Queen Elizabeth II and NZ prime minister Jacinda Ardern at Buckingham Palace in 2018 (Photo: Victoria Jones – WPA Pool/Getty Images)
Ditching the royals might sound appealing, but republics have not exactly set a shining example of democracy in recent years, argues Danyl Mclauchlan.
Republican discourse is back. The latest round was triggered by the Meghan and Harry and Oprah interview, but the question “should New Zealand become a republic?” gets raised every couple of decades. It was a thing in the 1990s and early 2000s: back then New Zealand had a lot of legal and political academics who’d studied in the US, and more of our politicians and journalists had been to Washington on state department-sponsored trips, so there was a lot of end-of-history Americanophilia in the air. Surely, they argued, the MMP reforms were just the beginning of our nation’s radical constitutional transformation into a fully fledged independent republic?
At the time it did feel absurd that a modern liberal democracy should have another nation’s hereditary monarch as our head of state. We needed a presidential system, the argument went, and a written constitution and a supreme court to interpret it. Both the Clark and Key governments made tentative moves in this direction. We now have our own supreme court instead of using the UK’s privy council (although our absence of a formal constitution massively depoliticises it, which seems like a good thing when you observe the way the US is plunged into a crisis every time one of their elderly supreme court judges dies). And John Key tried to change our flag but failed. Many people seem to feel that we’ll become a republic one day. Eventually.
But the world has changed since the 1990s, and it’s changed in a way that makes republicanism seem a lot less attractive. For the past 15 years the 21st century has experienced a “democratic recession”: a global decline of liberal democracy, a widespread failure of liberal and democratic institutions. And almost all of this democratic backsliding has taken place in republics: Turkey, the Philippines, Venezuela, Brazil, the ex-communist republics of central and eastern Europe. Even the US system looks shaky. And they’ve failed, or are failing in exactly the way liberal theorists who favour constitutional monarchies predicted they would: via “autocoups” in which an authoritarian leader wins the presidency and then takes over the country, arresting the opposition, deposing judges, postponing elections, taking over the police and armed forces.
The logic of the constitutional monarchy is that it helps protect the political system from this kind of attack. Back in January of 2021 there was a failed coup in the US. Donald Trump refused to accept the outcome of the presidential election, which he lost, and he ordered his supporters to attack the US Capitol in order to try and pressure them to overturn the results. The attempt failed. But if Trump had been a more strategic operator, whose party leaders, generals and intelligence chiefs didn’t openly despise him, it might have worked, and the US would have been locked into a trajectory taking it towards tyranny or civil war.
Under a constitutional monarchy the presidential role is split out into a ceremonial head of state with almost no political power, and the executive that has power but is legitimised by the monarch. You can’t contest the monarchy because it’s hereditary, and when there’s a legitimacy crisis or a constitutional crisis over who controls the executive, all of the politicians, soldiers and police have sworn to obey the monarch, not the head of government. And the monarch can play no role other than to direct them to serve the legitimately elected government, or for the country to hold new elections. They’re the apolitical actor at the apex of the political system.
During the late 20th century, this extra level of stability seemed superfluous: it prevented coups the same way Lisa Simpson’s rock “kept tigers away”. In the 2020s it looks as if this form of liberal democracy really is more stable. Most of the peer nations we like to compare ourselves to – your Canadas and Australias and Denmarks and Swedens and Norways and Japans – use the same system, and seem in no hurry to change it.
The media theorist Andrey Mir coined the term “concentration discourse” to describe the way digital-led media in the 21st century focuses intently on one issue for a few days, treating it like the most important event in history, then forgets it completely and switches to something else. It’s a cheap way to generate content and drive engagement. And the discourse has already moved on from the Sussexes’ attempt to launch their celebrity brand in the North American media market. Something else is the most important thing in the world now. But the question of New Zealand’s constitutional future remains.
The constitutional monarchy is not a perfect system: if the UK’s monarch or presumptive heir looked like Edward VIII, or Thailand’s Rama IX, or Prince Andrew, we’d probably be looking for the exit and a new head of state (King Richie? First Citizen Swarbrick? We’d figure it out). But in the absence of any such crisis it’s no longer obvious that the republican model is inevitable, or even desirable. Our current system is not broken and may be far better than the alternatives. Republicanism is not the solution to any of our current problems, and it may create terrible problems of its own.
