Procedures, Processes and Principles: Is It Possible To Defend The Treaty Of Waitangi And Democracy?

Out Of The Loop: The great insight of sympathetic Pakeha jurists, like Sir Geoffrey Palmer, was that, suitably empowered, the judiciary and the executive branch of the state could take on the role formerly played by the non-elected governors of mid-nineteenth century New Zealand. Māori resources could be protected, and past injustices redressed, but only if the Pakeha Parliament could somehow be persuaded to take itself out of the loop.

SIR GEOFFREY PALMER has penned a two-part response to Act Leader David Seymour’s “Treaty Principles Bill”. In its essence, Palmer’s contribution reflects the growing unease of the institutions which have hitherto dominated the Waitangi discourse – the legal profession, the courts, and the universities – that they are in real danger of losing control of the narrative.

Between the lines of Palmer’s analysis one detects a profound hostility to the populist impulse, and a palpable impatience with the machinery of representative government that empowers it. The clear intention of Palmer’s intervention is to deflect the popular desire for a democratically defined Treaty away from the decisive instruments of parliamentary democracy, and towards a much more manageable set of “deliberative” options.

In many ways it is surprising that Palmer, and those who share his ideas about the Treaty, did not anticipate the current populist push for a political solution to the doubts and anxieties raised by the document’s startling legal evolution. From the 1980s to the present day, some kind of democratic revision of the Treaty’s status and meaning was always on the cards.

In an address to the Māori Law Review Symposium entitled Māori, the Treaty and the Constitution on 12 June 2013, Palmer offered his audience the following, highly revealing, admission:

“If the remedying of injustice under the Treaty could only be done by Parliament under our existing constitutional structure, then the big obstacle was what John Stuart Mill called majority tyranny. If the legislation addressed the grievances, then majority tyranny would kick in and the likelihood of the issues being addressed in a principled fashion would be reduced. Elected politicians should not be involved in the investigation and formulation of the appropriate remedy. So Parliament had to be persuaded to initiate action, but not determine the nature of the grievance. A set of procedures, processes and principles was likely to work better. Thus, it seemed to me that the aim could be achieved by having Parliament set up a body to investigate and report. That meant extending the jurisdiction of the Waitangi Tribunal back to 1840.”

As a means of drawing the fangs of this supposed tyrannous and unprincipled majority (which is an interesting way of thinking about the nation’s political leaders and the people who elected them) these “procedures, processes and principles” were to prove their worth many times over. So much so, that Palmer felt able to reassure the symposium that:

“Insulation from the ravages of extreme opinion has been achieved. The settlements have become mainstream.”

But if elected politicians were to be excluded from the investigation and formulation of appropriate remedies for the sins of New Zealand’s colonial fathers, then in whose hands should the whole fraught process be placed? What other answer could a former law professor give except – the courts:

“The courts are better protectors of “discrete and insular minorities” than the majoritarian legislature, even under MMP. I remain of the opinion that the Treaty, like the Bill of Rights, should become part of New Zealand’s new superior law Constitution. We now know a great deal about how the courts will go about the task of interpreting the Treaty, just as we know how the courts go about interpreting the Bill of Rights Act. We have had more than twenty years’ experience of both […] We cannot go backward on these issues, but we need to summon up the political courage to go forward.”

The reference to “discrete and insular minorities” comes from a 1937 judgement of the United States Supreme Court. Such minorities, the justices explained, are “saddled with such disabilities, or subjected to such a history of purposeful unequal treatment, or relegated to such a position of political powerlessness as to command extraordinary protection from the majoritarian political process.”

In citing this celebrated case, Palmer was signalling to his 2013 audience that he well understood the historical predicament of the Māori people.

The Treaty of Waitangi was the initiative of a British Government which, in 1840, was impelled by the political principles then guiding its Foreign and Colonial Office to secure control of New Zealand, but only after obtaining the freely given consent of its indigenous inhabitants.

This was duly achieved by recognising the full authority – tino rangatiratanga – of tribal chieftains to determine the disposition of their lands, forests, fisheries, and other valued resources, as they saw fit, and by giving Maori the same rights and privileges as the people of Great Britain.

Crucially, the chiefs’ lands could only be sold to representatives of the British Government. Thus were Māori protected from the contemporaneous depredations of the agents of the rapacious New Zealand Company – and the French.

