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Green leaders, from left: Rod Donald, Jeanette Fitzsimons, Russel Norman, Metiria Turei, James Shaw, Marama Davidson.
Green leaders, from left: Rod Donald, Jeanette Fitzsimons, Russel Norman, Metiria Turei, James Shaw, Marama Davidson.

PoliticsJuly 26, 2022

The Greens’ leadership tumult was 50 years in the making

Green leaders, from left: Rod Donald, Jeanette Fitzsimons, Russel Norman, Metiria Turei, James Shaw, Marama Davidson.
Green leaders, from left: Rod Donald, Jeanette Fitzsimons, Russel Norman, Metiria Turei, James Shaw, Marama Davidson.

James Shaw’s current predicament is a reflection of the party’s uneasy relationship with the very concept of leadership, writes Gareth Hughes.

Leadership has always vexed the Greens. From its earliest formation 50 years ago, the party in its various incarnations has spent decades debating the concept and the individuals who hold its office. The party has tried different leadership approaches over that time and the party delegates’ shock decision to not reconfirm James Shaw in the co-leadership role is a continuation of that trend – a party uncomfortable and distrustful of leadership and power.

At this weekend’s AGM, 32 of 107 delegates voted to reopen nominations for Green Party co-leader James Shaw’s position, which under the party rules saw him fail in his bid for re-election. Political coups or spills in parties are normally driven by MPs but this was a grassroots challenge and a first for the Greens.

The party’s history can help explain what is happening right now. After stepping down as a Green MP, I spent a year living on a small conservation island writing the recently published A Gentle Radical – the Life of Jeanette Fitzsimons. I wanted to write the life of Jeanette, a friend and mentor and the party’s longest-serving leader, who passed suddenly in 2020. I was also baffled as to why no one had written a history of the world’s first national-level Green Party, especially given the state of the world, so nearing its 50th anniversary, I thought I may as well do it.

In 1972 the Values Party burst on to the national stage as the world’s first ecologically focused party, which would grow into today’s Green Party. Values was part of a wider social movement exploding onto the social fabric alongside feminism, the Māori renaissance, gay liberation, anti-Vietnam War and anti-apartheid movements that sought to overthrow the old paradigm.

Its founder Tony Brunt stepped down as leader after a white-knuckle six-month ride to the 1972 election and in a sign of idealism, naivety or both, the party decided to forgo leaders except in an election year. It was a radical experiment in decentralised organisation in keeping with the times. Predictably, the lack of central leadership saw the party wither on the vine. In the lead-up to the 1975 election the membership elected their second leader Reg Clough, who also only served a short time before being replaced by Tony Kunowski, who was then successfully challenged by his deputy Margaret Crozier. By the 80s, with its glory days long behind it, the party again experimented, this time with three co-leaders.

Values Party leader Tony Kunowski (right) and deputy leader Margaret Crozier listen as party secretary Terry McDavitt goes through remits to be presented at the party conference in 1978. (Alexander Turnbull Library, Dominion Post Collection Reference: EP/1978/1826)

In 1990 the remnant of the Values Party and a new generation of politically motivated environmentalists morphed into the modern Green Party, which contested the election as the only party without a leader. This unorthodox approach was received with much head-scratching by pundits and the public. The party preached a new way of doing politics and the membership was distrustful of leaders and power concentrations, instead preferring four “spokespeople” instead. Even when the party joined the Alliance and took on leadership roles within it, prominent Green member Jeanette Fitzsimons lamented that “people were assuming I was the leader of the Greens and I was kind of embarrassed to say, ‘No, I’m the deputy co-leader of the Alliance. I’m not a leader of the Greens at all. We don’t have leaders.’”

Both the public and the press gallery couldn’t fully understand the four spokespeople – were they leaders or not? It took until 1995 for the Greens to finally decide to resolve the issue, and a range of options was placed on the table: a single leader, gender-based co-leaders or one remit that even suggested every single member, all 1,200 of them, should be leaders! It was at this conference the Greens’ pioneering co-leadership system was adopted and Jeanette Fitzsimons and Rod Donald became the first leadership pair. The party rules stated they had to be reconfirmed annually at the AGM. This is where James Shaw has come unstuck – even with no challenger standing – as more than a quarter of the delegates voted to reopen nominations, essentially a vote of no-confidence in Shaw that has seen him now temporarily or permanently lose the role he has held since 2014.

