Point of Order Mr Speaker: Modern Māori Political Leaders

Eight current or former Māori politicians from different political parties recount their leadership experiences, and describe the significant events in their journeys from their early lives to Parliament. Paula Bennett, Te Ururoa Flavell, Hone Harawira, Tau Henare, Shane Jones, Nanaia Mahuta, Hekia Parata and Metiria Turei give readers a unique glimpse into their personal and public lives. They share their dreams and aspirations, lessons learned and knowledge gained while making meaningful contributions to Māori development.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Huia Publishers
• Release date: Sep 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781775503422

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Rāhui Katene

Everyone has a story to tell. Some stories are so compelling they should be documented and shared so they can be a source of inspiration for others. A glimpse into the personal lives of Shane, Hekia, Te Ururoa, Paula, Hone, Metiria, Tau and Nanaia, mixed with their very public personas and written from their own perspectives, is what makes this book so different, and of value to those aspiring to follow in their footsteps. We begin to understand the life events that made them who they are – fellow human beings with hopes and dreams and fears, like the rest of us. By sharing stories of defining moments in their lives, the reader connects with each of them at a deeper level.

Covering their lives in this one book has meant using a broad-brush approach, rather than including detailed accounts of their varied experiences as political leaders. Hopefully this snapshot will provide sufficient insights for the reader to seek more knowledge about the contributions of these eight men and women in leading Māori political advancement, and the survival of Māori as a people with influence in the early years of the twenty-first century. However, if there’s one thing that all eight have in common, it’s their first-term ‘apprenticeship’ as new members of parliament (MPs). Those crucial six to eight weeks, between success at a general election and Christmas break, when Parliament closes down for the year, are especially revealing.

To set the scene, below is an account of my own first six weeks in Parliament, to illustrate what it’s like for those of us privileged to be MPs. Prior to this, I had been a public servant working closely with ministers, so I had seen the long hours and hard work required of a parliamentarian. And as a managing solicitor of a community law centre, I had taught workshops on our civil system, including the process of passing laws. I thought I knew what being a lawmaker entailed. Wow, was I in for a huge surprise!

My first six weeks as an MP

It was election night – Saturday, 8 November 2008. My campaign team, family, and friends, including a skeleton crew from Māori Television, were assembled at my campaign base at Te Tatau o te Pō marae, Petone. There was nervous conversation, with people dropping in, expressing their best wishes and bringing food, but we weren’t very hungry. I knew that my team and I had done everything possible to win, and was fully confident that I would win. However, there’s always that tiny thread of doubt – should I have done more of this? More of that? Should we have spent more time there? What if …?

So, along with everyone there, my eyes were glued to the television set when news came through that I had shot into the lead. The first few booths had favoured me, but they were small booths and ‘not significant’, the TV commentators said. ‘Wait for the big booths to come in,’ they said.

When they did, I continued to lead, although it was a very slender lead at times. It seemed like it could go either way. My son, an auditor with KPMG, charted my progress on his laptop, providing us all with regular updates and statistical analyses throughout the evening, confirmed by TV commentary at intervals.

Gradually, as the evening progressed, a sense of euphoria washed through the marae as it became clear I was holding my lead, and in fact was winning the battle. What a relief when it was all over. I was so pleased for us all, including Pita Sharples, Tariana Turia, Hone Harawira and Te Ururoa Flavell, who easily retained their seats. But I was saddened that Derek Fox and my cousin Angeline Greensill had narrow losses.

At home later that evening, my exhaustion took over. I had only enough energy to gather my family around, and together we gave thanks to our Heavenly Father. I now had the opportunity to serve to the best of my ability my fellow Māori in a new capacity as their local MP, representing the Māori Party in Te Tai Tonga.

Throughout the short and punchy campaign, I had been driven by Monte Ohia’s memory. We all felt his wairua and presence all around us. Monte laid the foundation for my success, up until his untimely death. One of the first people I spoke to after the victory was Monte’s widow, Linda. I was so grateful for the support the Ohia whānau gave me.

The win made me more determined to maintain the respect of my supporters and build trust among other constituents – even those who didn’t vote for me. I didn’t pretend to have in-depth knowledge of all the issues in my vast electorate, and took full advantage of the short selection process to ask constituents about their priorities, even if those discussions seemed largely superficial. It seemed obvious that what Māori wanted was to be heard and to be taken seriously. And my role was to listen, and to advocate on their behalf.