Overseeing the evolution of this new relationship would be a Governor appointed by the British Government. Not the least of the Governor’s duties was to protect the Māori tribes from the greed and the larceny of the British, European and American settlers determined to make their fortunes in Britain’s new colony.

While the original parties to the 1840 Treaty, the British Government and the tribal chiefs, continued to be the only parties that mattered, the relationship, though often strained, endured. By the early 1850s, however, the fast-growing population of Pakeha settlers was demanding that the powers-that-be in London grant them self-government.

The settlers objective was brutally simple: to avail themselves of Māori land without having to secure the chiefs’ and/or the Governor’s permission. In other words, they wanted to construct a New Zealand state in which the Treaty could be dismissed as a “simple nullity”. Such a state could only be created by the forcible dispossession of Māori hapu and iwi, but that was a price the Pakeha settlers were perfectly willing to pay.

Putting the matter bluntly, the greatest enemy of Māori, since 1853, has been the Pakeha Parliament. While its power to make the law remained untrammelled there was nothing Māori could do to defend their fast-diminishing patrimony.

The great insight of sympathetic Pakeha jurists, like Palmer, was that, suitably empowered, the judiciary and the executive branch of the state could take on the role formerly played by the non-elected governors of mid-nineteenth century New Zealand. Māori resources could be protected, and past injustices redressed, but only if the Pakeha Parliament could somehow be persuaded to take itself out of the loop.

It is, perhaps, the most remarkable aspect of New Zealand history that, for a period of roughly half-a-century, the nation’s elected representatives were willing to do just that. They made way for the courts, the Waitangi Tribunal, and the Office of Treaty Settlements to right as many of the wrongs done to te iwi Māori as they adjudged Pakeha voters to be willing to accept.

That turned out to be an impressively large number. But, by 2023, Pakeha voters’ – or, at least, a majority of Pakeha voters’ – willingness to go on righting the wrongs of the past had reached its limit. In response, the newly elected Pakeha Parliament, to the utter dismay of the courts, the Waitangi Tribunal, and the Office of Māori Crown Relations, determined to suddenly and dramatically re-enter the loop.

Small wonder Palmer is calling for “deliberative” alternatives to parliamentary action, such as randomly selected citizens’ assemblies, to be substituted for the deliberations of the House of Representatives. These latter, which tend to culminate in legislative action, are to be avoided at all costs lest they precipitate a head-on collision between the legislature, the judiciary, and that part of the executive branch represented by the state bureaucracy.

Palmer, and those who share his outlook, must know that in any contest between Parliament and the rest of the State only two outcomes are possible. Either the coercive agencies of the state – the armed forces and the police – put an end to representative democracy on the Executive’s/Judiciary’s behalf. Or, the key institutions of the state, with varying degrees of rage and reluctance, bow to “majority tyranny” and the “ravages of extreme opinion”.

Otherwise known as the will of the people.

This essay was originally posted on The Democracy Project substack page on Thursday, 26 September 2024.

Parliamentary Sovereignty And Its Discontents.

Saving The People From ... The People: The strangest aspect of the mass Israeli protests, from a New Zealand perspective, is that the judicial reforms proposed by Benjamin Netanyahu’s government would only confer upon Israel’s parliament, the Knesset, powers which the New Zealand House of Representatives has not only exercised for decades, but which have also been seen, by an overwhelming majority of Kiwi legislators, as critical to the health of New Zealand’s democracy.

BEGINNING IN LATE JANUARY, Israel has been rocked by a series of massive weekly protests against planned judicial reforms. Concentrated in Tel Aviv, Israel’s former capital and easily its most secular city, these protests have become increasingly disruptive. So much so that the far-right coalition government, led by Benjamin Netanyahu, appears poised to suppress them by force. Political commentators in Israel have begun to speak of the protests as evidence of a fundamental disagreement over the core nature and purpose of the Israeli state. About the only thing both sides can agree on is that Israel cannot survive such deep-seated divisions.

The strangest aspect of the Israeli protests, from a New Zealand perspective, is that the judicial reforms proposed by Netanyahu’s government would only confer upon Israel’s parliament, the Knesset, powers which the New Zealand House of Representatives has not only exercised for decades, but which have also been seen, by an overwhelming majority of Kiwi legislators, as critical to the health of New Zealand’s democracy.

