The National government richly deserved the lesson it got in
Northland. Since its re-election, it has treated voters with an attitude bordering
on contempt.
The day after the election, John Key warned his party
against third-term arrogance. He promptly proceeded to disregard his own advice
and has continued on much the same path ever since.
Yes, the government has plenty of reason to be cocky. The
economy is humming. Migration is running at record levels, indicating New
Zealand is seen as a desirable place to be.
A run of sporting successes – the Black Caps, the Wellington
Phoenix, the Breakers, the Hurricanes, Lydia Ko – has contributed to a feel-good
mood that will rub off on National, which is no doubt why Key is in Melbourne
today watching the cricket, rather than in Singapore attending the funeral of
Lee Kuan Yew (as Tony Abbott is). He
wants to share in any glory that’s going, just as he did in the embarrassing
three-way handshake at the Rugby World Cup in 2011.
National and Key are holding up well in the polls, too. But
for how long?
Virtually every action the government has taken so far in
this term has been tainted with the odour of hubris and, far worse, deceit. Even
when it got something right, as it did with its decision to commit a modest
force to Iraq, it brought discredit on itself by Key’s childish crowing in
Parliament.
“Get some guts and join the right side,” Key shouted at the
opposition benches. It didn’t just detract from National’s principled decision
(at least we hope it was principled, and not just a pragmatic attempt to stay
onside with more powerful allies); it also gave Labour leader Andrew Little the
perfect opportunity to respond that the people with real guts were the soldiers
being sent to a dangerous war zone, not Key in his comfy seat in the House of
Representatives.
I detect signs that the old born-to-rule mentality – never the
Nats’ most endearing quality, but mercifully out of sight for most of the MMP
era – is re-asserting itself. It was evident in the government’s smug certainty
(at least initially) that it would retain Northland, despite the cloud hanging
over its former MP. But there have been several other clues that Version 3 of
the Key government is of a subtly different character from those of the
previous two terms.
Exhibit One: The dust had barely settled after the election
before the government pushed through a bill exempting employers from the
obligation to provide paid rest and meal breaks.
As the first significant legislation of National’s third
term, it seemed a deeply symbolic statement. There seemed no other way to
interpret it than as a signal that the Key government was reverting to a
National Party archetype from an earlier era, shedding its friendly, centrist face
in favour of a more classical right-wing hard line on employment
relations.
To be fair, that message was modified by this week’s
introduction of legislation providing tougher penalties for companies that
breach employment laws. But given that it coincided with the increasing
preponderance of zero-hours contracts, which tilt contractual terms entirely in
favour of employers, the tea-break bill suggested a return to the days when conservative
governments were seen as unsympathetic, even hostile, to workers.
You don’t have to be a staunch trade unionist (I’m certainly
not, as most readers of this blog would know) to believe this runs counter to
the New Zealand belief in a fair go, especially for those with little or no
power to protect themselves. All else aside, it just looks mean-spirited that at
a time of robust economic growth, with the share market humming and most
companies reporting healthy profits, National passes legislation whittling away
workers’ traditional entitlements.
Until recently, this government had done a pretty good job
of convincing people that it didn’t just represent the sectional interests from
which National draws much of its financial backing. No doubt that’s one reason
why its popularity has remained steady. But you have to wonder whether the
party is abandoning that broad-church approach in favour of preferential
treatment for favoured groups.
Which brings me to Exhibit Two: Auckland’s proposed Skycity
Convention Centre. From the outset, this looked like a dodgy sweetheart deal.
But it began to look even more shonky when it emerged that the taxpayer was
likely to be left footing the bill for a massive cost blowout.
It seemed clear the government was prepared to go along with
this, and had indicated as much in cosy chats with Skycity. It was only when
the public revolted that National hastily engaged reverse gear, insisting that
a generous taxpayer handout to the casino company had only ever been a
technical option.
That’s not how it looked, and I don’t think people were
fooled. Either the government was incompetent in entering an arrangement that
was loaded in Skycity’s favour, or it was pandering to wealthy friends. Either
way, it smelled.
For Exhibit Three we need to go back to November, when National
bulldozed potentially intrusive new security laws through Parliament on the
pretext that urgent action was needed to save us from terrorists.
Nothing had been said about this in the lead-up to the
election only weeks before. No doubt the government would explain that by
saying the terrorism threat wasn’t apparent then, but a more likely explanation
is that electronic surveillance was a hot issue during the campaign and
National strategists didn’t want to give its opponents any more oxygen than
they already had.
Instead, we were asked to believe that the security risk had
escalated so suddenly and alarmingly that the government couldn’t afford the
luxury of normal parliamentary process.
Only two days were allowed for submissions on a bill that greatly
increased the power of the SIS to pry into people’s lives.
