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Not all boomers, obviously. Photo: Getty
Not all boomers, obviously. Photo: Getty

PoliticsApril 23, 2019

CGT was icing on a massive cake: five key triumphs in over-65s’ blessed lives

Not all boomers, obviously. Photo: Getty
Not all boomers, obviously. Photo: Getty

The capital gains tax capitulation is just the latest triumph for the most powerful voting bloc in New Zealand history. Duncan Greive details the Boomers’ most pivotal victories.

This post was published in April 2019.

Wednesday’s shock announcement around capital gains tax marked the first major government acquiescence to the power of the baby boomer voting bloc. And it came in a crushingly final form: Jacinda Ardern said that it would never happen while she was leader, a definitive end point to what has been Labour policy for a decade.

For those who elected New Zealand’s first millennial prime minister, who expected her to fight for a generation’s interests and heard the talk of a transformational government, it was a rude awakening. A demonstration of how power really works in New Zealand, and another reminder that Winston Peters is by far New Zealand’s most skilful politician. He cares about his voters and absolutely no one else, and is happy to sit idly while relatively uncontroversial legislation passes, rousing only to spike that which threatens any kind of grey power.

Yet this is only the most recent example of a parliamentary decision with an outsize benefit for our most powerful political class. Throughout the past half-century the size and economic importance of the baby boomer generation has seen our laws and institutions bend to ensure their immediate economic interests are satisfied. As they have passed through various age brackets, whether by accident or design, the most important milestones of life worked in their favour.

A pre-outraged howl disclaimer: advantages didn’t impact all boomers equally – there was plenty of hardship along the way, and plenty that remains today. Disproportionately suffered by people of colour, the LGBTQ+ community, women and disabled people. And of course there are plenty of baby boomers who lament what’s happened. But these are the broad realities of how the post-war years have played out for one very lucky generation – five examples of key victories in the epic, lifelong triumph of the boomer.

1. Free tertiary education

For most of the last century, a university education was entirely state-funded, an immense advantage to Boomers, giving them a permanent earnings advantage without any corresponding debt burden. It ended in 1990, with a 900% rise in previously tiny fees – the argument being that the cost was unsustainable (a similar argument curiously failed when it came to superannuation).

Fees came with student loans to pay them, meaning that almost all who subsequently left tertiary education for the labour market did so with a debt roughly the size of a deposit on a house. 1990 was, incidentally, the year the last Boomers turned 25, meaning every last one could get an advanced degree, entirely funded by taxes. Then up came the ladder.

2. Cheap housing and investment properties

In 1990 Boomers ranged in age from 26 to 45 – somewhere between the start and the prime of their working lives. Home ownership was at an all-time high, north of 75%, and the average house cost around $100,000. The average annual income was $29,393, making housing achievable in all cities for most full-time workers. In the nearly three decades since, the average income has inched up to $51,527, while house prices have risen more than five-fold – the RBNZ’s inflation calculator suggests a house bought for $100,000 in 1990 would sell for $542,000 today.

Peters referred to the scars of the 1987 crash as having chased generations out of the sharemarket and into the housing market, buying rentals through the 90s and 00s, both causing and benefitting from this huge sustained run of housing inflation.

Armed with free degrees, many Boomers bought affordable homes, then watched as they rocketed up in value. Once they had enough equity in a home, many bought second homes, third homes and more, just as construction started to dramatically decline, thanks to NIMBY-friendly planning codes which stifled the supply of new housing.

3. Low tax throughout their working lives

The last 35 years have encompassed the main working years of most Boomers. They have also coincided with the lowest sustained top tax rates of any point in our post-war history. The current top marginal tax rate of 33%, applied to the 19% of New Zealanders earning over $70,000, is very low by historical standards:

Research from Victoria University suggests that the last time the top marginal rate was lower was before the great depression. And it’s extremely low by international standards – the UK and Australia both pay over 45%. With last Wednesday’s announcement that taxing capital gains is off the table for generations, the most accessible way of raising significant new revenue looms as raising taxes on income. Conveniently, this occurs just as baby boomers move out of the working phase of their life, and into living off their investments.

4. Super remains one benefit which can’t be cut

Known as a political “third rail” – you touch it, you die – universal superannuation remains the great immovable in New Zealand politics. The payment for a single retiree is a generous $411, significantly more than a sole parent on the jobseeker benefit receives. Unlike taxes paid to those in material hardship like the DPB, it rises in concert with wage increases, whereas other benefits are linked to the much slower-growing cost of living.

Its universality means that it is distributed irrespective of need, to a cohort which is already New Zealand’s most asset-rich. As Bernard Hickey noted in his masterful survey of the CGT decision, over-65s are by far the richest group of New Zealanders, with a collective wealth of nearly half a trillion dollars, and one whose net worth has increased by $99 billion in the last three years – more than the total wealth of those under 35, whose paltry $61 billion net worth actually declined during the same period.

