Inside the climate debate that quietly rocked the National Party
Prime Minister Christopher Luxon at Southern Field Days in Waimumu. Photo / Gregor Richardson
THREE KEY FACTS
In February, the National Party found itself in the familiar throes of a panic attack – not over polls portending electoral ruin (the first one-term National Government in history), but over something far more existential than just next year's election.
It came in the form of
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Jacinda Ardern on a lifetime of feeling 'never quite good enough'
Days away from learning if she would be New Zealand's next Prime Minister, 37-year-old Jacinda Ardern was wrestling with insecurities and a few odd physical symptoms when her friend handed her a pregnancy test. In an extract from her memoir, out today, she reflects on that unforgettable evening. I was in a standard bathroom. The kind you'd find in a 1950s timber home just about anywhere in New Zealand, with a dark linoleum floor and small handbasin – enough of a bowl to wash your hands, but not enough to contain all the water while you do it. I had pulled the lid down over the toilet and was sitting on top of the hard plastic. Waiting. My heart beat a little faster than usual. "The question for me was, could I keep going and do the job well?" – Watch more on this story on TVNZ+ On the other side of the door, I could hear my friend Julia moving around her kitchen – roasting pans hitting the side of the sink, plates clinking against one another as she stacked them. She was likely scraping away the remains of yet another dinner I had only pushed around my plate – this time, chicken with roasted kūmara, pumpkin, potato and fresh green beans. Julia was an excellent cook. I was just a nervous eater. Especially now. ADVERTISEMENT For the past seven weeks, I had been living on a diet of cheese, crackers and my mother's homemade bliss balls – giant energy-laden lumps of pureed dates, cashews and chia seeds that had a tendency to take up residency in my front teeth. That might be fine if these golf ball–sized snacks were being eaten in the privacy of my own home, but I had been eating them on the road in the middle of a campaign. A campaign to determine whether I would become the fortieth prime minister of New Zealand. Weeks had passed since election night, and I still couldn't answer that question. But at this particular moment, sitting in Julia's bathroom, that wasn't the question I was waiting to answer. I glanced down at my phone. Just a few more minutes. That night at Julia's was meant to be a break. A chance to catch my breath while my partner, Clarke, was away filming a TV show up north. I still had on my black-and-white sneakers, Lycra leggings and purple hoodie. As soon as I'd dragged my overnight bag through the door of my friend's home, I'd changed out of my work clothes. Then she and I had walked through the park near her house in the cool air of the late afternoon. I couldn't face another night in my small studio apartment in the city, the one I lived in when doing government work in Wellington. Not after the long days of negotiating and waiting. On election night, both of New Zealand's two major political parties, the conservative National Party and the progressive Labour Party that I led, finished without a clear majority. That meant neither leader could form a government yet. For one of us to win and become prime minister, we'd need to build a coalition with a smaller party called New Zealand First. And so, for the past eight days, both parties had been in talks to determine whom they would pick. For all the back-and-forth in the negotiations, for all the discussion about which policies we would implement and which we wouldn't, the calculation was actually simple. Either New Zealand First would choose the National Party, or they would choose us. After every meeting, I would leave with pages of notes, but it was the body language I was watching. A nod of the head. Eye contact. Something, anything, that would tell me what their choice would be. But there was nothing. The media diligently reported on the talks each night. They, too, had no insights on what might happen, and so kept repeating what I already felt deeply: 'the stakes are high'. But the stakes felt huge throughout the campaign. After all, I was thirty-seven years old. I had been the leader of my party for less than eighty days. And when the campaign started, we had been trailing by more than twenty points. We were never meant to win. And I was never meant to be leader. I pulled at my leggings, fidgeting. Surely time's up. I glanced down at my phone again. One more minute. My whole short life I had grappled with the idea that I was never quite good enough. That at any moment I would be caught short, and that meant no matter what I was doing, I had no business doing it. That's why I believed mine was a personality better suited to work behind the scenes. I was the worker who quietly and steadily got things done. I wasn't tough enough to become an actual politician. My elbows weren't sharp enough; my skin was too thin. I was idealistic and sensitive. ADVERTISEMENT Becoming a member of Parliament, I was certain, had been happenstance. But it turned out my fear of failing, of letting people down, was overshadowed by a grinding sense of responsibility. And so, as unlikely as it had once seemed, I became the deputy leader of my party, then leader, and now, possibly, the next prime minister. By now, the noise in the kitchen had stopped. Julia was probably sitting back at the dining room table, busying herself until my return. Julia was younger than me but also maternalistic, with a background in health care. Our conversations always started with her asking me the same question: 'How are you feeling?' Today, when I told her that I didn't feel quite right and described a few unusual symptoms, she had gone out and bought a pregnancy test. At the end of dinner, she had pulled it out of a shopping bag as if it were an after-dinner mint. 'Just in case,' she had said. And now that test was sitting on the edge of the sink, waiting for its big reveal. I looked down at the timer on my phone. 25 seconds, 23 seconds, 21. I was days away from learning if I would run a country, and now, as I sat in a bathroom in Tawa, New Zealand, I was seconds away from learning if I would do it while having a baby. I closed my eyes and lifted my head to the ceiling. Then I took a deep breath, opened my eyes and looked down. ADVERTISEMENT Extracted with permission from A Different Kind of Power, by Jacinda Ardern (published by Penguin Random House New Zealand) RRP $59.99, available in hardback, ebook and audiobook.
