Elite, but not above us

Jeremy Elwood

The royal couple have left our shores, carrying with them an armful of gifts from the public, and public figures, including the obligatory Buzzy Bee, designer earrings and, um, a Shapeshifter CD. Nothing against Shapeshifter, but a CD? In 2018? Haven’t they upgraded the Kensington Palace wi-fi yet?

They also would have left with a sense of having been welcome here. Their trip went unmarred by any embarrassing incident. Aside from the usual gripes from the usual types about the cost to the taxpayer, and the ongoing relevance of the monarchy, the overriding sentiment was ‘‘thanks for dropping by’’. Royalists 1, Republicans 0.

They received all this love and affection from a distance, or across fences, and always surrounded by a significant security presence. Not that they seemed standoffish in any way, but there was always a sense that this was a momentous visit, and that the country was doing all it could to preserve their safety and dignity, whatever you think of their importance.

Compare that to the Labour Party conference in Dunedin last weekend. I happened to be there on other business, and was in the Octagon twice when the conference broke for lunch. They poured out of the Town Hall, red lanyards blowing in the significant breeze, headed for the bars and cafes that line Dunedin’s centre. From young volunteers and local supporters right through to some of the most recognisable and powerful members of our government, all out enjoying the sunshine.

There was Andrew Little, shaking hands. Kelvin Davis stopped to put on a warmer jacket. Grant Robertson waited patiently for a coffee, and Iain-Lees Galloway stopped to take what was probably an awkward phone call.

I didn’t see the PM, but you only have to scroll briefly through Facebook to find plenty of other Dunedinites who did, and managed a selfie.

All of this took place with no crowd control and, apart from the odd parked police car and one or two beat cops, no obvious overwhelming security. I even overheard a pair of tourists wondering if there was a rugby game on.

Compare that, again, to the footage you see of the rare public outings of the leaders of many other nations. No armoured limousines here, no reinforced barricades, no secret service officers hovering in black glasses or armed police on rooftops.

For all its frustrations, New Zealand politics remains a relatively genteel circus. Our politicians really are people you may find yourself sharing a beer with, whether you want to or not. We elect them to high office, but we don’t automatically grant them high status.

And that is exactly how it should be.

Michele A’Court

The thing about Kiwis, no matter what they achieve or how fancy they get, is you can still see where they come from. We have a worldfamous supermodel, and we know she comes from Glenfield. Our prime minister is from Morrinsville. Our most successful filmmaker grew up in Pukerua Bay and lives in Miramar. The dude on our five dollar note lived in Tuakau and kept bees, and went to the South Pole on a tractor.

This feels like a particularly New Zealand thing – keeping the place we come from as part of our story. Ask me to identify the home town of Lady Gaga or Steven Spielberg or whoever the prime minister is in Australia this week, and I’d need to check Wiki’s ‘‘Early Life’’ section to narrow down their town or suburb. Famous people generally seem to arrive fully formed from their own special planet, right? But not here. Our cousin went to school with them.

Some of that is about being a small country. Turns out my dentist is my good friend’s cousin on his father’s side from Fielding, and this week we worked out that my grandmother used to babysit his cousins on his mother’s side in Levin. Last year at the New Orleans Jazz Festival where Lorde was performing, someone heard my accent and asked if I knew her. It should have been a ludicrous question except I’d met her mum at a book launch in Devonport and she was very nice, actually.

So yes, we bang into each other because the chance of banging into someone in a country of only 4.5 million is high. If Lady Gaga was from Puta¯ ruru, we would have worked out what she really looked like before A Star Is Born. Your aunt would have known the butcher who supplied the meat for that dress she wore to the VMAs in 2010.

But there is another layer to this that is more to do with culture than numbers. Don Brash would be spinning in whatever he sleeps in if he’d been at some of the events I’ve been at recently – conferences, writers’ festivals, school celebrations – where each speaker recites their pepeha by way of introduction: their mountain, the coastline and river they grew up beside, the people they are broadly and closely connected to.

If you are looking for something to strengthen democracy, the Ma¯ ori tradition of pepeha is a gift. Knowing where someone comes from, who they were before they reached great (or medium) heights, makes them human and like us. Which is a great way to frame our view of leaders and heroes because it allows us to give them no more and also no less respect than they earn.