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Luxon’s Guests.

Speilmeister: Christopher Luxon’s prime-ministerial pitches notwithstanding, are institutions with billions of dollars at their disposal really going to invest them in a country so obviously in a deep funk?

HAVING WOOED THE WORLD’s investors, what, if anything, has New Zealand won? Did Christopher Luxon’s guests board their private jets fizzing with enthusiasm for a little country palpably eager to embark on a new national adventure? Or, did they depart in a more sombre mood, disappointed by New Zealanders’ lack of spirit? Will institutions with billions of dollars at their disposal invest them in a country so obviously in a deep funk?

Or will they, like Michael Corleone in Godfather Part II, take note of more than the sales pitch of the gangster asking him to invest in the Mob’s Cuban casinos in 1959?

MICHAEL CORLEONE: I saw a strange thing today. Some rebels were being arrested. One of them pulled the pin on a grenade. He took himself and the captain of the command with him. Now, soldiers are paid to fight; the rebels aren’t.

HYMAN ROTH: What does that tell you?

MICHAEL CORLEONE: They could win.

It’s a safe bet that the real global investment community pays at least as much attention to what’s happening inside the countries asking for their money as the fictional Michael Corleone. After all, they pay a great deal of money to secure the most accurate and up-to-date information about their hosts. Not just the raw economic data, but information concerning the general disposition of the nation. Not only about the mood of the men and women seated around the boardroom table, but also about the mood of the men and women thronging the streets below.

Interviewed on Radio New Zealand, Tainui strongman, Tukoroirangi Morgan, boasted that he had told the global investors not to waste their time talking to the Crown, but to approach directly the iwi engaged in growing the Māori economy.

Though he gave it his best shot, Christopher Luxon’s pitch to the assembled global investors is unlikely to have resonated as loudly as Morgan’s. New Zealand’s prime minister, as they would have been well aware, leads a state whose outgoings far exceed its incomings, and a beleaguered government desperate for economic growth. All the corporate jargon in the world cannot disguise the brute fact of Luxon’s political need.

By contrast, Morgan and the many other iwi leaders presiding over the burgeoning Māori economy, would likely have struck Luxon’s guests as loud, proud, and hungry for the capital needed to keep their tribal enterprises growing. Māori businesspeople are not begging to be bailed out, they are asking to be built up. Because, as they were no doubt quick to remind these trillion-dollar tauiwi, the only place tangata whenua can succeed is right here. They have to win.

Were Luxon’s guests able to travel back in time 150 years they would have encountered Pakeha with almost as much skin in the burgeoning enterprise of “New Zealand” as the Māori of today.

These were immigrants who had travelled 16,000 miles, leaving behind everyone and everything they had known, and betting all they had on their ability to wrest a future from these distant islands. And what would have impressed today’s big investors – just as it did the big, mostly British, investors of the Nineteenth century – was how much these settlers were willing to wager on the proposition that New Zealand had a future, and how confident they were of winning the bet.

That confidence was crucial to securing the capital investment necessary to make a nation. Fortunately for the colonisers of New Zealand, the Nineteenth Century was awash with confidence.

In his book “Replenishing the Earth: The Settler Revolution and the Rise of the Anglo-World, 1783-1939” (Oxford, 2009) the New Zealand historian James Belich examines the extraordinary racial confidence that fuelled and underpinned the breakneck economic development, demographic conquest, and cultural domination of North America and Australasia:

“Though somewhat unmilitary, they were dangerous people, especially when in full-frothing boom frenzy. When they had the help of their trusty oldlands, as well as massive boom time numbers and the fanatical ideology of the colonising crusade, hardly anything could stop them. They destroyed, crippled, swamped, or marginalised most of the numerous societies they encountered. They also built new societies faster than anyone had ever done before.”

Certainly, it is hard to argue with that final sentence. In the century that followed the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840, the Pakeha population of New Zealand exploded from around 2,000 to nearly 2,000,000. The four main centres grew from a few hastily erected wooden structures to substantial cities of stone and brick. Railways and roads linked rural villages and provincial towns to the major ports. Industries grew and flourished.

The cultures and politics of Belich’s “Anglo-World” were shaped by what he identifies as the boom-bust-recolonisation phases that first created and then consolidated it.

In this regard, the history of New Zealand conforms very neatly to Belich’s template. First came the great investor-fuelled rush for land and resources; drawing in tens-of-thousands of immigrants and driving off the Māori tribes. This initial speculative and extractive economic boom was succeeded by a period of contraction and retrenchment – the “bust” – which was followed by a second, much less anarchic, surge of immigration and investment – both prompted by the nation-defining technological innovation of refrigeration.

The question to be decided by Luxon’s guests is whether or not Belich’s three phases are still driving the economic and social history of New Zealand, and, if they are, which phase is the country going through in 2025 – boom, bust, or recolonisation?

