Echoes of Citizens for Rowling

Who remembers the Citizens for Rowling campaign? It was a concerted attempt by the Great and the Good to derail National Party leader Robert Muldoon’s election campaign in 1975.

The campaign’s backers didn’t like Muldoon’s combative, divisive brand of politics and argued that Labour’s gentlemanly Bill Rowling, who had assumed the prime ministership after Norman Kirk’s death in 1974, offered a far more desirable style of leadership.

Citizens for Rowling generated enormous publicity, circulating a nationwide petition and taking out ads in all the major papers, but the campaign was an ignominious failure. National won the election in a landslide, securing 55 seats to Labour’s 32.

For Muldoon, Citizens for Rowling was political gold. It played to his strength as a political counter-puncher and a man of the people, enabling him to portray Rowling’s backers as elitist and condescending.

So who were Citizens for Rowling? The driving force behind the campaign was the Canadian-born former TV current affairs interviewer David Exel, who enlisted the support of a bevy of high-profile names – among them, Everest conqueror Sir Ed Hillary, Anglican bishop Paul Reeves (later to become governor-general under a Labour government), academic and peace campaigner John Hinchcliff, civil libertarian and educationist Walter Scott, lawyer John Jeffries, businessman Sir Jack Harris and future Labour prime minister Geoffrey Palmer.

It’s that last name that particularly resonates 50 years later. Palmer, who was then an idealistic young law professor at Victoria University, is the only survivor of the leading Citizens for Rowling signatories. And sadly, he appears to have learned little or nothing during the intervening decades.

I’m forced to that conclusion because according to the NZ Herald today, Palmer is the leading signatory to an open letter opposing ACT’s Regulatory Standards Bill.

If you closed your eyes and concentrated hard, you shouldn’t have too much trouble guessing the names of at least some of the others. In fact they are almost comically predictable.

There’s Dame Anne Salmond, Professor Emeritus Jane Kelsey, Professor Emeritus Jonathan Boston (they do love their titles in academia), climate change bore Jim Salinger, old-school socialist Geoff Bertram, former CTU economist Bill Rosenberg and geeky law academic and activist Max Harris. The usual suspects, in other words - a select roll-call of the Left-leaning brahmin academic caste. 

The parallels with Citizens for Rowling are unmistakable and their efforts are likely to be just as ineffectual, because New Zealand society, for all that it has changed, still has a deep egalitarian streak that is stubbornly resistant to guidance from self-appointed elites.

To put it simply, many New Zealanders resent being told what to think. That was the lesson of 1975 and I don’t think much has changed.

There is more than just a faint whiff of patronising intellectual superiority in the posturing of Palmer and his fellow signatories. In their lofty eyries, they appear to labour under the naïve delusion that their open letter may help turn the tide against David Seymour’s Bill.

I don’t think it will – not because their objections don’t have any substance, necessarily, but because the people most likely to be influenced by the letter are those who belong to that steadily shrinking portion of the population that still habitually reads the Listener and listens to RNZ, both of which can be relied on to reinforce their world view. Such people are programmed to suspect the worst of Seymour anyway and will earnestly nod their heads in agreement with Palmer’s open letter.

Of course the signatories are simply exercising rights available to everyone in a liberal democracy. But they are doing so in the obvious belief that their names, and hence their opinions, carry a lot more weight than those of the average citizen. In other words they are pontificating from a position of entrenched privilege, though I’m sure they don’t see it that way. (It’s worth noting here that this type of elitist posturing invariably emanates from the Left – a curious fact, given that the Left has always presumed to speak for the disadvantaged.)

To return to Citizens for Rowling: I disliked Muldoon intensely, but the campaign against him got my back up nonetheless. Citizens for Rowling gave the clear impression they didn’t trust their fellow New Zealanders to figure things out for themselves; that we needed guidance from mountaineering heroes, lawyers and high-ranking clerics.