The problem which the judicial reforms proposed by Netanyahu and his far-right colleagues seek to address is the Israeli judiciary’s current power to restrain, or, in extremis, overrule, the actions of both the Israeli Executive and the Knesset. In other words, these reforms seek to confer upon the Knesset what New Zealand’s House of Representatives already possesses – and jealously guards – parliamentary sovereignty. Netanyahu wants the Knesset to become what our House of Representatives already is: the highest court in the land.

What makes this whole constitutional stoush even more interesting, from a Kiwi perspective, are the similarities between New Zealand and Israel. Neither country has a written constitution, preferring to be guided by a set of basic laws and rights. Israel and New Zealand also lack an upper-chamber empowered to initiate, review and delay legislation. This unicameral system gives the legislators of both countries the sole right to make the laws. Both countries also operate under an electoral system of proportional representation– although, to be fair, Israel has a much purer variant of PR than New Zealand’s MMP. Israeli MPs do not represent electorates, all Knesset seats are allocated from party lists. Israel’s representation “threshold” (the share of the popular vote that must be won before seats are allocated) is 1.5 percent, compared to New Zealand’s 5 percent.

Where the two legislatures diverge, however, is over the status of the law conferring fundamental human rights upon their respective citizens. Legislation and/or Executive Orders which contravene Israel’s “Basic Law: Human Dignity and Liberty” may be (and have been) struck down by Israel’s Supreme Court. The author of the “New Zealand Bill of Rights Act”, Labour’s Geoffrey Palmer, wanted New Zealand’s highest court to be invested with similar authority, but so deeply entrenched is the principle of parliamentary sovereignty in this country that he was unable to persuade his colleagues to confer such decisive constitutional powers upon New Zealand’s judges.

Apart from the very obvious objection that unelected judges should not be given the power to overrule the elected representatives of the people, New Zealand legislators’ refusal to countenance judicial intervention can be traced back to two deeply ingrained Kiwi prejudices.

The first is class hostility – a phenomenon intimately bound up with New Zealanders long-standing self-identification as egalitarians. Judges are (rightly) perceived by “ordinary” New Zealanders as being drawn overwhelmingly from the upper-echelons of New Zealand society. The objection to these “posh bastards” overruling a Parliament made up of “ordinary people” like themselves dates all the way back to the Liberal Government of 1891-1912 and its presiding populist master, Richard “King Dick” Seddon. The rise of the Labour Party and the growing parliamentary strength of its working-class caucus only dug the anti-posh prejudice deeper into the nation’s collective political psyche.

The second factor is racial hostility. Repeated attempts by dispossessed Māori Iwi to seek redress through the New Zealand courts, though mostly unsuccessful, planted in the minds of Pakeha legislators the necessity of preserving Parliament’s privileged status vis-à-vis the Judiciary. The idea that the achievements (and the depredations) of the “Settler State” might one day be found wanting by the courts, aroused the most atavistic fears among Pakeha politicians of every ideological persuasion. What had been won by the gun, must never be reclaimed by the gavel.

Just how animated this racial rationale for parliamentary sovereignty remains was demonstrated very forcefully by the House of Representatives’ reaction to the Court of Appeal’s 2004 judgement on the foreshore and seabed. Labour Prime Minister Helen Clark, and her Attorney-General, Margaret Wilson, lost little time in reminding Māori, and the Judiciary, exactly who controls New Zealand.

The bloody circumstances of the State of Israel’s birth in 1948, and the mutually hostile ideological and religious groups that assisted it, encouraged Israel’s legislators to deny their parliamentary opponents the opportunity – albeit at some distant point in the future – to transform their narrow vision of Israel into law. The Basic Law relating to human dignity and liberty was, therefore, to be interpreted and enforced by a highly-qualified and non-partisan Judiciary. That way, no party, or collection of parties, commanding a temporary Knesset majority would be able to legislate their way into a position of permanent dominance.

The wise old Socialist-Zionists who founded Israel were only too aware of how quickly extremist minorities can become proscriptive majorities. They understood that the Israeli Supreme Court’s gavel was their best protection against the extreme Zionists’ legislative guns.

Unsurprisingly, young, well-educated, and increasingly secular Israelis are terrified by the plans of Netanyahu (himself under indictment for corruption by Israel’s courts) and his far-right allies to recreate in Israel the soft authoritarianism perfected by Hungary’s Viktor Orban. They are only too aware that moves to limit the authority and independence of the courts are proof positive that the shift to “illiberal democracy” has begun. The moment the defence of human dignity and liberty is placed in the hands of a temporary parliamentary majority of religious and nationalist extremists, there can be little doubt that neither principle has long to live.