It is difficult to sustain the argument that New Zealand is in the middle of a boom. In terms of metrics and mood the nation would appear to be situated squarely in the middle of a bust. Equally difficult to sustain is the argument that New Zealand is now, or ever likely to be again, driven by the “fanatical ideology of the colonising crusade” which underpinned its first 100 years. Booms seldom follow the mass emigration of the dominant culture’s best and brightest. Nor are the chances high that Mother England, or even Uncle Sam, will come to the rescue of the Anglo-World’s most remote outpost. Only in te Ao Māori is the cultural confidence of which booms are made on display.

What does that tell us? What should it tell the world’s big investors? Possibly, that the best returns are likely to come from backing the most daring and innovative sectors of the fast-growing Māori economy.

They could win.

This essay was originally posted on the Interest.co.nz website on Monday, 17 March 2025.

Whistling Past The Graveyard.

“Bugger the pollsters!”

WHEN EVERYBODY LIVED in villages, and every village had a graveyard, the expression “whistling past the graveyard” made more sense. Even so, it’s hard to describe the Coalition Government’s response to the latest Taxpayers’ Union/Curia Research poll any better. Regardless of whether they wanted to go there, or not, the polling data is leading the Coalition partners’ thoughts inexorably towards the dreary burial-ground of electoral hopes.

As they draw nearer to that dismal place, the tune they have elected to whistle to keep up the courage of their jittery supporters is that old political favourite: “Don’t Worry, We’ve Been Here Before.”

Conservative voters are invited to cast their minds back to 1990-1993, the first term of the Jim Bolger-led National Government. (That rules out every voter under the age of 40, but, never mind, they can always Google it!)

In the years preceding the 1993 General Election, we are told by National’s whistlers, the opinion polls also showed National lagging behind its opponents. (One survey put them at just 21 percent!) When all the votes had been counted, however, National found itself with just enough seats to govern.

On the night, and facing the prospect of a hung parliament, Bolger was not moved to breathe a huge sigh of relief. In the run-up to election day, he had been persuaded that National was on track for a comfortable win. Denied his easy victory, a clearly frustrated Bolger was moved to deliver the most memorable quote of the entire campaign:

“Bugger the pollsters!”

But, National’s whistlers are forgetting something. The General Election of 1993 was the last conducted under the First-Past-the-Post (FPP) electoral system. Indeed, it was also the year in which New Zealanders voted decisively to replace FPP with Mixed Member Proportional (MMP) representation. Looking for solace in Bolger’s narrow 1993 victory is, therefore, a lot like looking for cheese in a chalk factory.

Not a good analogy, then? But wait, it gets weirder.

The Jim Bolger-led National Party had been swept to victory in 1990 on a wave of revulsion at the damage inflicted upon New Zealand society by Labour’s “Rogernomics” – the top-down free-market revolution for which it had never asked, or received, an unequivocal mandate. Promising a return to the “Decent Society” of happy memory, Bolger’s party romped home with just shy of 48 percent of the popular vote.

Three years later, after discovering that the Decent Society entailed the Employment Contracts Act, the Mother of All Budgets, and user-pays health care, National emerged from the last FPP election with just 35 percent of the popular vote. The anti-government parties, Labour, the Alliance and NZ First, between them accounted for 61 percent of the popular vote.

It is practically inconceivable that the 1993 election result, replicated under New Zealand’s current electoral system, would see the incumbent government returned to office. What happened in 1993, largely on account of the anti-government vote being split three ways, would not happen today, because under MMP the parties opposing the government would be allocated parliamentary seats in proportion to the number of Party Votes they received.

Barring something unprecedented occurring (like Labour entering into a “grand coalition” with National) if the 2026 General Election leaves the anti-government parties sharing 61 percent of the popular vote – as they did in 1993 – then they will have more than enough seats to form a government.

After all, the 50.6 percent claimed by Labour, the Greens and Te Pāti Māori in the Taxpayers Union/Curia Research Poll would still give them enough seats to govern.

National hung on in 1993 because, under FPP, 35 percent of the vote was enough to secure them just enough seats to govern. But National, Act, and NZ First, if they continue, as Bolger’s government continued between 1990 and 1993, to implement policies opposed by a significant majority of the New Zealand electorate, should not anticipate a similar, by-the-skin-of-their-teeth, happy ending.

And yet, this is precisely the advice being tendered to the Coalition Government by the Taxpayers’ Union and other assorted ideological cheerleaders. The very policies that are driving the Government’s numbers down, it is suggested, must not be discarded as electoral liabilities, but instead, “all options should be on the table”.

Rather than whistling past the graveyard, any government disposed to heed such advice should probably be praying in the church.

This essay was originally published in The Otago Daily Times and The Greymouth Star of Friday, 14 March 2025.

Leadership Problems.

