Auckland. For a long been it’s been known to Maori as Tamaki Makaurau, a place of ‘many lovers’. In the past fortnight, though, Auckland has shaken out the rug and grabbed a drink to become Tamaki Pikiniki, a place of many picnics. 

The humble picnic is now, in many ways, a symbol of where we are at in our Covid response. If we were to break up New Zealand’s Covid timeline like we do the eras of the dinosaurs – Triassic, Jurassic, and so on, this period would rightly be described as the Picnic Period. It’s a defining moment for the country’s largest city in many ways, for both good and ill.   

Walk the parks, waterfront and streets of Auckland in the past two weeks and you will find friends and families clumping together here, there and everywhere, stretching across a social distance to raise a glass to this slither of freedom or to the shared snacks sitting a metre from all. 

In that light, the picnic is a joyous thing. It was a small but significant gift of ‘normal’ after the long slog through level four since August 17. We emerged blinking from bubbles that had begun to feel more like trenches, allowed to engage with other and see those we love. For many Aucklanders, it changed our moods in ways we could barely comprehend. We just felt... better. 

As one friend pointed out, when the rest of the country got back to level two the response of many was to return to the malls and shops. It’s a natural desire these days to find normality at the checkout. But Auckland has re-emerged from lockdown as a community rather than as consumers, and is the better for it. Our freedom – such as it is – can only be expressed in sharing company not cash.  

The flipside, however, is that we wear these picnics like a brand; a symbol of our release, they also represent our ongoing imprisonment.  

Picnics are a sign that Auckland, for now, is a distinctly different place from the rest of the country. And not just in that yuppies and boat shoes, expensive and snobby kind of way. Auckland, like the past, is a foreign country. We do things differently here. 

While the rest of the country goes into offices, sits in pubs, debates the merits of the latest James Bond movie and ventures outside their city limits, Auckland... picnics. It’s all we can do. (Well, some go to parties on the North Shore while others petulantly protest public health orders. So maybe it’s more accurate to say it’s all we should do and all most of us choose to do). 

Further, these precious picnics are also a symbol of what we have lost; we’re only allowed to picnic now because our proud commitment to eliminating Covid is a thing of the past. It’s over. If the powers-that-be genuinely thought we could drive delta from our shores we would still be locked down more fully, unable to sit on our separate rugs, at far ends of our decks or talking over fences. The picnic is also a sign of defeat. Since Auckland moved to Level 3, Step 1, we have seen community transmission continue to spread, with more and more mystery cases.  

Given our transition to being a land of suppression, the government’s move to ‘the picnic period’ was an astute piece of politics. For all Labour’s slow planning and missed opportunities, it’s been incredibly good at reading the public’s frame of mind throughout this pandemic.  

Nearly a month ago I wrote that the mood in Auckland was changing and the city’s move to level three, while risky, was in line with the political reality. Auckland was getting restless. I was roundly attacked on social media as a disgrace to the team of five million and to journalism, mostly by people outside of Auckland. But Labour had clearly seen the same thing.  

It’s a part of their Covid response government probably hasn’t been given enough credit for. It’s been incredibly astute at reading what the majority are willing to accept and not asking for more than they are willing to give.  

When it started to become clear more and more Aucklanders were losing their level four convictions, Labour threw them a bone. Or, at least, a picnic basket. It realised Auckland’s bubbles were breaking and people were starting to move, so it read the room and gave people what many were going to take anyway. But it gave it to them in the safest way possible. The message: ‘if you’re going to visit friends or nan or Cousin Susan, you can do that. But outside’. The government took the inevitable and turned it into the acceptable. 

So the picnic has been a blessing and a curse, a political masterstroke and a retreat. 

But it’s also a symbol of what has now become one of the most – if not the most – important parts of our Covid response: The incentive. 

Picnics were that small gift that incentivised Aucklanders not to go crazy. It was a teaser of freedom, but the government has been clear that if we want more of this we have to get vaccinated. So the hope has to be now that picnics were the beginning of something. An early incentive that worked and encourages our decision-makers to try more such carrots as we transition away from lockdowns.

The role of incentives in our vaccine rollout has been underplayed until recently. A few weeks ago my 12 year-old and I drove past several nearer vaccination centres to get his second dose at a site where they were giving out $25 Prezzy cards for those aged under 25. It made we wonder why this sort of bribe was the exception rather than the rule, especially given how desperate we are to get those under 30 jabbed. 

So the greatest delight for me on Super Saturday was seeing the handouts... the fresh pizza, the rugby tickets and so much more. 

The explicit promise of those pubs, workplaces, sports events, concerts, travel and more – alongside the instant gratification of cash and pizza – should have been at the core of our vaccine rollout weeks ago. As frustrating as it is that vaccination passports won’t be introduced until November and we won’t get details of ‘the plan’ until Friday, at least these key incentives are starting to be used more assertively. 

Because while Aucklanders will likely look back at ‘the Picnic Period’ with some fondness in years to come, this phase has to end. We can’t stay in limbo on our picnic rugs for ever. 

I was on Jim Mora’s Weekend Panel on Sunday and he asked if Auckland could ever go back into level four. I said that of course we could if we had to, but fewer would comply than they did two weeks ago. While the government is rightly a keeping a return to level 4 on the table, be it as a realistic option or as a stick to encourage more vaccinations, it’s hard to see how it could work. 

The sun is out, the elimination strategy that we were willing to sacrifice ourselves for is gone, concerns about mental and economic health are gaining sway. The mood in Auckland is changing again and it’s hard to imagine us going back. Every signal from Jacinda Ardern – from her release of a plan at last this week to her comments this morning that Aucklanders shouldn’t hold off booking Christmas travel – tells us “the direction of travel” looks to be only one way. The trick for Labour now is to read the room once more and find the next symbol of hope that we can safely cling to. 

So instead of the sombre answer I gave Jim, I might have simply paraphrased Braveheart: “You can take our freedoms, but you never take our picnics!’