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Commissioners John Whitehead and Hekia Parata (Image: Archi Banal)
Commissioners John Whitehead and Hekia Parata (Image: Archi Banal)

PoliticsSeptember 28, 2023

Ours is a kinder, gentler kind of Covid inquiry. But is that what NZ wants?

Commissioners John Whitehead and Hekia Parata (Image: Archi Banal)
Commissioners John Whitehead and Hekia Parata (Image: Archi Banal)

The Covid inquiry is a different kind of royal commission, one that is forward-looking, non-adversarial and happening largely out of the public eye. Duncan Greive was given exclusive access to the people seeking the lessons of the pandemic.

New Zealand is now approaching its second election since the arrival of Covid-19, each one conducted in its long shadow. The first basked in the afterglow of our having succeeded with an elimination strategy and reaped both the health and economic rewards of having done so. The current campaign is more of a paradox. Now, the entire political reality is shaped by the virus, with health, education, crime and economic impacts all seemingly step changed. 

Yet no one wants to talk about it. “Pandemic fatigue” was initially coined to describe a weariness over complying with restrictions and public health measures; now it more accurately describes a national mood which suggests we would rather not think about it at all.

While that’s true of the nation as a whole, there are a trio of people spending months digging back into the weeds of what we collectively went through. A royal commission, our most serious form of inquiry, is partway through its work. Chaired by epidemiologist Professor Tony Blakely, along with fellow commissioners, the economist John Whitehead and former MP Hekia Parata, it’s meeting with dozens of New Zealanders with the aim of figuring out what we did during the pandemic, and whether it worked. 

Unlike most other recent royal commissions, its focus is explicitly on planning for the next pandemic rather than assigning blame for any failings. Its full name is “NZ Royal Commission Covid-19 Lessons Learned”, and the parliamentary order bringing it into being is at pains to prescribe its intention: “to examine is the lessons learned from Aotearoa New Zealand’s response to Covid-19 that should be applied in preparation for any future pandemic.”

A screenshot of John Whitehead and Hekia Parata in a video introducing the royal commission’s work.

In early September, two of the three commissioners came to The Spinoff and spent an hour with me discussing the parameters of the inquiry, their work to date, and why the “lessons learned” part of the inquiry was of paramount importance. Whitehead and Parata had spent the day in meetings, but had a real buoyancy about them. They both say their attraction to the work came from the sense of mission attached to the project.

“I came to New Zealand as an immigrant child; this country has been incredibly good to me. And I feel I owe something back,” says Whitehead. He’s an internationally renowned economist, former head of Treasury and board member of the World Bank. Still, this opportunity proved irresistible. “Being invited to be part of this is a real privilege, because you get to hear so many wonderful things from people about what they did – and also some very painful things. Being let into that is something very special.”

This sentiment is echoed by Parata. She’s a former senior National Party minister under John Key, but also independent enough to have quit the party in the aftermath of Don Brash’s notorious Orewa speech. She has largely eschewed the public eye since leaving office in 2017, but the importance of this work drew her back in. “Throughout our history there have been some really significant events – world wars and the depression, and all sorts of generations that have been really impacted by macro-scale events. The pandemic is one for this generation. I think we have learned a lot from it. But there’s also been quite a lot of damage as well.”

The damage. Any serious inquiry into New Zealand’s response to Covid-19 must reckon with the group that experienced a lingering alienation from society as a result. In a short video explaining the inquiry, chair Blakely refers to it as “a little bit of fading of the team of five million”, a fairly hefty understatement. That fracture began with the rise of Billy Te Kahika, widening through the dividing lines represented by the vaccination campaigns and mandates, then reached a visceral apex with the the occupation of parliament. That movement remains palpable in our politics today, not just in the proliferation of parties driven by fringe ideology, but in the noticeably fewer public engagements held by the main party leaders during this campaign. 

