Speaker by Various Artists

278

Confessions of an Uber Driver III: How do I rate?

by Ben Wilson

You've just finished your Uber ride. By the general standards of taxi rides, it was very good.

The driver came fast, the car was newish and in good condition and tidy inside. The driver was courteous and asked how you were. Because you felt talkative, you had a discussion. Because you were having a discussion in a language that they were not native to, they were a little distracted, but not in a way that was particularly dangerous, and since they followed Google anyway, you can be pretty sure the route was a reasonably good one, except perhaps that last bit you had to talk them through as you drove down a long right-of-way that's not on any map.

At the end you jumped out and it was all done. As taxi rides go it was one of the good ones. But you've used Uber many times, and it definitely wasn't your best ride ever. What? No free water, no aux cable, no breath mint? No heated leather seats? The conversation was all right, but they didn't really show that much knowledge or interest in your life. Their banter was only at a canter. So should you 5 star them, or give them an average score?

Tough one. What is an average score? Normally, when the scale is from 1 to 5, the average score would be 3. A 5 would mean exceptionally good. You'd expect on this kind of scale for driver ratings to be normally distributed around a mean of 3. And you'd be half right. The ratings are approximately normally distributed around a mean. The mean just doesn't happen to be 3. It's somewhere between 4.5 and 5

I collected the ratings of 25 drivers in our association, and the mean score was 4.8, with a standard deviation of 0.07.

Here's how that looks on the 1 to 5 scale. 

This data is probably on the high side. Uber's own meagre insight is that the top 25% of drivers have an average rating of 4.79. We don't get the actual mean or variance, these are only known by Uber.

So how do you rate an average driver on a scale of one to 5, when the average driver rating is 4.8 (say). If you give:

  • 5. Their mean will go up by 0.0004. Effectively this does almost nothing.
  • 4. Their mean will go down by 0.0016. Still not much, but 4 times as much movement as 5
  • 3. Their mean will go down by 0.0036. This is 9 times as influential on their rating as a 5
  • 2. Their mean will go down by 0.0056. This is 14 times as influential on their rating as a 5
  • 1. Their mean will go down by 0.0076. This is 19 times as influential on their rating as a 5

For any score below 4 you have to give a reason. Since it will take 9 consecutive perfect scores of 5 to undo the effect of your 3, this is fair, although it might be puzzling to anyone accustomed to 3 meaning "average".

So how do you signal that your driver is good? Currently, there is only one way with the app. You give them a 5 and you also leave a nice comment. The comment won't affect their rating, but it will show up on their main home screen and make them feel good.

Outside of the app you could signal it in two main ways - you could say something nice to the driver (for most people this is less effort than writing a comment), or you could even give them a tip. But this is NZ. Most people never tip, on principle.

Why is it this way? Isn't it rather perverse to have a system in which you can really only signal average, bad, really bad, shockingly bad, and fire-this-person? That depends on what you think the purpose of the system is. Clearly, it's not to reward the driver, because there is no way to reward them with anything other than keeping their job, and perhaps the afterglow of a kind word. Clearly, the whole purpose is to punish drivers to varying degrees.

Drivers are, unfortunately, very much in the dark about the specifics of their own ratings. We never know which trips received bad ratings or complaints. We don't even know how many of each rating value we have. The only numbers given are: How many 5 stars, how many rated trips, how many total trips, and what the mean rating is across the last 500. We can also see the top category of complaint.

What do I mean by punishing? Is a bad rating that much of a problem?

I have received many distressed phone calls in the last few months from drivers who have been disconnected permanently for low ratings. Uber's process is to "deactivate" drivers at will and without warning, and then when they inquire as to what has happened, they are told that they have to go on a course at the driver's expense, after which they are given a chance to improve or face permanent deactivation.

No specific target rating is ever given, the "city minimum average" is unknown, but it would seem that anyone below 4.6 in Auckland is at risk. The subsequent deactivation is given with a brutal message "Your final payment will occur within the next week. There is no need to come into the office, as our decision will stand." Attempts to come to terms with what has actually happened to the rating, what bad trips happened, where and when, are stonewalled. There is no natural justice whatsoever applied to this.

This was the fate of Sreeman, a veteran driver of over 1000 trips, on Sunday. Having a rating of 4.49 he had been deactivated and asked to do the training course to give him pointers about how to get a good rating. He accepted that the way he'd been doing it before was not as good as the average Uber standard and set about following the instructions given. His mean ratings over the last three weeks were around the 4.7 mark (he was careful to take some screenshots). But since he was fighting the dead weight of a 4.49 score based on 500 previous trips, it was clearly going to take him quite some time to fight his way back to an acceptable score. He fought, getting steady improvement: 

Despite "Smashing It", on the 17th of September he was deactivated on a rating of 4.53.

