Say good night to knighthoods

BY RICHARD BOOCK

OPINION: Can't say I've met a proper knight. The real deal, that is. Closest I've come is during screenings of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, in which a Black Knight, suffering from a fatal dose of over-confidence, is relieved of all four limbs while fighting King Arthur. They seem to be tough cookies, though, if that scene was any guide. The honourable and dismembered gentleman was still threatening to bite his assailant to death as it closed.

If this was to be the normal behaviour of knights, I must say I'd be an enthusiastic convert. The prospect of watching Sir Richard Hadlee trying to defend his suburban cul-de-sac against marauding members of the Sir Robert Jones clan appeals enormously, as does the idea of a duel to the death between Sir Wilson Whineray and Sir Brian Lochore. Throw in an undercard joust featuring Dame Susan Devoy and Irene van Dyk (MNZM) and we're almost certainly talking about prime time.

Sadly, however, today's knights don't seem at all disposed towards mortal combat, nor even the idea of suffering a mere flesh wound. Which makes you wonder why we bother having them at all. I mean, if they're not allowed to roam the countryside blocking bridges and smiting each other over the top of their battle helmets, what useful purpose can they serve? It's not as if they're needed to defend the realm. Most of them struggle with the stairs.

It's hard to think of anything quite as un-Kiwi as our British-based titular honours arrangements. For a country that has discovered its identity on the back of an egalitarian vision, deliberately and unashamedly distancing itself from class and rank, the awards seem about as appropriate as pro-choice posters on the walls of the Vatican. Few concepts, Christine Rankin apart, feel quite as foreign.

Nowhere has this seemed more apparent than in sport. If New Zealand, like Australia, was fiercely opposed to the ugliness of the class system in general, then the feeling was magnified several times in the competitive arena. Sport was supposed to be about the need for sacrifice, selflessness and trust. The whole was always greater than the sum of parts. Individualism was to be avoided. In a way, sport represented everything that the honours system didn't.

Not everyone shares this view, it must be reported. One NZ Herald reader last week chided columnist Brian Rudman for ridiculing our Oscars, insisting that the terms "Sir" and "Dame" were an important aspirational tool. They prompted young New Zealanders to try to emulate the honoured. That's right. Youngsters will now try to copy John Walker, not because he's a former world record holder, but because he's a Sir.

Forgive me, but for days I've tried to think of just one person in my life who's played sport in the hope of eventually being knighted, and have failed miserably. Lochore, Colin Meads and Whineray have spoken previously about their love for the game and their motives for playing it. Same with Hadlee, Walker and all the others. The potted story is that they, like the rest of us, competed at sport because they enjoyed doing so. They did it for themselves first and foremost.

Aside from the egalitarian thing, the other problem with titular honours is that they're so shamelessly exploited by politicians. Take Wellington anaesthetist Dr Graham Sharpe, a very worthy recipient of the NZ Order of Merit for his services to the profession, I'm sure. Still, interesting, isn't it, that the bloke who complained to police after Helen Clark's painter-gate revelations is decorated during the National Party's first term of office.

Prime Minister John Key apparently believes the awards recognise success and it's hard to argue with that. How that success is interpreted, however, is another matter. A cursory glance through the list of highest honours reveals an abundance of rich pricks and political lackeys, most of whom have served themselves far better than the community. By the same token, many others represent some of the nation's biggest triumphs.

Still, you wonder about the need for such pompous, preening honours. With all respect, the deeds of folk heroes such as Hadlee, Walker, Lochore, Whineray, Meads, Devoy, Peter Snell and Murray Halberg are made no greater by a fancy, empire-inspired gong. We honour them regardless, not only for their legendary actions but also because they're each one of us: New Zealanders. They're an example of what we can do, and for that we admire them.

There's no need to make them into something they've never been.

Supporters suggest the system allows us to identify the upstanding members of our community. Ironically, that stance also represents the counter-argument: that regressing to the point where someone's title offers a presumption of privilege is a charade that should be avoided. But just on that: Sir Anthony Blunt, Sir Jeffrey Archer, Sir Mark Thatcher, Sir Joseph Kagan. Robert Mugabe and Nicolae Ceausescu. Sir Allen Stanford, anyone?

I was going to say that the United States seems to have avoided this nonsense without becoming a cot-case but perhaps that's going too far. Still, it's instructional that the Americans, world leaders at celebrating their own, have nothing to compare with a titular honours system. How are they coping? Well, people still seem to remember Babe Ruth and Muhammad Ali. Mark Spitz and Jack Nicklaus don't look any the worse for wear.

As for the others, those who want to be forever remembered as knights, perhaps they should consider one of the closing lines from the Holy Grail scene. "I'm invincible, I'm invincible," cries the Black Knight as he hops about on his one remaining limb.

"No you're not," replies King Arthur, shaking his head in sympathy. "You're just a loony."

- © Fairfax NZ News