The rise of an alternate reality

If we had to have a pandemic, this one was well-timed in some respects. The ultra-fast broadband network and new technology made a reasonable amount of work and a small amount of education possible even locked down at home. The country carried relatively low debt, enabling a vigorous economic response without undue strain. A high level of social cohesion meant that public health orders went mostly uncontested by our elected representatives, at least at a national level. 

But the same technology that enabled us to work from home also meant that the pandemic hit upon a country with a fairly new and almost entirely unregulated communications architecture. Communities assembled, publicly and privately, across WhatsApp, Facebook, Instagram and Telegram. Some of them already had latent distrust of key institutions like mainstream media and the government, which escalated markedly until it represented a kind of permanent alternate reality. It’s hard to envisage pre-pandemic social trust returning. 

The Freedom and Rights Coalition protest at parliament on November 09, 2021, a precursor to the much larger parliament protest three months later. (Photo: Hagen Hopkins/Getty Images).

Surprisingly, the changed information distribution systems of this pandemic have not been raised with the commission, nor does it particularly consider them within its purview. That said, Parata says they realise that some sections of society were already alienated, and ripe for radicalisation. “I think that one of the things that the central government and Wellington is going to get a little more realistic about is that influencers are not who they have generally thought they are,” she says. “They are different people… Who’s the trusted voice? They are all community level, they’re not big, overarching organisations.”

A fraught question for the inquiry is how it might engage with those communities that cleaved away from the mainstream during the pandemic. Based on our conversation, it’s not clear if they ever will. “I don’t think that we necessarily have to go meet leaders of [the occupation] to have the opportunity to hear those views,” says Parata. “I know in my communities, all the way around the East Cape over into Te Whānau-ā-Apanui – they are the people who shared those views. I have already sat with them prior to coming on to the commission, and heard some of their views about the mandate, about the vaccine.”

It’s a tricky line to walk. A failure to engage with the leaders of the anti-authoritarian groups who have risen to prominence since the pandemic runs the risk of re-inflaming their sense of grievance. But engaging directly with them raises the possibility of a destabilising chaos, one which might endanger the inquiry’s work. The sequencing and scope of the inquiry seemed designed to protect it from exposure to certain groups. It takes as read the efficacy of the vaccines, for example, and does not oblige the commissioners to hold public hearings which might easily be hijacked.

Instead it’s doing its work quietly and confidentially, and is currently focused on meeting those operating in prominent capacities, often official roles, during the pandemic. “In the first phase [we] gather and collate and analyse that density of public information,” says Whitehead. “It’s a big job. Then the second part is to meet with the government leaders who made these decisions, and to hear from them.”

Meeting with the most powerful, in private

That’s where they are now. The commission publishes a list of those it meets, leaning strongly toward those closest to the biggest decisions made. Dame Jacinda Ardern, Chris Hipkins and Grant Robertson have already appeared, along with most other senior ministers, and a number of prominent influencers of policy outside parliament – the likes of Professor Michael Baker, Sir David Skegg and prime minister’s science adviser Juliet Gerrard. There are also more critical voices, such as Act’s David Seymour, National’s Shane Reti and organisations like Federated Farmers. But so far it’s been predominantly those likely to be defending their record.

Professor Michael Baker, one of the most prominent faces of the Covid-19 pandemic, is among those appearing in front of the royal commission.

The private, non-confrontational work of this royal commission sets it apart from other recent examples, like the investigations into the aftermath of the March 15 shootings and the Christchurch earthquakes. These examples were cited by the Act Party in its call for an inquiry mere months after the pandemic began. However those were focused on events that – aftershocks notwithstanding – had definitively ended when the inquiry began. Still, along with the inquiry into abuse in state care, both were conducted in public.

This was also the case in the UK, where the Covid public inquiry is funded by but independent from the government. Its hearings are public and it can compel witnesses to appear, making its work highly scrutinised. In general, its posture has been much more prosecutorial, as exemplified by its successful high court action to gain access to WhatsApp messages between more than 40 members of parliament. 

