Rainy-day savings part of Cullen legacy
SThere was barely a portfolio where he (Michael Cullen) didn’t leave his mark.
ir Michael Cullen’s press conferences used to be something of a trial by fire for rookie political reporters like myself back in the day. Ask the wrong question and you could see your colleagues wince. No-one enjoyed being on the receiving end of Cullen’s sharp wit. He was an intellect and a smart arse, which made for a formidable combination.
He was also a powerhouse of the Fifth Labour Government; he and former prime minister Helen Clark were one of the more successful political marriages of modern times. Between them, they smashed perceptions of Labour, earning their government a reputation as a safe pair of hands.
Cullen’s legacy is assured; KiwiSaver, and the New Zealand super fund – or the Cullen fund as it was known colloquially – are between them worth $100 billion today. They made up, at least in part, for decades of missed opportunities on a national savings policy.
Cullen’s focus on reducing debt was his other legacy; faced with embarrassingly huge surpluses, he stared down calls for tax cuts, insisting that the rainy day would come one day. Bill English and John Key were of different political stripes, but the focus on paying down debt was the same. Faced with today’s unprecedented challenges, it’s clear we owe them all a debt of gratitude. The rainy day is here.
Speaking to Cullen last week for his book, Labour Saving, was a reminder that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Cullen has mellowed with retirement, or maybe it’s being forced to face his own mortality after a cancer diagnosis. But the wit is still there, and the sharp intellect.
The deep fascination with policy hasn’t dimmed either; his memoir is a reminder of his huge workload during the term of the Fifth Labour Government – finance minister, deputy prime minister, attorney-general, treaty negotiations, tertiary education – there was barely a portfolio where he didn’t leave his mark. So it’s impossible not to ask him if there was unfinished business.
The Clark/Cullen government grappled with its own unique issues of course – the foreshore and seabed debate and the deep line it cleaved through race relations, chief among them. But there were also familiar issues: soaring house prices, labour shortages, infrastructure deficits and ballooning debt. So it’s probably not surprising that of any issue, it’s housing, where Cullen admits regrets.
A bigger focus on social housing, maybe, would have had a flow-on effect through the market, he suggests; taking the pressure off prices in the firsthome buyer bracket, and up the housing chain.
But (and there’s always a but) it’s never that simple. There were labour shortages, a lack of infrastructure, and Cullen says he still remembers what happened when the Third Labour Government, under Norman Kirk, tried to launch a massive house-building programme; it caused a run on materials and labour, and inflated prices.
The other regret was the way the foreshore and seabed debate played out; rhetoric drowned out reason and the backlash was built on a false premise that it suited both sides to peddle, Cullen says.
But as his memoir reminds us this is what politics – and being a politician – is all about; trying to solve complex, and often intractable problems, when there are no silver bullets, or easy answers.