Contenders: The next question after “Will Luxon really go?” is, of course, “Will that work?” The answer to that question lies not so much in the efficacy of Luxon’s successor as it does in the perceived strength of the Centre-Left alternative.

AT LEAST TWO prominent political commentators are alluding publicly to the imminence of a leadership spill in the National Party. Matthew Hooton and Duncan Garner have both written recently about the National Party’s growing dissatisfaction with Prime Minister Christopher Luxon’s performance. This sort of commentary would be much easier for conservatives to dismiss were it coming from the usual left-wing suspects, but neither Hooton nor Garner fall into that category. If the Centre (let alone the Right) cannot hold, then things are most certainly falling apart.

The next question after “Will Luxon really go?” is, of course, “Will that work?” The answer to that question lies not so much in the efficacy of Luxon’s successor as it does in the perceived strength of the Centre-Left alternative.

Chris Hipkins is pulling out all the stops to convince New Zealanders that Labour can indeed assemble a more effective and efficient coalition government than the fractious assemblage currently running the country. He used the occasion of his (rather belated) State of the Nation address to the Auckland Chamber of Commerce on Friday (7/3/25) to reassure the business community that his party is committed to comporting itself in a thoroughly non-threatening fashion.

As proof of these moderate intentions, Hipkins later announced a reshuffled, ‘all the talents’, shadow-cabinet – presumably committed to rolling out equally non-threatening policies. It is many years since horses crowded the nation’s streets, but even if they were still there, we may be certain that Labour has nothing planned that would frighten them even a little.

Does that mean that Labour has abandoned all thought of raising taxes, or, even worse, imposing that perennial horse-frightener – a Capital Gains Tax (CGT)? Not at all. It simply means that, in marked contrast to earlier Labour leaders, Hipkins intends to make the case for Labour’s revenue-enhancing policies well before the formal campaign launches in September/October 2026.

In this regard, Labour will be able to draw on the widespread global support for CGTs. New Zealand remains an outlier among the members of the OECD for the disinclination of its political leadership – Left as well as Right – to introduce a comprehensive tax on capital gains. Beset by the same demographic pressures as the rest of the developed world, the New Zealand state remains unusually reliant on income and sales taxes to pay for its core services. As the cost of these services, health in particular, continues to grow, the ability of the state to pay for them, without increasing its revenue, must be called into question.

Finance Minister Nicola Willis’s willingness to meet her government’s core obligations by incurring more and more debt will, as her Treasury advisers were quick to point out, very rapidly become economically unsustainable. But diluting those obligations, by reducing or privatising core public services will, even more rapidly, become politically unsustainable.

The present government’s economic and political difficulties are attributable almost entirely to its unfathomable decision to slash billions off the state’s income by cutting taxes when virtually every part of the state apparatus was crying out for more, and just about every responsible economist was arguing against it. Attempting to resolve the inevitable (and self-imposed) fiscal crisis by cutting state expenditure, has only compounded the Coalition’s difficulties.

On its face the Coalition’s behaviour seems self-defeating, which is why left-leaning commentator Rob Campbell’s latest contribution to The Post is so intriguing. In brief, Campbell sees a great deal more method than madness in the Coalition’s behaviour.

Stripping away its pious posturings and well-worn excuses, the former trade union leader reveals what he considers to be five key shifts at the heart of the Coalition’s policies:

• From public to private investment and delivery.
• From an emergent bi-cultural, back to a colonial nation.
• From universal to user charges.
• From regulated to market-use of resources.
• From limits on, to incentives for, private investment returns.

The temptation for Hipkins and his colleagues to pledge themselves to rolling-back the Coalition’s right-wing policy transitions will be strong. If they succumb, it would require an incoming centre-left government to reprioritise:

• Public provision over private enterprise.
• Tino rangatiratanga over colonial institutions.
• Universal provision over user pays.
• Rational regulation over laissez-faire.
• The public good over private interest.

This isn’t quite the pitch Hipkins made to the Auckland Chamber of Commerce. His purpose there was to play up the continuities embedded in National and Labour policy – especially with regard to the restoration of New Zealand’s decrepit infrastructure. Picking up on the growing disquiet at the Coalition’s apparent obsession with tearing down everything Labour had built, Hipkins was also careful to reassure his audience that while Labour might amend the policies of its predecessor, it does not share its affinity for the wrecking-ball.

The name for this approach is the “small-target strategy”. The idea being that the less one’s opponents have to aim at, the less they can hit. Sir Keir Starmer’s emphatic 2024 victory over the British Conservatives represented a huge vindication of the strategy, which might also be described as relying upon your opponent’s failures, rather than your own party’s policies, to carry you into office. Or, as Napoleon expressed the same idea: “Never interrupt your enemy when he’s making a mistake.” Bold and detailed policies are a dangerous distraction.

