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Prime minister Jacinda Ardern and director general of health Dr Ashley Bloomfield (Photo: Mark Mitchell – Pool/Getty Images)
Prime minister Jacinda Ardern and director general of health Dr Ashley Bloomfield (Photo: Mark Mitchell – Pool/Getty Images)

OPINIONSocietyJuly 27, 2020

Today the legality of the lockdown will be sternly challenged. And so it should be

Prime minister Jacinda Ardern and director general of health Dr Ashley Bloomfield (Photo: Mark Mitchell – Pool/Getty Images)
Prime minister Jacinda Ardern and director general of health Dr Ashley Bloomfield (Photo: Mark Mitchell – Pool/Getty Images)

The Borrowdale case, which goes before a full bench in the High Court today, demonstrates a society taking its basic governing commitments seriously, writes Andrew Geddis.

As time goes by, it becomes ever more apparent that New Zealand’s response to Covid-19 has worked as well as we could hope. We didn’t just flatten the curve, we eliminated the virus. That has allowed us to return our everyday life to as near-to-normal as this sad new world allows. Sure, we’re left sitting in a bit of a limbo state as we wait for the rest of the globe to catch us up, but at the moment it’s difficult to identify another country that you’d want to swap places with.

However, it remains uncertain whether the various lockdown measures, successful though they have been, were imposed consistently with our law. Today, arguments in Borrowdale v Director General of Health commence in the Wellington High Court to resolve that question.

Two things immediately signal that this case really matters. First, the High Court proactively has issued a press release to summarise what it is (and it is not) all about. I’ll come back to that release later, but can’t help smiling at this claim: “The Court does not engage in nor provide answers to political, social or economic questions.” That’s the sort of emphatic statement you might see in a jurisprudence exam, followed by a somewhat raised eyebrow and “discuss”.

Second, the case is going to be heard by not one, not two, but three High Court judges; presided over by the chief High Court judge. The only precedent I can think of for holding a trial hearing like this before a full High Court bench is in relation to “electoral petitions” that question an MP’s election. Clearly, then, the judiciary are taking the matter extremely seriously.

Why is that so? After all, we’re now living our best level one lives, with “bubble arrangements” and “essential personal movement” but a memory of a particularly odd time in all our lives. It is not like there are ongoing constraints on our behaviour that require judicial scrutiny. And even if we were to do a Melbourne and require a return to level three or four conditions, a much different legal framework would now underpin such constraints.

Even so, the legal status of the rules adopted (and enforced!) back in the days of level four and three restrictions remains important.

That is due to the not-so-small matter of New Zealand being a “rule of law” society. We accept that government ought to be able to exercise huge power over us as individuals and a collective. At the time, something like 80% to 90% of the country backed the extraordinarily invasive measures adopted in response to the virus.

However, we don’t accept that government wields such power on a “just do what you think best” basis. Or, at least, we ought not to do so. Because that way danger lies.

What if the person in possession of governmental power is not, say, Jacinda Ardern or Ashley Bloomfield, but Donald Trump or Jair Bolsonaro? And even if power lies in the hands of “the good guys”, might not access to it in an unfettered and absolute form quickly turn them bad? Power corrupts, while ultimate power corrupts ultimately, and all that.

And so, in a rule of law society we try and put some limits on government power by requiring that it be both authorised by law (ie the law must recognise the power exists) and exercised according to law (ie the way the power is used must comply with legal constraints). This is by no means a total guarantee against power’s misuse, but history shows that it’s a pretty vital part of guarding against this.

At its core, the challenge to the government’s lockdown actions in Borrowdale v Director General of Health asserts that these were inconsistent with what the law permitted, no matter how well intentioned they were. In short, the law either didn’t allow some of the various lockdown rules that were imposed on us, or the way some of them were imposed on us was inconsistent with the law’s requirements.

Those of you interested in the precise legal details of the case can consult the previously mentioned press release. I also should note that Claudia Geiringer and I canvassed such issues back in late April. Colleagues have since taken a different view to us on the legal issues at hand. And now the courts are the only institution in our society that can settle the matter definitively.

