The Kea sqwerked at me as I opened the car door to explore the chasm near Milford sound (not actually a sound, mind you, but a fjord, I am told). It hopped up to my car door on its hind legs seeming to beg for food. Maybe its near extinction can be blamed on this boldness along with its lack of fear. Naivete, as the cruel might call it.
New Zealand used to be a land of birds. There were no mammals until we people brought them on boats. No possums to kill the birds. No people to kill the birds. No rats or weasless to kill the birds. So they learned to be kind, to be trusting.
It is not the same as being fearless. Fearless implies courage, being brave amidst known danger. It is not the same as naivete, an almost stupidity as if you chose not to pay attention to the dangers around you. It is innocence. Simple trust and kindness. A hop and a sqwak and a look in the eye and a tap on your tush as you crouch down to take a photo. A “look at me” sense of pride, and a curiosity and openness to others.
New Zealand is more careful now. Immigration officials guard their borders jealously from inbound predators. As tourists we were warmly greeted but severely cautioned of the penalties for bringing in pests. Our shoes must be scrubbed of foreign dirt. Our overhead bins and our flight cabin was fumigated with poisons to kill any uninvited insect passengers. Dogs with keen noses patrolled the airports to catch intruders hosted by the Indian grandmother in front of us who hid home made dosas in her luggage.
But well wishers be damned. A Chinese tourist managed to import a fruit fly that ravaged last year’s kiwi fruit crop. And non-native evergreen trees cover the mountain sides, at once a threat to native species and a cash crop critical for the timber industry and the nation’s builders. The Kea may be a beloved emblem of New Zealand’s past, but it exists not only because the world is protecting it, but because it is surviving as the world changes around it.