In the context of MMP, however, one’s own party’s commendable policy discipline can easily be compromised by the wild policy incontinence of one’s putative coalition partners. A strong and measured argument in favour of introducing a CGT on the part of Labour could all-too-easily be undermined by the Greens trumpeting a swingeing Wealth Tax on the non-tax-paying rich. And even that degree of fiscal radicalism might be overwhelmed by Te Pāti Māori demanding that full compensation for the crimes of colonisation be paid to tangata whenua.

Small wonder, then, that Hipkins is asking all those New Zealanders anxious to be rid of the National-Act-NZ First Coalition to play it safe by making sure that Labour receives by far the largest share of the anti-government Party Vote. Keeping the parliamentary representation of Labour’s potential coalition partners as small as possible will also limit dramatically their ability to demand excessive and/or outlandish policy concessions.

A Green Party heading into the election with 15 percent of the vote is much more likely to make trouble for Labour than a Green Party hovering just above the 5 percent threshold. A Te Pāti Māori facing stiff competition from Labour in all the Māori seats, and registering insufficient voter support to crest the MMP threshold, will find it harder to justify the angry performative politics at which it excels.

The chances of Labour winning back all those voters who deserted it for the Right in 2023 would, of course, be seriously enhanced if Hipkins felt confident enough in his position to execute what might be called a “Newsom Turn”.

Gavin Newsom, the Democratic Governor of California, last week turned his face against his party’s uncompromising support for transgenderism. By coming out against biological males participating in sports formerly restricted to biological females, Newsom signalled that he would run for President in 2028 on a “non-woke” policy platform. His decision is the strongest signal yet that the Democratic National Committee’s hold on the party’s ideological direction is faltering.

A similar signal from Hipkins, indicating that Labour’s infatuation with Identity Politics was also waning, would hasten the return of the tens-of-thousands of supporters alienated by Labour’s 2020-23 policies. The true test of Hipkins’ leadership, however, would be whether or not he could prevent tens-of-thousands of outraged “progressives” responding to his “Newsom Turn” by deserting Labour for the Greens and Te Pāti Māori.

Clearly, Christopher Luxon is not the only politician with leadership problems.

This essay was originally posted on the Interest.co.nz website on Monday, 10 March 2025.

The Politics of Ostracism.

Ruled Out: The AfD, (Alternative für Deutschland) branded “Far Right” by Germany’s political mainstream, has been ostracised politically. The Christian Democrats (many of whose voters support the AfD’s tough anti-immigration stance) have ruled out any possibility of entering into a coalition with the radical-nationalist party.

THAT THERE HAS BEEN A SHIFT towards the political right across virtually the entire world is now indisputable. The latest demonstration of right-wing strength came earlier this week (23/2/25) in Germany where the Christian Democratic Union/Christian Social Union (CDU/CSU) alliance and the even more emphatically conservative Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) together accounted for just under half of the popular vote.

The corollary of right-wing strength is, of course, left-wing weakness. In Germany the traditional left-wing standard-bearer, the Social Democratic Party, slumped to its lowest share ever of the post-war popular vote. The Greens also lost ground. Only the relatively minor Left Party registered solid gains.

On its face, the German result would indicate the swift formation of a strong right-wing coalition government. The German electorate has, after all, delivered the right-wing parties a commanding majority in the German parliament. That such a coalition will not, as matters presently stand, eventuate, requires some explanation.

Predictably, that explanation derives from the twelve years that Germany spent under Nazi rule. The crimes committed against the German people and, ultimately, the entire world by Adolf Hitler and his followers presented the victors of the Second World War with a dilemma: How to establish a political system sufficiently robust to allow the Germans to rule themselves without embracing the same radical-nationalist ideas that gave birth to Nazism?

In the Russian Zone of occupied Germany “denazification” was accomplished by constructing another totalitarian state, the German Democratic Republic, in which a single political organisation, the Socialist Unity Party (superintended by the Communist Party of the Soviet Union) controlled everything.

The American, British and French occupiers of the defeated Reich, already engaged in bitter ideological competition with the Soviets, could not be seen to embrace the totalitarian solutions of the Communists. Their brand-spanking-new Federal Republic of Germany could only be a democracy – with all the dangerous freedom that entails.

“Dangerous freedom”?

Of course “dangerous freedom”. Because, if freedom is to be anything other than a sham, it must encompass the possibility of its own rejection. People are not genuinely free unless they are also entrusted with the power to surrender their freedom. Liberty cannot be enforced.

The American, British and French occupiers disagreed. The constitution of their new republic was shaped in such a way that any political party unwilling to conform to its unwavering intolerance of anti-democratic ideas would be shunned by all the pro-democratic parties. If this political ostracism failed, and the voters, against all reason, continued to vote for an anti-democratic party in large numbers, then the all-powerful “Office for the Protection of the Constitution” could ban it altogether.

