Walking with Winston: The NZ First leader takes his campaign to the streets (and malls) of the North Shore

It's an election campaign staple: the walkabout, where politicians attempt to prove how good they are at interacting with ordinary folk. New Zealand First leader Winston Peters did three in five hours, and The Spinoff tagged along on all of them.

It’s 11am and Winston Peters is suffering. Not only is the New Zealand First leader in a physical hell of sorts – Auckland’s North Shore – but an emotional one. He’s meant to be meeting and greeting people on the street and there’s no one to meet. Hurstmere Road in Takapuna is dead quiet. “The whole town's deserted. Did they hear you were coming?” he quips at the media. That trademark grin emerges. So do the twinkling eyes. But when he's not bullying the reporters, Peters’ other trademark expression sets in; the one where he looks like someone just sicked up on his shoes.

New Zealand’s longest-serving living politician is here on the first of three North Shore walkabouts in five hours and it’s looking like it’s going to be a long day. Thankfully, a few hundred metres down the road, things start looking up. A gaggle of mums are parked outside a cafe with their babies. It should be a politician’s dream. But things get a little bit awkward. No one offers a baby to hold, let alone to kiss. Instead Peters is left holding forth about politics. He gives the mums a guarantee: NZ First will look after each baby from “the day it's born to the day it dies”. 

Those gathered don’t look particularly reassured. Perhaps the mention of their new child’s eventual demise has slightly blunted the pledge’s power. No matter. Peters is off down the road. “Where do you come from,” he asks some curious passersby. “China,” one replies. “Where do you come from?” he asks a woman in a real estate office. “Russia,” she replies. “Where did you learn to speak English?” he demands. As it turns out, she was taught the language in school.

There are more fruitful interactions to come, including with a particularly alluring yellow fibreglass car around the corner. There’s also a teenager who yelps excitedly “it’s Winston Peters”. Asked to meet him though, she’s reticent. “I’m not an Act Party person,” she says. 

Maybe it’s the awkwardness of the situation. Maybe it’s that he’s spent 50 years in one of the most unnatural pugilistic environments in the country. But despite his prodigious charisma, Peters is finding it hard to talk to normal people. He’s a bit stiff. He’s leaning on stock phrases.

By the time he arrives at Takapuna Beach Cafe he seems ready for a break. But as his team takes their seats, they’re spotted by Greta Anderson, who’s visiting from Whenuapai with some friends. She’s disturbed to see Peters and eager to explain why to any reporter who will listen. “I have a trans son,” she says. “I teach trans children. My friends have got trans children. Trans children are everywhere. They're our children, and it's just so upsetting what he's done.” 

Anderson is opposed to NZ First’s Legislation (Definitions of Woman and Man) Amendment Bill, along with its generally negative posture on trans rights. Though Peters doesn’t talk to her directly, he’s keen to discuss her points at the start of his next walkabout at Albany Westfield. “She's a total nobody,” he insists to The Spinoff. “I'm not offending anybody. I'm in a public place, and she's saying that I've got no right to come to a public place, and only you would give her coverage for an extraordinarily arrogant argument like that. What's your next question?” 

The next question doesn’t arrive, because Peters is off around the mall. This time things go at least 4,000 times better. Peters is greeted by dozens of well-wishers. One passerby hails him as the lone bright spark in the Beehive. “There’s only one politician in New Zealand, and that’s you,” he says. A dapper older gentleman in what Peters helpfully informs The Spinoff is a sports coat, not a suit jacket, announces he’s voting NZ First. One man asks Peters if he remembers him. “I’ll give you a hint: aviation,” he says. It turns out he refuelled Peters’ plane 50 years ago. 

Most of the well-wishers are long past retirement age. But a bevy of teenagers want a photo as well. Peters gets a staffer to take the shots, dutifully posing and saying cheese on a count of three for all. He likes this formal method. “I’ve never taken a selfie in my life,” he announces. 

This is more like it. Peters is in his element. He spends a bit of extra time at the shopping centre, touring down toward New World and Kmart. But at his next stop, Birkenhead, it’s back to the morning’s dire drawing board. Upon arrival, Peters takes one look at the barren-looking shopping strip and decides to skip his walkabout. He stands in the carpark of a KFC and talks to 1News about the result of its latest poll. Before leaving, he carries out one final press standup. The Spinoff goes back to Anderson, asking what he’d say to someone like that, who’s worried about her child and the effect his policies are having on him. “Why doesn’t she wait till the child grows up before she starts deciding for a child what the child wants?” he ventures.

For a second, the charisma is gone, replaced by something darker. But then, informed that Anderson’s son isn’t a young child, he gets back to more familiar territory. “You don't know how old? This is a jack up. I'm not wasting my time on such silly questions. Go back to The Spinoff, and you're not going to win the election,” he says. Then he flashes that grin. The eyes twinkle.