No entreaty given to the staff in the office made a lick of difference. It did not matter that he had done their course and that he had significantly improved since then. It did not matter that he had taken on a significant investment in choosing to work for Uber, specifically buying a Prius, and gaining all of the compliance possible, the P Endorsement, his own PSL, a CoF for the vehicle. It certainly didn't matter that this was his only job and that he relied on it to support his family. His reduction to tears and begging made them a little uncomfortable and they tapped away at the screen for a while, before calling security to have him escorted from the premises. Now he can't support his family of 4, and is seeking work.

This, dear readers, is why Ubers are high quality. Because they have a rating system and termination processes that resemble no workplace practices you'd see in NZ. The refusal to ever give a useful mean and variance on driver ratings is not so strange when you consider it could be used to work out just how arbitrary their disconnection practices are. Are they ridding themselves of the bottom 1%? Or 10%?

Uber drivers are no longer called "Partners" – in the last few months that phrasing was quietly dropped.

Is this our model for the grand future of employment? Consider how that might work in your own workplace, for your own job.

PS: Ironically, on the way to meeting Sreeman, Arden MacDonald from the NZUDA used an Uber with a 4.3. I'm a little confused about where the Auckland minimum average rating must be, since 4.53 is clearly below it, but 4.3 doesn't seem to be.

10

Apocalypse on the count of three: inside a Soviet missile silo

by Clinton Logan

Sergeant Alexander of the 46th Rocket Division buckles me into the commander's chair and wrenches the four-point harness down to the point of discomfort. Two massive blast doors seal the control chamber shut 12 storeys below the Ukraine countryside, protecting us from nuclear attack.

The atmosphere down here feels artificial and far removed from the earth's surface 40 metres above. A stuffy mixture of metal and electronics permeates the sterile, cramped space of the command centre. An impressive array of lights and switches — the pinnacle of '70s Soviet technology — blankets the curved wall of the 3.3 metre wide room. All controls have been kept operational to preserve the fidelity of a launch. 

It's so quiet you can hear yourself breathe.

Papers are removed from a locked safe, and codes compared with the commands appearing on our screens. They match. The launch directive from Moscow has been authenticated.

Alexander takes a seat in the second officer's chair and barks orders in a mixture of Russian and English.

KLYUCH [key] IN!

ON COUNT THREE. WE PUSH BUTTON!

ОДИН... ДВА... 

(If I hesitate at this stage, the Sergeant's Makarov pistol will quickly relieve me of my duty, and a backup officer will take my place.)

ТРИ!!

The harsh, shrill sound of an alarm buzzer ricochets about the confines of the steel room. A semicircular array of missile-shaped status lights starts blinking ominously.

At six seconds, 10 120-ton silo hatches swing open, and three seconds later 10 SS-24 "SCALPEL" thermonuclear missiles ignite their rocket engines.

Alexander grips my chair with both hands and violently shakes it to simulate the kinetics of the 100 ton missile launching next to us. At the same time, nine other SS-24s rocket away from their respective silos. 

The Sergeant turns, looks me directly in the eye, and in an accent as thick as tar...

ten. vockits.
twinty. tree. minutes.
bye-bye-amerika.

He grins.

A strike from this facility would've hit the United States with ten missiles, each carrying 10 nuclear warheads. A forest of 100 mushroom clouds would've blanketed the east coast with the combined power of 423 Hiroshimas. An area of 12,000 square miles would've been vaporised along with every living thing in it. 

At the height of the Cold War, the USSR managed 176 intercontinental ballistic missiles with nine sites just like this one.

Today there are around 15,000 nuclear weapons in the world, each targeting an adversary. Officers from America, Russia, Britain, France, China, Pakistan, India, Israel, and North Korea are on duty 24/7, waiting for that single coded command, waiting to push that small grey button on the count of three.

"But I’m good at war. I’ve had a lot of wars of my own. I’m really good at war. I love war, in a certain way, but only when we win." — Donald Trump

–––

Clinton Logan is a New Zealander who decided three years ago that "it was time to recalibrate my relationship with the world" and has since ventured forth from his home in New York State to explore, photograph and write about the United States, Canada, Europe, Latin America and, currently, the former Soviet Union. His last post recorded a visit to the site of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster.