For good measure, all speech supportive of Hitler’s Nazi regime; the public display of Nazi symbols and memorabilia, and the use of Nazi greetings and slogans, was outlawed.

Following the collapse of the German Democratic Republic in 1989, and the re-unification of Germany in 1990, the exclusion of the anti-democratic Right was extended to the anti-democratic Left. On the grounds that a number of its founders had been members of the Socialist Unity Party, the centrist Social Democrats and their Green Party allies point-blank refused to enter into a coalition with the Left Party.

The AfD, branded “Far Right” by Germany’s political mainstream, suffered a similar fate. The CDU and its Bavarian sister party, the CSU (many of whose members support the AfD’s tough anti-immigration stance) have ruled out any possibility of entering into a coalition with the radical-nationalists.

For the long-suffering Germans this means enduring yet another “Grand Coalition” of the Christian Democrats and the Social Democrats. (In New Zealand terms, National and Labour.) But these two ideological formations are traceable historically to very different socio-economic classes and cultural/religious divisions in German society. Politically-speaking, it is extremely difficult to effect a durable combination of chalk and cheese.

Nor is it a durable solution to the steady expansion of radical-nationalist populism in Germany, or, for that matter, across the globe. Once a political movement achieves sufficient momentum to double its popular support from 10 to 20 percent of the electorate, excluding it from political office becomes completely counterproductive. What meagre support for democratic principles that still exists within its ranks will disappear altogether.

The treatment of the AfD will thus prove the truth of German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche’s famous maxim: “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.”

This essay was originally published in The Otago Daily Times and The Greymouth Star of Friday, 28 February 2025.

What Are We Defending?

Following Our Example: Not even the presence of Chinese warships in the Tasman Sea will generate the sort of diplomatic breach the anti-China lobby has been working so assiduously for a decade to provoke. Too many New Zealanders recall the occasions when a New Zealand frigate has tagged along behind the Aussies and Americans in their regular voyages across the South China Sea and through the Taiwan Strait. 

A SMALL FORCE, just three ships, but its impact in a week of geopolitical transformation was devastating. Chinese naval vessels had sailed past Sydney at a distance of just 150 nautical miles. A clearer message to Australia and New Zealand could not have been sent by the Chinese Government: The Pacific is no longer an American lake.

The question to be answered, now, is: How should New Zealand respond? It’s armed forces are in a state of deplorable disrepair. Enlisted men and women are poorly paid and their morale is said to be dangerously low. Recruitment to all three services is bad and getting worse. The Royal New Zealand Navy, the service now in the spotlight, would struggle to show the flag in the Tasman Sea. If it tried, the not unreasonable fear would be that the vessel it sent might not come back. After all, the HMNZS Manawanui didn’t.

Defence Minister Judith Collins acknowledges these difficulties and is pledged to address them. New Zealand’s defence spending, expressed as a percentage of its GDP, is set to double over the next five years.

Unfortunately, that’s not saying much. Currently, New Zealand spends less that 1 percent of GDP on its armed forces. So, even a doubling of that figure would still leave us shy of the 2 percent figure now accepted globally as the minimum spend for any nation wishing to be taken seriously – not only by its enemies, but also by its friends.

According to Stats NZ: “The size of the New Zealand economy was $NZ415 billion for the year ended June 2024.” Working from this figure, if this country’s defence spending was to be brought up to the new minimum of 2 percent, a sum of roughly $8 billion would need to be appropriated by the House of Representatives. That’s an additional $3 billion on top of the 2024-25 appropriation.

That’s a lot of dollars to spend of guns and ships and planes when your country’s public health service is falling to pieces before its citizens’ horrified eyes. To supply the New Zealand Defence Force with an additional $3 billion, Finance Minister Nicola Willis would either have to embark on a blistering austerity programme reminiscent of Ruth Richardson’s 1991 “Mother of All Budgets”; or, the Coalition Government would have to raise taxes steeply. With an election looming in 2026, neither of those options is politically enticing.

Historically, securing general public support for a sharp increase in defence spending is almost impossible in the absence of a palpable – maybe even an existential – threat.

Following the successful conclusion of the Second World War, the administration of US President Harry S. Truman moved swiftly to restore American society to its pre-war settings. When the behaviour of the Soviet Union made it clear that the USA’s general demobilisation had been a tad premature, Truman rapidly concluded that to secure the appropriation of massive sums for the nation’s defence it would be necessary to, in the words of Senator Arthur Vandenberg: “scare the hell out of the American people”.

Fortunately for Truman, that proved to be less of a problem than many anticipated. Then, as now, the Russians made it easy!

Less so the Chinese – especially in New Zealand. The best efforts of Professor Anne-Marie Brady notwithstanding, casting the Peoples Republic in the role of Stalin’s Soviet Union has proved problematic. Most Kiwis are aware of the huge economic value of their country’s agricultural exports to China, and are, accordingly, in general support of the efforts of successive governments to avoid antagonising China to the point where the relationship between the two countries is jeopardised.

