‘‘Backlash politics can be a galvanising force for a conservative base, but to really light the fire it needs a convincing figurehead. Thankfully, Collins is not it.’’
The He Puapua report is the blue touch paper with which Judith Collins was hoping to start a fire. The 130-page report outlines recommendations for the Government on how New Zealand should meet its commitments under the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.
It was never signed off by Cabinet, is not Government policy, and was not released publicly.
This was Labour’s mistake. It allowed Collins to frame the intentions of the Government as secretive and radical.
She used it as a springboard to launch a sustained attack on Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern for pursuing an agenda of segregation and racist separatism. Since early May, she’s been riffing on the theme of race relations, attacking a new proposed Ma¯ ori Health Authority, opposing Ma¯ ori wards in local councils, and scaremongering about plans to transfer Department of Conservation land to Ma¯ ori and iwi control of water.
Most commentators have concluded Collins is using the issue as a lightning rod, to deflect criticism over her performance and leadership.
At the heart of her grievance is her belief that Ardern and Labour failed to have an ‘‘adult conversation’’ about their plans to uphold the rights of tangata whenua. In fact, that national debate has been going on since at least the 1980s. But until recently, the moves towards true biculturalism have felt largely symbolic (an embracing of Ma¯ ori culture by public institutions, or the revival of te reo). But Ma¯ ori still lag behind in statistics.
It’s been a slow revolution. But recently, a confluence of events has hastened the drive to challenge post-colonial inequality and redress past injustices.
The surge of the Black Lives Matter movement forced societies to confront their past. A more
confident, young generation of Ma¯ ori are now emboldened by a progressive Government with a strong Ma¯ ori caucus.
As with all social justice movements, there has been a backlash. Pa¯ keha¯ defensiveness has largely manifested itself online. Brewery owner David Gaughan’s Facebook comments were abhorrent, but he’s no lone wolf: read to the bottom of any news article about Ma¯ ori inequity or cultural appropriation, and you fall down a rabbit hole filled with bitterness, resentment and brittle superiority.
It’s often undiluted racism. But it also reflects discomfort and a fear of being demonised. It often dovetails with panic about free speech, cancel culture, and ‘‘wokeness’’.
And it is ripe for exploitation. Collins is trying to harness the anger burning up talk radio airwaves and online forums and wed it to the Ardern Government’s agenda to address inequality. Backlash politics can be a galvanising force for a conservative base, but to really light the fire it needs a convincing figurehead. Thankfully, Collins is not it.
Both Simon Bridges and David Seymour have also failed to ignite a fake culture war.
New Zealand has moved on as a nation. Twenty years ago, December’s Ihuma¯ tao deal would have risked a huge political backlash, but the public were largely indifferent and the issue got little traction for either ACT or National.
Whoever follows Collins as leader is unlikely to use race relations as a rallying cry because it could never supplant the pandemic or economy at the top of voters’ minds.
But then, with no obvious outlet in mainstream politics, what happens to this reservoir of rage?
Is it small enough that we can afford to ignore it? Do we accept that white fragility, and the hostility and denialism that goes with it, is an unavoidable consequence of a necessary conversation and will eventually die out?
Or do we acknowledge a bunch of people aren’t on board with change, and try to turn that around? Cancel culture might be satisfying, but shutting people down doesn’t work. It entrenches positions, because people need to feel heard before they can open their minds to other points of view. And just because New Zealand politics offers no obvious Donald Trump or Marine Le Pen figurehead, that doesn’t mean they aren’t yet out there.
This is difficult. But rather than scorn, belittle, and label them bigots, can we persuade them there is no existential threat to their way of life, and that lessening the gaps is good for everyone?
Perhaps Collins is right that we do need to have a conversation – it just looks very different to the confrontational one she is hoping for. But having it could mean change is lasting, and will enrich rather than divide.
Backlash politics can be a galvanising force for a conservative base, but to really light the fire it needs a convincing figurehead. Thankfully, Collins is not it.