In Australia a Covid inquiry has only just been announced. Yet it has already attracted significant rancour over its narrower scope, lack of coercive power and in particular the decision to exclude states and territories – where the most impactful decisions were made – from its work. There is a risk that conducting the inquiry this way is seen by some as evidence of elites protecting their reputations. But Parata believes the more low-key New Zealand approach strikes the right balance.

“We know looking at the international examples of commissions that are in action now. Almost all of them are focused on finding fault, laying blame – even down to which WhatsApp messages were sent at what time and so forth,” she says. “So I think the approach that we are taking is much more in keeping with the best version of who we are. 

“Yes, pain, damage, loss, hurt, alienation, dislocation – all of those experiences characterise our engagements in one way, shape or form. But all of our engagements so far have been – and I don’t want to sound like a Pollyanna – but it has been a testament to the strength and resilience and aspirations for our country. And actually, there hasn’t been a lot of blame-laying.”

A deserted State Highway One out of Wellington on the day Level 4 lockdown came into force on March 26, 2020. (Photo: Marty Melville/AFP via Getty Images)

This might be down to the fact many of the early witnesses were themselves part of the decision-making apparatus. But Whitehead believes that the way the inquiry is being conducted makes the sessions more introspective and ultimately useful. “We’ve had these incredibly open, very free and frank conversations, where people speak with pride about what went well for them, what they did to contribute to their country’s success and meeting this huge challenge. And they’ve also spoken out loud some of the pain – there have been tears,” he says. Parata endorses that, adding “I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve shed the odd one or two.”

How they hope it will end

The commission is still relatively early in its work, with months of meetings ahead. A spokesperson gave a formidable list of upcoming sector-wide engagements: “health, economic Iwi and Māori, social (education, justice, cohesion), general (all of government, crosscutting themes, and impacted people)”.

But for Parata and Whitehead, the commission is already proving the value of a less adversarial approach. Its low-key style and terms of reference – not to mention its start date, which ensured no report would be issued prior to the election – are certainly politically useful to a Labour Party that would rather not be drawn back into second-guessing its handling of the pandemic. Yet they are also redolent of the first lockdown, the extraordinary sense of unity which ran through New Zealand in that balmy autumn of 2020; a royal commission, Ardern-style.

Jacinda Ardern with a printout of The Spinoff’s ‘Flatten the Curve’ graphic, March 14, 2020. (Photo: RNZ)

That’s certainly the message from the commissioners based on their meetings to date. Whitehead says that as well as a plan for a future pandemic, he would like to think it might function as a form of truth and reconciliation hearing too. 

“I think the service we can provide is to listen. That is an important part, both of democracy, but also of healing. We won’t have all the solutions to everybody’s problems. But by listening, we can sometimes help identify some of the lessons that might come out of this. So vaccine efficacy is not part of our terms of reference – but mandates are. We can actually hear about people’s feelings on that,” he says.

“I had a role at the cathedral in Wellington. And during that protest, I went down there and the cathedral was opening up its toilets for protesters to use. There were a huge range of people there. And many different causes. I suppose the common theme was that sense of alienation. I spoke to some absolutely beautiful people. Some of them, I could relate to their ideas – we would have had to agree to disagree, but we actually were able to have that conversation.”

It’s a hopeful idea, that by engaging in a national dialogue – albeit one conducted behind closed doors – some of the lingering agonies of the pandemic might dissipate. Based on the changed nature of both social media and real life, it seems perhaps overly optimistic. But if the commission finds, say, that mandates were overbroad, or some lockdowns too stringent, it is possible that those who felt excluded from their own country might see it as an olive branch of sorts. 

If not, then a playbook for the next global emergency would be enough. As Parata says, “we just want it to be better next time.”

Keep going!
Chris Hipkins and Chris Luxon at the Newshub Decision 2023 leaders’ debate, September 27, 2023
Chris Hipkins and Chris Luxon at the Newshub Decision 2023 leaders’ debate, September 27, 2023

PoliticsSeptember 27, 2023

Leaders’ debate #2, election 2023: the verdicts

Chris Hipkins and Chris Luxon at the Newshub Decision 2023 leaders’ debate, September 27, 2023
Chris Hipkins and Chris Luxon at the Newshub Decision 2023 leaders’ debate, September 27, 2023

Who came out on top in tonight’s leaders’ debate? Here are our debate watchers’ verdicts.