The words and pictures in this post are adapted with permission from the personal Facebook account where he records his journeys.

32

After the Apocalypse

by Clinton Logan

Three years ago, Clinton Logan sold all his possessions, leased out his house in New York state and set out on his motorcyle. The New Zealander, who had spent most of the past 20 years building a software company, decided "it was time to recalibrate my relationship with the world."

Since then he has crossed the United States eight times and explored Alaska, Canada and Europe. He spent last year riding, photographing, and writing about his experiences in Latin America.

"This season I've been focussing on exploring the traces of the Soviet Union here in Eastern Europe. Next season I'll probably ride into Russia proper. As you can probably tell I'm just making plans up as I go along."

The words and pictures below are adapted with permission from the personal Facebook account where he records his journeys.

–––

Chernobyl Part I

Exploring the ghost city of Pripyat.

"If we have nuclear weapons why can't we use them?" - Donald Trump

Pripyat was a young municipality, purpose-built to service the Chernobyl nuclear power plant. Like other cities that served the technology industry, it was a planned model that stood as a shining example of modern day USSR.

Home to 50,000 people, it was considered a privileged place to live. Compared to other soviet cities at the time Pripyat featured more spacious housing, good schools, well stocked retail stores, effective public transportation, healthcare, and extensive recreational facilities (including a disco!)

But at 01:23 in the morning of April 26th 1986, a control room operator named Alexander Akimov punched the emergency shutdown button for Chernobyl's reactor #4 and changed all of that forever. It was an action that would eventually kill thousands of people, force the immediate and permanent evacuation of Pripyat, and ultimately bring about the collapse of the Soviet political system.

Now, 30 years later the area still exhibits dangerously high radiation levels and will continue to do so for the next 300 years. Pripyat is a city that had its future ripped away in a very sudden and dramatic way and for those who are game it represents a unique opportunity to genuinely experience a post apocalyptic world.

The second part of my visit here entailed virtually travelling back in time to photograph the highly restricted internal workings of Chernobyl Reactor #2. It's an exact duplicate of Reactor #4 which imploded 30 years ago and is one of the most amazing spaces I've ever witnessed.

Chernobyl Part II

The Reactor

As our 50 year-old Russian UAZ van pitches over the broken streets of Chernobyl, Serhii ends his mobile phone conversation and turns to me.

"You're in. They've given you access to the reactor. We need to be there by noon."

He hands me an indemnification document to sign.

"I do understand and fully realize that staying in the area with high levels of ionizing radiation can cause potential harm to my life and health in the future. I agree to all terms of visiting the exclusion zones and refuse all claims of a legal nature..."

I can barely contain my excitement. I'm not sure how he did it, but I'm about to step back 30 years and experience first-hand one of the most infamous locations held by the USSR.

The Chernobyl powerplant, known as the Lenin Nuclear Power Station during the Soviet era, was undergoing rapid expansion in the 80s. Reactor Unit 1 went online on November  26, 1977, and after months of testing, Units 2, 3, and 4 soon followed. In 1986 the four reactors were providing 10% of Ukraine’s electricity with two more under construction.

In total, the USSR was planning a cluster of twelve nuclear reactors that would've easily made it the largest power station in the world. But in the early hours of Saturday April 26, 1986, it all came to a sudden and very dramatic end. 

While the doomed city of Pripyat slept, engineers on the evening shift initiated a safety experiment to determine if the reactor's cooling system could still function without external power. Unfortunately the test exposed serious flaws in both the reactor design and the Soviet safety culture of the time. 

A cascading series of events soon culminated in the plant spiralling out of control and the reactor core melting down. The resulting explosion created a radioactive breach equivalent to 400 Hiroshimas that irradiated large areas of Belarus, Ukraine, Russia, and Europe. Two people were killed instantly, with 237 other plant workers being diagnosed with acute radiation syndrome. Twenty eight would die horrible deaths in the following weeks. 

Today, the Ukrainian government employs 2500 people and spends nearly 10% of its national budget maintaining the Chernobyl site. Its biggest priority is the ongoing containment of the large amounts of radioactive material that remain in the area. Among the myriad of challenges the government faces is the real concern that a hostile entity could smuggle out one of the thousands of "hot" objects for use in a dirty bomb. To guard against, this three rings of increasing security have been put into place. 

