The Opposition, and the Labour Party in particular, always under-estimated John Key.  What they saw was no more than a genial glad-hander and a seat-of-the-pants chancer – at best, a populist adept at winning the centre ground.  It was only a matter of time, they thought, before he came unstuck.

What they missed was a sharp political intelligence and a clear ideological commitment.  The result – they were always fighting the wrong battle.

John Key certainly had important political gifts, in terms of likeability and the ability to communicate and relate to people.  Much of the opposition’s effort was devoted to trying to negate those advantages, in the hope that the feet of clay they were sure were there would be exposed to the public gaze.

They failed to understand that the battle was not one of personality politics, but real politics. The personality was merely the means by which a deadly serious re-making of New Zealand – along ideological lines – was being undertaken.

If we review the Key years, the trends are unmistakable.  Business interests have been given top priority; social and environmental issues have been increasingly relegated to the second or third rank.  Public assets have been privatised and the public sector and public spending have been subject to constant cuts; the law has been changed when required to suit the interests of overseas corporations.

Workers’ rights have been reduced; employers have been given more power.  Child poverty – and poverty more generally – has increased and life on benefits is tougher; the rich have enjoyed tax cuts.  Homelessness has re-appeared in our midst and owning their own home is now beyond many young Kiwis; those already owning their own homes and property speculators in particular have made fortunes from soaring house prices.

It is John Key’s politics, not his personality, that have produced these intended outcomes.  They have been produced, not by a relaxed middle–of-the-roader, but by a dedicated ideologue.  They are the result of a particular kind of neo-liberal politics, of a consistent and deliberate push from our Prime Minister to turn New Zealand into a “trickle down” economy (and society), one that clearly differentiates between winners and losers, one where the top priority is to ensure that the winners do even better and the losers have to get by as best they can.

Who can doubt that he has succeeded in changing our country as he intended?

John Key was no doubt perfectly genuine in his belief that this was a New Zealand that would be acceptable to most, but he was nevertheless adept at concealing his intentions in case they were not supported.  He was on occasion quite open about this.

A few years ago, the then Premier of Queensland, Campbell Newman, was contemplating asset sales to raise cash.  He sought advice from John Key as to how he could get away politically with what he knew would be an unpopular measure.  Key’s advice, as reported in the New Zealand media?  “Do it in small stages,” he said, “and people won’t notice.”

He was also pragmatic and cautious when it suited.  A new policy would usually be “floated” in advance, and then referred to “focus groups”, so that the public response could be judged.  Depending on that response, the policy would be implemented or tweaked as necessary or simply abandoned.

Here, in other words, was a political operator who knew exactly what he was doing.  It is no accident that he was highly regarded by his right-wing colleagues in other countries, to the extent that he has for some time been chair of the International Democratic Union, the global association of right-wing political parties.

He had, after all, achieved what so many of them had struggled with – he had sold a neo-liberal agenda to voters who would normally have rejected it as extreme and contrary to their values.

His easy manner and “nice guy” image meant, of course, that he was able to conceal the ideological mainspring of his politics not only from the voters but from his opponents as well.  They were reluctant to accept that they were being confronted by a serious political operator and were so bemused by his image that their attention was distracted from the serious political purpose that was being served.  They were fighting the image – “a cheeky chappie” – when it was the politics that should have engaged their efforts.

Key’s departure and the arrival of Bill English in his place should make things simpler for the slow-witted.  There will, one imagines, be less dissembling and a more clear-cut, no-frills, political direction.  It will in many ways be a relief to get back to clear political choices and a better chance of deciding the kind of New Zealand we want.

Bryan Gould

11 December 2016.

What are we to make of John Key’s bombshell?  Reactions will obviously vary according to the political views of those making them, but his statement should be taken – initially at least – at face value.  We should all understand the pressures that public life imposes, particularly on the major players.  Living in the limelight is not by any means as much fun as it seems.

The Prime Minister may have been feeling the effects of a strenuous by-election campaign in Mount Roskill, and defeat there may have offered a glimpse of what a general election defeat might feel like.  He may also have been at a low ebb, perhaps disheartened by the election of Donald Trump and what that has meant for the TPPA; he may have felt very keenly the loss of what was very much his own pet project.

It may simply be that he felt that he had done all that he could and that, as he himself says, he had “nothing left in the tank”.  And perhaps he sees the advantage, in terms of his legacy, of retiring while still on top and undefeated, rather than running the risk that the voters will tell him next year that it is time to go.

The British politician, Enoch Powell, once famously said, with pardonable and only slight exaggeration, that “all political careers end in failure”.  John Key may not have been familiar with that well-known quotation but he may still have been tempted to disprove the wisdom it claims to represent.

Whatever the truth of such speculations, there will certainly be many well-earned tributes paid to him and his record of success as a vote-gathering political leader.  He has undoubtedly been one of the most successful and popular of our prime ministers – though, it must be remembered, that, despite the impression often peddled by National party acolytes, only one in three of eligible voters actually voted for him and his government in 2014.

His “nice guy” image certainly struck a chord with many voters, even if others deplored his glibness and, on occasion, apparent slipperiness.  He was faced with serious challenges – the Global Financial Crisis and the Canterbury earthquake – and on the whole dealt with them calmly and competently.

His handling of the Pike River disaster, however, was less compelling and his record has been threatened by the crisis in housing affordability and homelessness, by the growing sense of a society where significant numbers are left behind, and by the excessive attention he seems to have paid to business interests at the expense of working people.

Nor can it be said that his government has succeeded in the overdue task of re-balancing the New Zealand economy.  Our current supposed “success” is still far too dependent on excessive borrowing, consumption and imports, while productivity, investment and exports languish.  And “the deficit” on which so much attention has been focused is not the one that really matters, the deficit we have with the rest of the world – the one that means we constantly have to borrow to balance the books.

The real question about his resignation, however, is its timing.  Why now?  It is not as though he has another big job – perhaps on the international stage – lined up.  Nor does he need time, for financial reasons, to build another career in order to provide for his family.

It could be argued, with some justice, that he took a principled decision to take the NZ public into his confidence so that he cannot be accused, after the 2017 election, of misleading them as to his intentions.  But the mystery deepens when we recall that it was only a few hours earlier that he was relishing the challenge that he was to face in his own electorate from Hayley Holt.

For a Prime Minister to resign in this unexpected way must suggest that he is acting under some pressing imperative.  The one he identifies is that his wife has asked him to take this step and that his children have suffered – though he must know that Max Key’s foibles will still attract attention, even if his father is out of office.

If that is the reason, he is to be commended.  But imperatives come in many different forms.  Time will tell whether that is the full explanation.

Bryan Gould

5 December 2016