The age of eligibility for superannuation has remained at 65 for over 80 years, despite life expectancy leaping during that period, and the associated benefits – including free trips to Waiheke Island – only ever increase, largely thanks to Peters’ unflagging advocacy.

Super is not pre-funded, meaning it’s paid by today’s taxpayers – who are also paying for Kiwisaver, a user-pays retirement scheme which seems set up to ensure that the reverse of what happened with tertiary education happens when they eventually reach retirement: means testing arrives, and super is consigned to the past. But only once the vast majority of boomers have taken all they can from it.

5. Capital gains

The most recent – and most impressive – win, largely because they did it because they could, not because they needed to. As others have noted, the rich irony of the furious resistance to a capital gains tax coming from older New Zealanders was that it was always forward-looking – that the decades of tax-free gains Boomers had already banked would be locked in and entirely untouched.

It would only affect future gains – most comprehensively, those of Boomers’ children. It’s somewhat incredible, but true: young New Zealanders were passionate in their support of a tax which would have had by far the most profound impact on themselves.

The Boomer resistance was a reflex action, a schoolyard bully operating on muscle memory. It’s the story of a generation which has flexed its power and elevated its own interest at every opportunity, while at the same time building a matchless mythology. The generation which created civil and gay and women’s rights, the environmental movement, protests against war – and then the bounty of unprecedented innovation.

Yet the same generation has, when given the opportunity, ensured that it took the most from the world. Whether Labour or the Greens could have campaigned harder or politically managed the moment better seems immaterial: the result was what it always is: the big demographic bulge getting its way, again.

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David Cunliffe on his log. Illustration: Toby Morris
David Cunliffe on his log. Illustration: Toby Morris

PoliticsApril 22, 2019

1000 Words: Peter Meecham and the David Cunliffe log

David Cunliffe on his log. Illustration: Toby Morris
David Cunliffe on his log. Illustration: Toby Morris

1000 Words is a new series talking to the photographers behind our most iconic political images. In the first instalment, Don Rowe speaks to Peter Meecham, photographer of the David Cunliffe log pictures.

In 2014, David Cunliffe led Labour to their worst election defeat in almost 100 years. It was a brutal affair. Forced up against a seasoned John Key, Cunliffe made many missteps, perhaps most typified by his now immortalised statement “I’m sorry for being a man” – a sentiment much less controversial now, five years later.

“Exclusive, candid images” the Weekend Herald called them, shots that revealed “the desolation of David Cunliffe”. Labour’s union backers had deserted the politician, the banner crowed, and John Tamihere was being held up as the expert to diagnose just WTF was wrong with the Labour party.

The shots encapsulated so much: an aggressive form of zero sum politics, the ultimate humanity of our public servants, and the public’s insatiable appetite for seeing a doofus get owned.

I spoke with Peter Meecham, the Herald photographer who won news photo of the year at the Canon Media Awards for those Cunliffe shots.

The Spinoff: Walk me through that day. 

Peter Meecham: From my point of view, shit, I’ve been shooting news and sport for 30 years, and normally you arrive and you get something really mundane or you know, you’re on the political trail and you’re trying to get a telling image of them in a situation that they’re trying to control, and most of the time those images you’re not super happy with.

When I realised it was him on the beach I just couldn’t believe it. I thought, ‘oh my god, this is just…’ It was so unbelievably fortuitous. I thought, ‘does he know I’m here and is he deliberately doing this?’ That was my initial reaction. I just thought ‘this is unreal’, I was shocked.

David Cunliffe lives in St Mary’s Bay just up the hill from where that was taken, and there’s a little greenbelt that goes down to the beach. I had been to his house once or twice before, and photographed around that area, and so when John Sefton who was the pictures editor at the time said ‘Pete, bloody Cunliffe, we haven’t seen much of him – do you wanna go around and see if he’s sitting on his deck talking to people or whatever?’ I thought yeah, that’s not a bad idea.

I went around there and I knew if I walked down this greenbelt that I could see into his backyard and probably get a look at the deck. I was looking around and I couldn’t see anyone but it looked like someone was home, and I didn’t have my camera on me deliberately because I didn’t want to give the game away if I was walking around with a long lens. I thought maybe I’d go down and have a look on the beach and see if I could see anything. As I walked down the stairs I looked down and I saw this guy sitting there on the beach rubbing his head and I thought, that’s unusual, he’s kind of familiar. And then I thought shit, that’s not Cunliffe, surely not, and I almost walked right down there. But I didn’t have a picture yet so I walked back up the hill, drove around to the next bay, and put on a really long lens, like a 500mm, and went for a stroll. I thought it was too good to be true, probably not him, but I gave it a go.

