Former prime minister Jacinda Ardern and her onetime deputy, Grant Robertson, spoke about their close friendship at a Dunedin event. Tara Ward was there.
“I cried last night in Wellington, so it’s only fair to have a cry here too,” Dame Jacinda Ardern said last night, just moments after being welcomed onto the stage of Dunedin’s Regent Theatre. The sold-out audience had just given Ardern and her close friend and former political colleague Grant Robertson a long and emphatic round of applause, cheering as they sat down together on a brown leather couch in the middle of the stage. The city of Dunedin had always been a warm place to visit, Sydney-based Ardern told the crowd, and she was happy to be back home.
Ardern was in Ōtepoti to promote her autobiography A Different Kind of Power, and had teamed up for a special one-off conversation with “South Dunedin boy” Robertson, whose autobiography Anything Could Happen was also published last year. Hosted by Stacey Morrison (Te Arawa, Ngāi Tahu), the event was presented by Dunedin Writers and Readers Festival, and was Ardern’s only South Island stop in her national book tour.
The night was billed as a chat between two old mates, but Ardern and Robertson aren’t just friends. They’re also the former Labour prime minister and deputy prime minister who led New Zealand through one of its most tumultuous periods, which included the Covid-19 pandemic, the Christchurch mosque shootings and the Whakaari disaster. The crowd was a friendly one, but security for the event served as a reminder that their political era still has strong critics. There was a visible police presence, bag searches, and metal detecting wands in use to scan ticket holders. As the crowd queued to get through the security check, three protestors stood silently on the Octagon footpath, holding signs that read “Wef puppets release Pfizer contracts”.
Inside the theatre, however, there was a lot of love. Ardern and Robertson began by discussing the nice things they’d said about each other in their books, with Robertson saying his proudest moment was when Ardern asked him to be her wedding celebrant (the ceremony was delayed by an hour, thanks to a Daily Mail helicopter flying overhead). They shared colourful insights into the early days of their friendship, when they were both advisors to then-prime minister Helen Clark and shared an office where Robertson swore a lot and left piles of paper strewn across the floor and Ardern was tidy and preferred low light.
Their conversation flowed with warmth and ease and there was plenty of humour and self-deprecating jokes, but there were few big revelations beyond what’s already been said in their autobiographies or Ardern’s international press tour. Understandably for a writers fest event, Ardern and Robertson’s books were the launchpad for discussion. The importance of empathetic leadership and imposter syndrome were big book themes, and were discussed here too, with Ardern saying that imposter syndrome actually made her a better leader. It shouldn’t be considered as a toxic, exclusively female trait, she reckoned. “Wouldn’t we be better if we had more humility in leadership?”
The process of writing their autobiographies gave Ardern and Robertson the chance to reflect on both their friendship and careers, and it seemed this Dunedin stage was having the same effect. Having been in each other’s lives for decades, the pair spoke about how well they worked together, but Robertson admitted that there were moments when they disagreed. “This sounds like couples counselling,” Ardern joked. “Don’t fight in front of the kids.” Later, as they both reflected on their decision to retire from politics, Robertson welcomed the audience to their therapy session. “Just talk among yourselves,” he suggested.
The mood grew undoubtedly more sombre as they looked back on the weight of governing through the Covid-19 pandemic. Ardern mentioned how sad she’d felt while she was writing the Covid-19 chapters of her book, given her government had two goals: one was to save lives, and the other was to keep people together. “I’m not sure we did that,” she said. “But I feel proud that even the people who don’t like our response are alive.”
But whether they were talking about the positive impact of the Covid-19 wage subsidy or joking about Robertson introducing ex-Mormon Ardern to the restorative power of a hangover sausage roll, the duo had the audience soaking up every word. The crowd consistently broke into applause – even when Ardern and Robertson brought up the thrilling topic of tax reform – and the sound of agreeable “mmmm”s kept echoing around the theatre. There was a thoughtful and relaxed intimacy that the audience clearly responded to, and Morrison expertly steered the ship, knowing when to gently push the conversation forward and when to let it run.
To wrap up the 75-minute chat, Morrison asked some pre-selected questions from the audience. What advice would Ardern give to someone who wanted to go into politics, but was scared of being labelled an “angry woman”? “Persist, and don’t reframe who you are,” she replied. Finally, Morrison asked, what did each friend wish for the other? “I want my friend to be free of back pain,” said Ardern, before proving that she’s ever the diplomat by saying that she wished that same thing for Grant that everyone wants for their friends: joy, happiness, fulfilment. “My big wish is for you to move home,” Robertson told Ardern, inspiring the biggest round of applause of the night.
“That will happen,” Ardern promised, once the clapping had eased. “You can’t get rid of me.”