The need for and value of legal skills was reinforced, with nine of the new MPs in the 2008 intake being lawyers. The move from practising law to making law is a legitimate pathway into Parliament. My legal training provided me with a strong understanding of New Zealand’s constitutional systems and an ability to think through the practical application of new laws. Having well-honed advocacy, relationship, and problem-solving skills was very useful.

The following months were hectic for me, as I was busy house hunting, basing myself among almost a third of my electorate in Christchurch. This was just one of several major changes underway for the Katene household as I adjusted to public life. I quickly disentangled myself from business affairs and began to navigate an already bustling family life around the rigours of a parliamentary schedule, and to reconnect with my Ngāi Tahu heritage, particularly in Kaikōura.

Short, sharp shock

As a relative unknown in the electorate, I recognised that I needed to work hard at making sure I got out among my constituents and give voice to their concerns. I don’t mind admitting it was a surprise to some Māori voters in my electorate. But fuelled by the burning passion that came with the rapid journey from selection to election as an MP, I hoped I could do justice to my new role.

On the one hand I was excited and proud, and on the other, the harsh reality of this nerve-wracking position was starting to hit home. I realised how high profile my new role was, and that people I had never met would recognise me and want to discuss random issues. Usually that wasn’t a problem, but it was disconcerting to be cornered in a supermarket, when I’d finally found thirty minutes to do the grocery shopping, by someone wanting to talk about the issue of the day – or worse, about a problem they wanted me to solve immediately.

I also found the deference to my new role difficult to handle. So many people who wouldn’t have given me the time of day before I was elected an MP now wanted to know me and patipati me. I found I needed to keep my family and old friends closer than usual, to keep me grounded and comfortable in my own skin. This is why I tell the story about when I was home in Nelson at a hui, and someone told my aunty to give me a drink. She stopped and thought, ‘Niece … MP … niece … MP, oh forget it. Niece! She can get her own!’ I needed that sort of person to stop the ego from exploding!

My main challenge was to emulate my hardworking and conscientious Māori Party MP colleagues and support staff. That would be the least I could do to pay back all those who supported my candidature, and those who worked tirelessly as volunteers, passionate to a person and on a mission for change. Importantly, they put their trust in me, and that’s very humbling. As I told one journalist, for a newcomer I didn’t want to set the bar too high, just end world hunger, wars; you know – the basics.

The first few weeks of Parliament were a whirlwind ride. I learnt fast that with this new job came a very public profile. I rapidly became aware, thanks in part to my parliamentary colleagues, advisers, and in particular the ordinary folk who would approach me in public to introduce themselves, of how conspicuous I was, and the mantle of responsibility I had to bear.

It all began in haste on the Sunday morning after election day. After the late night watching the results and celebrating, I had to rise extremely early (which became the norm for the next three years) to fly up to Auckland for television interviews, and hurriedly arranged meetings with my new Māori Party caucus colleagues and political advisers, including John Tamihere.

I had so much admiration for Tariana, Pita, Hone, Te Ururoa, and the Party’s president, Professor Whatarangi Winiata. They were excited about my win, but at the same time reflected on the two near misses in Ikaroa-Rāwhiti, with Derek Fox, and in Hauraki-Waikato, involving veteran campaigner Angeline Greensill. The Party had hopes of a clean sweep of all Māori seats, but that was not to be this time. Their post-mortem analysis included talk about the low (55 percent) voter turnout in Māori seats, the need for an independent campaign review, strategising what the next three years under National might look like, and preliminary discussions on possible coalition talks with the National Party. It was clear that the people had spoken, and that was that.

Everything happened so fast. The next day (Monday 10 November), at the Māori Party offices in Parliament’s Bowen House, Tariana gave the karanga as I tentatively stepped into a new realm, which was to be my home away from home. The welcome was genuine and reassuring, and there was a sense that this brave new world was going to be everything I had imagined, and more. I explored that world with a number of other new MPs on a tour of Parliament, our new workplace for the next three years, all wide-eyed ‘newbies’ wandering around trying not to look too new.

It was interesting to discover that the security staff had overnight learnt the names and faces of all the new MPs – that was as welcoming as Tariana’s karanga. I also found that journalists can be helpful in unexpected ways, when I got lost looking for a certain room and ran into a bunch of them camped in the corridor outside the office of someone important (they had a good laugh at my expense about that one, but I learnt that in Parliament, you are always the butt of someone’s joke. The trick is to not take it seriously!)

Next, it was time to endure a crash course on parliamentary protocols and processes. This induction was relatively informal, and involved staff from Parliamentary Services and the Office of the Clerk walking us through various policy and procedure manuals, explaining guidelines on legislative procedure, and giving us advice on how to conduct ourselves in the House. I was pleasantly surprised by the size of my salary, and relieved that my travel would all be paid for – getting around the electorate during the campaign period had been very expensive, and I was determined to have a presence in the whole electorate so I could represent everyone properly.

