Called out, but also called back
‘Is this Winston Peters?’’ I ask Winston Peters, who asks me who wants to know? While this is obviously Winston Peters it’s also a fair enough question, so I introduce myself, say what I do for a job and again ask if this is Winston Peters?
‘‘Yes,’’ says Winston Peters. I’m ringing the NZ First leader because I’m writing a piece about his ‘Real State of the Nation’ speech; particularly the bit where he pledged to change every government department’s Māori name back to English if he’s voted into government.
I’m also calling because a few years back I wrote about him not liking the Aotearoa word and some people thought that column was a bit mean. That’s been worrying me, I start saying seconds before he tells me off.
This comes after he rightly asks if I’ve actually read the speech and I tell the truth: no, but I have read stories about it; a dumb admission resulting in a sound scolding about media.
Peters says he won’t be interviewed by someone commenting on what their colleagues have said, and I agree that’s fair enough. He also says journalists just editorialise these days, and I say, to be fair that’s what I do in my columns.
‘‘What I want you to do is text me,’’ he says, ‘‘tell me what you want and tell me you’ve read the speech before you do.’’
Fair enough, I say, and read the speech.
‘‘I’ve read the speech,’’ I text, cleverly referencing a few points before asking about changing the names. How much it will cost? And what’s the actual point?
Peters says he’ll call me back as soon as he can; in the meantime I read the speech again.
Like most political sermons this one makes some pretty sweet promises, including funding for emergency services, fixing Pharmac and leaving the superannuation age as is.
Unfortunately, it’s also peppered with deeply weird statements that make reading it a bit like bobbing for bigots. It’s got all the tired trigger topics like ‘‘Western values’’, ‘‘law and order’’ and Māori DNA, as well as mentions of ‘‘inverse racism’’, something everyone knows isn’t actually real.
Then there’s the stuff about names, which Peters says isn’t an attack on the Māori language but one on the elite who attempt to use it for their own gains.
What’s bizarre about this is Peters appears to be doing the exact same thing, weaponising the words to demonstrate both how the country’s gone to hell in a handbasket – or kete – and why he should be voted in, again.
When he rings back, I put that to him, but he says he’s not following. He does say the cost of reversal is virtually nothing compared to what’s going on now and the point of a change is about just that.
‘‘ . . . people are waiting more than four months for critical operations, including a whole lot of Māori who have to put up with the woke, virtue-signalling change of departments they’re going to, rather than what they want – operations.’’
‘‘Ah,’’ I say, ‘‘so the point is to make a point?’’ But he’s not following again. Worse, even though I read his speech he’s not committing to reading my column, though he does offer to edit it. We both laugh.
Finally, I ask if his feelings ever get hurt when someone says something mean – someone like a columnist maybe – and he says nope, because growing up Māori got him used to it.
Fair enough, I say, because it’s hard to be mean to someone you’re actually talking to, and I feel sorry for Winston Peters.