What, then, might the High Court do? Well, it could reject Borrowdale’s challenge and find that the government’s various actions and lockdown rules were in accordance with the law at the time. In which case, ka pai. The government did the right thing in the right way.

Alternatively, the court may find that at least some of these various actions and lockdown rules were not in accordance with the law at the time. In which case, it likely will “declare” that to be the case; make a formal finding that the government acted in an unlawful manner.

Should that happen, it doesn’t necessarily invalidate the overall rightness of the government’s actions. After all, they “worked”. And I know for a fact that those involved in deciding what to do were very concerned with trying to remain within the law’s limits. It may simply be that they got these wrong, as many folk who try to understand what the law requires can make a mistake.

Nevertheless, a rule of law society doesn’t then just shrug and say “no harm, no foul” in the face of such a judicial finding. Because, a governing system that says to those with power “only act as the law requires, unless you really think you don’t have to” quickly is going to develop problems.

It ought instead to trigger a re-evaluation of the decisions made and consideration of how such decisions can be better made in the future. It may necessitate some amendment to the law, to authorise such powers and their use if thought desirable in the future. (Indeed, the recent passage of the Covid-19 Public Health Response Act 2020 already suggests that such a rethinking is already under way.)

Furthermore, a declaration that the lockdown rules we all were told we had to follow were not actually authorised by law will have real, practical consequences for those arrested and charged with breaking them. If those lockdown rules were not legally authorised, then it cannot be an offence to have failed to comply with them.

Given that there’s some thousands of people facing such charges, that could be a big deal. Such individuals also may try to claim NZ Bill of Rights Act damages for having their rights breached, although I suspect they may get little sympathy from the judiciary on that point.

As such, what the Borrowdale case demonstrates is a society taking its basic governing commitments seriously. The electorate will pass its judgment on the political success of the lockdown (and who is best placed to deal with rebuilding our post-Covid future) come September. The court will pass its judgment on whether the law allowed for the lockdown (and what the consequences will be if it did not) beginning tomorrow. And by allowing each to have purchase – the people’s will, and the law’s limits – we do as much as we can to make government’s power over us as safe as we can.

Piiata on the beach at Tītahi Bay with her girl (Photo: Supplied)
Piiata on the beach at Tītahi Bay with her girl (Photo: Supplied)

SocietyJuly 26, 2020

Why did we get a dog? To fix the unfixable and fill the unfillable

Piiata on the beach at Tītahi Bay with her girl (Photo: Supplied)
Piiata on the beach at Tītahi Bay with her girl (Photo: Supplied)

Piiata the lab was supposed to paper over the cracks of Nadine Anne Hura’s broken family with beads of glittering gold. Instead, she began to dismantle the house one panel and one cushion at a time.

She was second to last of the litter and fully golden. We took her home and called her Piiata. She was four months old and sweet-faced. The other dogs at puppy class were either docile or maniacal. Piiata was neither, just the perfect blend of personality and smarts. On the first night of puppy class I looked up at the wall to all the portraits of winning show dogs from 1984 to 2019. I thought to myself: that will be Piiata one day. Loyal, intelligent Piiata, taking her place among champions at the Ngāti Toa Obedience & Agility Club.

Instead, a year later, I found myself forking out a day’s wages for a home visit from a dog therapist.

“This dog is anxious,” the trainer diagnosed within four minutes of walking inside the house. It was like having a psychic medium crossed with Supernanny standing in the living room. “I’m going to give it to you straight. This dog’s got no idea who’s in charge.”

My boys laughed. I felt like curling up into the foetal position and weeping. They say that love is blind but I think it might be more accurate to say that love is stupid. There’s no point pretending that my decision to get a dog wasn’t an attempt to fix the unfixable and to fill the unfillable. I remember lying in bed the night before we drove up to Feilding to bring her home, fighting off waves of nausea in an effort to convince myself that a dog, like the art of kintsugi, would paper over the cracks of our broken family with beads of glittering gold. Piiata.

Piiata (Photo: Supplied)

There is something reckless about the way we go into hard things. Willingly, sometimes even eagerly. Some days I think I would do it all over again, just to relive the moment my daughter realised that one of the clambering puppies in her lap would be coming home with us. She shielded her face from their feverish licks and looked up at me with an expression that no camera could ever capture. “I can’t believe this day is really happening to me,” she whispered.