Keep going!
Jacinda Ardern and Health Ashley Bloomfield at a Beehive briefing in April 2020. (Photo by Hagen Hopkins/Getty Images)
Jacinda Ardern and Health Ashley Bloomfield at a Beehive briefing in April 2020. (Photo by Hagen Hopkins/Getty Images)
A year on from the first Covid-19 lockdown, researchers analysed the ‘first season’ of the daily press conferences. Dr Alex Beattie and Associate Professor Rebecca Priestley explain their findings.
Today marks one year since Jacinda Ardern announced a nationwide lockdown. On March 23 2020, Ardern declared an immediate move to alert level three and gave us 48 hours to prepare for alert level four. Over the weeks that followed, many of us tuned in to the 1pm daily briefings to watch the prime minister and the director general of health, Ashley Bloomfield, provide updates about Covid-19 and the government’s response to the pandemic.
Media pundits and academics have been generally positive about the government’s Covid-19 communications. The communication strategy has been called a “masterclass”, Ardern has been described as an exceptional crisis leader, and Bloomfield referred to as an “extremely competent [and] somewhat boring civil servant who has New Zealanders’ hearts aflutter”.
Yet, the government’s communications did not resonate with everyone. Māori public health experts have called the briefings “an exercise in whiteness” due to a lack of Māori speakers and a missed opportunity to demonstrate Te Tiriti o Waitangi partnership.
Despite these signs of weariness, we do not recommend a response that highlights the behaviours of specific individuals. Rather than risking breaking up the team of five million, our research suggests that the team of five million just needs a pep talk.
Over the last few months, researchers from the Centre for Science in Society, at Te Herenga Waka – Victoria University of Wellington, have been studying the daily briefings to try and determine what role they played in communicating the risks of Covid-19 and encouraging our “team of five million” to support the government’s public health measures. We’re part of the wider Te Pūnaha Matatini team working on epidemic modelling and Covid-19 disinformation, supported by funding from the Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment.
So, we re-watched the “first season” of the daily briefings, which took place between March and May 2020. We focused on the voices of Ardern and Bloomfield, studying the transcripts of their speeches, and used thematic analysis to identify different themes in the briefings.
Jacinda Ardern and Ashley Bloomfield arrive at a press conference in June. (Photo by Hagen Hopkins/Getty Images)
Straightforward communication builds audience trust
Communications in the daily briefings were generally open, honest and transparent. Bloomfield routinely conveyed case numbers, facts and figures about aspects of the response such as PPE and testing stations, and advice on where to go for more information. Both Ardern and Bloomfield stressed the seriousness of the threat posed by Covid-19, were open about government decision-making processes, and acknowledged the uncertainty surrounding the pandemic.
Honest and direct communication is critical during a crisis, when uncertainty is high. During the early stages of lockdown, there were widespread stories of panic-buying, a palpable fear of community transmission, and everyday anxieties on how to remain socially distant in narrow spaces such as footpaths and supermarket aisles. According to communication experts, during a crisis people look for information that can bring a sense of order, reduce uncertainty and create a greater sense of control. The daily briefings became Aotearoa New Zealand’s trusted source of information, offering viewers a sense of order by delivering information that was free of journalistic editorialising or sensationalism – in contrast to the television news, online or print media.
Lockdown was framed as an urgent, meaningful and collective cause
Our response to Covid-19 was repeatedly characterised as “going hard and going early”. Language used in the daily briefings often encouraged specific behavioural change: during the lockdown we were asked to “break the chain”of community transmission 23 times, and to “stay [at] home” 47 times. Another distinctive aspect of the language was Ardern’s use of military and sporting analogies. Ardern compared the government’s health measures to a “weapon” and mentioned the word “fight” or “fighting” 25 times in phrases such as “the fight against Covid-19”. The numerous sporting references focussed on team sports, mountaineering and marathon running. On 13 April, halfway through alert level four, Ardern compared the social distancing efforts of New Zealanders to both a race and the first half of a sports fixture:
We’re coming around the bend but we can’t quite see the finish line, but our job this week remains the same and as important as ever. … As the minister for sport recently said to me, “We can’t squander a strong half-time lead by letting up or getting overly confident.”