The 30km exclusion zone: No one is allowed into this 2800 sq. km area without permission papers and an official escort. There's a long list of rules (no eating outside, no resting equipment in the ground) and a dress code (no exposed skin) that need to be adhered to. You must travel in an enclosed vehicle and motorcycles are forbidden.

The 10km exclusion zone encapsulates the areas of highest radiation: The ghost-scape of Pripyat, which I previously visited, and the Red Forest – named after its population of pine trees turned red and died from the first wave of radiation. To this day it remains one of the most contaminated places on Earth. Employees within the 10km zone have limited work shifts; no more than five hours a day, with 15 days spent clear of the zone for every month worked. Exiting the zone requires you to pass a mandatory radiation scan. According to Ukrainian officials, the area should be safe to inhabit again in the year 4986.

Thanks to my "fixer" Serhii, I've now been cleared to enter the third and most secure zone: The reactor complex.

At 12 noon a government representative wearing a staid grey uniform walks over and shakes my hand. "I'm Marek, welcome to Chernobyl. I'm happy to show you the current state of the site and our new safe confinement project."

(I feel a little overwhelmed to be even standing here right now. I'm not sure who they think I am but I'm rolling with it.)

"You need to stay with me at all times and only photograph the locations I approve of. Do not take photographs of the outside. Do not photograph any workers"

After clearing a series of PIN-protected rotating metal gates I'm confronted by a guard with a dosimeter and blood type info velcroed to his chest. He gestures to feed my camera bag into the gaping mouth of an x-ray machine.

My credentials are checked and re-checked against their visitor records. The guard looks at me, then my passport, then studies the official stamp on my Ukrainian document. Names, numbers, and dates are compared. He looks back at me, then back at my passport, then back at me. If the tiniest of details don't match up I'm not getting in. It feels like an eternity.

"Go."

Marek leads me into a pristine grey room filled with white tunics, hats, and shoe covers.

In the corner stands a large blue-grey machine with a human sized slot cut in the side. It's time to take another radiation test. I step inside the scanner, place my hands and feet on each of its four sensors and wait. On the adjacent wall an old sign reads “Let the Atom be a Worker, not a Soldier.” I grin at the irony.

A green light with indecipherable cyrillic text illuminates with a click.

"Ok, now put those on and follow me." 

The unmistakable smell of vintage engineering — like the interior of an antique car — permeates the golden brushed-metal corridor of the reactor building. We're all wearing identical tunics, the same as those worn by the operators at the time of the accident. The decor, signs, and equipment — nothing has changed here in 30 years. I'm shuffling through the world's coolest time capsule in a pair of white cotton booties and I think I'm quite possibly high on dopamine right now.

"That's the door to the computer center."

Even if Marek had said this room allows you to selfie the last supper, my anticipation couldn't be greater. The mental image of the 70s Soviet mainframes that lie beyond that thinnest of thresholds is just too much for my inner geek to contain. 

Can I photograph it? I ask rather optimistically.

"No."

Twenty meters away the hallway is punctuated with a backlit ceiling sign. "БЩУ • II" is stencil-cut from metal alloy in a rad retro modernist font. In a scene lifted from a drive-in B movie, Marek lifts an intercom handset, punches its oversized button, and announces our arrival to the operators inside.

Okay, this is it. This is the reason I travelled halfway across the globe to the Ukraine. We're about to step into the control room of a soviet nuclear reactor. Holy shit.

As a kid growing up in clean, green, nuclear-free New Zealand, news snippets of reactor meltdowns, mass evacuations, and abandoned cities lit up my sci-fi obsessed imagination. I swore to myself that someday I'd visit Chernobyl. As twisted as it sounds, I really wanted to experience first hand the epicenter, and aftermath, of a real-life apocalypse. 

Now, after all these years, I'm finally standing in the control room of Reactor #2, twin sister to the one that dominated the news all those years ago.

I survey the panoramic array of gauges, lights, buttons, and switches and imagine them all lit up in the constellation of chaos that must've existed that early April morning. Even though the control room is now dormant — Reactor #2 was shut down permanently in the '90s — I could still feel it echoing the confusion and terror of the operators coming to the realization that they'd just lost control of the most destructive force on the planet.

They were going to die and they knew it.

In the weeks following the disaster, Akimov, the operator who'd pushed the emergency shutdown button, was especially haunted by what had happened. As he lay painfully dying in hospital, he knew his theoretically correct course of action had ultimately triggered the meltdown. He just couldn't understand why things had gone so wrong. His wife recollects visiting him in hospital the day before he died.

