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Design: Tina Tiller
Design: Tina Tiller

OPINIONPoliticsNovember 29, 2023

Want to guarantee your tax cut? Take up smoking

Design: Tina Tiller
Design: Tina Tiller

With tax cuts to be funded by cigarette sales, this one simple trick could be the answer to all New Zealand’s problems.

In news to make smoke come out of your ears, mouth and nostrils, New Zealand’s government wants to make cigarettes great again. After joining together in political matrimony last Friday, the new coalition quickly announced that it would fund National’s promised tax cuts not with a foreign buyers tax, but by repealing recent amendments to the Smokefree Environments and Regulated Products (Smoked Tobacco) Act 1990. Ciggies, darts, cancer sticks – call them what you will, but this government calls them progress.

It was a big day for nicotine fans, as well as for those of us under the apparent misapprehension that smoking is the leading cause of preventable morbidity, mortality and health inequalities in New Zealand. The smokefree amendments became law in 2022 with the intention of making smoking less accessible and attractive, by lowering the number of retail sites, reducing nicotine levels and introducing a steadily rising smoking age so that people born after January 2009 could never buy cigarettes. It would create a smoke free generation, and was applauded as world-first legislation that would improve the health and economic wellbeing of every New Zealander. 

Not on our watch, said New Zealand First and Act. The new government intends to set these amendments on fire by March 2024, because finance minister Nicola Willis says less people buying cigarettes will “significantly reduce revenue to the Crown”. Nobody wants that, especially when the Crown already intends to reduce revenue in the form of tax cuts. Fiscal holes are the worst holes of all, but luckily, I have a great idea. We can all do our bit to help the government fund their tax cuts, simply by taking up smoking. 

Winston Peters, Christopher Luxon and David Seymour at Friday’s coalition announcement (Photo: Marty Melville/AFP via Getty Images)

While I like to imagine the coalition government bonding over a celebratory durry, the repeal came as a shock to many. Health experts slammed it as a “completely backward step” that will cause vulnerable communities to suffer. The Health Coalition Authority called it “a major loss for public health and a huge win for the tobacco industry”, as well as an insult to tāngata whenua. Smoking causes 5,000 deaths in New Zealand every year, and Māori and Pasifika have disproportionately higher smoking rates and higher rates of death. 

But that’s the cost of a tax cut in 2023, and like Sandy from Grease when she put on those leather pants, maybe we just need to embrace the smoke. Who cares that years of anti-smoking legislation led to a successful decline in adult smoking rates from 33% in 1983 to 8% in 2022, having halved in the past decade alone? Why worry that New Zealanders living in the most deprived socioeconomic communities are 4.9 times more likely to smoke than those in the least deprived, or that the smokefree legislation would have saved the health system $1.3 billion over the next 20 years? Tax cuts! Get them into my lungs. 

In fact, after Friday’s inspiring announcement, I immediately took up the habit to help support the already financially troubled government. Through the smoky haze of my squeezed-middle boudoir, I’m sure I heard every child born after January 1, 2009 rejoicing, thrilled that the same coalition who put the climate change minister outside cabinet and demanded that public service departments communicate primarily in English, will also allow them to buy cigarettes one day. “You’ll always have my vote,” I heard them cry, primarily in English.

They must have been happy tears, and why not? If the average tax cut for a full-time minimum-wage earner is up to $20 per fortnight, then that taxpayer will only have to save for one month to afford a $38 pack of cigarettes, or six weeks if they also fancy a lovely box of matches to light them with. That cigarette purchase will then fund the tax cuts (higher income earners could get up to $250 a fortnight, and they’re less likely to smoke), which we can then use to buy more cigarettes, which then funds our tax cuts. See? It’s the circular economy at its finest. 

Cigarette butts
Staying at a dairy near you (Photo: Getty Images)

The thought of taking up smoking may bring on an anxious feeling in your puku – sorry, stomach – but the truth is that the more people smoke, the more money the government has to spend on things like caring for people with lung cancer. The government will be rolling in it while we’re rolling our own, and it will all be thanks to the tarry-lunged team of five million. Plus, nicotine provides an immediate sense of relaxation, which is exactly what we need during a cost of living crisis. 

With any luck, smoking will become cool again. You’ll walk into a coffee shop and everybody behind the counter, not really knowing you but knowing you’re a smoker, will erupt in spontaneous applause. People will put up “thank you for smoking” signs, and we’ll all sleep easier (or not – smoking negatively affects your sleep) knowing we saved the government the anguish of finding less fatal revenue streams. 

Don’t do it for yourself, do it for your country. Yes, thousands more people will die. Yes, our lives will be shorter and less healthy. But think of the money. The money! I can’t believe we didn’t think of this sooner. 

Just some of the things that might be called a waka (Image: Tina Tiller)
Just some of the things that might be called a waka (Image: Tina Tiller)

PoliticsNovember 28, 2023

Don’t know what the word ‘waka’ means? Here’s a handy guide

Just some of the things that might be called a waka (Image: Tina Tiller)
Just some of the things that might be called a waka (Image: Tina Tiller)

For our new deputy leader, the name Waka Kotahi is the ultimate example of the woke silliness he’s rallying against. But words having multiple meanings is not some modern perversion, and waka is no exception.

As part of his ongoing crusade to rid New Zealand of wokery, conniving cultural cabals, elite virtue-signalling and bulldust of all kinds, our new deputy prime minister is planning to make public service departments use their English names instead of their te reo ones.