Toby Manhire: Hipkins learned from his mistakes

For most of the first debate, Hipkins’ neck was mystifyingly locked. He failed to turn his head and challenge Luxon directly. Tonight, with a much bigger audience in the room, it was clear Hipkins hadn’t just got the message, he’d ground it into a paste and injected it into his spinal cord.

“Christopher, if you can’t keep your promises in opposition, why should New Zealanders believe you can keep your promises in government?” volleyed Hipkins. He read out a racist statement from a NZ First candidate and demanded Luxon defend it. Luxon wouldn’t do that, instead offering a plaintive “We don’t want to work with them.”

There were at least 10 questions blared at Luxon by Hipkins, and a bunch more provocations. “Show us the numbers ,” he tried. “You called them bottom feeders,” he said, three times.

Luxon had the ripostes ready to go. “”It’s not going to make great TV if we’re talking all over the top of each other. Calm down.” He said, “I feel like I should give him a hug or something,” despite claiming never to have had an E.

As Hipkins raged at Luxon, Luxon pleaded aghast with Gower, and Gower fired back at both. For a moment I thought I was watching the Mexican standoff at the end of Reservoir Dogs with Mr Red and Mr Blue and Mr G. Mr G said: “You’ve just got to stop.” But only because it was an ad break.

Hipkins was too timid in debate one. In debate two he corrected that. Overcorrected? Once or twice, probably. But just as many times he caused Luxon to stumble. And at least this one came alight.

Toby Manhire: ‘It was clear Hipkins hadn’t just got the message, he’d ground it into a paste and injected it into his spinal cord’

Madeleine Chapman: Hipkins remembered he’s the better debater

What a different Chris Hipkins we got tonight. From the first question, he was needling and interjecting and getting his own questions in, something he only started doing in the last third of the first leaders’ debate. Christopher Luxon successfully threw everyone off two weeks ago by downplaying his own engagement in the debates, and tonight it became apparent how little experience he has truly arguing for his party. As Hipkins delivered one-liners and pestered him with rebuttals, Luxon leaned on his CEO experience, which is to say he attempted to play to moderator Paddy Gower and the studio audience, rather than the voters at home. Attempted jokes that had little to do with the question or anything his opponent said failed to land and had him looking flustered, at least in the room. When he tried to point at Hipkins’ new approach, noting that “this negativity from Chris isn’t good for him”, it backfired when Hipkins shot back, “you don’t like being challenged”.

Ironically, Hipkins won on the question of crime while Luxon managed to get ahead on gender and rainbow mental health. But overall, Hipkins finally found his gear. At one point he’d turned a full 90 degrees to face Luxon directly and question him incessantly. Gower, though a strong moderator, wasn’t needed any more.

Ben Thomas: A less agile Luxon allowed Hipkins to let rip

Paddy Gower delivered a livelier, more manic debate between the two excited leadership contenders. We learned that nether Chris had ever taken MDMA. We found out that neither wanted to buy killer drones. We learned that Chris Hipkins as a teen stole a traffic cone, and that present day Chris Hipkins would tackle him in the street if he saw him doing it.

The more raucous and fluid environment, and an engaged live audience of 200, helped Hipkins, who blossomed from campaign meet-and-greet introvert to a much more energised and aggressive debater in the manner of his parliamentary riffs. Luxon was less agile: if rugby aficionado David Cunliffe was on the network’s post-debate panel, he might have said Luxon was very strong at the set pieces but struggled to string phases together. Luxon failed to wrestle back control of the narrative on New Zealand First, after botching the announcement of his (grudging) willingness to work with Winston Peters earlier in the week. Hipkins, on the other hand, sounded ridiculous as he continued to lambast his former deputy prime minster as “bad for New Zealand” while suggesting everyone was allowed to install the seeming embodiment of evil in government, once. Hipkins also overegged his breathless attacks on Luxon’s religion, but won the crowd overall.

