Valedictory Statements

The time has come for me to say my last words in this Chamber. It is fitting, I think, that I say them immediately following question time, because question time is still one of the most robust parts of this Chamber.

In fact, I can well remember my first parliamentary question, written for me by the research unit and delivered to me. With much excitement I rang home and alerted my family to the fact that I was about to ask a question and that they should listen on the radio. The question was to the Hon Denis Marshall, the Minister of Conservation at the time. It was my maiden question, the House was quiet, and I stood and asked the Minister what he was doing to keep rats off Kapiti Island. The House remained silent, and Mike Moore, who was then the Leader of the Opposition, leaned forward and in a loud voice shouted: “Stopping the member from visiting!”. To laughter that I thought at the time was far more vigorous from my side than that of the Opposition, I learnt an important lesson: never ask a patsy question. I am proud of my record during my first 3 years in Parliament in that I asked the least number of questions as a Government back-bencher.

Like many here, I worked my way through the party organisation for a nomination to a seat and a place in this Parliament. I have had the privilege to serve as both a constituency member of Parliament and a list member, and I have had the opportunity over the last 15 years to serve on the Government back bench, on the whips’ desk as junior and senior whip, as a Minister, as the Leader of the House, as a minority Government manager, as deputy leader of the National Party, and then as an Opposition back-bencher.

Throughout it all, I have had a great opportunity to work with some outstanding and dedicated staff. At the risk of leaving someone out, I would like to thank in particular Susan Palmer, my secretary here in Parliament, who has worked for me for 12 of those 15 years, and Sue Reid, my constituency office secretary, who has worked for me for 14½ of those 15 years. They both deserve medals. I thank my ministerial office staff, many of whom are here in the Chamber today: Sarah Boyle, who came to me from the Clerk’s Office, who has worked for me in a number of capacities, and who has been an outstanding friend; and Belinda Milnes, Susanne Joyce, Vanessa Simpson, Kathleen Lambert, Celia Roundtree, Debbie Sturmfels, Louise Dooley, and Kathy Kerr, all of whom worked for me over a period of time in Parliament. I think back on those days with fondness; we were, I believe, a great team.

In my electorate I have been blessed with a wonderful electorate and campaign organisation, and I want especially to thank today my electorate chairmen over my period of time in Parliament, David Gibbons, Vaughan Chetwynd, Alan Wells, Eric McCabe, and Ted Cobb—Ted in particular has done a sterling job for the last 6 years. I thank my campaign chairs: Jack Wilson, my first ever campaign chair, who taught me a lot; Trevor Roberts, who has campaigned with me for three elections; Paula Tessarero; and Lorraine Pollark. To them I owe a great deal of thanks. There are many others, too many to name—people who have worked in my organisations, my branch committees, and my electorates, who have been branch chairs and treasurers, who have run the membership organisation, and who have done all the tasks that have needed to be done. One simply cannot function in this House without their support, and I thank them all very, very much.

Fifteen years ago, when I delivered my maiden speech, my oldest daughter, Katherine, was 1 year old. Katherine, Erica, David, and Phillipa have known nothing other than politics in their father’s life. My wife, Shirley, like all parliamentarians’ spouses, has carried the responsibility of—and cared for—our family all too often on her own. The hours of work are long; it is not always easy, and I thank her and the family for all their huge support.

I have enjoyed my time in Parliament, but I have to say that I miss the pre-MMP debating chamber. I miss the tactics. I miss being able to go into the caucus and spring urgency on it. I miss the voting in the lobbies and the comradeship that developed by our going through the lobbies. I miss the debates in which both sides of the House used to participate, rather than one side participate and the other side move closure motions. I miss the speeches from the heart, and sometimes even from the head, that were given in this Chamber—speeches that were not read from some research unit paper but that were delivered with passion and with feeling. I miss all those things and find today’s Chamber somewhat formulaic. The House today is far more representative than the House I walked into 15 years ago, but it has far less flavour in it. I loved the ebb and flow of this Chamber; it was unpredictable.

I remember—and some of my colleagues will remember well—my speaking on a welfare bill from the Government whip’s desk. It was a small piece of legislation in the early 1990s that was going to stop the payment of invalids benefits to people who were on an invalids benefit and overseas for more than 4 weeks. The Labour spokesperson at the time was Clive Matthewson. He had put up an amendment in the Committee stage that allowed disabled athletes to go overseas and spend a longer period of time there, because they might be training. Neroli Fairhall was the example given in the Chamber during the debate.

During the Committee stage in those days, a speech was 10 minutes. I was giving a damn good speech and was 5 minutes into why we were not going to buckle on that legislation—why our ideas were pure and right and correct—when I noticed that Don McKinnon had slid out of the seat in front of me and Michael Cullen, the Opposition Leader of the House, had slid out from the other side. About 5 minutes into my speech Tony Ryall passed me a note that said we were accepting the Matthewson amendment. Hansard will show that in the first 5 minutes of my speech I totally opposed the amendment, and in the second 5 minutes I gave all the reasons why we would then be voting for it.