Nor is it any longer an axiom that New Zealand parliamentarians are united in their determination to preserve the House of Representatives as New Zealand’s highest court. With so few MPs now drawn from working-class backgrounds, and so many of them in possession of legal qualifications, the possibility of the House being over-run by passionate, marginalised, justice-seeking populists from the wrong side of the tracks has ceased to be the progressive prospect it used to be. What might such a mob, unconstrained by a written constitution, an upper-house, an interventionist Judiciary, or even a progressive ideology, not descend to?

Members of Parliament who looked down with horror upon the fiery violence unleashed in Parliament Grounds by the great unwashed on 2 March 2022, and contemplating the possibility that people only marginally less extreme could one day constitute a majority in the House of Representatives, might be forgiven for shifting their gaze across Molesworth Street to the Supreme Court building, and whispering: “Why not?”

This essay was originally posted on the Interest.co.nz website on Monday, 13 March 2023.

Lecretia's Legacy: A Matter Of Life And Death.

A Lover Of Life: It was a brave and deeply ethical thing that Lecretia Seales did. In a society that seems at times positively terrified of thinking seriously about anything, she invited us to shake off our more familiar roles as consumers, viewers, texters and takers of endless selfies, to become, if only for a little while, citizens.

 

LECRETIA SEALES has delivered into our hands a grim but important legacy. Though her bid to have assisted death declared legal by a judge of the High Court of New Zealand has failed; and though her tragic death has rendered the issues she raised moot; Lecretia has not been defeated.

 

What she sought, in bringing her case to court, was a clear statement of the legal principles relevant to assisted death and euthanasia, as well as a setting forth of all the legal impediments to realising those objectives. This she has achieved.

 

Judge Collins’ judgement has, quite correctly, declined Lecretia’s invitation to legislate from the Bench, and handed over the responsibility for resolving the stark challenges of euthanasia and medically assisted dying to the people of New Zealand through their elected representatives in Parliament.

 

The New Zealand constitution reserves to Parliament, as the ultimate distillation of the people’s will, the right to frame and fashion the laws that govern its citizens. Judge Collins was not about to overturn that core constitutional convention, and it is likely that Lecretia never seriously entertained the slightest hope that he would.

 

What this quiet and reportedly rather self-effacing woman did understand, however, was that by bringing her case to court she would focus the attention of the whole of New Zealand society upon her tragic circumstances and the means she sought to prevent them from obliterating the person that she was. Win or lose, she knew that her actions would require people to think about and, hopefully, come to a decision about the rights and wrongs of the legal changes she was proposing.

 

It was a brave and deeply ethical thing that Lecretia Seales did. In a society that seems at times positively terrified of thinking seriously about anything, she invited us to shake off our more familiar roles as consumers, viewers, texters and takers of endless selfies, to become, if only for a little while, citizens.

 

We have been asked to engage in a serious discussion about the meaning of life and the experience of death. To test our own feelings about when it might be acceptable to put aside the great commandment “Thou shalt not kill”, in favour of the even greater exhortation to “Love thy neighbour as thyself”.

 

For that is the calculation that Lecretia was forced, by her illness, to make. Which self are we being asked to cherish? Is it our healthy self; the self that showed the world the full extent of what it had to contribute? Or, are we being asked to cherish with equal care a damaged and agonised self; a self distorted by disease and pain? A self that presents only a bitter parody of person it used to be?

 

If a human-being, in full possession of her faculties, and facing the truth of her situation rationally and honestly, decides that she wishes to exercise control over the way she takes leave of this world, who dares claim the right to prevent her from doing so? In the past, the answer to that question was, God. It was a sin for anyone other than God to take a human life – even if that life was their own.

 

But New Zealanders decided long ago that, when it comes to persons determined to take their own lives, God’s wishes need not be considered. Suicide is legal. And, since that is the case, why should it be illegal for a doctor to facilitate his or her patient’s decision to end their life at a time of their own choosing?

 

Such is Lecretia’s legacy: the gift of choice. Either to accept the duty of formulating a citizen’s judgement on the weighty matter of voluntary euthanasia; or, to simply turn away and put off all consideration of life’s meaning until the moment that Death’s dark hand knocks loudly upon our door. Praying that when this dread summons finally comes, the person he carries off is still recognisable to both our loved ones and ourselves.