Ben Thomas on Chris Luxon: ‘very strong at the set pieces but struggled to string phases together’.

Both leaders will have to save a new “Final final FINAL” version of their fiscal plans with their respective finance spokespeople, as they rushed to commit on the hoof to expanding bowel cancer screening, investigating menopause leave in the workplace, and sundry other innovative policies thrown onto the table by Gower. Peters, Seymour, Davidson and Tamihere probably can’t wait to negotiate with them.

Winner: Hipkins, in a fugue.

Anna Rawhiti-Connell: The Hipkins of 2021 is back, baby

Two years ago, Chris Hipkins served up a laugh during dark times with a gaffe about spreading your legs during a Covid press conference. That gaffe went on to become tired, the team of five million clinging too hard to any moments of lightness, and it got a bit ragged. The Hipkins of late has himself seemed a bit tired, almost rolling over in his concessionary acknowledgement of the “mood for change”.

The Hipkins at tonight’s debate reminded me of 2021 Hipkins. Capable of bringing some fight in a dark time for Labour and able to react in ways that don’t make light of where we find ourselves but lift the mood a bit. Labour hasn’t been able to make much of its Covid management record during this campaign. No one wants to talk about it, we’re now burdened with the fiscal fallout, and the passing of time hasn’t served to heal but heighten everyone’s powers of hindsight. It might be a bit late to tap that Hipkins spirit of old and staunch the bleeding, but for an hour, I was briefly reminded why the transition of power in January felt logical and seamless.

As with the second leaders’ debate in 2020, Paddy Gower and Newshub made the most of being the fast follower to last week’s dull affair. Some will complain about tonight’s spicier fare, with the leaders addressing each other far more directly, but honestly, it was good to see personality from both Hipkins and Luxon. What is the TV debate for, if not to partially entertain us? We’ve been stuck in the drudge for long enough. Maybe it was the beer or the talk of MDMA, but I do feel like I have a smidge more serotonin after tonight. Seasonal election-induced depression? I don’t know him.

Stewart Sowman-Lund: Where has this Chris Hipkins been?

It’s unusual to see a prime minister acting like an opposition leader and an opposition leader acting like a prime minister, but that’s what we saw in tonight’s second leaders’ debate. Chris Hipkins came out the gate firing, with so much crosstalk it was at times hard to decipher what either leader was saying. Christopher Luxon wasn’t immune to this either, jabbing at the PM as much as he could throughout. He tried his best to position Hipkins as a negative leader, while Hipkins tried to pin down Luxon on being unable to give a straight answer. And I think Hipkins succeeded in this regard, such as in early exchanges on drug reform and on Winston Peters. Hipkins did stumble, however, when asked about a policy that would help young members of the rainbow community.

Both leaders were more lively tonight than in the first debate, and both can be pleased with their performance – but for me, Hipkins edged this one. Maybe it’s just in comparison to his middling performance in debate one, where Luxon effectively won by default. But this time round, there was no sign of the sleepy-losing-in-the-polls Hipkins. The Labour leader knew his policy inside out and had some zingers to boot, such as after Luxon was asked if he had ever spread misinformation. “You haven’t given any information, let alone misinformation,” Hipkins said.

It’s almost certainly too late to turn the Labour ship around and if the polls keep slipping Hipkins will be shepherding his party into an historic disaster. His best bet at saving the furniture and clawing back some support became obvious tonight: keep bringing the fire and keep wittling away at Luxon’s biggest flaws.

‘All my chocolate fish go to Paddy Gower and the entire Newhub production team’ – Joel MacManus

Joel MacManus: Let us give thanks and praise to Paddy Gower

All my chocolate fish go to Paddy Gower and the entire Newhub production team. That was great TV and easily the best debate of the campaign. This was a case study in why well-designed conflict is so important: If you don’t force them to fight, the Chrises will give bland, empty answers and voters don’t get to see what makes them different.