I was fortunate in that I received good support and advice from my colleagues and senior Party staff, including Harry Walker, Dr Helen Potter and Helen Leahy.

Naturally, more immediate priorities concerned me too, including the location of my office, employing a secretary, getting a cell phone and a computer, and the finances. And there was more to do, including beginning the process of setting up parliamentary offices throughout my electorate. A well-earned rest would have to wait.

In the meantime, the National Party’s John Key and Bill English met with Tariana and Pita on the Tuesday (11 November) to discuss a possible support role for the Party, having already sewn up a deal with Act and United Future the day before. So, while Key didn’t need the Māori Party for a majority, he wanted to bring us into his ‘inclusive’ government anyway. By Wednesday, the co-leaders had thrashed out a draft agreement with us, then headed back out on the road to consult our membership about the possibilities of a coalition relationship with the new National Government. We’d always intended to go back to our people, but never expected it to happen so fast.

Forty hui were planned nationwide over the next three days, with less than a day’s notice in most cases. I convened six consultation hui in the Te Tai Tonga electorate: Invercargill, Dunedin, Christchurch, Picton, Nelson, and lastly Wellington. I also attended one of Tariana’s hui at Takapūwāhia marae, Porirua. In general, there was strong interest from members who, on the whole, urged me to negotiate some form of coalition arrangement, but not at the expense of the Party maintaining its reputation as a strong, independent and influential Māori voice in Parliament.

I was humbled by the reception I received, and even more overwhelming to me was the generosity of spirit the people of Te Tai Tonga showed in contemplating the opportunity to participate as part of a government. Many people were confident that this was the time to advance, and they were prepared to support and trust the Māori Party leadership to act in their best interests. At Nelson, my hometown, I said that it was always going to be difficult for those who have traditionally voted Labour to now see us as part of a National-led coalition government. It was something we had to work through. At other hui, people were curious about the proposed coalition deal – not averse to working with National, but cautiously optimistic.

On Sunday 16 November 2008, the Māori Party’s negotiators accepted the hand of manaakitanga extended to them by John Key, and signed a Relationship and Confidence and Supply Agreement between the National Party and the Māori Party. Both parties recognised the importance of mana maintenance and enhancement, that the relationship would be one of good faith and no surprises, and would act in accordance with Te Tiriti o Waitangi.

On the important question of the status of the Māori seats, it was agreed that a group would consider constitutional issues including Māori representation, and National would not seek to remove the Māori seats without the consent of the Māori people. On the Foreshore and Seabed Act 2004, it was agreed that the legislation would be reviewed, and repealed if necessary. In return, the Māori Party, as a responsible partner, agreed to support the government in motions of confidence and appropriation (supply) votes, or to allow the government to govern.

For Pita and Tariana, the agreement also led to both being appointed to ministerial positions outside cabinet.

Within the agreement there was a clause relating to resourcing big electorates like Te Tai Tonga. This meant I was able to provide better service to my constituents, with offices and staff in Wellington, Christchurch and Invercargill.

We learnt later that National were pleasantly surprised during the negotiations – they had expected us to be a lot more demanding and hard-nosed. (I think they were confusing us with Labour.) But (most) Māori are nothing if not realistic and adept at setting realistic goals.

Over the preceding week, both leaders had set a hectic pace, negotiating and finalising a coalition support agreement, supported by a mandate from several thousand of its membership at forty hui throughout the country. How the Māori Party travelled in government would be viewed with interest. It would also be important for the Party to be a responsible partner in government, which was totally different to the Party’s previous role. In opposition, criticising a government is arguably a relatively straightforward task, albeit a negative one. The Party’s future depended on it being reliable in government, and demonstrating this to a sceptical public over the next three years.

I was keen to show my support for the Party’s decision to align with National, which had a good track record in my area of expertise, the Treaty of Waitangi. It was National that settled the big Ngāi Tahu and Tainui claims. I considered National nothing if not pragmatists. With National so focused on business and enterprise, there was common alignment with the Party’s aspirations for Māori economic gains. I didn’t think it was as big a gap as people thought.

So what brought it all about? The Labour Party had become the number one villain to many Māori only because it devised and enacted the widely despised Foreshore and Seabed Act. National benefitted from this by being the Māori Party’s enemy’s enemy, and therefore a strategic friend. With National’s two key coalition partners enjoying representation with five MPs each, the Māori Party in the centre effectively acted as a counterbalance to the Act Party on the far right of the political spectrum, ensuring National could run its centre-right political agenda. It could look to us when it needed centrist support, and look right in alternate circumstances.

