When Politics Gets too Personal
Perspective Magazine, March 2022
A fellow Kiwi writer recently carried out a hit job on my husband. No blood splatters – it happened in the media; nevertheless, it was a vicious attack in broad daylight, carried out in retaliation for an opinion piece I wrote for Perspective in which I criticised New Zealand’s PM and government (who I helped vote in) for some elements of their pandemic policy and their lack of transparency.
Of course, I copped it too. The headline called me “intolerable” while the body enumerated my personal shortcomings and attempted to undermine me professionally. I might have laughed it off, if she hadn’t made snide comments about my husband, whose good nature and bonhomie the fellow writer felt happy to traduce, having visited our house and accepted his unstinting hospitality, even telling me how much she liked him (understandably, most people do).
I do wish she had attacked my political views; we might have got a debate going. That’s the way we used to do things in New Zealand among friends, settle differences over a bottle of wine – surely a more edifying response than dragging me and my other half by the hair into the marketplace.
Let’s lay aside the fact that we were, on the face of it, friends; people who sent one another cheerful text messages. What was troubling was that a bona fide news editor was happy to publish something as intellectually and morally weak as a personal attack in lieu of a cogent argument about politics.
Such is the woeful state of public discourse in New Zealand at a time when the country is horribly divided and anyone guilty of taking a critical position gets smeared. I understand that some people might find my views intolerable. But when did we become so intolerant of the act of sharing valid opinions, or acknowledging that some government decisions polarise people? When did we stop believing civilised debate can reduce tensions, rather than heighten them.
The same intellectual and moral weakness that characterised the attack on me is evident in the reporting around the Freedom protest movement occupying New Zealand’s Parliament Grounds – a wildly diverse group calling for an end to vaccine mandates, who have been represented variously as far-right extremists, a mob, nutters, ferals, weirdos, a river of filth and deplorables while the legitimacy of their political arguments remains in large part unexamined.
Inevitably, such protests attract agitators, individuals more interested in inciting violence than political dialogue, and the media have gleefully seized on instances of death threats made against politicians, human faeces being hurled at police, and intimidating behaviour being directed at local residents and business owners.
But there is another side to the protests that contradicts that fairly black and white image – the large-scale food production in field kitchens, the voluntary laundry service put on by members of the wider community, the crèche and school that have been set up to cater to the many children on site, and a well-resourced medical centre looking after the health and welfare of the many protesters who have hunkered down for the long fight.
There is also significant evidence to support the view that protesters are not all fringe dwellers but ordinary New Zealanders: teachers, tradesmen, beauticians, pensioners and truck drivers. There are parents who believe children and young people should not be excluded from extra-curricular sport, dance classes or driving tests, on the grounds of their vaccine status. There are Hari Krishnas. It’s a broad church.
Late to the party, perhaps, but still of interest, is Sir Russell Coutts, one of the country’s yachting greats. The fully-vaxxed multi-millionaire recently joined the protesters, declaring that, despite supporting vaccination, he did not support forced vaccination, and citing his alarm at the “increasing erosion of human rights”. Not quite the rabble-rousing stereotype. Perhaps he – like me – voted for Ardern in the expectation she would uphold the highest standards of democracy.
Then there’s Marty Verry, a significant funder of the protests whose business interests include forestry, property and tourism. His opposition centres on the government’s continuing restrictions on movement and on the ability of businesses to operate. “For me the protest is a way to get the government to listen and to make changes earlier than it otherwise would,” he said.
Interestingly, the numbers camped out in Wellington’s parliamentary precinct have continued to grow amid daily media misrepresentations and attempts by the New Zealand Police Force to move them along, most recently with riot shields.
The Speaker of the House, Trevor Mallard, made world headlines with his risible contribution to the escalating situation, which included trying to disperse the crowds by turning on lawn sprinklers and blaring Barry Manilow through the public address system – provocations that served only to annoy the police.
At a time when “jabbed responsible citizens” typically despise the “unjabbed and irresponsible”, it is telling that the protesters have appeared to attract sympathy within the wider population. Kiwis have always loved the underdog – that hasn’t changed. But there is a growing sense among Kiwis that the government has stopped listening.
Rightly or wrongly, there are many who believe the sheer number of people camped out in front of the Beehive warrants a response beyond deploying police in riot gear. The government’s steadfast refusal to engage, combined with a determined approach to paint them as dangerous and hateful, has thus far not worked.
This is a time for dialogue. Or at least that is what Jim Bolger suggests. The former Prime Minister might know a thing or two, having dealt with the 79-day occupation of Moutoa Gardens by Te Rūnanga Pākaitore protesters in the mid-1990s. When efforts to evict them failed, the simple act of listening to grievances paved the way for negotiations and ultimately led to a peaceful resolution to a complex land dispute.
Instead, Jacinda Ardern dismisses a sizeable section of society in the same way she addresses the anger, hurt and frustration of a population, those of us who have legitimate concerns around the government’s overreach and its lack of a strategic plan – by focusing on winning the PR battle.
Like many countries, New Zealand needs to think seriously about its post-covid economy. We face pressing issues that cannot be solved with platitudes – housing affordability that is the worst in the OECD, welfare dependency, the cost of living, record levels of child poverty and mental illness. These all require urgent action.
Jacinda Ardern is not alone in facing a growing wave of disgruntled citizens. The illiberal left is coming under increasing pressure in Canada too. Justin Trudeau’s heavy-handed response to his country’s Freedom Convoy protests would have seemed unthinkable in a western liberal democracy several years ago; they are reminiscent of China’s bullying of pro-democracy demonstrators in Hong Kong in 2019. Invoking the Emergencies Act for the first time in Canada’s history, and imposing financial sanctions on protestors, looked not only disproportionate but set a dangerous precedent. In particular, setting government agencies to spy on citizens engaged in peaceful civil disobedience and collaborating with banks to freeze protesters’ funds, should be unacceptable in a democracy. Instead Canada’s legislature granted Trudeau an extension to the special emergency powers targeting the Freedom Convoy movement (measures that were repealed as this magazine was going to press because of growing national and global outrage).
Like Canadians, New Zealanders may be known for their fair-mindedness and laid-back lifestyle, but the mood in this country is incredibly tense. Very few people are prepared to speak out about the government’s failings for fear of retaliation or ridicule. Given my recent experience, I can see why.
For many, Jacinda Ardern, a leader who advocated kindness and cohesion, has instead divided the nation and is now guilty of arrogance, while her government’s sickening lack of transparency has created a deep mistrust and cynicism in our political institutions and processes. Sadly, this has given rise to paranoia, an unwillingness to level with neighbours, or to honour friendships with open discussion.
Such divisiveness has not been seen in New Zealand since the 1981 Springbok Tour, when ideology cleaved our otherwise peaceful nation in two. The Muldoon government’s decision to allow the South African apartheid-era national rugby side into the country provoked violent protests, and pitted mates against each other. The debate turned my own otherwise happy home into a war zone, with my vehemently anti-Tour mother clashing repeatedly with my father, who believed equally vehemently that there should be no politics in sport.
At least in those days people didn’t feel the need to hide their views. And the media covered both sides.
Our Prime Minister may no longer call us the team of five million. We used to believe that we knew each other. We used to trust each other. We used to invite each other into our homes for raucous dinner parties without fear of public ridicule.