That being the case, not even the presence of Chinese warships in the Tasman is guaranteed to generate the sort of diplomatic breach the anti-China lobby has been working so assiduously for a decade to provoke. Too many New Zealanders recall the occasions when a New Zealand frigate has tagged along behind the Aussies and Americans in their regular voyages across the South China Sea and through the Taiwan Strait. If New Zealanders are entitled to sail where they please in international waters, then so too, presumably, are the Chinese.

What’s more, in light of the events of the past week, the Washington faction of MFAT faces a new and major problem. While the contrast between the United States and China remained stark, drawing attention to the totalitarian inclinations of its Communist Party rulers remained a reliable strategy. But, President Donald Trump’s affection for dictatorial regimes; the brutality of his transactional approach to international affairs; and his apparent repudiation of the “rules-based international order” in favour of cold-eyed realpolitik; makes it difficult for America (and its increasingly apprehensive allies) to retain their footing on the moral high-ground.

It is difficult to criticise the transactional elements of the relationships forged between China and the micro-states of the Pacific – the Cook Islands being only the latest in a succession of Chinese-initiated bilateral agreements negotiated in New Zealand’s “back yard” – when the United States is demanding half of Ukraine’s rare earths in part-payment for the American munitions supplied to counter Russian aggression.

What those three Chinese warships have produced, however, is a much more compelling argument for aligning New Zealand’s defensive posture in general and its military procurement in particular with Australia’s. In the much colder and more brutal world that is fast emerging from the collapse of the 80-year-old Pax Americana, only the Australians can be relied upon to protect us – and only then if they are satisfied that the Kiwis are pulling their weight.

What does that mean? It means finding that additional $3 billion and spending it. It means a much bigger and more effective navy. It means paying our soldiers, sailors, and air force personnel the sort of money that makes it easy for the NZDF to recruit and retain the best and the brightest young New Zealanders. It means a strategic military vision that makes sense to the NZDF, the politicians, and the overwhelming majority of New Zealanders. And, yes, it probably also means swallowing hard and signing up to AUKUS Pillar 2.

None of this will be of any use, however, in a nation divided against itself. A population composed of mutually antagonistic cultures and identities; a country racked by ideological differences and beset by conflicts made all the more intractable by the demonisation of every side except one’s own, cannot possibly achieve the consensus needed to construct an effective national defence.

If New Zealand is to defend itself, then the very first thing it needs to agree upon is the nature of the state it is defending. Is it a state committed to refashioning its ideas and institutions in conformity with the cultural imperatives of its indigenous people? Is it a state dedicated to maximising the ability of individuals to act effectively in the marketplaces of goods, services, and ideas? Is it a state dedicated to ensuring that every citizen has the support required to realise their full potential? Is it mixture of all three?

Until we can agree upon the shape and purpose of the state for which we are annually appropriating 2 percent (or more) of the nation’s economic output, then the long-overdue refurbishment and rehabilitation of our armed forces is unlikely to, and probably shouldn’t, happen.

Denied the easy option of marching behind British and American drums, and before they simply fall in step with the Australians, New Zealanders should sort-out why, and for what, they are willing to march at all.

This essay was originally posted on the Interest.co.nz website on Monday, 24 February 2025.

Visitors With Votes.

The Way We Were - And Hoped To Remain: The iconic photograph of Prime Minister Norman Kirk holding the hand of a little Māori boy at Waitangi on 6 February 1973 held out the promise of a future founded upon the uncomplicated and uncontested acceptance of racial equality.  

WAITANGI DAY commentary see-saws manically between the warmly positive and the coldly negative. Many New Zealanders consider this a good thing. They point to the unexamined patriotism of July Fourth and Bastille Day celebrations, and applaud the fact that the character of Aotearoa-New Zealand, and its future evolution, remain matters for passionate disputation, rather than military chauvinism and outsized flags.

Conservatives of a certain age are less confident of the virtue of this annual debate. They look back wistfully to that period of New Zealand history when the constitutive peoples of New Zealand, Māori and Pakeha, gathered at Waitangi to celebrate the 1840 treaty signing which, according to Queen Victoria’s representative, Captain William Hobson, constituted them as “one people”.

In the memories of these people, no Waitangi Day better illustrated this notion of national unity than 6 February 1973. That was the day when the newly-elected Labour prime minister, Norman Kirk, announced that henceforth Waitangi Day would be known as New Zealand Day.

A powerful visual image of Kirk’s intentions for this new public holiday was provided by the photograph of a big prime minister holding the hand of a little Māori child as the two of them made their way across the Treaty Ground. Symbolically, the image suggested that the rising generation of Māori should expect to live lives of equivalent fullness to those of their Pakeha compatriots. The photograph’s clear assimilationist message was not welcomed by all, but for a large number of New Zealanders it expressed their hope for a future founded upon an uncomplicated and uncontested acceptance of racial equality.