Incoming Prime Minister John Key announced his cabinet line-up on 17 November. It included the Māori Party’s two co-leaders as ministers outside cabinet: Pita Sharples as Minister of Māori Affairs, Associate Minister of Education, and Associate Minister of Corrections; and Tariana Turia as Minister for the Community and Voluntary Sector, Associate Minister of Health, and Associate Minister of Social Development and Employment. The swearing-in ceremony for both ministers, by the Governor General, the Rt Hon Sir Anand Satyanand, was at Parliament’s Grand Hall two days later.

Monday 8 December 2008 was the day on which the Governor General formally opened Parliament with a speech from the throne. I remember him saying that the government was impatient to see Māori standing strong, economically independent and fulfilling the complete promise of their potential.

By law, no MP can sit or vote in the House before being sworn in. The swearing-in ceremony involves the Clerk of the House inviting MPs, in alphabetical order, to take the Oath of Allegiance to the Crown. I had enquired earlier if I could be sworn in by placing my hands on the Book of Mormon (a book of scripture of my religion) instead of the Bible. That request was declined, but the Clerk agreed I could use my own Bible. On the day, I brought ‘my Bible’, a compendium of scripture that included the standard King James version of the Bible, but also the Book of Mormon. This didn’t go unnoticed by Mormons watching the event. For me it meant I was honouring my religious beliefs and heritage.

When I attempted to ‘swear’ to Te Tiriti o Waitangi as well as the Queen, the Clerk wouldn’t allow it and insisted I repeat the Oath of Allegiance by referring to the Queen only. The aim of it all was to highlight the status of the Treaty, a point well made to all those at the swearing-in ceremony, especially my family, many of whom were in raptures. Once done, I then signed an official register, evidence that I was entitled to officially sit and vote in the House. By that stage I was so nervous my whole body was shaking, and my signature started out as more of a scrawl than usual. I had to stop and compose myself before completing it properly.

The government immediately got started on its 100-day goal of initiating a raft of legislative changes. And so began my induction into House Business. House sitting hours at that time were normally Tuesday and Wednesday 2 p.m.–10 p.m., and Thursday 2 p.m.–6 p.m. If Parliament went into urgency, the hours would be massively extended, starting at 10 a.m. on Wednesdays and going through to midnight every day except Saturday, when we finished a little earlier, and no Sundays. Routine days would start with an hour to an hour and a half of Question Time, where backbenchers from all parties were given rostered opportunities to ask questions and supplementary questions of ministers. Government backbenchers would be given ‘patsy’ questions to ask, to allow the ministers to crow about their successes and bag the opposition, while the opposition parties would use Question Time to try to make the ministers look bad. As one of the smaller parties, the Māori Party had fewer opportunities to ask questions, and only two or three supplementary questions on someone else’s primary questions each day. We usually used Question Time to ask about policies in which our ministers had managed to achieve gains, or to show where we disagreed with government policies and actions.

In addition, following Question Time, every second Wednesday there would be general debate, during which the Māori Party would get five minutes to debate an issue we saw as important that week.

The rest of House Business was speaking and voting on readings of Bills.

For backbenchers like me, Tuesday mornings were for caucus and other meetings, and Wednesday and Thursday mornings were for select committee meetings. I eventually settled into a routine of spending Fridays in each of my three electorate offices in turn, and Saturdays and Monday out in various parts of the electorate, at meetings or events. My favourite of these were at Te Tai Tonga’s huge range of schools.

Sundays were supposed to be my day off; my family day. Yeah, right.

We did get pretty generous holidays, usually around school holidays, but most of that time was spent on electorate business and often on sittings for select committee hearings, or on overseas trips for parliamentary business such as continuing education, conferences or observations. And of course there were always Party meetings in different parts of the country.

My typical day began with an early morning flight to a far-flung part of my electorate for meetings or to Wellington for parliamentary business. If I was in the electorate, my final meeting would be a dinner, or sometimes a late meeting to speak to a community group. If I was in Wellington, my first meeting would usually be at 8 a.m., and if I had house duty that evening, I could be in the House until 10 p.m. If I just needed to be on campus for voting numbers, I would be in my office until 10 p.m., reading papers for my next meetings.

And I had to be prepared to take calls from the media and do interviews at all hours of the day and night, wherever I was.

