David Seymour’s announcement that ACT may stand candidates in council elections triggered a discussion on Nick Mills’ talkback show on Newstalk ZB this morning about whether political parties should get involved in local government. But that mischievous genie escaped from the bottle a very long time ago.
The Labour Party has long regarded local politics as fertile ground, both at district and regional levels, and always fields a slate of Wellington City Council candidates with the party’s formidable organisational resources behind them.
Frank Kitts, Wellington’s longest-serving mayor (1956-74), was elected on the Labour ticket; so were Jim Belich and Fran Wilde. Four of the current councillors owe their loyalty to Labour, though only one (Teri O’Neill) acknowledges her allegiance in her profile on the council’s website.
Wellington Regional Council chair Daran Ponter is a Labour man too, as is Lower Hutt mayor Campbell Barry. So Labour is a powerful force in local government, though it largely flies under the radar in terms of public visibility.
Then there are the Greens. Wellington got its first Green councillor, Stephen Rainbow, way back in 1989. Rainbow has moved a long way politically since then, shifting to the libertarian right to the extent that the current government felt comfortable appointing him as chief human rights commissioner, but there has been a more-or-less constant Green Party presence at the Wellington council table in the past few decades – to say nothing of two disastrous Green mayors, Celia Wade-Brown and Tory Whanau (who is Green in all but official designation).
So what about the other side? For decades Wellington had the conservative Citizens’ and Ratepayers’ Association, which was widely viewed as a National Party proxy. Its main purpose was to keep Labour out of power, in which role it was often successful. Sir Michael Fowler was a popular Citizens’ mayor (1974-83) and the Citizens’ Association often commanded a majority around the council table. But Ian Lawrence (1983-86) was the last Citizens’ mayor and the Citizens’ Association now seems defunct, not having stood a candidate since 1997. National itself has never stood candidates in council elections.
So now ACT is thinking about having a go – and why not? We should brace ourselves for howls of outrage, but ACT would only be doing what the Left has done (and very effectively) for decades.
Tuesday, March 18, 2025
Friday, March 14, 2025
Polkinghorne unchastened
In the New Zealand Herald this morning, Steve Braunias reports on the opening of the inquest into the death of Pauline Hanna, wife of Auckland ophthalmologist Philip Polkinghorne.
The circumstances of her undignified death are well known, having been exhaustively reported when Polkinghorne went on trial last year for her murder. He was acquitted, but the law still requires that an inquest be held.
Braunias reports that before yesterday’s hearing, Polkinghorne “teased” the officer in charge of the murder investigation. “Oh,” he said. “I thought you’d be working at Countdown,” he told Detective Sergeant Chris Allen – the clear implication being that he didn’t deserve to keep his job as a cop.
We don’t know whether it was said with a smile or with malice, but either way it will probably confirm the impression the country had formed of Polkinghorne during the trial – namely, that he’s an arrogant prick with a massive sense of entitlement.
Most men in Polkinghorne’s situation, having had their appalling behaviour exposed during a sensational trial that generated headlines for weeks, would have felt chastened. They would have been relieved at the not guilty verdict, gratefully taken it as a win and left matters to rest rather than rake over the coals.
But not this raging egotist, apparently. He has scores to settle.
The circumstances of her undignified death are well known, having been exhaustively reported when Polkinghorne went on trial last year for her murder. He was acquitted, but the law still requires that an inquest be held.
Braunias reports that before yesterday’s hearing, Polkinghorne “teased” the officer in charge of the murder investigation. “Oh,” he said. “I thought you’d be working at Countdown,” he told Detective Sergeant Chris Allen – the clear implication being that he didn’t deserve to keep his job as a cop.
We don’t know whether it was said with a smile or with malice, but either way it will probably confirm the impression the country had formed of Polkinghorne during the trial – namely, that he’s an arrogant prick with a massive sense of entitlement.
Most men in Polkinghorne’s situation, having had their appalling behaviour exposed during a sensational trial that generated headlines for weeks, would have felt chastened. They would have been relieved at the not guilty verdict, gratefully taken it as a win and left matters to rest rather than rake over the coals.
But not this raging egotist, apparently. He has scores to settle.
