A Different Kind of Power, by Jacinda Ardern, is published by Penguin.owned by the publisher |
Sir Ian Taylor is the founder and managing director of Animation Research.
OPINION: Dear Jacinda,
This is not the first open letter I have written to you. You may recall there were many during the Covid pandemic.
This, however, is by far the most difficult.
I recently appeared before the Royal Commission charged with looking into the handling of the Covid pandemic in 2021-22. It was an opportunity to revisit all the correspondence I shared with you, and government ministers, at the time.
I also re-read the many emails and letters I had received from people who found themselves locked on the wrong side of 'Be Kind', cast adrift from the 'Waka' we were all meant to be on board.
The Commission will deliver its report, undoubtedly with the benefit of a lot more evidence than I shared, and that's as it should be.
But, as I passed through Auckland airport this week on my way to Europe, your memoir A Different Kind of Power was front and centre. |
Former NZ PM Jacinda Ardern receives damehood |
The twenty-two-hour flight seemed the perfect time to address the personal dilemma I am faced with, every time I see the cover of that memoir.
In March 2019, when you stood before the world following the Christchurch Mosque attacks, wearing a hijab headscarf and offering the words "They are us," I believed I was witnessing something extraordinary. A leader who not only spoke with compassion, but who seemed to embody it. The world noticed too.
In Dubai, your image, projected onto the world's tallest building, went viral. It sent a remarkable message to the world. Here was a woman, a working mum, a world leader, our Prime Minister, being honoured in a way few other world leaders had ever been. It was here that the 'Jacinda' brand was born. 'They are us.'
...
Just three words, but the world took note.
I was travelling a lot at the time, Covid still lay in wait in a place called Wuhan. I had never been prouder to claim I was a Kiwi. Where once the questions were about the All Blacks, Lord of the Rings, or how many sheep we had, now all anyone wanted to know about was our Jacinda. You had become a symbol of enlightened leadership and, I confess, I basked unashamedly in the glow of that recognition.
You were us. |
Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern leaves after the service at the call to prayer
and peace vigil outside Masjid Al Noor mosque near Hagley Park. Iain McGregor |
My belief, my pride, held strong through the early months of the Covid pandemic. Your calm demeanour, the repeated calls to "Be Kind" reassured a nation facing the unknown. When you told us we were "a team of five million," and that "He Waka Eke Noa", we were all in this together, I trusted you. I believed you.
And that's how we went into our first lockdown, one of the strictest in the world and, at the time, arguably one of the most effective. For a short period of time we reconnected, not just with each other but with the world around us.
The sound of early morning traffic replaced by the sound of tui and bell birds. Strolling down streets, greeting neighbours, a simple act we had forgotten how to do. Now we took the time to notice each other, respectfully distanced of course.
We came out of that first lockdown the envy of the world. As pictures of the America's Cup in Auckland were beamed to almost a billion people globally, I was inundated with messages from international colleagues asking if they could have "Jacinda" come take care of them.
My response was always one of pride. "Nah mate - she's ours!"
But as time passed, the reality began to fray around the edges. The PR slogans "be kind" and "we're all in this together", felt increasingly hollow as divisions deepened and the promises faded into spin. |
My first open letter to you was an urgent plea. We had done incredibly well, but now was the time to move the focus from saving lives to saving lives and livelihoods. It was not a matter of if, but when, the coronavirus would break through our seriously flawed MIQ blockade. We had the skills, we had the knowledge, we had the opportunity to really lead the world when that happened.
People put politics aside and tried to help. Offering real solutions, safe, proven ways to save both lives and livelihoods. Business-led initiatives, technology-enabled tracking, controlled pilot programs. These were not abstract ideas. They were tested, they were ready, and they were offered in good faith. But they were dismissed.
Not because they didn't work, but because they didn't fit the narrative.
That was the moment I realised, this wasn't leadership anymore. It was brand management.
The turning point came for me on the day you featured on the cover of the New Zealand Woman's Weekly, in designer clothes, smiling, styled, and celebrated. On that same day I received a heart-wrenching email from a father who had yet to meet his 7-month-old son.
He had been brought to New Zealand to contribute his much-needed technical expertise in challenging times for Aotearoa, but the border closed behind him, stranding his pregnant wife overseas. In the same week I had another message from a son trying to leave MIQ to be with his dying father. He had tested clear three times. The system still said no. |
Ardern and then-Director General of Health Ashley Bloomfield making a
Covid-19 alert levels announcement at the Beehive. Ross Giblin / The Post |
And these weren't isolated stories. They were everywhere, if you took the time to listen. People reaching out for someone, anyone, to hear their call. Someone to be kind. These were New Zealanders, or people who had made this country their home, asking only for the chance to be with their families. To do what any of us would hope to do in a time of crisis. Their pain was real, and avoidable.
But we were no longer all in the waka together. Thousands had been cast adrift. Fathers kept from the birth of their children. Dying loved ones left without final goodbyes. Families cruelly separated by a system that, even when shown better ways to operate, refused to budge.
The brand that was so carefully nurtured at those 1:00 pm 'single source of truth' press conferences, reinforced internationally by features like your Vogue cover story, had matured into a global product, ready for sale.
Reports say you received over a million dollars in advance for your memoir, A Different Kind of Power. It's a striking figure, especially for someone who once made child poverty her personal mission.
You didn't just speak about it, you took on the portfolio yourself, armed with the unprecedented power of a parliamentary majority and the goodwill of a nation ready for change. You had the platform. You had the mandate.
And yet today, child poverty remains largely unchanged. The Capital Gains Tax was another moment you could have seized with that majority. But the brand shifted and, somewhere along the way, so too had the ideals that once gave me hope.
Children are still suffering from poverty, guns remain in the hands of those who used them to cause the most harm. The Christchurch Call has failed to limit on-line violence and hate, and Brian Tamaki and his Destiny Church still feel free to march in Aotearoa spewing their anti-immigrant vitriol.
"They are us" has disappeared down the same dark hole as 'be kind', 'the team of 5 million' and "he wake eke noa - we are all in the waka together."
Now only brand Jacinda remains, and you are back on the cover of those lifestyle magazines, interviews on radio and tv, and there - that image that has weighed on me over the past few weeks. The cover of A Different Kind of Power.
"He waka mo Ko tahi". The journey is complete. The waka is now the waka for one. |
|
![Q - Apr 17 2020 - We are ready. [Set 1] Mission good. Q](/Images/1/2020-04-18-Q-The-Punisher-We-are-ready-Mission-good-100.png "Q - Apr 17 2020 - We are ready. [Set 1] Mission good. Q")