As I came around the corner I popped the lens on, and the first guy I saw was Simon Cunliffe, who is his cousin and press secretary. I used to work with Simon at The Press in Christchurch, and I thought that’s Simon, it must be David. Simon wandered off up the stairs and so I got a bit closer, shot a few frames, and had a look at the pictures and it was just staggering. I literally sat there for an hour and a half photographing him, thinking ‘My God, this is unbelievable.’

He looked like Robinson Crusoe or something, it was unbelievable. He had his trousers rolled up and everything and I was pinching myself. Is this for real? I got closer and closer and I can kept shooting so I had so much stuff. I was there for at least an hour and a half shooting him and at one point I rang John who’s a really understated guy, he doesn’t get excited about much, and I never like to call ahead bragging about what I’ve got, I just bring the pictures in, but I had to tell him. I said ‘John, this is unbelievable, I’ve got some pictures of David Cunliffe that are just staggering.’ He seemed a bit nonplussed.

I went to the office, Shayne [Currie] was pretty excited about it at the time, and it turned out they were fairly telling images I guess.

When you were looking down the barrel at it, what were the elements you were seeing that stuck out?

His body language. It was one of the few times where I could absolutely see the headline they would use. He looked like he’d been shipwrecked or like he was on an island, and there were all these big surfboard things up behind him with these beautiful colours, but he was in dress clothes, and his body language was incredibly downbeat and it was really a combination of things that made me think it was pretty dramatic stuff. Often when you shoot pictures you don’t think that sort of thing, you just try and frame it nicely and you don’t realise at the time how significant it is, especially political pictures. I don’t recall who shot the picture of Don Brash walking the plank but I’m sure they knew how significant it was, but mostly you don’t. It’s not always the case.

Were you feeling any sympathy?

I did. I actually felt really sorry for him, and I thought here’s this guy – we might not all agree with his policy or with how he was as a leader, not everyone would agree about that – but anyone who would have been there would have felt for him. This guy had given his guts, he’s clearly not in a good place, he’s fighting for his political career, that was clear even before I got there, and I really felt for him. I don’t know if he was ever that happy about the picture, his wife definitely wasn’t, she openly put the boot in on social media, she was not happy, but actually a lot of people said to me they felt sorry for him, and a couple of vehement National supporters even said ‘jeez that was a lot.’ I’d always found him good to deal with and a nice enough guy, and he was really taking it hard. He didn’t look like he was having much fun, that’s for sure.

I had a couple of people say it was a bit much, mostly people who were keen on Labour and David, who thought it was a bit harsh and I get that. You’ve just got to take that on the chin as a journalist. I didn’t ever directly hear from him.

How did you justify it?

I said I can see why people would be upset by it but equally plenty of people thought it revealed good character, not bad. Just because he was sad didn’t make it derogatory to him, to me it made him seem more human, and it showed that he cared. What else do you want from a politician except that they care about their country, and care about what they do? That’s how I answered it, but not everyone will see it that way.

Politicians do try and control what we see and say in the media. They try and control that and they try and get their message across. But they’ve got to take the good with the bad. When things don’t go their way they’ve got to accept that they’re not going to win every time. I think most senior politicians accept that it’ll be good and bad in the media and they just move on, but some of them are very precious and they don’t take things too well. Rob Muldoon was never great.

Imagine being precious but also willing to go on camera just shitfaced and call an election.

Great, right? That snap election produced some absolutely brilliant photos of Rob Muldoon when he’d been drinking. There’s one where he’s looking really glum and circumspect and he’s got a glass of gin in his hand and it’s classic stuff. At the time I’m not sure whether people outright said he was drunk, but everyone knew.

I can remember going and photographing Bill Birch, the finance minister at the time, and he was doing a wander around town and he wandered past Cheap Skates, and he didn’t realise the framing, and it went into the paper. Helen Clarke in about 2001 or 2001 did the same thing in Southland, she was on the election beat and kissing babies and all that over the top stuff, and there was a sign outside ‘we’ve gone absolutely bananas’. Trying to get politicians when they’re doing stuff that’s telling is really hard to do. David White is a master at it. I remember with the Colin Craig in the grass picture he came back to the newsroom like ‘holy shit, look at this’.

How does it rank in your career?

I could publish a book about the shots I’ve missed. I would have a whole book of ‘well this is 10 minutes after this, and this is when I just missed that’, but Cunliffe was one of those times where you know you’ve got something spectacular. But to be honest with you, I’ve never been one to openly chase politicians, I prefer to photograph the average people in society. I think they’re more interesting. I find New Zealanders just as interesting as any politician and that’s what I like to shoot. I’ve never been based in Wellington as a political photographer, and that’s why it’s memorable. It’s a photo of human. I’d hope that David might see it as humanising in hindsight.

Read more:

1000 words: David White and *those* Colin Craig photos

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