I voted for Labour in the subsequent election, but I greatly resented this elite group’s attempt to use their public status to influence the outcome, and the election result suggested that lots of other New Zealanders probably did too. I predict this latest ill-conceived initiative will misfire for much the same reason.

The blank space that is John Key's political legacy

(First published in Stuff regional papers, June 12. PLEASE NOTE: This was published before John Key featured prominently in the media over the departure of ANZ chief executive David Hisco. In any case, that event made no difference to Key's political legacy, which was the subject of this column.)

Remember John Key? He was once our prime minister.

Actually, he was our prime minister for slightly more than eight years – in other words, nearly three terms.

That’s quite a long tenure. If you rank all our prime ministers according to their total term in office, he’s in eighth place – slightly behind Helen Clark and Robert Muldoon, but ahead of Jim Bolger and well in front of David Lange.

And I can’t resist pointing out that if this were Australia, where politics is a lot more volatile, Key’s eight years-plus would place him up there with tenacious survivors like John Howard and the late Bob Hawke. 

Key resigned as prime minister only two and a half years ago. It may come as a surprise to be reminded that it was so recent, because to all intents and purposes he has since vanished from public view. It’s almost as if he never existed.

Remember, this is a man who was regarded as something of a political colossus – in New Zealand terms, anyway – when he was in power. His personal approval ratings surpassed even those of Jacinda Ardern post-Christchurch.

Press gallery veterans considered him the consummate politician, with an almost mystical power to charm voters. Caucus unrest was almost unheard of when Key ran the show.

Yet now his name is hardly spoken, at least in a political context. Have we got short memories, or is there something else going on here?

Admittedly, Key departed in unusual circumstances; that is to say, he went of his own accord, at a time of his choosing. That’s rare in politics, where most leaders end up outstaying their welcome and refuse to leave the stage even when it’s obvious to everyone else that their time is up.

Muldoon, for example, remained a cantankerous presence around Parliament after he was rolled as National Party leader. And although Lange resigned as prime minister of his own accord, he too remained in politics and metamorphosed from the witty and charismatic leader of the fourth Labour government to an increasingly bitter, disenchanted and physically unwell figure in opposition.

But with Key, you got the feeling that he’d ticked being prime minister off his to-do list and was happy to move on.

All of which raises an intriguing question: 50 years hence, which New Zealand prime ministers will historians rate as the ones who made the most lasting impact?

My prediction, for what it’s worth, is that for all his personal popularity when he was in power, Key’s name will be well down the list. Because when you look at what he stood for and what he achieved, it didn’t add up to much.

He was a manager and a pragmatist rather than a visionary, and although he managed competently enough – he helped get us through the global financial crisis, after all – we really knew no more about his values and aspirations at the end of his term in office than we did at the start.

To this day I don’t know what motivated Key to enter politics. His one serious attempt at creating a legacy – the referendum to change the flag – ended in ignominious defeat.

There’s a marked contrast here with Norman Kirk, who died in office 45 years ago. Kirk lasted less than one term but his name endures, and not just in the memories of ageing Labour supporters.

Kirk is remembered because he was seen as a man with emphatic political values. Even in his brief term in office, he presided over a lasting reset of New Zealand’s place in the world. By asserting our right to make our own way, rather than function as an appendage of Britain and the United States, he changed the way we saw ourselves.

To use a fashionable term, he was a conviction politician.  He got into politics because he had firm views about the need for change, and he had the ambition and energy to make it happen.

Lange was a conviction politician too, as was Helen Clark. You knew what they stood for even if they weren't always true to their own stated values . Ardern seems to have been cut from similar cloth.

National’s leaders, on the other hand, have tended to fall into the manager-pragmatist category. Keith Holyoake, Bolger and Key did whatever worked and were largely unencumbered by ideology. An exception was Muldoon, who had very strong convictions but often seemed to be in the wrong party.

Which prime ministers left the deepest footprint? I think the answer is clear. We still talk about Muldoon and Kirk, and Clark remains influential.