Chris Hipkins definitely had the stronger performance. He came out on the attack and didn’t let up. He managed to put Luxon on the defensive on crime, one of National’s strongest areas, and repeatedly knocked him for lacking details.

Hipkins looked like he poured far more effort into the debate prep, he had notes and fact-checks and attack lines ready to go. This was essentially Labour’s last chance; they’re down in the polls with almost no current path to victory. Early voting starts on Monday; this debate is the only major event that could materially shift voters. Hipkins got the win he needed, but not a knockout blow.

Luxon struggles off-script and when challenged. This is nothing new. He thrives giving stump speeches and doing retail politics, but he has always been shaky on Morning Report, and doesn’t land off-the-cuff zingers in parliament very often. His goal in this debate wasn’t to cut down Hipkins, it was to hold his own advantage. He appeared very much the prime-minister-in-waiting, and voters are starting to get comfortable with that idea.

Haimona Grey: Livelier, sure, but did any voter come away more informed?

The difference in the styles of debate between TVNZ and Newshub was quite fascinating. Tonight’s debate was noticeably more emotive, and not always comfortably so. While the TVNZ debate was characterised by two middling leaders chasing agreement, this debate seemed designed to force disagreement. This, combined with the audience questions, made it unclear whether it was a political debate or a Jerry Springer-style talk show.

To give him credit, Paddy Gower is the first debate host so far to actually hold the leader to the questions asked. His slightly snarky responses kept the leaders on their toes.

The problem is, I’m not sure any voter is more informed after this debate. Both leaders demonstrated that they can stick to talking points, but neither showed another side to them or clarified a position meaningfully. Luxon came close with his MDMA line, but he disappointingly reverted back to arguing for prohibition.

Hipkins often seemed on the backfoot and too often fell back to a whiny aggressive stance. His habit of calling Luxon “Christopher” and his upward inflection made him seem like a petulant child. He improved as it went on. He is across his policy platform, which has been actually announced, unlike National’s, so that helped.

Luxon was really active, looking for opportunities to crack jokes or throw in a one-liner. He’s definitely shown strengths, but he wasn’t outstanding. We may have found his ceiling, which is a solid party leader slightly fortunate to be up against a diminished Hipkins and Labour.

It’s becoming more and more clear each debate why minor parties are picking up so much support.

Charlotte Muru-Lanning: Were these really the debates we should be having?

This is the fourth debate I’ve watched intently over the last 48-hours, so either I’m a debate expert now or I’m living a waking nightmare of zingers, quips and post-debate analysis panels. I’m inclined to believe it’s the latter.

Either way, I was thankful that this debate (aka the “ultimate political face-off”) kicked off with a little more pizazz than the excruciating dullness of the first leaders’s debate last week. What I wasn’t so thankful for was the first question: “is crime out of control in New Zealand?”. A stupid, borderline impossible question to respond to with a snappy answer. Moderator Patrick Gower quickly followed with an absolutely bonkers hypothetical about what each leader would do if they saw a 13 year old stealing from a dairy. Gower then revealed that a dairy owner who had been a victim of robberies and ram raids was sitting in the audience wanting to know how each would make her feel more safe. The way this was set up was all very dynamic, but the framing left no room for nuance or delving into the issue in any thoughtful way.

The sparkiness of this debate seemed to work in Hipkins’ favour, with opportunities for witty retorts and moments where he could convey real emotion about racist rhetoric and harms to the rainbow community. Luxon hardly flailed, but he seemed slightly less in control of the conversation as he was last time. Both ended up making commitments to a range of random policies from feral cats, to bowel cancer screening to menopause leave, based seemingly on in-the-moment pressure from Gower. It didn’t seem like an entirely democratic way to get policy over the line, but oh well.

Mostly, I was bummed about what was deemed worth debating across the evening. The challenges faced by the most marginalised in our communities were ignored in favour of debates on defence spending, whether TikTok should be banned, and who will crack down on gang funerals the hardest. If this is what matters to us most, it’s hard not to feel a little dejected about the state of our politics.

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