On May 7, by which time many New Zealanders were experiencing lockdown fatigue, Ardern compared the collective effort to a mountaineering expedition:
If we think of ourselves as halfway down Everest, I think it’s clear that no one wants to hike back up that peak. The descent is known to be even more dangerous, and so we need to proceed with caution … and to look after one another on the way.
Ardern’s liberal use of team sports, mountaineering and marathon references framed the lockdown, which was essentially a passive activity – “stay home and save lives” – as an active measure, involving all New Zealanders, in the fight against Covid-19. New Zealanders were encouraged to see their support for lockdown measures as doing their part in the team, and as something acknowledged as physically challenging. Furthermore, framing the lockdown as “going hard” both informalised the stringent measures that were expected of residents and positioned Ardern and Bloomfield as sports coaches motivating their “team of five million”.
Ashley Bloomfield makes a run during the 25th annual parliamentary rugby match. (Photo by Elias Rodriguez/Getty Images)
“Going hard and early” asked New Zealanders to work hard on social distancing measures and contrasted with the communications of international leaders, who negatively framed or undermined their own lockdown measures.On March 16, for example, when introducing the first set of lockdown protocols in the UK, Boris Johnson described the lockdown as a “very draconian measure”.
While the use of military and sports metaphors gave the lockdown an extra pep, there was a downside. Military and sports metaphors can create a sense of urgency, but can also encourage an “us versus them” mentality, where blame is attributed to specific actors or definable groups, particularly those perceived as “outsiders”. While a recent study claims that Chinese and Asian people in Aotearoa experienced lower levels of prejudice than in other countries during the pandemic, residents quarantining after travel from Pakistan and India have been stigmatised, including by former National MP Hamish Walker, and Māori and Pasifika communities have been subject to abuse on social media.
Yet, the overarching message in the daily briefings was that the enemy was not other people, it was the virus itself. Ardern made 19 explicit references to kindness or “being kind” and we were frequently reminded that “staying [at] home” and social distancing were protecting vulnerable New Zealanders. Ardern told emotionally laden stories about anxious parents and children with compromised immunity to demonstrate the positive impact of New Zealanders complying with public health measures.
In announcing the lockdown, Ardern declared that “government will do all it can to protect you. Now I’m asking you to do everything you can to protect us all.” This phrase, and sentiment, suggests a relationship of care between government and citizens, and between citizens. Ardern’s numerous expressions of care meant that the daily briefings provided more than simple knowledge transfer or dissemination of information – instead they worked to engage audiences by appealing to shared values, and social and cultural norms, and to acknowledge the diversity of New Zealanders’ experiences of, and concerns about, the Covid-19 lockdown.
Playing the long game against Covid-19
With the Covid-19 pandemic still in play, it is vital that we know how to play the long game against the virus. We found that the daily briefings galvanised the country because the open and direct communication, motivational language and expressions of care developed trust with audiences and conveyed the lockdown as urgent and meaningful. However, the daily briefings insufficiently met the needs of non-Pākehā and at times, encouraged blame culture. Blame culture can be linked to the liberal use of sports and military metaphors that we analysed in the daily briefings, which can construct rule-breakers, or those that are perceived as outside of the team, as the enemy.
However, rather than discarding the sports metaphor, we suggest that the team of five million needs a pep talk. A pep talk that is honest, motivational and expresses care, and in addition considers whose voices are represented and spoken for.
If a team is “only as strong as its weakest link”, then the team of five million will only ever be as strong as its rule-breakers. But the key is to admonish the rule-breakers without alienating them. Besides, unlike most sports, there is no sin bin for infringing public health measures. When tackling Covid-19, there is no place where people can be temporarily taken out of the game. This game is pervasive, and therefore the goal should not be to shame or punish rule breakers, but to encourage cooperation. To win the fight against Covid-19 the entire team of five million must play.
This post was updated on April 8 to correct some minor numerical errors.