 

In that, too, Lecretia left us a powerful and enduring example.

 

This essay was posted simultaneously on The Daily Blog and Bowalley Road blogsites on Saturday, 6 June 2015.

"Don't Tread On Me!" - Our Radically Simple Constitution

Leave Well Enough Alone: Had the British parliament not attempted to radically reshape its relationship with its American colonies the United States might never have been born. Most New Zealanders harbour an equally deep suspicion of any politician foolish enough to "mess" with one of the world's most radically democratic constitutions. The Constitutional Review Panel certainly opted for pragmatic discretion over philosophical valour.

 

IT ARRIVED, as I rather expected it would, with a whimper - not a bang. Just as well really. Changes in the way we govern ourselves; in the hardwiring of the state itself; are not the business of hand-picked appointees - no matter how grand. Constitutions are not made by committee.

 

The report of the Constitution Review Panel, a concession extracted from the National Government by their Maori Party ally in 2008, offered little more by way of a final recommendation than that the “conversation” on constitutional matters, which the Panel itself had kicked off, should continue.

 

Outstanding!

 

But, realistically-speaking, what else could the Panel have recommended? There was - and is - no public clamour for constitutional reform from the New Zealand people and the very best efforts of the Panel to interest the public in its work fell spectacularly flat. Indeed, about the only thing the Panel could have done to elicit the popular buy-in it so desperately wanted would have been to bring down a report suggesting something other than maintaining the status quo.

 

Predictably, the worthy ladies and gentlemen of the Panel attributed this lack of interest to New Zealanders’ general ignorance of matters constitutional - a deficit they proposed to rectify by encouraging the teaching of civics courses in our primary and secondary schools.

 

A good idea? It depends on whether or not you agree that Kiwis are ignorant of their constitutional arrangements. Personally, I think the New Zealand people have a pretty good grasp of the way their system works.

 

Since 1852, the year they received a constitution from their colonial masters in London, New Zealanders have worked consistently to both simplify and radicalise their constitutional arrangements.

 

Within 40 years of being granted “responsible self-government” we had attained universal suffrage. The UK and the USA would not achieve the same result until the 1920s.

 

Within 100 years we had dispensed with the Legislative Council - New Zealand’s appointed upper house.

 

It took 144 years to replace the egregiously undemocratic first-past-the-post electoral system with a proportional form of representation.

 

Moreover, throughout that entire 161 year period of responsible self-government we have steadfastly refused to fasten ourselves into the straightjacket of a written constitution.

 

Given the radical simplicity of our constitutional arrangements - why should we?

 

As far as most Kiwis are concerned, their rights and freedoms; their ability to effect political change; the resilience of their democratic culture; all flow from the same source: a House of Representatives directly elected by the people for a three year term. That’s it. Popular sovereignty via Parliament. No more need be said.

 

Oliver Cromwell had to win the English Civil War, behead his King and abolish the House of Lords before he could sit in a unicameral parliament answerable to (some of) the electors. In the contemporary world, only the Israelis can boast of anything even remotely comparable to New Zealand’s constitutional simplicity.

 

Luminaries like Sir Geoffrey Palmer may lament this state of affairs and call for “A written constitution, including the Bill of Rights entrenched so that Parliament cannot ride roughshod over it, meaning the courts can enforce it against the Government” (The Dominion Post, 24/12/13) but, as the Constitutional Panel discovered to its obvious dismay, Kiwis are not in the least bit interested in curbing Parliament’s powers to “ride roughshod” over anyone and anything that stands in its Government’s way. Nor are they willing to cede to an unelected judiciary the power to second-guess and/or over-rule the will of the people’s representatives.

 

With a parliamentary term of just three years, most New Zealanders are confident that any government showing signs of going seriously off the rails can be thrown out of office before inflicting too much damage on the body politic. By the same token, however, if changes need to be made they expect their representatives to be able to make them completely free of the threat of judicial intervention.

 

Those who seek to complicate New Zealand’s constitution do so for reasons that have little to do with democracy. On the contrary, it is precisely with its radically democratic effectiveness that most “reformers” take issue.

 

New Zealanders No. 8 wire constitution may be inelegant and lacking in checks and balances - but it's ours.
 

Meddle with it at your own risk.

