Overseas appointees cannot represent us
Along time ago – 1978, to be precise – I wrote an article for The Listener that began something like this: ‘‘A funny thing happened at the Department of Maori Affairs recently. They put a Maori in charge.’’ The article was about Kara Puketapu, who was only the second Ma¯ ori to be appointed secretary of the department charged with looking after Ma¯ ori interests. Today it would be unthinkable for Te Puni Ko¯ kiri, as it’s now known, to have a nonMa¯ ori in the top job. To appoint a Pa¯ keha¯ would be seen as an intolerable affront, and a throwback to the days of patronising colonialism.
It would be argued that only a Ma¯ ori could properly understand Ma¯ ori needs, advise the Government on policies affecting Ma¯ ori and, perhaps most crucially, identify with the people he or she was supposed to represent.
You might well wonder, then, why New Zealanders continue to meekly accept the appointment of non-New Zealanders to the highest levels of both the public and corporate sectors. Surely the same arguments apply.
We haven’t had a British governor-general since the 1960s, and we abandoned the right of appeal to the Privy Council 15 years ago. This suggests we feel capable of looking after ourselves. Yet we continue to see a stream of overseas appointees to powerful positions – a notable example being the naming of an Australian, Caralee McLiesh, as the secretary to the Treasury, a job that places her at the very heart of economic policy-making.
McLiesh replaced another outsider, the Englishman Gabriel Makhlouf, who left under a cloud after being roundly criticised by the State Services Commission for his handling of an embarrassing Budget leak earlier this year.
The appointment of a virtually unknown Australian raised eyebrows around Wellington. Blogger Michael Reddell, a former top official of the Reserve Bank, found it disturbing that, twice in succession, an outsider with no knowledge or experience of New Zealand had been recruited to fill what he described as the premier position in the public service. Reddell said he didn’t think it was appropriate to recruit foreigners, especially ones with no experience or background knowledge of New Zealand, for such critical roles.
Even more disturbing was the appointment of the British academic and Left-wing activist Paul Hunt as chief human rights commissioner. At the time Hunt’s appointment was announced, I wondered what Justice Minister Andrew Little was thinking. I’ve now concluded it was a calculated act of political mischief. I believe Little had an agenda, and selected Hunt to carry it out.
The human rights role is a particularly sensitive one, because it calls for someone with an intuitive understanding of our unique heritage and values. It’s inconceivable that an English academic, and a highly politicised one at that, was the most suitable candidate.
Similarly, you’d think we might have recruited locally for the chief executive at Te Papa, an institution that supposedly reflects what it means to be a New Zealander. Yet we’ve now had two British appointees in the job, both of whom have created disruption and resentment by pursuing their own vision of what Te Papa should be.
That’s another danger with overseas appointees. Many have no emotional stake in New Zealand, or long-standing commitment to the country. They are free to screw things up and move on, leaving whatever damage they have done for someone else to clean up.
They are free to screw things up and move on, leaving whatever damage they have done for someone else to clean up.
This is equally true in the corporate sector, where Fonterra, the ANZ Bank and Fletcher Building have all had to mop up after high-flying but flawed CEOs recruited from the Netherlands, Australia and Scotland. In academia, too, we’ve had to suffer the consequences of questionable overseas appointments. I’m thinking in particular of Massey University Vice-Chancellor Jan Thomas, who deservedly copped a backlash for assuming powers of political censorship on campus. What right did an Australian veterinary scientist have to dictate what opinions New Zealanders should be exposed to?
Another intriguing phenomenon, which I suspect is related, is the high proportion of foreignborn activists at the forefront of radical politics. Examples include career peace protester Valerie Morse, abortion rights advocate Terry Bellamak, anti-poverty campaigner Ricardo Menendez March and the vociferous Guled Mire, who keeps complaining about our immigration policies.
Such people bring with them an ideological fervour alien to New Zealanders, who are essentially a complacent and contented lot. Because we tend to be passive and polite, we make it easy for shouty, assertive outsiders to push their way to the top. But they do not represent New Zealanders.