“Why can’t we have Waitangi Days like that anymore?”, these old-timers ask. “Why can’t we celebrate the positive national achievements of New Zealanders, regardless of ethnicity? What is to be gained, in terms of strengthening social cohesion, by foregrounding – and all-too-often fomenting – this country’s ethnic divisions?”

The straightforward reply from the nation’s historians, Pakeha and Māori, is that the legacy of conquest, land seizure, economic marginalisation, and cultural erasure central to the European colonisation of New Zealand is seared into the collective memory of its indigenous people. At some point, the historical injustices that have not been forgotten by the colonised will have to be acknowledged and redressed by the colonisers. To suggest otherwise, they insist, is itself an act of colonialist oppression. Moreover, as the rising generation of Māori nationalists are only too willing to point out, by no means all these injustices are historical. Far too many of them are contemporary.

The articulation of such grievances, long assumed by the victors of the New Zealand Wars to be safely buried in the past, gathered momentum throughout the 1970s and 80s and were characterised by legal challenges and vigorous political protests.

The impressive Māori Land March of 1975 hastened the creation of the Waitangi Tribunal. Equipped with quasi-judicial powers, the Tribunal was instrumental in investigating past wrongs, determining the most appropriate means of their redress, and introducing New Zealanders to a more complete account of their history. Over the course of the next 50 years, its power and influence would undergo significant expansion.

The forcible eviction of the Ngati Whatua occupiers of Bastion Point in 1978 presented New Zealanders with a rare and shocking demonstration of the raw power of the Pakeha state. Hundreds of Police officers were involved, with logistical support provided by the armed forces. The operation provided a jarring reminder to New Zealanders that the alienation of Māori land and resources was predicated on the actual or threatened use of force by political and legal institutions that were overwhelmingly dominated by Pakeha – and remained so.

The watershed event that finally extinguished the sunny optimism of 1973, however, was the 1981 Springbok Tour. The dramatic and at times violent incidents that marked the 56-day tour by Apartheid South Africa’s rugby team brought the idealistic champions of classical racial equality into frequent and often uncomfortable contact with Māori protesters who had experienced first-hand the widespread and deeply ingrained Pakeha racism that, thanks to the Tour, would ensure the re-election of Rob Muldoon’s National Government.

The young, well-educated, middle-class Pakeha who mostly comprised the anti-tour movement found themselves at a moral disadvantage when challenged to account for the fact that they were willing to suffer Police batons for Black South Africans but not for Brown New Zealanders. Why was the racism of the White South Africans capable of inspiring a mass anti-racist movement, but not the equally egregious colonialist excesses of Pakeha regimes past and present?

The only acceptable answer was: “Because we’re as racist as the Rugby thugs.”

“Damn right!” came the Māori nationalists’ retort, “And now is the time for you to do something about it!”

Which they did. For the next forty years the students who had supplied the shock-troops of the anti-tour movement accepted the wero Māori Nationalists had laid before them and slowly but surely integrated it into whatever institutions they found themselves in a position to influence and/or control. Political parties, the courts, universities, schools, hospitals, the public service, law firms, the news media, trade unions, even corporations: all those institutions into which young, idealistic New Zealanders were disgorged annually. Places where, increasingly, the best way to get along was to go along with the ever-expanding ramifications of “the principles of te Tiriti o Waitangi”, and the Crown-Māori “partnership” which the New Zealand judiciary had determined the Treaty to mandate.

By the 2020s this self-replicating social layer of te Tiriti-inspired professionals, administrators and managers numbered in the hundreds-of-thousands and was exerting a decisive influence over the evolution of New Zealand’s political, social and cultural institutions. Binding its members together was a deep mistrust, bordering on active hostility, directed at that part of New Zealand society which evinced little or no understanding of, or enthusiasm for, te Tiriti and the transformational narrative it was driving forward. That this part of New Zealand almost certainly outnumbered te Tiriti’s promoters and protectors gave cause for even greater concern, raising serious doubts about the cultural safety of democratic institutions.

Nevertheless, it was this strategic aggregation of Pakeha allies that facilitated significant cultural, economic, and political indigenous progress – precipitating a veritable “Māori Renaissance”. Mutually reinforcing, the alliance between Pakeha jurists, administrators, and educators, and the rapidly expanding Māori middle-class fostered by te Tiriti’s official rehabilitation and the opportunities flowing from a succession of substantial iwi-based “Treaty settlements”, continued to grow and strengthen. By the second decade of the twenty-first century it had solidified into the permanent and seemingly unchallengeable arbiter of New Zealand’s social, economic, cultural and constitutional development.