Scoop
27 minutes ago
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Chris Bishop Frustrated By 'Politicised' Stan Walker Aotearoa Music Awards Performance
Senior government Minister Chris Bishop says he was frustrated by the politicisation of Stan Walker's performance at the Aotearoa Music Awards, when he said "what a load of crap". During Stan Walker's performance of Māori Ki te Ao, performers took to the stage with flags displaying Toitū Te Tiriti, a movement borne out of opposition to the Treaty Principles Bill and other government legislation. Bishop, who was in attendance, was seen criticising the performance, and has since said he should have kept the comments to himself. On Tuesday, Bishop told reporters his comments were not directed specifically at Walker. "I was frustrated and annoyed by the sort of overt politicking around it," he said. "It's not about Stan Walker, I actually quite like Stan Walker, actually quite liked his performance. It was just the sort of politicisation of it that frustrated me," he said. Bishop singled out the Toitū Te Tiriti "banners and paraphernalia" as the source of his frustration, not the performance itself. He said he would not be apologising to Walker. "It's not clear what I'd be apologising for." His comments led to backlash from other performers, including Don McGlashan, who was seen on video confronting Bishop. The minister said the irony was he was a "huge" Don McGlashan fan. "I love the Mutton Birds. But Don McGlashan is a noteworthy non-supporter of the National Party. People might remember the 2008 election, in which he expressed some frustration at 'Anchor Me', which is a great Mutton Birds tune, being used by TVNZ on the election night coverage," Bishop said. "His political views are quite well-known, but look it is what it is, he's entitled to his views in the same way I'm entitled to mine." Arts, culture and heritage minister Paul Goldsmith, who was also at the event, brushed off whether the performance was controversial. "There's always controversy at music awards. It goes without saying," he said. Māori Crown relations minister Tama Potaka said he disagreed with Bishop's comments, but they were for Bishop to respond to. "I absolutely love Stan Walker and his commitment to te reo, and the mahi that he does particularly in his engagement with Ratana, the hāhi. I don't agree with minister Bishop's comments, however those are a matter for him to comment on," Potaka said. Labour's Māori Development spokesperson Willie Jackson said Bishop, as a music fan, should know that music had always been political. "He should know music better than anyone. Look around the world, people have been doing that for years. Whether it's Bob Marley, Bono, whatever, it's been happening, it's not like something new. He should talk to his Shihad heroes, cos the lead singer there's got pretty good politics too." The Prime Minister told Morning Report he was comfortable with Bishop's response, and had spoken to him over the weekend. "I just got his side of the story about what he said and it was exactly as reported. He corrected it well before I got to him... he just acknowledged he should have kept his thoughts to himself," Christopher Luxon said. "The bottom line is your listeners aren't losing a lot of sleep over what a politician sharing his opinion on some music was about." Labour leader Chris Hipkins said Bishop's behaviour was disappointing, but it was for the Prime Minister to bring his ministers in line. "You've got to remember when you're a government minister that you're on public display all of the time."