“While he could still talk, he kept repeating to his father and mother that he had done everything right. This tortured him to the very end. [The last time I saw him], he could no longer speak. But there was pain in his eyes. I knew he was thinking about that damned night, he was reenacting everything inside himself over and over again, and he could not see that he was to blame. He received a dose of 1,500 roentgens, perhaps even more, and he was doomed. He became blacker and blacker. He was charred all over. He died with his eyes open ...”

The lesser-known story of the cleanup crew, or “liquidators,” who entered highly contaminated areas to battle the reactor and greatly reduce the consequences of the accident is riveting in itself. What the world takes for granted is that more than 300,000 men and women sacrificed their health for the sake of us all. If it weren't for the efforts of these brave people the the meltdown would have affected the planet on a global scale. 

All told, about 4,000 people would eventually die from the accident, according to a World Health Organization report. Others say this number is wildly low. The official number of disabled Chernobyl rescue workers today in Ukraine is 106,000.

A monument now stands in the town of Chernobyl dedicated to the courage of those liquidators. A chillingly accurate inscription is etched into the front. “To those that saved the world.”

I've been very fortunate to have witnessed the dark consequences of the "worker atom" running off the rails. It's provided a profound appreciation for the potentially insurmountable cost that's associated with our continued use of this source of energy.

I wouldn't have thought it was possible, but my next site of exploration would eclipse even Chernobyl in its display of how tenuous we humans are making life here on earth. In the vast open wheat fields of Ukraine lies a perfectly preserved example of the "Soldier Atom" lying in wait ...

31

Colouring Girl

by Peter Alsop

The hand-coloured photos of Whites Aviation have become celebrated icons of New Zealand’s mid-century culture – but the story of how each photograph was individually coloured by hand has been almost lost. That's the story Greg Wood and I sought to tell in The Colourist, which is part of this year's Loading Docs film festival.

The film highlights the vocational alchemy and the love of creating a hand-coloured New Zealand. The depth of friendship amongst the ‘colouring girls’ was so great they even went on holidays together. One of them, Grace Rawson, even planned  her honeymoon to visit the locations of Whites Aviation scenes.

'Ohau Road', 1953, 560x1010mm, Collection of Peter Alsop, Alexander Turnbull Library (ATL) Negative WA-32638-F.

The idea was this: could Grace Rawson, at a spritely 83 years of age, have another go at hand-colouring a photograph, 53 years after giving up the craft when she left Whites Aviation?

Grace at work in The Colourist with her cotton wool brush. Photo courtesy Samuel Montgomery.

To fully understand the story, let’s wind back the clock.

In 1963, a rare behind-the-scenes account was published of life in the colouring studio of Whites Aviation, showing the studio as a well-lit room in Darby’s Buildings on the corner of Darby and Elliot Streets in downtown Auckland. Inside, a group of about eight women loved their work; using cotton wool to create the best-known examples, then and now, of hand-coloured photography in New Zealand. 

Interestingly, the article didn’t appear in a photography magazine or any publication related to art or design. Instead, the article graced the pages of none other than the Women’s Weekly. It was a good fit; all the members of the colouring studio were women, as they were through time, and the hand-colouring craze was on a public high.

The article was matter-of-factly titled ‘Steady Hand, Keen Eye and a Retentive Memory Needed for Tinting’. In the art paradigms of the day, these women weren’t "artists" and nor, for that matter, were those who took the photos. But the women were devoted to their art form, proud of their achievements and immensely happy in their work.

Grace at work in the 1950s in Whites Aviation’s production division in Auckland’s Darby’s Buildings. Photo courtesy Grace Rawson.

 

A wonderful photo of the "colouring girls" in company uniforms in 1948, working on large-format hand-coloured photos (ATL, WA-16074a-F, L to R: Joyce Chapman, Pat Poole, Colleen Beaumont (with uncertainty), Jocie Baker (with uncertainty) and Ray (with uncertainty and unknown surname).

The article provided insight into the delicate and intricate nature of the craft:

The sea was washed with blue, highlights were added in green and a darker blue. Rangitoto was a combination of green and mauve for the base and blue and mauve at the top. Highlights were of raw sienna. The yachts were mainly scraped up with shadows on the sails and the hulls brown. The tree in the foreground was washed with a darkish green with the highlights of a paler tone of the same colour. The flowers were done last … For bush, four shades of green were used, several tones of yellow, browns and pinks.

One gets the picture that it was complex work but, like most hard things, made to look easy by people at the top of their game.