Te Tiriti’s victory may have been complete in these institutional islands, but they were surrounded by a vast sea of doubt. A substantial majority of Pakeha, as well as a growing portion of the recent immigrant population, struggled to accept the Waitangi Tribunal’s increasingly radical findings. Before their eyes the power of the Crown seemed to be crumbling away – a shrinkage of sovereignty fuelled by historical revisionists who flatly contradicted the public’s understanding (however flawed) of their nation’s story.

It was only a matter of time before this public doubt crystalised into public anger. Increasingly, the narrative growing out of the Treaty’s judicial and bureaucratic restoration was being presented to Pakeha in ways that not only made clear the “settlers’” general unfitness to shape its evolution, but also rejected, absolutely, their democratic right to do so.

That the 80 percent of New Zealanders who did not identify as Māori were to be given no say in elevating the Treaty’s status to that of supreme and unchallengeable law was finally made clear in the He Puapua Report. This document, penned by Treaty scholars and activists, and presented secretly to the Sixth Labour Government in 2019, detailed the changes required to ensure that New Zealand’s constitutional arrangements conformed with the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.

The measures required to achieve this goal in time for the bicentennial celebration of the Treaty’s signing in 2040 were deemed to necessitate a full-scale constitutional revolution. This was not to be attempted in one go, however, but piecemeal. Each step along the way was to be accomplished through stand-alone, apparently unconnected, legislative adjustments. Significantly, the plan included no provision for these cumulative, transformational, changes to be presented to the whole citizenry for ratification by referendum. Like the proverbial slow-cooked frog, Pakeha New Zealanders were to be kept in ignorance of their constitutional fate until it was too late to change it.

That such a plan was thought to be implementable in an open democratic society speaks eloquently of elite New Zealanders’ assumptions concerning both the powers they wielded and the extent to which those powers could be challenged by ordinary citizens. As Sir Geoffrey Palmer makes clear in his book The New Zealand Constitution In Crisis, confidence in his own and other elite actors’ ability to sideline the democratic process was considerable:

The logic of the approach was as follows… Some parliamentary action by way of legislation was needed to make a base. But if that legislation itself redressed the grievances it would run into the problem that the majority of the community would oppose it. If, on the other hand, legislation was used to set up processes, and procedures and the principles on which decisions should be based were stated, it may be possible to get even a majoritarian legislature to act. The initial commitment required was to a process. No tangible outcome was provided by the legislation itself. What should be done was to be decided only after judicial or quasi-judicial processes had assessed individual cases. First it was necessary to give the courts something to interpret. Such was the nature of the approach I brought to both statutory incorporation of the Treaty in statutes, and extension of the Waitangi Tribunal to examine grievances back to 1840.

What brought He Puapua and the elite Treaty project generally to grief certainly wasn’t its exposure and condemnation by mainstream journalism. Indeed, the opposite was true: the major media organisations saw themselves as integral to the project’s success. Ultimately, what doomed the elites’ Treaty project to failure was the democratising impact of social media.

Palmer’s “processes” required media gatekeepers committed to keeping “the majority of the community” out of the game. In fact, so reliant upon the exclusionary powers of these gatekeepers were Palmer’s strategies for their ultimate success, that the moment the Internet empowered ordinary citizens to receive and impart information independently of the mainstream media and its guard-dogs, they began instantly to fall apart.

The picture that emerged from the collective exertions of these “citizen journalists” was as clear as it was disturbing. The bureaucratic and administrative elites had, since the early-1980s, come to view themselves as the irreplaceable brain and muscle of what political scientists call the “permanent state”, and constitutional lawyers refer to, simply, as “The Crown”. They had arrived at this conclusion alongside the leadership of the tangata whenua, who saw themselves, and were certainly acknowledged by the leaders of the Permanent State, as the “Permanent People”. The relationship between the two was mutually reinforcing.

The conclusion to be drawn from this reading of New Zealand’s constitutional, political and cultural evolution is daunting.

The status of those who are members of neither the Permanent State nor the Permanent People is problematic – to say the least! That they constitute a majority of the population is openly acknowledged by both the Crown and Māori. But, majorities under pressure from minorities all-too-easily behave tyrannically. Meaning that, while New Zealand remains a representative democracy, the non-Crown, non-Māori majority is likely to be treated as a permanent threat.

Because, what are they really? Victims of history: the flotsam and jetsam of a botched process of colonisation? Communities without roots, lacking permanent interests, bereft of cultural awareness, and off to Australia at the drop of a hat? A people just passing through?

No wonder Māori politicians call these New Zealanders manuhiri – visitors.

But that is not what they call themselves. It would, therefore, be most unwise of both the Permanent State and the Permanent People to forget that these visitors, these citizens, still come armed to the teeth with votes.

This essay was originally posted on The Democracy Project website on Friday, 14 February 2025.