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National’s leader Todd Muller, next to an office shelf filled with American political paraphernalia, including a hat that turned into a story of its own after he became party leader (Photo: Alex Braae)
National’s leader Todd Muller, next to an office shelf filled with American political paraphernalia, including a hat that turned into a story of its own after he became party leader (Photo: Alex Braae)

PoliticsSeptember 15, 2019

The increasingly uncompromising Todd Muller

National’s leader Todd Muller, next to an office shelf filled with American political paraphernalia, including a hat that turned into a story of its own after he became party leader (Photo: Alex Braae)
National’s leader Todd Muller, next to an office shelf filled with American political paraphernalia, including a hat that turned into a story of its own after he became party leader (Photo: Alex Braae)

National’s new agriculture spokesperson finds himself in one of the party’s most important portfolios, at a time of dramatically increasing tensions in the sector. Will Todd Muller, a man regularly mentioned as a future leader contender, find common ground?

Todd Muller’s obsession with politics began with an American encyclopaedia, which his parents bought from a door to door salesman in 1979. 

The long biographies of US presidents jumped out at him. He copied their signatures, and drew pictures of them. In time, Muller even came to write a book about his future political dreams. 

“The short synopsis is that I go to America when I’m about 21, I become the vice-president of the United States when I’m 28, and then of course some tragedy befalls the president, and I become the president. And I serve as the United States president for 13 consecutive terms.” 

It was an ambitious plan, and he admits in hindsight that there are a few reasons it might not have come off. 

There’s a fair bit of American paraphernalia around the Bay of Plenty MP’s office at parliament. Among the items, a Make America Great Again hat picked up during a trip to observe the frenetic 2016 campaign. He refuses to put it on for a picture, for obvious reasons. 

Because after all, hasn’t he noticed that everything in American politics has gone to hell in a handbasket recently? He has, and blames the extreme polarisation and partisanship that has developed, the extreme urban and rural divide, and the gerrymandering that screws voters out of being able to vote in competitive elections. 

“I find it quite depressing,” he admits. 

At the same time, Muller remains an admirer of the American system, in part because when it works it can showcase the best example of bipartisan compromise. That tension, between partisanship and reaching across the aisle, has been the defining theme of a year in which Todd Muller has risen to much greater prominence than he ever held during his term as a member of the last National government. 

As the party’s climate change spokesperson, he forged an unusually constructive relationship with Green Party co-leader and climate change minister James Shaw, during negotiations around the Zero Carbon bill. He still speaks warmly of Shaw, even though National is now threatening to pull away from the bill, over methane targets they believe are too harsh on farmers. 

But for a brief moment, it almost looked like all of the toxicity might have been taken out of climate change politics. Muller even made a habit of telling meetings full of farmers, who may have been inclined to indulge in denialism, that climate change was real. 

There seems no chance of a similar detoxification in his new portfolio. As National’s agriculture spokesperson, he is the party’s direct line to their most loyal constituency – farmers. He doesn’t see anyone in any of the parties of government that he could work with in the same way around agriculture. And right now, Muller says, farmers are absolutely furious. 

He says they’re being demonised by the government over water quality, and never given credit for improvements that are being made. He says they’re struggling with costs being imposed for environmental measures. He pointed to the high rates of rural suicide, and warns of “tragic outcomes” if farmers get pushed to the brink. 

But is this not just more partisanship? Is Muller going out of his way to inflame tensions, to whip farmers up enough that they’ll get out and vote in droves? No, he insists, he’s just picking up on what he’s being told, and it’s his job to give voice to it. 

“That anger is very real, and I experience it and see it every day because of the role I have.You absolutely get the sentiment that you’ve got 23,000 farming families out there, in, I think a difficult environment that most New Zealanders don’t understand, of being on the farm and on the land.” 

Muller in his office, next to the portrait of his grandfather, former Te Aroha mayor Henry Skidmore (Alex Braae)

Farming is personal for Muller, who grew up in the small settlement of Te Puna, to the north of Tauranga. His parents started a small orchard, which at the time was growing Chinese gooseberries, later known as Kiwifruit after one of the most successful rebrandings in history. While his parents later went on to found the Apata Group, a post-harvest giant in the Kiwifruit world, the early years were difficult. 

“My parents did well to protect us kids from it, but the tension of just keeping the thing afloat… there is something about working your whole year for a crop that’s sitting there, and you need it to be harvested soon, and pack out well, and you’ve got hail clouds pending. It’s quite extraordinary.”

For Muller himself, that wasn’t the pathway. “I wasn’t naturally inclined, in terms of being able to be that competent on the orchard,” he says of his prospects of becoming a farmer. Instead, after doing English, History and Politics at Waikato University, he got into agribusiness. His career took him to both Zespri and Fonterra, and he’d almost certainly still be there had politics not called him back. 

That too had been in his blood, as the grandson of five-term Te Aroha mayor Henry Skidmore. There’s a painting of the mayor above Muller’s desk, and he describes Skidmore as one of his biggest mentors. “He was from that generation, where community service was just part of his essence. Everybody knew them, and they just gave their whole life to the community. And it had a huge impact on me.” 

