There are similarities between Kiwis’ reaction to Covid-19 and farm safety, says Rowena Duncum.
As last month's lockdown played out, it was fascinating to see how different people reacted.
The ad breaks in our radio show, The Country, became akin to a battleground, as irresponsible millennial (Sam 'Lashes' Casey) wound up grumpy boomer (Jamie Mackay) and sensible millennial (me).
We were all given the same information. Read the same news reports. Watched the same media conferences. Listened to the same interviews. Yet responded completely differently.
As sensible millennials do – I had already been scanning into places for months, using the Covid-19 tracer app like second nature. Once you're in the habit, it's easy.
Grumpy boomer's been a bit lax but, every time there's a flare-up, he gets back on board the scan-train quick-smart and encourages others to follow suit: "We've all got to play our part."
Then there's the irresponsible millennial spouting off about not living in fear and how Covid-19 is a long way from Dunedin, and not scanning in anywhere because "my iPhone knows where I've been anyway."
I wouldn't have liked to have recorded our blood pressures at 1pm lately. But that difference in reaction is exactly what we see playing out on farms.
We've all been given the same information about keeping ourselves and visitors to our farms safe. We've all read news reports of near misses. All watched footage of farms where fatal accidents have taken place. All listened to distraught family members speak out in the hope of saving others.
And we all respond differently too.
In every rural community, there are people who are happy to follow the rules. To ensure they and their staff wear seatbelts. To put crush protection on ATVs. Carry emergency beacons while working alone. Undertake health and safety audits. That kind of thing.
Others are a bit more like Jamie (hopefully without the never-ending supply of boring golf or travel stories). They know what's needed but are a little lax. Then, if someone they know, or someone in their community is affected, if it hits a little close to home…they immediately recognise the need and adopt these measures.
Then there are some who are just like Lashes. They're the ones we worry about. The ones who think it's never going to happen to them. The ones who think they're never going to make a mistake.
While they might not end up in the wrong flat eating McDonalds at 2am, they could very easily end up in a bit of strife on the farm.
Which is hardly surprising. For decades, our farming systems were based around a dependency on humans to 'do things right.'
It's cart before horse, if you ask me - our health and safety plans shouldn't be about not making a mistake. No one (not even you, Jamie) is perfect. What they should be based on is measures in place to prevent serious harm for that horrible, fateful moment when a mistake is made.
Back when my Grandad was farming, things were simple. Machinery was simple. Quad bikes didn't exist and horses didn't come with headlights, so harvesting all hours of the day or night simply wasn't an option. More people farmed a single property, so people didn't work in isolation as much; neighbouring farms had to help each other out over harvest, rather than a lone farmer or contractor tackling the lot.
Whereas it might have previously taken a farmer all day to cultivate a couple of paddocks for replanting, today it might be 20, followed by a huge list of other jobs. They're constantly juggling priorities, often moving between properties. They're time-poor – and people-poor.
Recently I observed a friend of mine remind her children that, if they're riding their bikes around the property and see their Dad coming on the tractor, they're immediately to hop off and stand with their bikes along the edge of the driveway until he's gone past.
"There's a good chance he just won't see them," she told me. "It's not that he doesn't love them, but his mind will probably already be on the next job on his list. It's that simple."
So, times have certainly changed, but our largely cavalier attitude hasn't. It needs to.
We commemorated 10 years to the day since the Christchurch earthquake, which resulted in the loss of 185 lives.
Driving around the garden city, it's so far removed from how it used to be. Where buildings once stood proud and tall, short, angular, modern structures have emerged. All that's left of an entire neighbourhood is empty streets and a smattering of trees that once marked the boundaries between properties.
I, like so many around New Zealand, lost a friend on February 22, 2011. I'm sure if there was a way we could have reduced the death toll that day, we'd have done everything in our power to make it happen.
Instead, we learned and adapted – building codes have strengthened all around the country. We're more selective about materials we use, where. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.
Agriculture could do worse than take a leaf out of Christchurch's book and make meaningful changes when tragedy occurs.
So, what has to change? Risk management needs a simple perspective shift. One from 'I won't make a mistake' to 'when I make a mistake, I am protected because…'
Then there's a couple of easy things that stand to halve the farm fatality rate overnight.
- Put crush protection on your quad. It's an utter fallacy these devices can cause more damage than they prevent – it's been categorically disproven, so unless you're secretly Wonder Woman or Superman, there's really no excuse.
- Wear a seat belt. I'm as guilty as the next of buckling it up behind my back to stop the beeping around the farm but they're there for a reason.
- Make sure all machinery is guarded and can't be opened/accessed if it is running.
Small changes, can make a big difference – especially when it's your family, your friends, your loved ones lives at stake.
It's the only time I'll ever ask this of you (I promise!) please be a bit more like a sensible millennial and a less like Jamie or Lashes.