MPs learn quickly to read at every opportunity, so they’re up to date with the issues, able to speak about them at a moment’s notice, and sound knowledgeable at select committee. However, I always found it difficult to read on flights, like other politicians do. I found that as soon as I sat down and did up my seat belt, I fell asleep. That twenty-minute nana nap was the best part about flying.

Dividing up select committee responsibilities is a challenge for any caucus. For the Māori Party at this time, with two of the five MPs as ministers, the Party work had to be spread among just three MPs, one of whom was the Party whip. My new parliamentary roles included being a member of three committees: Finance and Expenditure, Regulations Review, and Local Government and Environment; and two special committees: the Emissions Trading Scheme Review Committee (for nine months) and, from mid 2010, the Electoral Legislation Committee. That was a heavy workload for anyone, let alone someone new.

When it came to sharing out portfolio (and spokesperson) responsibilities, I had the most, as many of these related to the select committees I sat on. The dilemma for me was doing justice to such a heavy parliamentary workload when a demanding electorate also required close attention. I had to learn to balance those two competing demands. But this large workload was also a privilege. Very few new MPs get the opportunity to speak so often in Parliament on so many diverse subjects, on laws that will affect themselves and their whanaunga personally.

But before I could make any speeches on legislation or policy, I had to give my maiden speech.

A maiden speech is usually the first speech given by a newly elected MP. Between the opening of Parliament and giving my maiden speech, I was gaining practical experience of parliamentary procedure in the debating chamber, usually accompanied by one of my colleagues. One day, while on House duty alone, I had to stand and give a party vote, and I was worried that it might be construed as my maiden speech. It is customary for a maiden speech to be relatively uncontroversial, often consisting of a general statement of the MP’s beliefs and background. Nonetheless, it has tremendous meaning as it often serves as the benchmark upon which political careers are measured.

It was late afternoon on Thursday, 11 December 2008 when I gave my maiden speech in Parliament’s debating chamber. Prior to speaking I humbly welcomed members of my Ngāti Koata whanaunga who had arrived to support me on Parliament’s steps. There they presented me with a korowai, which I wore during my maiden speech. I was so proud to wear that korowai, remembering my father and tupuna before him, who had fought so hard for representation and equity.

At the start of my speech in the House, and draped in my new korowai, I was deeply emotional as I hesitatingly referred to the hectic nature of the previous month:

I am the Māori Party manifestation of a 100-day plan. In true Māori Party style, our plan took us only 84 days to complete. With the outstanding 16 days we have made a start on our 1,000-day plan. The 84 working days between when I was selected to represent the Māori Party in the Te Tai Tonga electorate, on 16 July, and the day of the election, have been a journey like no other. I continue to serve others by being here in this House and representing my people and my loved ones to the best of my ability.¹

At that moment, glancing up at the gallery, I saw a sea of familiar faces beaming down on me with such expectation, encouraging me to continue. They included my husband, Selwyn, our children and mokopuna. From Ngāti Koata, the people who came included my aunties Maria, Ngāwai and Melanie, brothers Roma and James, and many other aunts, cousins and supporters. They had got off the Cook Strait ferry several hours earlier and were due back in Nelson later that night. They were my people, my loved ones. I also thought of those who weren’t there, especially those who had passed on – my father, John; my grandparents, Maria PotoTuo and Pene; and other family members.

I paid tribute to my activist father and wider Ngāti Koata whānau; my loving mother, June Gray, and proud Ngāi Tahu roots in Kaikōura. I talked of my time growing up in Nelson, and of my college and university education, which I had undertaken while raising five children. I spoke of the passion I had for studying law, for the Treaty, for practising well-honed values such as collective responsibility, service, hard work, and aroha.

I made the point that representation in a democracy is not only a basic human right, it is also a sign of faith, to move forward together as a nation. The fact that I was now a representative of Parliament, and the newest member of the Māori Party, was very much an outcome of my faith – in myself, my whānau, my Party colleagues, and my constituents; even in New Zealand’s founding document, Te Tiriti o Waitangi.

I finished my maiden speech of hopes and dreams by remembering that there is no greater calling than to be a servant of the people. That calling is not just an individual pursuit. It impacts on my whānau. At that moment, my three-year-old granddaughter, Ngāhuia, started to play up and had to be hastily taken from the gallery. With a slight but noticeable choking of emotion, I brought my speech to a conclusion, and a stirring rendition of Hoki hoki tonu mai provided a fitting end. The applause (and another waiata) continued while my parliamentary colleagues all took turns congratulating me. A short time later I was able to join my whānau, friends and Māori Party colleagues in my office for further kōrero and refreshments.

I gave four further speeches