Now he’s seen as a rising star. In the way it happens at parliament, his office has literally moved upstairs alongside his rise up the party ranking. There have been various media reports indicating that he’s seen by some as a future National leader – particularly if incumbent leader Simon Bridges was to botch the 2020 election. 

Muller is very clear that if the opportunity came up to be the leader, he would absolutely take it. But he also gives his full backing to Bridges, who, Muller believes, is looking increasingly assured in the role. “Something has happened in the last two or three months, there’s a change I tell you.” He says it’s particularly noticeable when outside of Wellington, and says a “sentiment has crystallised” that Bridges would be able to lead a “competent alternative government than this lot.”  

Muller’s next big target to try and make that happen will be on the government’s moves on freshwater quality, which have terrified many in the farming world because of their ambition and scope. Dire warnings are being sounded that farms will be put out of business. If the sector is going to see Muller as their champion, he won’t get there by preaching compromise.

Illustration: Toby Morris
Illustration: Toby Morris

PoliticsSeptember 14, 2019

On the Labour Party crisis and Jacinda Ardern

Illustration: Toby Morris
Illustration: Toby Morris

The Spinoff editor writes on the story that has engulfed NZ politics this week.

One of the very few positive things to come out of a hideous week in New Zealand politics has been the sieving-out of the blinkered, partisan zealots. On one side, those who are ready to conjure up the wildest of potions to excuse the inexcusable because it’s their team. On the other, the troglodytes who’ve made sport of diminishing everything around the MeToo movement, but suddenly care about allegations of sexual assault because it suits their ideological stripes.

There has been some surprise, and a good deal of performed astonishment, about the way that the story around Labour’s inquiry into a staffer exploded following the story published by The Spinoff on Monday morning. There had been strong reporting in the days and weeks before that included reference to “sexual assault”. But there had been no detailed, first-person account of what is alleged to have happened.

The sorry truth is that many people – honestly, including me – have lazily begun to view MeToo as some horrible amorphous cloud. “Sexual misconduct” has become a shorthand, a catch-all. I don’t doubt there’s a continuum from lecherous quotidian behaviour to serious criminal abuse, but in the blur of headlines and lawyers’ linguistic fudges, it’s easy to forget that in every example what happened really happened to someone. It’s easy to forget, too, just how stacked the deck is against victims of sexual attacks.

Which is why, I think, my colleague Alex Casey’s reporting moved the earth on Monday. The story, courageously detailed to Alex by Sarah, as we’ve called her, involved many interviews and many hours. It’s an indictment straight off the bat that the time Alex gave to hear Sarah’s account is so very much greater than that afforded her by the original Labour Party inquiry.

And the story described an experience. (One that the unnamed man firmly denies ever happened, let’s put that on the record.) A hideous, traumatic, terrible and real experience. Our reporting has, and we intend that it will continue to be, as far as possible, victim-centred.

Of course I don’t know precisely who knew what or how much or when, but I have read a heap of correspondence and documentation that has been leaked to The Spinoff over the last month. I have no doubt in my mind that Sarah communicated to the Labour Party what happened to her. I think she’s been failed appallingly and indefensibly by the party she found a home in, that she believed spoke for and to her.

We were also, however, and to the best of my knowledge, the first to put Sarah’s story to the prime minister’s office. I have not spoken to the prime minister directly about it, but I did have at least half a dozen conversations with the prime minister’s chief press secretary on Sunday. Based on those conversations, I do not believe that he or the prime minister had heard Sarah’s story before, or believed that any of those in the complaint process had alleged they’d been sexually assaulted.

That doesn’t mean those around the prime minister were ignorant of the talk that had for some time been swirling around the staffer, who took the decision to resign on Thursday. It doesn’t mean senior people in the party had not been told about his allegedly odious behaviour. They may say they couldn’t do anything about hearsay and rumour; if so that’s clearly not enough.

And while I’m as certain as I could be that the prime minister didn’t know Sarah’s story, I don’t for a second think Ardern is blameless. I’ve been calling her the prime minister, but she’s also the leader of the Labour Party, and that’s a party where a poison has clearly seeped in – within Young Labour especially, unequivocally and horribly. We knew already about the Summer Camp scandal; The Spinoff has been contacted over the last few days with other stories that would chill you to the bone.

That’s on Jacinda Ardern, as the leader of the party, to sort out.

And so is the process of the inquiry. Originally set up to investigate bullying, we’re told, it turned into a debacle. Just listen to the RNZ Checkpoint interview, in which one of the three-person Labour Party investigation panel defends the process, and ask yourself: would you want a friend – brave, shaken, vulnerable, abused – to face that? You’d expect greater rigour, scrutiny and humanity from a suburban Playcentre investigation into a faulty see-saw.

That’s all on Ardern to fix.

In the meantime, if you want to share your story, we promise to do our best.

Toby@thespinoff.co.nz
Alex@thespinoff.co.nz