Joanne McNeill: Going deep with wells

"What a well is to those in its neighbourhood, and indeed to men in general, that is government to a people". So says the I Ching (Book of Changes, Legge translation) in the commentary on hexagram 48.

(For men, read people; both the oracle and its translation pre-date feminism, so we must ignore the tiresome patriarchal bias to extract the wisdom.)

The hexagram outlines lessons to be learned from a well for the good order and government of a country. "If rulers would only rightly appreciate the principles of good government ... and faithfully apply them, they would be blessed themselves, and their people with them".

Six lines detail wells in different states. The first: "A well so muddy that men will not drink of it" symbolises the "many men in authority like such a well; corrupt, useless, unregarded." The second leaks. Its waters flow to waste. Able ministers would ensure it was properly sited and maintained. The third, of which no use is made, is in good working order. If only rulers were intelligent, all might receive its benefit. The fourth, in excellent order, is only available for private use, symbolising rulers who take care of themselves but do nothing for others. The fifth is full of clear water which is drawn up and performs its useful work. "Such is the good head of government to his(/her) people". The sixth is a good working well with no cover, free to all, symbolising sincerity which guarantees inexhaustible supply.

A flying trip to Wellington last week emphasised the stark contrast between what Wellingtonians take for granted and what those in further-flung reaches of the motu experience.

On a sunny day, the locals were out in every gorgeously landscaped, art-filled civic space, lolling like basking seals on concrete city beaches against magnificent architectural backdrops.

Along the waterfront, between gallery stops in Civic Square and Te Papa, crowds skated and whizzed, licked icecreams, lay about alfresco on fluoro cushions drinking beer, sunbathed, exercised, promenaded, lounged on designer public benches and mused on sculptural marine memorabilia tastefully placed beside the sparkling sea where fountains play and big ships still ply.

At night Wellington streets thronged with revellers, with apparently no overt police presence necessary to keep order, despite dangerous music, laughter and high spirits overflowing onto footpaths.

It was school holidays so grandparents were out in force, shepherding well-scrubbed little ones in best dresses, buying treats, worthily discussing art and following the poetry trail across bridges and walkways.

Were Wellington the default setting, one might imagine a pure New Zealand full of happy, healthy, carefully educated, beloved children living in paradise with every expectation of opportunity and success.

However, anyone who has spent time in Otangarei, Raumanga, Moerewa or Kaikohe for instance, or any other similarly disadvantaged backwater in the land - where metaphorical muddy wells leak, no use is made of abundant potential and the picture of dereliction is very different - knows this is a mirage.

If our "rulers" only see Wellington, they are governing remotely, from cloud cuckoo land.

Why shouldn't Parliament sit away from Wellington - say rotating through lower-decile locations for weeks at a time? It might open governmental eyes to the realities of life outside the beltway, not to mention sharing out the trickle-down benefits of taxpayer-funded infrastructure, and boosting local economies with the profits from catering to the accommodation, food and transport needs of MPs and their extensive retinues.