Winston Peters has been flogging this particular policy pony since at least March, and it was one of NZ First’s big wins in its coalition deal with National, which was finally signed on Friday. When he’s spoken about the policy, Peters cites the potential for confusion: people might not know what a government agency does if they don’t understand its name, he reckons.

From the get go, there has been one agency name that particularly pisses off the NZ First leader. It’s not Te Whatu Ora, Oranga Tamariki, Ara Poutama or Whaikaha, though those no doubt irk him too. He’s reserved the bulk of his disdain for Waka Kotahi, AKA the NZ Transport Agency. Why? Because this organisation is focused on land transport, and you know what doesn’t travel on the land? A waka. A waka, as everybody knows, is a canoe. And a canoe, as everybody knows, is “a lightweight narrow water vessel, typically pointed at both ends and open on top, propelled by one or more seated or kneeling paddlers facing the direction of travel and using paddles”.

“How can you have a waka on the road?” Peters asked Heather Du Plessis-Allan incredulously on Newstalk ZB after the coalition deal was signed on Friday. Clearly not satisfied with her failure to answer this simple question, he tried a variation on reporters following the swearing-in ceremony on Monday. “Tell me this, how many boats have you ever seen going down a road?” he spluttered in what, ironically, was probably the least problematic comment of that particular stand-up. He then repeated, with extra exasperation: “How many boats have you seen going on a road anywhere in the world?”

In terms of getting an answer, Peters had more luck with his quest for knowledge back in March during an interview with Māni Dunlop on RNZ. “Why would you have a waka on the road?” he asked. “They belong to the sea.” Dunlop responded that waka was “an interpretation of a moving vehicle”. Peters pointed out that “the only vehicle they had at the time”, presumably meaning when te reo Māori came into being, “was on the water”. Dunlop said, with a sigh, “language adapts”. 

But Peters – not unlike Invercargill mayor Nobby Clarke, who is out to rid the world of metaphors – is clearly a literal fellow, and he didn’t buy this woke virtue-signalling “language adapts” business. 

Winston Peters at parliament with reporters
POV: you’ve just referred to your car as a waka (Photo: Getty Images)

Fair enough. Change is scary. And, while I acknowledge the problematic nature of a Pākehā upstart with a few night classes under her belt and a passion for online research explaining a Māori term to a Māori man, I thought I’d lay out a few things in case anyone else is as confused about it all as Peters. (After all, my Māori peers in the media might already have their hands full with this government’s many problematic policies pertaining to tangata whenua, so I figured I could take this one.) So here are all the reasons why having “waka” in the name of a transport agency actually makes a whole lot of sense.

Firstly, and most obviously, words can have more than one meaning. In addition to being a canoe, a waka can be a vessel or receptacle of some sort, for example a waka huia (a treasure box), or a waka atua (a person through whom a god is being channelled). It also means a vehicle of any kind. While the official word is motokā (from motorcar), it’s very common for people who speak te reo to refer to their cars as waka. I struggle to believe Peters doesn’t know this – surely if his mate Shane Jones, a fluent te reo speaker, said to him after a session at the Duke: “Winnie, hop in my waka, you’ve had one too many whiskies to drive yourself,” Peters would head to the carpark, not the shore? 

It’s not just cars: anything that moves will likely be called a waka. Waka rererangi: plane. Waka pēpi: pram. Waka rōnaki: roller coaster. This, perhaps, would be cold comfort to Peters, who has already taken issue with the concept of a waka in the sky and would no doubt think the fact rollercoaster had been given a Māori word at all was woke bulldust of the highest order. (It’s worth noting that this is a convention used in many Pacific languages: in Niuean, a plane is vakalele and in Sāmoan, va’alele. Both translate literally to flying canoe.) 

An Auckland bus lane at dusk
Cars, or waka, in action (Image: Getty Images)

But as much as Peters would like to believe this language quirk is a modern perversion, I’d wager that Māori have been calling cars waka since the first vroom vrooms arrived on these shores. Hell, even Apiranga Ngata, Peter Buck, Māui Pomare and James Carroll – to whom Peters refers on a weirdly frequent basis in an attempt to explain why things in the past were better – probably called them that.

You want proof, Winston? Take the example listed right underneath the word “waka” in Te Aka, the Māori dictionary (italics added by me): “Ko ngā tiriti o tērā tāone kapi tonu i ngā tū āhua waka o te Pākehā, mai i te hōiho kawekawe mīti a te pūtia tae noa ki ngā tū āhua katoa o te taramukā”. The translation given, with italics again added by me, is, “The streets of that town are full of all sorts of vehicles of the Pākehā, from the horse carrying the butcher’s meat to all sorts of tramcars.” The source? Not some woke government document from the 21st century, but a 1909 edition of Māori language newspaper Te Pipiwharauroa.

To bring in another of Peters’ interests, vaccine mandates, let us turn to an example from the 1913 smallpox epidemic, when all sorts of restrictions were placed on Māori and Māori only. This notice in te reo, printed in multiple newspapers at the time, said Māori could only travel on a “public conveyance” if they’d been vaccinated. Various forms of public transport are listed, such as railway, steamer and tramcar, with the addition “era atu tu waka ranei e tuwhera ana ki te katoa” – or any other “waka” that’s open to everyone.

I can go earlier and weirder to prove that “waka” has been more than a canoe for a hell of a long time. How’s an 1883 reference to a hot air balloon, or waka i te puruna, from Māori language newspaper Korimako, for you? 

Turns out words can have many meanings, or even just one meaning with many applications. Hopefully this little guide has demystified one of those words for you, dear reader, and for our deputy prime minister (for the next 1.5 years).