That's not to say they were our greatest leaders, but I suspect they're the names New Zealanders are likely to remember when Key has been relegated to the back pages of history.

How Trump weaponised distrust of the US media - and how the media obliged him by playing along

(Published in the Manawatu Standard, Nelson Mail and other Stuff regional papers, December 12.)

Whenever I read something about Donald Trump, my eyes go straight to the credit line at the bottom of the story to see where it came from.

If it’s sourced from the Washington Post or the New York Times, I read it with a degree of scepticism. These once-great newspapers have dangerously compromised their credibility by allowing their almost obsessive dislike of the American president to contaminate their reportage.

This is made worse by their tendency to allow fact and opinion to become so entangled that it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other starts. It’s open season on Trump, and many American journalists make it clear that they despise him.

And actually, I understand why they feel that way. I despise Trump too, and worry about the damage his presidency might do to America and to the world. He’s a man who appears to have no moral compass and no respect for the truth.

He has also, consciously and deliberately, made an enemy of the media. The terrible mistake made by news organisations such as the Washington Post and the New York Times is that they have been suckered into playing his game.

There is always tension in the relationship between politicians and journalists, but it’s usually kept under control by both sides. Not so with Trump.

He has weaponised public distrust of the media in much the same way as Robert Muldoon did in New Zealand 40 years ago. Trump knows, as Muldoon did, that it can be politically advantageous to portray the media as biased and elitist.

Trump plays this political card more blatantly and unscrupulously than even Muldoon did, repeatedly branding the American media as the enemy of the people.

Sadly, by buying into the adversarial relationship and adopting an openly hostile stance toward the White House, the media have perversely enhanced Trump’s political capital.

He can point to their antagonistic coverage as proof that the liberal media can’t be trusted to report things fairly and accurately. This played well to his supporters on the campaign trail in 2016 and it continues to play well for Trump now, because there will always be an element of the public that is prepared to believe the worst of supposedly elitist, out-of-touch reporters.

And it has to be said that many journalists are elitist and out-of-touch – especially in the US, where the big media organisations are headquartered far from the neglected heartland where Trump’s support base is located. That helps explain why the media so dismally failed to foresee Trump’s victory in the presidential election.

The best counter to Trump’s game, surely, is to do what reputable newspapers used to do as a matter of course: play it straight.

News columns are not the place for editorial opinion. They should be concerned only with detached, factual accounts of what Trump has said or done.

This doesn’t preclude journalists from documenting inconsistencies and obvious untruths, or from reporting the turmoil created by Trump’s erratic behaviour. Neither does it stop columnists and editorial writers from expressing themselves freely in opinion sections.

But tone is everything, and what passes for news coverage in papers like the Washington Post and the New York Times is often freighted with emotive rhetoric and laced with the reporter’s obvious contempt. In those circumstances, even readers who dislike Trump are entitled to wonder whether they are getting a reliable, unbiased account, or whether the media are reporting only what happens to align with their perception.  

Many liberal Americans share this concern. A recent programme on National Public Radio, which is anything but pro-Trump, attracted calls from listeners who called out media bias. As one said, “I think they [the media] have decided what’s right for everyone and think it’s their job to convince people.”

All of this leads me, in a roundabout way, to last month’s declaration by Patrick Crewdson, editor-in-chief of Stuff, that his organisation will no longer give space to the views of people he classifies as climate change sceptics and “denialists”.

Okay, the parallel with Trump isn’t obvious, but Stuff’s stance does raise a serious question relating to trust in the media.

When a news organisation decides to shut down dissenting comment on an issue as important as climate change on the basis that the debate is “settled”, it assumes a position of omniscience that will rankle with many readers. But far more importantly, it raises doubts in readers’ minds about its commitment to free and open debate.

I would have thought the media faced enough challenges in the current environment without incurring accusations of elitist bias. That threatens to take us into Trump territory, and who wants to go there?

Stuff appended the following editor's note to my column:

Stuff has not shut down discussion on climate change, but we will not provide a forum for its factual existence to be countered with fictions and call it "balance".