The trainer cleared her throat. “So, let’s talk about the kind of dog you thought you were getting, shall we?”

I pointed wordlessly to my daughter.

She bit her lip.

“OK honey, why did you want a dog?”

“To cuddle?”

“I see,” said the trainer, turning to face me with a stern eye.

“So, can you tell me, if your daughter wanted a lap dog, how you ended up with a labrador?”

Once were roses: our barren back lawn (Photo: Supplied)

I was too tired to defend myself. Piiata had chewed every soft furnishing inside the house and recently started on the outside. She’d dug up the rose bushes with impunity and torn the screen door from its hinges. She was dismantling the house one panel and one cushion at a time. At 4am one morning, I turned in desperation to Google only to read that some dogs can live up to 17 years, a full year and a half longer than my marriage. Why hadn’t I got a lazy and affectionate retired greyhound in mid-life?

I looked up feebly and said: “I read that labs are easy to train.”

“Well,” said the therapist, withdrawing a plastic squirt bottle from her satchel. “That’s true if you know what you’re doing.”

Within moments, Piiata was obeying the trainer’s every command. When she gave the squirter to me, Piiata sat down and started licking her ass.

“What I’m observing here” the trainer dogsplained, “is a serious breakdown in your relationship.”

Her tone reminded me of the similarly priced family therapist in Whitby.

“Now, there are a few things you can try, but I can’t make any guarantees.”

She walked us through a six-week training regime and gave us a deadline by which we should see an improvement.

“She’s a sweet girl,” she said to my daughter, packing up her tools. “But honey, she may not be the right dog for you and that’s OK. Sometimes things don’t work out, as much as we really, really want them to. Do you know what I’m saying?”

I couldn’t see my girl’s face but she leaned tighter into Piiata’s neck and nodded.

“It’s nobody’s fault. It doesn’t mean you don’t love her. Actually, it‘s a sign that you really love her, because you’re willing to sacrifice your own feelings so that Piiata can live her best life.”

The trainer lowered her voice and spoke softly. “And then, maybe not straight away, but eventually, you can think about getting a little lap dog?”

Who says labradors aren’t lap dogs? Piiata, still with us, more than six weeks after deadline (Photo: Supplied)

I blamed myself, of course. Sometimes you can plan too much. Sometimes you can make all the wrong decisions for all the right reasons. I stood outside on the deck and tried to detach myself. I looked at the torn screen door and the dead roses and let myself see the situation with different eyes: Piiata wasn’t bred for lap cuddles, she was bred to work. Both parents had been working sniffer dogs, rescuing lost trampers from deep in the Tararua. She wasn’t being naughty. She was just responding to the impulses within her. Maybe one day she would go on to save someone’s life, and who were we to stand in the way of that destiny? I remembered the counsellor who seemed instinctively to understand how much I needed to be free. How could we deny Piiata’s true nature, and in the same breath declare that we loved her?

Before we brought Piiata home I told my nephew we were getting a puppy. He laughed and wished me luck. He wasn’t being cruel, just honest. His grief for Max, who’d slept at the end of his bed for 14 years, was still jammed up in his throat. I wanted to ask if he regretted it, whether the loss was so great he’d rather not have loved at all, but he‘d already hung up. Besides, I knew the answer. Pets and lovers are disarming and it pays to remember that before you unlatch the gate.

The night the trainer left, I held my girl in a backwards hug in bed as she sobbed into her fingers.

“It’s not fair to hold on to someone who wants to leave,” I said, hating myself. “A relationship isn’t working unless it’s working for both parties, right?”

Piiata jumped up on the bed and settled in between us. Her ass stunk because her anal glands needed expressing.

“Maybe you’re wrong,” my girl whispered, pressing her lips into Piiata’s velvet ears. “Maybe she doesn’t want to leave.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and thought of the altar. If you want to protect your kids from the inevitability of pain you should never get a pet, but if you want to teach them how to love then you must.

I felt myself unlatch the gate. Because really, is there any other way to love?