Scoop
an hour ago
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In The Spirit Of Natural Justice
Having recently resigned from my executive positions within the National Party, I write this as someone who has seen the inner workings of the organisation up close. I joined the Party in 2023, during the election year that saw strong leadership return National to power. To be transparent, I had never voted Blue before. For many years, I strongly opposed the policies of the National Party for a range of reasons—but this felt different. Under the leadership of Judith Collins, National introduced candidates in the Māori electorates. As a Māori person, this was a promising development. The inclusion of the Treaty of Waitangi within the Party's values signalled a direction I felt I could support. After a conversation over a glass of wine with a then list MP, I was on board. A month later, I had the privilege of attending the launch of the Māori electorates for National at Parliament. I witnessed more than 20 years of history in the making, and I've stood present for the official launches of both Te Tai Hauāuru and Tāmaki Makaurau inside the House. However, following a recent internal disagreement with some of the Māori members of the Party, I resigned from my executive positions—and ultimately, from the Party itself. It is off this backdrop that I now write. Recently, Te Pāti Māori members were summoned to the Privileges Committee. Exercising their democratic rights, they declined to appear. Contrary to the rhetoric from ACT, attendance is not compulsory. Members of Parliament are not obligated to appear. That crucial point has been lost in much of the commentary. The report was presented before the House for debate. I listened carefully as Minister Collins, Chair of the Committee, spoke. Initially, her delivery was measured—clear, coherent, and seemingly factual—until it wasn't. The Committee, by majority (not consensus, which diverges from the usual practice), accused Te Pāti Māori co-leader Debbie Ngarewa-Packer of using 'gun gestures,' pointing toward ACT Party members, and saying 'e noho' following a haka performed in the House. I do not dispute that the performance disrupted proceedings. It did interrupt the business of the House and halted both sides of the vote—blocking parties on both the left and right from recording their stances. But in the spirit of democracy and natural justice, a report of this magnitude should be entirely factual. It should not rely on circumstantial or interpreted evidence. Let's be clear—the haka did happen. This isn't about 'haka.' It is about process. Whether you agree with the actions taken or not, due process matters. In my view, the report contains errors. Some of the accusations are false; others are framed through subjective interpretation. Two claims in particular stand out: In my view, the report is incorrect, accusations in the report are either false or interpretations and noted by subjective language. The accusations that are either interpreted to suit a narrative or false are: 'Ms Ngarewa-Packer … simulating a firing motion, said 'e noho' (sit down) Audio/visual evidence of the word clearly spoken was ' kino,' not 'e noho,' and the gesture was described as a 'wiri' (a trembling expression) or even a point, not a gun simulation. This indicates a potential factual inaccuracy in transcription and cultural interpretation. There is no evidence that points directly to intent of a gun motion. The word 'kino' has multiple translations and the committee relied on interpretation of their own, or did not seek assurances without consulting Māori experts to validate meaning or intent. Therefore, with this understanding, this section of the report is false. 'Particularly unacceptable for Ms Ngarewa-Packer to appear to simulate firing a gun…' This is a subjective interpretation of a cultural gesture. No independent verification was cited, nor was expert Māori input accepted. Te Pāti Māori refuted this interpretation and stated it was not a firearm simulation but an expressive haka gesture. There is no one way of simulating a firearm – after asking 10 kids, 2 in 10 showed the same as Ngarewa-Packer. With an understanding of the word 'kino' it is more likely that Te Pāti Māori MP pointed towards the Act Party calling them 'kino' and unlikely to be a 'fire arm simulation'. It is under this report that the committee has proposed a level of sanction that this country has never seen. Let's be clear, the report is not accurate. You can clearly argue both sides of this – however, in the evidence of fact, can parliament really accept the recommendations with false evidence. With the facts of the report being called into question, one, in the spirit of democracy, must ask the question, is the report valid to affirm the recommendations and sanction 3 of Te Pāti Māori MPs to the high level this country has ever seen? In the presence of 'doubt' and natural justice, can such a harsh sentence be handed down? Can the current government of New Zealand, stand on moral ground in the future and hold another government to account on the validity of their decisions if they choose to impose the recommendations of this report? Or, does the government have the political courage to stand up, say the report is flawed, and accept that the stand down period has occurred and the house and can get back to business for the people of this beautiful country?