'Rangitoto Island from Bastion Pt', 1954, 500x750mm, Cropped for display, Collection of Peter Alsop, ATL Negative WA-34549-F.

Grace was born in Auckland in 1933. At the age of three, she was asked that quintessential childhood question: "what do you want to be when you grow up?" Her answer was as unusual then as it would be today: "I will be an artist!"

Grace’s artistic vocation would soon become even clearer. Aged four, she was a flower girl and looked after by the bridesmaid who hand coloured a photo of Grace in her pretty wedding dress. In reflecting on that time, Grace said she ‘understood right then that there was a branch of art that maybe was possible later’.

 

Grace as a young bridesmaid, when she recalls getting her interest in hand-colouring. Photo courtesy Grace Rawson.

Later, like many of Epsom Grammar girls, Grace was hand-coloured in her ball gown; her photo worked on by Crown Studios opposite Smith & Caughey. The photo was displayed in Crown's front window – and it was the final inspiration for Grace to apply for a colouring job. For £1 10s a week, Grace was taught by Shirley Davies, a real hard-case character, and quickly fell in love with painting portraits and groups.

A portrait of Grace hand-coloured by Grace herself. Photo by Auckland’s Crown Studios.

After a trip to England, where her hand-colouring continued, Grace returned in late 1953 and heard of the growing reputation of Whites Aviation. She recalls meeting Leo White like it was yesterday.

Despite showing White her British portfolio – old mills, bridges and thatched roofs – Grace was also asked to paint some of White’s own photos to further prove her worth. Clyde Stewart (or "Mr Stewart" to Grace) was her manager. Stewart ran the colouring studio for 37 years and signed out each and every photo with the flowing ‘Whites’ signature.

The photos were printed on a special semi-matte, fibre-based paper, striking just the right level of absorption to allow the colour to cure without bleeding. The photos were painted in oil, thinned with turpentine to allow the paint to be translucent, creating a wash-like effect. For application, paint brushes were only rarely used and, instead, a small amount of cotton wool was wrapped around the end of a thin grapevine to create the ‘brush’. Cotton wool had the advantage of being able to create a thin film of colour, and in a uniform, streak-free way.

 

A set of Winsor & Newton paints for hand-colouring photographs. A bottle of turpentine can be seen on the right of the tray, with cotton wool and sticks in the bottom to be used as the "brush".

For landscapes, Grace recalls Mr White describing the right colours, always ensuring clarity in the New Zealand light. The 1963 article also refers to photographers frequently bringing back samples, "such as the time Mr White returned from the South Island high country with a handful of tussock."

A photo about 35x50cm would take about one morning to colour. When the girls painted large murals, it wouldn’t be uncommon to work as a team, standing, sitting or climbing up on stools. Even then, big pieces could take many days to complete, nine in the case of a large Lake Taupo photograph worked on by four "girls" in 1963.

Grace Rawson, Lorraine Sutton and Nola Mann work on colouring a large photographic mural for H & J Smith’s store in Gore in 1955 (ATL, WA-39940). Large murals like this took a number of days for a team of colourists. Nola Mann worked as a colourist at Whites from around 1955 until around 1998, likely making her – given the popularity of Whites’ work – the most extensive hand-colourist in New Zealand’s history.

Speaking to us, Grace explained her theory on the Whites sensation and the orders that came in thick and fast:

"It was very important for people to have photographs of New Zealand on their walls in those days. And once Whites started selling, they went berserk everywhere. In my view, everybody bought them because there was nothing else like them at the time. There were some prints of Van Gogh’s sunflowers, Brugal’s paintings, Constable’s hay wain – but suddenly Whites was different. It was real, and the country we lived in,  and hand coloured. It absolutely took off."

One of the early hand-coloured ventures for Whites was also the capturing of farms, tapping into a strong sense of national pride in rural land.

Seventy one years since Whites Aviation was started, Grace still sees the hand-colouring legacy.

"I love to come across the photos: a majestic mural of the Remarkables in a Queestown café and many in Replete café in Taupo."

All, it so happens, locations of special significance in Grace’s life. Wherever she goes, the popular Whites Aviation scenes are never far away  – not least among them, the photos that she coloured with her own hand.

Grace with her completed hand-coloured photo of Queenstown created for The Colourist in 2016. Photo courtesy Peter Alsop.

–––

The Colourist

 

The Colourist from Loading Docs on Vimeo.