It added: Stuff accepts the overwhelming scientific consensus that climate change is real and caused by human activity. We welcome robust debate about the appropriate response to climate change, but do not intend to provide a venue for denialism or hoax advocacy. That applies equally to the stories we will publish in Quick! Save the Planet [a Stuff project highlighting climate change] and to our moderation standards for reader comments.

Who's Norman trying to kid?

Russel Norman’s speech to the annual conference of the Greens, in which he compared John Key with Robert Muldoon, rated a 10 for desperation and a zero for credibility.

I’m no cheerleader for Key, but even to mention him in the same breath as Muldoon is laughable.

Norman arrived in New Zealand from Australia in 1997, and on the basis of his speech I would guess that’s about as far back as his knowledge of our political history extends.

None of the prime ministers we’ve had since Muldoon could be compared with him, for which we should be grateful. He was a vindictive bully who cleverly exploited the politics of fear and division, and never more so than during the 1981 Springbok tour.

In fact I would suggest that in terms of personality, Key is the least like Muldoon. Anyone old enough to remember the political unpleasantness of the late 1970s and early 80s – which probably excludes a lot of Green voters – would have reacted with astonishment to Norman’s bizarre attempt to compare the two men.

Muldoon's default facial expression was a snarl. Key's is a grin (or if you want to be harsh, a smirk).

Arguably, the politician who most closely resembles Muldoon, and who served his apprenticeship under him, is Winston Peters. Like Muldoon, Peters has a penchant for demagoguery. But even the New Zealand First leader falls far short of Muldoon’s menacing intolerance of dissent, though it might have been a different story had he ever won power.

There are only two possible explanations for Norman’s attack on Key. The first is that, as postulated above, he knows nothing about our modern political history (not that that stops him from promoting himself as a credible alternative leader). The second, which is even more worrying, is that he knows the comparison between Key and Muldoon is absurd but ran with it anyway. Perhaps he senses the Greens’ momentum is slipping and is prepared to resort to extreme measures to get some traction.

Whichever way you look at it, the speech will have done nothing to enhance his credibility, other than in the eyes of the terminally gullible idealists who make up the Greens’ core constituency.

Where private affairs have public consequences

(First published in the Nelson Mail and Manawatu Standard, November 21.)

Certain aspects of the American character puzzle me.

Their ardent patriotism is one. It’s on display everywhere, from “God Bless America” bumper stickers to the Stars and Stripes that flutter from houses in virtually every street.

Another is their intense religiosity. No one from New Zealand – a country so irreligious that some Christians are almost embarrassed to admit they go to church – can fail to notice the fervent faith of many Americans.

It’s especially noticeable in the more conservative states, where on Sundays it’s common to see acres of cars parked outside large, imposing churches, even in sparsely populated rural areas.

That brings me to another curious aspect of the American character. Public morality is an infinitely more sensitive issue there than in New Zealand.

That was obvious from the political furore that blew up over the revelation that the military hero General David Petraeus, who commanded US forces in Iraq and Afghanistan, had conducted an affair with a much younger woman who wrote his biography. The scandal ended his brief career as head of the CIA.

Paula Broadwell had spent much of last year “embedded” with American troops in Afghanistan as she gathered material for her book. In this context that term, which is usually applied to journalists reporting the war, took on a whole new meaning.

As often happens with political scandals, one disclosure led to another. The Petraeus scandal soon enveloped other people – notably socialite twin sisters from Florida who had a penchant for cultivating politicians and senior military figures.

One of the sisters, Jill Kelley, complained to an FBI agent that she was receiving threatening emails – supposedly from Broadwell, who appeared to suspect Kelley of making a play for Petraeus. Another four-star general, John Allen, was then exposed as having exchanged suggestive emails with Kelley.

Are you managing to keep up so far? If not, never mind. Because the interesting point is that in America, private affairs often have public consequences.