Tuesday, March 11, 2025
A lamentation for hard news photos and the people who took them
My wife’s not exactly an avid sports fan, but she was moved to remark on a brilliant Associated Press photo on the back page of today’s Wairarapa Times-Age. It shows New Zealand cricketer Kyle Jamieson flat on his back, staring goggle-eyed as the ball rolls away from him moments after he’s missed a crucial catch in the final of the 2025 Champions Trophy against India. The expression on his face registers shock, dismay and disbelief.
My wife commented that it was a terrific photo and I agreed. It suddenly occurred to me, looking at it, that the only really striking photos we see in the print media these days are of sport. The hard news picture, as it’s known in the trade, is almost a relic of the past.
The defining events of our time – the 1951 waterfront dispute, the Wahine disaster, the 1981 Springbok tour protests, to name just three – were captured forever on film by great photographers.
I had the honour and privilege of knowing some of them – people like Barry Durrant and John Selkirk at the Dominion, Phil Reid and Ian Mackley at the Evening Post. There are countless others I could mention.
They were hungry and competitive. They lived for big stories and would go to great lengths to get the right shot from the right angle at the right moment. The best of them had an almost uncanny ability to anticipate situations before they happened and strategically position themselves.
A famous example was the picture taken by Barry Durrant of the moment in 1968 when a blast of explosives blew away the last wall of rock in the underground tailrace connecting Lake Manapouri and Deep Cove – part of the Manapouri power project.
A party of dignitaries had assembled for the occasion but Durrant didn’t go for the obvious picture of cabinet minister Ralph Hanan pushing down the plunger to set off the explosion. Instead he turned his camera on the observers, hoping to capture the expressions on their faces.
He got more than that. The tunnellers had over-estimated the amount of explosives needed to do the job and the massive blast blew the safety helmets off the heads of the official party. Durrant was one of half a dozen photographers present but he was the only who got the shot of the shock wave blowing the VIPs’ hard hats off.
As news editor of the Dom in the 1980s, I could be confident that each day would produce at least one standout picture for the front page. There was fierce competition among the photographers (we had five or six) for the prestige of a front-page byline.
Now the old-school news photographer is an almost extinct species, like so many other casualties from the golden age of print (in fact almost literally extinct, since newspapers now use the pompous term “visual journalist”).
Reporters are expected to take their own pictures. Some do their best, but it’s not the same.
There are still a handful of skilled and dedicated news photographers around, but they are pitifully few. Our major newspapers are largely dependent on static or stock shots to illustrate their stories. You can go days, even weeks, without seeing an authentic hard news photo. Ones that make you mutter "wow", such as this morning's sports pic, are even rarer.
What happened? Some of the best photographers were “let go”, to use a ghastly euphemism, during the serial industry retrenchments that accompanied the shock of the digital revolution. I know of one who ended up working as a postie; another who bought a motel. They were a huge loss, one that accelerated the gradual and painful decline of newspapers.
My wife commented that it was a terrific photo and I agreed. It suddenly occurred to me, looking at it, that the only really striking photos we see in the print media these days are of sport. The hard news picture, as it’s known in the trade, is almost a relic of the past.
The defining events of our time – the 1951 waterfront dispute, the Wahine disaster, the 1981 Springbok tour protests, to name just three – were captured forever on film by great photographers.
I had the honour and privilege of knowing some of them – people like Barry Durrant and John Selkirk at the Dominion, Phil Reid and Ian Mackley at the Evening Post. There are countless others I could mention.
They were hungry and competitive. They lived for big stories and would go to great lengths to get the right shot from the right angle at the right moment. The best of them had an almost uncanny ability to anticipate situations before they happened and strategically position themselves.
A famous example was the picture taken by Barry Durrant of the moment in 1968 when a blast of explosives blew away the last wall of rock in the underground tailrace connecting Lake Manapouri and Deep Cove – part of the Manapouri power project.
A party of dignitaries had assembled for the occasion but Durrant didn’t go for the obvious picture of cabinet minister Ralph Hanan pushing down the plunger to set off the explosion. Instead he turned his camera on the observers, hoping to capture the expressions on their faces.
