, a less musical interpretation of ‘Don’t Take’ from Sachiko M’s Sine Wave Solo album and a less funky take on ‘Sonata Number 5 (the ‘Detroit Sonata’)’ from Bruce Russell’s album Circuits of Omission : Sonaten für synthetisierten Klang (Opus 60). 

Nick Ascroft, Poet

This sounds like a mouse ambulance reversing. As it should.

Jane Yee, Treasure Island Star

It sounds like all my nightmares coming true in one ear piercing screech. I physically left the couch vertically skywards when yesterday’s one arrived. Usually have my phone on silent but I had been playing League of Legends Wild Rift on my phone which requires sound on and forgot to switch it back. I will never be the same again.

Britt Mann, PR Maven

The sound is getting familiar to me now. On Sunday it emanated separately and all at once from various corners of the house. The flatmate, the cat and I met each other’s gaze in an instant. “Was that…?” “Yeah.” Severe, significant event. Red Alert Level Gabrielle. “Top up?” She cracked the magnum of red we’d opened to mark the Beginning of the End of Days. 

Janaye Henry, Comedian

If I was to Shazam that sound I reckon it would say Skrillex, Bangarang. 

Reuben Jelleyman, Acoustician

The sound itself is basically the same as a phone dial tone but the emergency mobile alert is higher and richer in resonant sideband frequencies which makes the sound harsher. You also have the two beeps, which gets your attention. One beep would be easy to ignore. From my perspective the sound is strong enough to get your attention, but it’s not meant to be harsh, it’s to provoke fear. I would say it’s easy to associate feelings with sound, that’s normal. When we hear the alarm, it reminds us of the last time we were anticipating a tsunami or a storm and that puts us on edge.

Sanjay Patel, Comedian

It sounds like the government is alerting you to the fact that they have now finally discovered the most sordid thing you have searched for on the internet.

Imogen Taylor, Painter

If the alert was a painting it would probably be a whole exhibition of paintings and that exhibition would be in some art museum in some country quite far away that you’d been really excited about travelling to but when you got there you realised you got the museum dates mixed up and instead of there being a Georgia O’Keeffe retrospective on there was a fucking Banksy retrospective on and then to top it off you paid for the tickets which were horrendously expensive and went inside to look at the bullshit paintings but then realised whatever you had for lunch from that place on the corner outside the museum before you went in wasn’t sitting right in your gut and you immediately need to find the bathroom somewhere.

Rose Hoare, Writer

It sounds antique to me. Like if they had emergency mobile alerts on Bridgerton, that’s what they’d sound like.

Rebecca Wadey, Publisher and Partnerships Director at Ensemble Magazine

It sounds like a boomer ringtone to me. The kind that would be mildly irritating in an office environment. You learn to block it over time, but it will always give you an inner eye roll and feeling of superiority. It doesn’t exactly evoke authority. Or urgency for that matter.

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Anna Rawhiti-Connell
— Senior writer
Keep going!
A painting from Justice for Rabi: The Story of Banaba (Photo: Sela Jane Hopgood)
A painting from Justice for Rabi: The Story of Banaba (Photo: Sela Jane Hopgood)

SocietyMarch 2, 2023

Art exhibition tells the story of how Banabans were ripped off by colonisers

A painting from Justice for Rabi: The Story of Banaba (Photo: Sela Jane Hopgood)
A painting from Justice for Rabi: The Story of Banaba (Photo: Sela Jane Hopgood)

Banaban people were tricked into selling their land to the British Phosphate Commission for well under its value. A new exhibition in Auckland tells their story.

The story of Banaba is not often told in Aotearoa, despite our country having a direct connection with the small island that has faced displacement, intergenerational loss and discrimination. Banaba, also known as Ocean Island, is a part of Kiribati and has generous amounts of phosphate of lime, which soon caught the attention of other countries.

In a new exhibition at Silo 6 in Auckland’s Wynyard Quarter, there are old newspaper clippings, photographs and an old, vintage weighing scale, where one side has pennies, and the other side is holding a single paper note.

A depiction of when Banabans chose pennies over a single note at the Auckland exhibition. (Photo: Sela Jane Hopgood)

Zachary Tabukinibanaba, 28, a full-time caregiver for his father on Rabi Island, arrived in Auckland this week to perform a traditional Banaban dance at the exhibition’s special event on Thursday.

He explained that the scales represent when Banaban people were tricked into selling their land to the Pacific Islands Phosphate Company (later renamed to British Phosphate Commission) for less than its true value. New Zealander Albert Ellis, who worked for the London-based company, told the Banaban people the company had the exclusive rights of phosphate mining on Ocean Island for 999 years for the cost of 50 pounds a year, claiming it was the “will of the natives”.