In its 50-year existence the party had gone from one leader to no leaders, to three co-leaders to four spokespeople before settling on the co-leader model – which is now only half full.

Green co-leaders Rod Donald and Jeanette Fitzsimons in 2002 (Photo: Dean Purcell/Getty Images)

The practice of annual election by the membership has always kept the co-leaders close to the party and aware of currents flowing within. Jeanette Fitzsimons, when she was first elected, had close connections to the main component strands. For the activists in the party she could point to her work in battling nuclear power and Think Big; for the lifestyle greens she could point to her organic farm and eco-house; for the intellectual wing her academic background was impeccable and for the members focused on policy outcomes she had a strong track record. Throughout her 14-year tenure as leader she kept close to the various strands and stayed actively involved in internal party matters that saw her garner repeated support. It was a slog. It took countless hours of long meetings, insufferable conference calls, multiple weekend-long face-to-face gatherings with members. It took its toll but kept her in touch with the membership and ultimately she remained unrivalled as co-leader.

Disaffection with Shaw’s performance as co-leader and climate minister has reportedly grown over recent years and one wonders if in the face of criticism he pulled away from the membership, or parts of it. Was he close enough to the deep-flowing currents within the party to realise rapids for him were fast approaching?

Green Party co-leader Marama Davidson with her former (and future?) co-leader James Shaw (Photo: Facebook/James Shaw)

The Green Party now continues its 50-year running argument about leaders and leadership. For the last two years the party has been focused on an internal debate which recently saw its leadership rules change (again) to allow two co-leaders to be elected, as long as at least one is female and Māori.

For a party established to change the climate of politics and reject the “old” practices of Labour and National by building a participatory, democratic, consensus-seeking organisation, leadership, power and ambition have always been difficult subjects. A sort of bargain was struck in 1995: to fulfil the exigencies of parliamentary politics, leaders were needed – but they would have to earn the members’ trust every year at the AGM. The 25% threshold for reopening nominations was designed as a safety valve to pull back leaders who strayed too far from the membership. For Green Party co-leaders the baubles of office are a ball and chain keeping them connected to the membership.

No one can predict the outcome of who the next Green co-leader will be. But it’s a safe bet if there’s a Green Party in 50 years’ time, they’ll still be debating leaders and leadership.

Gareth Hughes is a former Green MP who now works for the Wellbeing Economy Alliance Aotearoa. He is the author of A Gentle Radical – the life of Jeanette Fitzsimons.


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PoliticsJuly 25, 2022

Māori roll or general roll – how did you choose?

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Māori voters’ reasons for joining the Māori roll – or staying on the general one – are as diverse as the Aotearoa electorate itself.

Are you on the Māori roll or the general roll?

The Māori electoral option provides anyone of Māori descent with the choice to enrol on either the Māori roll or the general roll. It’s a sign-up event held over one four-month period every five to six years; the last one was in 2018, resulting in the first net increase of Māori changing to the general roll since 1996. 

This topic has been controversial lately, with two bills being pulled from the private members’ ballot looking to change the rules around electoral roll switching. Shortly after, then justice minister Kris Faafoi announced a government bill that would allow Māori to switch rolls at any time. 

The Māori electoral option is important as it determines the number of Māori seats in parliament, which fulfils our right as Māori to political representation, as guaranteed in te Tiriti o Waitangi. If you’re on the Māori roll you vote for a candidate in the Māori electorate you live in (as of 2020, there were seven). If you’re on the general roll, you vote for a candidate in the general electorate you live in (as of 2020, there were 65). 

The Māori electorates have a complex history, beginning with the Māori Representation Act of 1867 that was introduced to give Māori men the vote. Since 1975, all those of Māori descent have been able to choose between the Māori roll and the general roll. 