He got more than that. The tunnellers had over-estimated the amount of explosives needed to do the job and the massive blast blew the safety helmets off the heads of the official party. Durrant was one of half a dozen photographers present but he was the only who got the shot of the shock wave blowing the VIPs’ hard hats off.
As news editor of the Dom in the 1980s, I could be confident that each day would produce at least one standout picture for the front page. There was fierce competition among the photographers (we had five or six) for the prestige of a front-page byline.
Now the old-school news photographer is an almost extinct species, like so many other casualties from the golden age of print (in fact almost literally extinct, since newspapers now use the pompous term “visual journalist”).
Reporters are expected to take their own pictures. Some do their best, but it’s not the same.
There are still a handful of skilled and dedicated news photographers around, but they are pitifully few. Our major newspapers are largely dependent on static or stock shots to illustrate their stories. You can go days, even weeks, without seeing an authentic hard news photo. Ones that make you mutter "wow", such as this morning's sports pic, are even rarer.
What happened? Some of the best photographers were “let go”, to use a ghastly euphemism, during the serial industry retrenchments that accompanied the shock of the digital revolution. I know of one who ended up working as a postie; another who bought a motel. They were a huge loss, one that accelerated the gradual and painful decline of newspapers.
Thursday, March 6, 2025
A tip for Luxon: ignore your media coaches
Commenting on Christopher Luxon’s inability to express himself clearly and honestly, Stuff columnist Janet Wilson, a former National Party communications adviser, opined recently that the prime minister errs by concentrating on “talking points” – “learning by rote to a point where he is nothing but a talking robot” – and struggling to “meaningfully engage in conversation”.
But who’s at fault here? I suspect the reason politicians like Luxon get into trouble is that they rely far too much on media coaches. They are schooled to stick to pre-determined “talking points” which quickly become clichés and jargon that voters see straight through.
Luxon is hardly the first politician to fall into this trap. And though she’s harsh in her criticism of him, I believe people like Wilson (who runs her own media training firm) are part of the problem.
Communications advisers are a relatively recent phenomenon that has contaminated the political process by getting in between politicians and the public and blurring their message. They are obsessively risk-averse and wield altogether too much influence. Some politicians, and I suspect Luxon is one, become far too dependent on them and afraid to trust their own judgment and instincts (assuming they have any).
Previous generations of politicians didn’t have this problem; they spoke directly, said what they thought and were generally respected for it, even if people didn’t agree. Their message wasn’t filtered through layers of obfuscatory flim-flam.
Some politicians still operate that way. Winston Peters is an example and so is David Seymour. Chris Hipkins too gives the impression that he gives genuine and spontaneous responses to questions, though he’s politically far more astute than Luxon and much more nimble.
Of course there remains the possibility that the reason Luxon sounds shallow, unconvincing and unsure of himself is that he’s shallow, unconvincing and unsure of himself. Even so, he could hardly do any worse if he ignored whatever media advice he’s getting.
But who’s at fault here? I suspect the reason politicians like Luxon get into trouble is that they rely far too much on media coaches. They are schooled to stick to pre-determined “talking points” which quickly become clichés and jargon that voters see straight through.
Luxon is hardly the first politician to fall into this trap. And though she’s harsh in her criticism of him, I believe people like Wilson (who runs her own media training firm) are part of the problem.
Communications advisers are a relatively recent phenomenon that has contaminated the political process by getting in between politicians and the public and blurring their message. They are obsessively risk-averse and wield altogether too much influence. Some politicians, and I suspect Luxon is one, become far too dependent on them and afraid to trust their own judgment and instincts (assuming they have any).
Previous generations of politicians didn’t have this problem; they spoke directly, said what they thought and were generally respected for it, even if people didn’t agree. Their message wasn’t filtered through layers of obfuscatory flim-flam.
Some politicians still operate that way. Winston Peters is an example and so is David Seymour. Chris Hipkins too gives the impression that he gives genuine and spontaneous responses to questions, though he’s politically far more astute than Luxon and much more nimble.
Of course there remains the possibility that the reason Luxon sounds shallow, unconvincing and unsure of himself is that he’s shallow, unconvincing and unsure of himself. Even so, he could hardly do any worse if he ignored whatever media advice he’s getting.
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