“Banaban people didn’t understand English or Britain’s currency and so when Albert Ellis gave the Banabans the choice between the coins or £1 note to sell the phosphate reserve to the company, the Banabans chose the coins because they assumed with it being heavier, it was worth more than the note,” Tabukinibanaba says.

“Banabans were told to sign a contract that they could not read by putting down an x and later watched their beloved homeland disappear.”

Britain, Australia and New Zealand all prospered through the mining of phosphate, leaving Banaba as a moonscape.

Zachary Tabukinibanaba from Rabi Island, one of the performers at the Special Event for the exhibition. (Photo: Sela Jane Hopgood)

Tabukinibanaba walks me through to the second room of the exhibition, where a large fine mat artwork hangs from the ceiling. “This highlights our move from Banaba to Rabi Island as you can see with the boat and the plane is more about the idea of travelling not how we transported to Rabi,” Tabukinibanaba says.

Rabi Island is a part of Fiji.

“Te Atua Buokara Banaba” means the Lord helps us – we’re a Christian nation,” he says.

This fine mat art piece depicts the story of Banaban people migrating to Rabi Island. (Photo: Sela Jane Hopgood)

Tabukinibanaba points at a teepee tent displayed with a suitcase inside and a piece of cloth with the word “SOLD” written on it in red. 

“This reenactment of history symbolises the broken promise and the lies that the British Phosphate Commission told the Banabans when they were migrating to Rabi Island,” he says.

After the war in the Pacific where Japanese forces invaded Banaba in 1942, the BPC purchased Rabi Island for the Banabans to move to. 

Tabukinibanaba says his ancestors were promised two-storey houses and that Rabi is a beautiful island with plenty of water with rich volcanic soil, but when around 1,000 Banabans arrived, their new homes were assembled army tents with only enough rations to last the community for two months.

“The British told my ancestors that they’ll come back in two years’ time to take them back to Banaba, but they never did. Banabans had to adapt to the Fijian way of life, learning about livestock and farming. That was the first time they had seen horses and cows,” he says.

“We’re unique in a way because we can say we’re from two countries; Kiribati and Fiji.”

The exhibit is produced by Katja Phutaraksa Neef, a political artist and master’s student at the University of Auckland. Neef visited Rabi Island where she met with Banaban elders, women and young people to record stories, photographs, songs and dances related to what it means to be Banaban from their perspective and display it in this exhibition called Justice for Rabi: The story of Banaba.

“We were granted permission by the elders to share their stories on the condition that we share them with the world,” Neef says. “I wanted to raise awareness of not only the beautiful Banaban culture, but the human rights violations faced by Banaban communities for many years.

To this day, the impacts of displacement are felt by Banaban communities, both on Rabi Island and in Auckland, who have lost their land, their language and their culture, says Neef. “In Rabi, there’s no funding to pay for a cultural teacher at the school there. They continue to face discrimination as a partially self-governing entity falling between the cracks of Fiji and Kiribati, and for too long their stories remain largely unheard in Aotearoa where the benefits of mining allowed the British to advance their colonisation and kickstart New Zealand’s agricultural sector.”

Newspaper clippings about Banaba showcased at ‘Justice for Rabi: The story of Banaba’ exhibition. (Photo: Sela Jane Hopgood)

The exhibition aims to draw attention to a petition organised by the International Centre for Advocates Against Discrimination calling for the New Zealand government to claim responsibility for the harm caused to Banaba and make a public apology. There’s also a call for donations to the Banaban Women’s Organisation

In 1976, the Banabans brought legal action against the UK government, which the UK settled with a payment, which absolved them of legal obligations. The amount was significantly lower than the Banabans sought through court. In 1979, the Gilbert Islands were granted independence from the British government while Banaba, despite resistance, was given to Kiribati.

Kiribati received a sum of £685 million from Britain’s independence settlement package, earned from mining Banaba for nearly a century. However, this did not go towards rebuilding the homes and lives of Banabans who were resettled on Rabi Island.

The petition includes six requests such as disbursing immediate development assistance to Banaba to ensure the population has sustainable access to basic food supplies and clean water, extending immigration access for Banabans in New Zealand through education programming, healthcare access and a seasonal worker quota for Banabans and incorporating Banaban history into New Zealand’s secondary school history curriculum.

Justice for Rabi: The Story of Banaba runs from 20 February 2023 – 9 March 2023, with a special event on Thursday 2 March with honoured guests from Rabi, including live song and dance performances and storytelling.

This is Public Interest Journalism funded through NZ On Air.