 

This essay was originally published in The Waikato Times, The Taranaki Daily News, The Timaru Herald, The Otago Daily Times and The Greymouth Star of  Friday, 27 December 2013.

The Lies That Bind: National's Attack On Parliamentary Sovereignty

No Higher Authority: The animating principle of the doctrine of parliamentary sovereignty is that no parliament may bind another: that the popular will recognises no impediments. In spite of former National governments taking full advantage of that principle, the present government is seeking to lock -in its "dirty deal" with Sky City Casino for the next 35 years.

 

BILL ENGLISH has just delivered his fifth budget. No doubt he is proud of his achievement, even if, like any experienced parliamentarian, he knows that all political achievements are as grass: “In the morning it is green, and groweth up: but in the evening it is cut down, dried up, and withered.”

 

The budget decisions, law changes and back-room deals of one parliament are always at risk of being laid low by the next. This is so because the animating principle of parliamentary sovereignty is that no parliament may bind another. Were it not so, democracy would be a cruel sham, and the expression “electoral mandate” would have no meaning.

 

The Greens understand the principle of parliamentary sovereignty very well. Indeed, we saw it applied earlier this week, when they declared that, if elected, they will void the compensation agreement just negotiated between the present, National-dominated parliament and Sky City Casino.

 

The Greens have strong moral objections to what they are calling “this dirty deal”. They do not believe that it’s “okay” for a government to promise extra pokie machines, more gaming tables and a thirty-five year extension of the casino’s gambling licence in return for Sky City building Auckland a convention centre. Nor will they accept the National Government’s attempt to bind future parliaments to the deal by promising Sky City millions of taxpayer dollars if a future government decides to modify or cancel the agreement.

 

The outraged response from senior government figures to the Green’s announcement is more than a little worrying. None of them appear to understand the long-standing constitutional convention that one parliament cannot bind another. The Economic Development Minister, Steven Joyce, in particular, appears to believe that forcing future parliaments to honour present deals is simply good business practice. Something akin to taking out insurance against unforeseen disasters. (By which he presumably means the election of a Labour-Green Government!)

 

Ironically, the National Party has never demonstrated the slightest respect for deals done, contracts signed, or even civil rights conferred by previous parliaments. Perhaps the most egregious example of a National Party-dominated parliament simply tearing-up a contract negotiated and signed by its Labour Party-dominated predecessor occurred 52 years ago, in 1961.

 

The Second Labour Government (1957-60) had embarked on an ambitious programme of industrial development. One of the more significant elements of Labour’s plan was the construction of a large cotton mill outside Nelson. Tenders were called and a contract eventually signed with a British-based company by the New Zealand Government.

 

Before construction could get underway, however, the 1960 General Election produced a National Party majority in the House of Representatives. A group of newly-elected National MPs, led by the pugnacious young Member for Tamaki, Robert Muldoon, were bitterly opposed to the Nelson cotton mill and prevailed upon their caucus colleagues to call a halt to its construction. The signed legal contract with the British company was simply abrogated. Obviously, the British were miffed, but, being followers of the same Westminster traditions of representative government as New Zealanders, they also understood: one parliament cannot bind another.

 

Twenty-three years ago, in 1990, an incoming National Government again felt under no obligation to respect the legislated will of previous New Zealand parliaments. The Employment Contracts Act of 1991 stripped nearly a century’s-worth of accumulated legal rights from hundreds of thousands of New Zealand workers. Their hard-won contracts of employment, known as “national awards”, were simply legislated out of existence.

 

Of course, the National Party and its ideological allies will neither recognise, nor concede, the flagrant political hypocrisy involved in any attempt to prevent the Left from invoking the same, long-standing, constitutional conventions to which the Right has had repeated recourse over the past six decades.

 

The conservative notion that the social, economic and political status-quo represents not the transitory victory of a particular political party, but the natural order of the universe, has a long and disreputable pedigree. It explains why statements of principled intent, like the Greens’, are treated as proof not only of wilful stupidity - but downright wickedness - by the Right.

 

What such responses betray is the Right’s deep-seated unease with the whole idea of democracy. National’s insistence that its deal with Sky City – a deal many Kiwis revile as both improper and immoral – must remain sacrosanct, is, of itself, the best reason for breaking it.

 

This essay was originally published in The Waikato Times, The Taranaki Daily News, The Timaru Herald, The Otago Daily Times and The Greymouth Star of Friday, 17 May 2013.