When Radio New Zealand interviewer Guyon Espiner asked Chris
Finlayson, the minister in charge of the SIS, to explain the unseemly haste,
Finlayson testily replied that the government had no time for “chit-chat”. He
subsequently apologised, but didn’t look at all contrite.
The imperious Finlayson gave the impression of believing the
government was under no obligation to explain itself. Dammit, why couldn’t we
just trust National to get on with things without the inconvenience and
nuisance of public scrutiny?
Exhibit Four: The selloff of state housing. Either this was
poorly conceived and executed (it was certainly poorly explained to the public),
or the government’s real agenda all along was less admirable than it wanted us
to think.
Either interpretation is open. The first is supported by the
fact that the Salvation Army, whose acceptance of the deal appeared crucial to
its credibility, decided it wasn’t feasible.
If things had been handled properly, the Sallies’ support
would surely have been locked in earlier. After all, the disposal of state
housing was a centrepiece of the government’s programme for the year; you’d
expect every T to be crossed and I dotted.
The second interpretation, the conspiratorial one, is that
the Salvation Army’s putative involvement was always just a smokescreen to make
the proposal look respectable, and that the real purpose was to get state
housing off the government’s books whatever it took.
And hey, if the Sallies weren’t interested, private
developers might be. Could that have been the government’s preferred option all
along, and one that would play well to business interests eager to make a buck
from cheap state assets? Given past experience, in the energy sector
especially, people could hardly be blamed for being cynical.
Exhibit Five is the nonchalance with which National
initially approached the Northland by-election. Key talked as if all the
party’s candidate, the hapless Mark Osborne, had to do was turn up. Never mind
that the sitting National MP, Mike Sabin, had gone AWOL in circumstances that
remain unexplained. It seemed to be assumed that loyal Northland voters would unquestioningly
fall into line regardless.
But even Winston Peters gets something right occasionally,
and he did the country a favour by making National squirm in the North. It was
almost a pleasure watching the government’s complacency turn to panic as it
realised it had a fight on its hands.
It’s hard to recall a more naked display of schmoozing and
vote-buying than that which followed, although whether swarms of Cabinet
ministers in leather-upholstered limos did National any favours in impoverished
Northland is a moot point. More likely, the so-called charm offensive simply
reminded locals of how rarely they’ve featured on the government’s radar.
Overshadowing all the above is Exhibit Six – arguably the
most damaging of all, because it suggests Key plays fast and loose with the
public’s trust.
I refer here to his shifty response when he faces questions
from journalists. He is slippery and evasive, often batting legitimate
questions away with bland, airy-fairy dismissals.
His consistent refusal to give satisfactory answers,
especially on matters relating to electronic surveillance and the GCSB, has
become embarrassing to watch. What’s more, it plays into the hands of Nicky
Hager and the conspiracy theorists, since it suggests Key and his government
have something to hide.
Voters signalled clearly last September that they would not
allow Hager’s strategically timed anti-government disclosures to sway the
election result. But the election is six months behind us now and the
revelations just keep coming. Far from dousing speculation about what the GCSB
gets up to, Key gives it momentum by adopting that familiar blank “I know
nothing” look whenever reporters start asking questions.
Arguably the most damaging of the leaks related to Trade
Negotiations Minister Tim Groser’s bid to become head of the World Trade
Organisation, where it’s claimed the GCSB was used to spy on Groser’s rivals.
Most of the allegations previously swirling around the government
spy bureau involved esoteric issues, too far removed from the reality of most
people’s lives to register as important or relevant to them; but eavesdropping
on rival candidates for a job is something anyone can understand.
And while the public may be persuaded that electronic
monitoring is necessary where national security is involved, even if it’s
illicit or duplicitous and risks getting us offside with friendly countries, it
becomes much harder to justify when the purpose is merely to help a National
insider score a prestigious international job.
That just seems sneaky, and it was made worse by Key’s
dismissive comment that Groser’s rivals “wouldn’t give a monkey’s”. That type
of flippant dismissal might be acceptable with his mates on the golf course,
but it falls far short of what New Zealanders are entitled to expect from their
prime minister.
It both trivialised and sidestepped the issue. If Key isn’t
willing to answer legitimate questions fairly and squarely, he should stop
making himself available to journalists. As it is, he plays the public for suckers
and makes a mockery of the principle of accountability.
Even Bill English, usually a straight shooter, seems to have
adopted a Key-like approach to uncomfortable questions. In his case, this
sometimes involves denying what is screamingly obvious – for example, that the
Salvation Army’s withdrawal from the proposed state housing split-up was a
setback for the government. Not at all, said Bill, unblinking. Hmmm.
It’s as if, having survived the firestorm of the 2014
election campaign with his personal popularity intact, Key has decided he and his
government are bulletproof. But like water on rock, suspicions about government
integrity have the potential to gradually erode his credibility.
And that’s essentially what we’re talking about here:
integrity. A government that can’t be trusted to be honest with the people
doesn’t deserve to stay in power.