Peter Alsop co-directed The Colourist with Auckland-based filmmaker Greg Wood. Loading Docs is funded by NZ On Air and made with the support of The New Zealand Film Commission.

Peter’s beautiful book on Whites Aviation, Hand-Coloured New Zealand, will be released in October (Potton & Burton, hard cover, 416 pages). A sampler of the book is viewable here. The book can be ordered now with an attractive pre-release discount: 20% off and free postage within New Zealand (Coupon code WHITES).

45

What we think and how we vote

by David Hood

The data for the 2014 New Zealand Election Survey was recently released for the general public to make of it what they will, which in the modern world of home data analysis is like parachuting a gazelle into a pride of lions.

One thing I decided to explore is how representative the ideas of "Left" and "Right" are in the New Zealand of today. They are terms that get bandied around, and people and parties get pinned into place with, but do they actually matter?

One of the questions in the survey asks people to rate themselves on a spectrum of Leftmost (0) to Rightmost (10) with 5 being the centre of the spectrum. We can join that tidbit of information to information about what political party did the person declare voting for with their party vote, and so check the self-identified Left-Rightness by party preference.

For those not used to box plots the rectangle is where the middle fifty percent of voters for the party rate themselves. The black line in the centre of each rectangle is the median voter. The red-blue dashed line is the "centre" of the spectrum. The vertical thickness of the rectangle is the number of votes.

The smaller the number of voters (the thinner the rectangle) the more the results become sensitive to what one or two voters chose on the eleven-point scale. So, for this post, I am making the arbitrary decision to not bother talking about the parties with less than 0.5% of the vote in the survey responses (that is 14 people in the survey). Bye-bye for now to United Future, ACT, ALCP, and similar.

There are some not too surprising things on view here: not many people view themselves as extreme, people who vote Labour tend to see themselves on the left, people who vote National tend to see themselves on the right. New Zealand First and Māori Party voters see themselves as the generally most centrist. I do want to draw attention to the way that Labour voters tend to see themselves as closer to the middle than National voters.

We can build on this by comparing what people think of themselves with what people think of the party they voted for.

I dropped Internet/Mana for this graph, as I had separate ratings for Internet and Mana and that just made it complicated. The Green party, while having the same median as its voters, is given support by those that consider it to the left of their positions. Labour has an almost freakish match between its voters' self-perceptions and the perception of the party (I actually went and checked for mistakes due to that. Didn't find any). Māori party voters see themselves as slightly more centrist than the party. New Zealand First, while having the same median as its voters, draws support is given support by those that consider it to the right of their positions. Both National and Conservative voters tend to view the party as being to the right of the voters.

Rather than looking at it as bar graph summaries, we can look at the cloud of individual points of the self-rating on the x axis and the voters rating of the party they voted for on the y axis.

Putting aside the few isolated very odd results that may indicate people may have misunderstood the question, there are a number of observations about general patterns.

Conservative voters mirror National voters. Conservative and National voters tend to be centre to right, and see the parties they are voting for as more rightwing.

New Zealand First voters cluster at the centre and spread to the right, while the centrist NZF voters see the party as to the right, the right NZF voters see the party as to the left.

Māori Party voters and party form a central clump, with a tendency to rate the party near to themselves (most of the points are near the diagonal).

Labour voters are spread through the spectrum and concentrated in the centre left. Whatever Labour voters think of themselves tends to be around what they think of the party – if you are left and vote Labour then you describe Labour left, if you are right and vote Labour then you describe Labour as right. Green voters tend to centre to left, while rating the party left of where they are.

This does raise the (to me) interesting point that some people are voting a party they see as long way from themselves on a left-right spectrum. So how relevant are traditional left/right models in MMP New Zealand- clearly people understand them and can place themselves and parties- but to what extent does this actually matter in voting behaviour.

We can check this by rearranging the data a bit, and asking the question "What percentage of each parties voters voted for the party that they rated closest to them on the left/right spectrum?". The core idea here is that if you are skipping over a party that it is most in your "class interest" to vote for, then that suggests class interests are not your motivating factor.

Before revealing the results I'm going to preemptively say this is not an either/or- you might still be voting for a nearby party in left/right terms, just not the most nearby party or parties. But as you are not voting for the party that is, by your own opinion, the closest fit in left right terms so there is presumably other motivations at work.