In Italy and France, it’s generally assumed that prominent men will have extra-marital liaisons. In fact it’s almost expected of them, as if you’re less of a man if you don’t have a mistress tucked away somewhere.

Though the Brits tend to be more discreet, the British public too has generally been tolerant of infidelity in high places. Mild-mannered former prime minister John Major’s reputation didn’t seem to be seriously harmed – in fact may even have been enhanced – by the revelation that he had carried on a four-year affair with backbench MP Edwina Currie.

David Lloyd George, leader of Britain’s coalition government in the latter years of World War I, was nicknamed the goat on account of his womanising (he was also, by all accounts, prodigiously endowed), and King Edward VII had a string of high-profile mistresses.

In Britain, things seem to get messy only when there are national security implications, as when Defence Minister John Profumo was famously sacked for having a relationship with call-girl Christine Keeler, who was simultaneously sleeping with a Soviet spy.

Closer to home, Australian prime minister Bob Hawke had a reputation as a philanderer. Like Petraeus, Hawke had a relationship with his biographer (the exotically named Blanche d’Alpuget). The Aussie media knew of Hawke’s infidelities – the relationship with d’Alpuget was public knowledge – but it was never a hot political issue.

Closer still, New Zealand journalists have tended to turn a blind eye to politicians’ affairs, even when they were relatively common knowledge (as in the case of the late Robert Muldoon, who was once the subject of a wickedly witty fake newspaper billboard that read Rooting pig shot in Ngaio; PM safe). The general view was that it was none of the public’s business unless the relationship compromised the participants politically, implicated them in illegality (as in the case of two Labour MPs who were outed for homosexual activity before it was decriminalised) or reflected poorly on their ability to do their job.

An exception was National MP (and later Speaker of the House) Doug Kidd, whose affair with a parliamentary secretary was exposed by the feminist lobby in 1983 with the express purpose of causing him political embarrassment. The feminists were gunning for Mr Kidd (as he was then – he was later knighted) because he had moved to amend the abortion law.  

Otherwise, the only recent sex scandals I can recall in New Zealand politics were those that came to public attention because they were the subject of police complaints. The politicians involved – National’s Richard Worth and Labour’s Darren Hughes – both resigned.

The big difference in America is that even when an adulterous relationship has been between consenting adults and there has been no suggestion of criminality, the code of public morality often demands that the transgressor be punished.

For a long time, a respectful American press left presidents alone. Franklin D Roosevelt had mistresses, one of whom was even assigned a code name by the Secret Service. Dwight D Eisenhower’s relationship with his English female chauffeur during World War II was never referred to while he was alive. John F Kennedy scattered his seed with impunity, knowing he was protected by the sanctity of his office.

All that changed post-Watergate, when the US media began applying much more critical scrutiny to politicians.  Two high-flying casualties were senators Gary Hart in the 1980s and John Edwards in 2008 – both contenders for the Democratic Party’s presidential nomination who became soiled political goods when their extra-marital activities were made public.

Even in business, careers have been destroyed by affairs – as in the case of Lockheed Martin president Chris Kubasik, who was forced to step aside because of his relationship with a subordinate.

President Bill Clinton is a remarkable exception to the rule. Miraculously, perhaps due to personal charisma, America seems to have forgiven him his indiscretions with Monica Lewinsky (and Gennifer Flowers, and Paula Jones, and probably others that we don’t know about).

Adultery and politics are natural bedmates, if you’ll pardon the metaphor. The personal characteristics that make men successful in politics – ambition, charisma, energy – are often the same as those that make them sexually adventurous and attractive to women.

No doubt that’s true of many military commanders too. And it’s hard not to feel sympathy for General Petraeus.

Few men wouldn’t have been tempted in his situation: isolated from home and family, in a lonely, dangerous and unimaginably stressful job, suddenly finding himself the subject of flattering attention from a much younger woman. But he has paid the price demanded by a tradition of censorious public morality that probably dates all the way back to the puritanical Pilgrim Fathers.