The newly proposed bills have led to debate over the potential for Māori to switch rolls in order to change an election outcome. However, we still don’t really know why people choose the Māori roll or the general roll. Is it simply strategic, or is it due to an array of complex reasons?

We believe the answer is likely the latter, and we all have different experiences. Here, we tell our stories of roll choice.

Tommy de Silva

Tommy: ‘I didn’t feel Māori enough’

Last time I could switch rolls, my Pākehā complexion and lack of reo made me believe that I wasn’t “Māori enough” to change from the general roll. To me then, the Māori roll was only for those steeped in te reo Māori me ōna tikanga. In reality, if you are Māori, you deserve to be on the Māori roll, period. 

So why did I not feel “Māori enough”? 

Maybe it was because my Māori mum and nana died before my eighth birthday. With the health inequity present in this nation, Māori children are affected by whānau deaths unequally. This childhood trauma disconnected me from my Māori identity. 

But growing up in the shadow of Puketāpapa (Mt Roskill) with my dad’s Pākehā family kept me connected to my whakapapa. Mum’s whānau grew up on Richardson Road, three streets away from where we lived. Hearing my uncles’ stories about living there always made me feel connected to my mum and nana. Also, in Roskill the Manukau Harbour, the source of life for our Tāmaki tūpuna, was never far away. 

Colonisation purposefully disconnects Māori from our identity as tangata whenua. It wants childhood traumas and our unequal society to make people like me feel “not Māori enough”. But whakapapa is indestructible. Māori don’t need to question whether we are “Māori enough” through meaningless blood purity levels like half, one-quarter or one-eighth, as if we are death eaters from Harry Potter

So next time I can change rolls I’m gonna say a big f*$k you to colonisation and proudly recognise my special position as tangata whenua. If more Māori joined the Māori roll, the Māori perspective would increase in a system that was built to exclude our voice. Sounds good to me!

Ema Tuakoi

Ema: ‘I ticked both boxes’

At the ripe old age of 21, I see all the mahi that other rangatahi are doing within the political sphere and I think back to when I was younger. I had no idea about any of this! Perhaps it’s because I’m from South Auckland, where for many politics don’t matter too much, because you’re going to be living paycheck to paycheck anyway, regardless of red or blue being in power. 

I received my VoteNZ registration letter at 17 years old. I read it over and over to make sure that I fully understood, and yet I didn’t. I had no idea of the historical significance of the Māori electoral roll. It’s not that I wasn’t aware of colonisation and the consequences of it that remain today, I was well aware. It’s that I knew next to nothing about politics.

Despite this, I knew that I wanted to register to vote. I felt confident enough in my “Māori-ness” that I decided to tick both boxes – not knowing that you could only pick one. I now know that I should have been contacted by someone to sort this out, but I wasn’t. I was entered into the general roll as a default, and once I had learnt of the importance of the Māori roll, it was too late. With the current legislation in place, I still have to wait two more years to make this switch. 

The lack of education surrounding politics, especially for Māori and Pasifika rangatahi, leads us to believe that it’s trivial, and that our voices don’t matter. But as everyone loves to remind us, we are the future. It’s up to us to do everything in our power to ensure that all that our tīpuna fought for was not in vain, and that tangata Māori realise the power we hold. 

These experiences are our own, but we’re also interested in hearing yours…

Which Roll? Ko Tēhea Rārangi Pōti is a study discovering why tangata whenua choose to enrol on the Māori or general electoral roll.

We have a short anonymous survey available in either te reo Māori or English. But we don’t just want to hear from those who strongly identify with their Māori identity, or only those who love politics. Instead, we want to inclusively hear from diverse people with Māori whakapapa or of Māori descent. All survey participants will go into a draw for a $5,000 prize pool. 

Currently, there is not much accessible information to empower Māori to make an informed electoral roll choice. To bridge this gap, we will ultimately use our survey findings to create an online resource to help Māori make an informed choice. 

Ema Tuakoi and Tommy de Silva are working on the Which Roll? Ko Tēhea Rārangi Pōti study as research assistants.


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