I am bringing back ACT and United Future for this, as we have ratings for them, but still need to exclude Internet/Mana because of the whole ratings for both Internet and Mana confusing matters. So, the percentage of each party's voters that rated the party they voted for as closest to them (of the voters that rated all of the parties in the group, and answered the questions who they voted for, their self-rating, and the party best to deal with the most important issue in the country):

Party

% of voters closest

Sample size

National

74.26

571

ACT

66.67

3

Māori_Party

66.67

33

Labour

56.77

266

NZ_First

56.57

99

Green

56.11

180

Conservative

52.08

48

United_Future

0.00

4

There are some pretty big differences there (putting aside the handful of United Future zealots who voted from far along the spectrum). The concept of Left vs Right seems most important to National voters, then less important as you move left.

However, these results are strongly affected by how people space out the rating of parties. If you rate the Greens 3, Labour 4, and New Zealand First a 5, then to be closest to Labour you must rate yourself a 4 to be closest to the party. But if you rate National, the Conservatives, and ACT as 7 and New Zealand First as 5, any self-rating of 6 or better puts you closest to National (and ACT and the Conservatives). So these particular results, while interesting, shouldn't be read as too exact.

The party closeness can also be read in relation to the question that boils down to "what is the party you think is best suited to dealing with the most important issue facing New Zealand". We can consider if this was the party the person actually voted for (this is why I was including this question when making the previous graph).

Party

% voters think best

Sample size

National

88.44

571

Labour

61.28

266

Green

60.00

180

NZ_First

39.39

99

ACT

33.33

3

Conservative

22.92

48

Māori_Party

12.12

33

United_Future

0.00

4

The ability to deal with the most important issue seems to be broadly in line with party size (putting aside those with a handful of voters giving overemphasised weight to their opinions) and thus being able to have policies on stuff. But it is also broadly in line with electoral success (which is, after all, tied very much to party size).

If you look at both the left right spectrum and the best at dealing with issues in combination, if you explain people's behaviour with the left-right spectrum, then you also need to use best for issues, but If you use best for issues, that explains everything the left right spectrum does and more. So a minimalist explanation only needs to pay attention to issues.

Finally rather than comparing closeness and best party for the key issue as completely unrelated, we can work out for each party how many voters for the party were both closest and thought the party was best to deal with the key issue, how many were closest and thought it not best on issues, how many were not close and thought it best on issues, and how many were neither close to the party nor thought it best to deal with the key issue.

Of these final divisions the bestClose group who both see their chosen party as closest to them in left/right terms and feel that the party is best at dealing with the most important issue, I would imagine these people were very comfortable with their choice:

metric

Party_Vote

percent

bestClose

ACT

33.33

bestClose

Conservative

14.58

bestClose

Green

37.78

bestClose

Labour

36.09

bestClose

Māori_Party

6.06

bestClose

National

66.90

bestClose

NZ_First

26.26

bestClose

United_Future

0.00

The bestNotClose voters have reached across closer parties to vote for the party best able to deal with the most important issue, I'm thinking of these as issue voters:

metric

Party_Vote

percent

bestNotClose

ACT

0.00

bestNotClose

Conservative

8.33

bestNotClose

Green

22.22

bestNotClose

Labour

25.19

bestNotClose

Māori_Party

6.06

bestNotClose

National

21.54

bestNotClose

NZ_First

13.13

bestNotClose

United_Future

0.00

The closeNotBest voted for a party they see as close to them but this was not a party they thought best at dealing with a particular issue, I'm going to imagine these as being the voters of class interest.

metric

Party_Vote

percent

closeNotBest

ACT

33.33

closeNotBest

Conservative

37.50

closeNotBest

Green

18.33

closeNotBest

Labour

20.68

closeNotBest

Māori_Party

60.61

closeNotBest

National

7.36

closeNotBest

NZ_First

30.30

closeNotBest

United_Future

0.00

The notBestNotClose group are giving their support to a party not closest to them which they do not think is best at dealing with the most important issue, these are people whose voting reasons are not well represented by these questions.

metric

Party_Vote

percent

notBestNotClose

ACT

33.33

notBestNotClose

Conservative

39.58

notBestNotClose

Green

21.67

notBestNotClose

Labour

18.05

notBestNotClose

Māori_Party

27.27

notBestNotClose

National

4.20

notBestNotClose

NZ_First

30.30

notBestNotClose

United_Future

100.00

One possible reason is that these are representation voters- that people are voting to have the party in parliament even though the party does not specifically align to them or is the best to deal with issues. If that is the case, I think it is kind of heartening for democracy in a multiparty system.

I have moved the processing code (in R) into another document so that those that want to check the technical steps can do so.