The biggest opportunity I have had in politics was given to me by Jim Bolger. It was a huge privilege being the Minister of Social Welfare, and I cannot leave here without saying two things about that role. The first concerns the Family Start programme, of which I am immensely proud. It is an outstanding programme, it is a programme that is world-class and world-leading, and it is a programme that Labour has been too slow in expanding.

The second concerns the people I met when I first became Minister of Social Welfare, who not only are the real heroes in the welfare area but are, I think, often unsung, unseen, and unsupported—the group of New Zealanders who are foster parents. They do an extraordinary amount of good work in mending the minds and bodies of young people, and in helping young people who are at risk. Foster parents are some of our greatest assets in this country. I found that the time when I was Minister of Social Welfare was a very humbling experience, and my time in dealing with foster parents was something that not only made me humble but made me very proud to be a New Zealander.

I could not leave here today without reference to the brat pack: Bill English, Nick Smith, Tony Ryall, and myself. I do not know how we got the name “brat pack”. I see that several people have claimed to have given it to us, the latest claimant being Michael Laws. All I can say to that is that success has many fathers.

We were four of a big intake. We came in here in 1990 as part of the largest new intake of MPs this country had ever seen. We became great friends. We were the youngest of that intake, and we have been able to offer, I think, great support to each other. I certainly have received a huge amount of support from Bill, Nick, and Tony.

More importantly, our wives and families are here today. We have holidayed together. We have had outstanding times together. It has not been all politics; there has been a lot of fun. You could not ask in any job or any career to find such great friends. We do not agree on everything. I wish we had; it would have boosted the numbers a lot, particularly on the conscience votes on my side. I have been bench mates with all three of them at various times. In any work environment anyone would count themselves privileged, lucky, and honoured to be able to work with those three colleagues and to have such friends as Bill, Tony, Nick, and their families. I certainly count myself as being very fortunate.

Finally today I want to wish Don Brash, the National Party caucus, and Otaki candidate Nathan Guy all the very best for a successful election. I came here 15 years ago excited about playing a role in a National Government. I leave here older, wiser, balder, and heavier, but I leave here excited about the prospect of a National Government, and excited about some new challenges with Arthritis New Zealand.

Nearly 12 years ago the people of Gisborne elected me to represent them in this Parliament. I woke up the next morning, and thought: “Janet, what on earth have you done? You’ve conned them all; you’ve persuaded them you know how to be an MP.” Shortly afterwards I gave my maiden speech. I still felt like an impostor, because I just did not feel as I thought an MP should feel. I was very proud to have a seat in this House, but I was sure my tenure would be brief as a result of the good people of Gisborne coming to their senses.

Today I rise to give my valedictory speech after 12 years of representing not only the people of Gisborne and the East Coast but also those of Wairoa, Maraekākaho, Crownthorpe, Ōhope, Ōpōtiki, Tāneatua, Whakatāne, Ruatōria, and a hundred other small communities. And I have to admit today that every 3 years I have woken up on the morning after the election, and thought: “Janet, what on earth have you done?”.

My first months in Parliament were an absolute nightmare. Richard Prebble may have had trouble finding furniture; I had trouble finding my office. I have no sense of direction—for those who do not know me well—and, coming from Gisborne, I found this place an absolute labyrinth. It was no better in the electorate. On several occasions I have had to phone colleagues from neighbouring electorates to rescue me from God knows where in the middle of Hawke’s Bay. Thank you, Rick Barker. I was invited several years ago to Crownthorpe School, a delightful small school whose location I am still not 100 percent sure of. I accepted the invitation. I left Wellington early on Friday morning and found the school four Fridays later. The next week, driving to Wellington from Gisborne, I apparently took a wrong turn somewhere around Taihape and I drove past Crownthorpe School seven times.

Parliament in 1993 was full of formidable and daunting people. The first time I went to get into a lift in the Beehive, David Lange, Jonathan Hunt, and Koro Wētere preceded me. These are not big lifts. I got in, the doors tried to close, and the buzzer sounded to say that we were terminally overloaded. David Lange suggested that it would be very helpful if I got out.

Last week Richard Prebble acknowledged David in his valedictory speech, and I want to do the same. I had the unique experience, for a lowly back-bencher, of sitting beside David on the back benches shortly before his retirement. He was a wonderful bench mate, in so far as he kept me amused for the whole of question time with his interjections. I wish I had written them down. I remember congratulating David on the birth of his daughter Edith. I said: “Why have you called her Edith? Is it after Edith Piaf, ‘The Little Sparrow’?”. He said, in that wonderful voice of his: “No, it’s Edith Lange, the little kererū”. I hope Edith does not hear this. He was also extremely irritating in that if I left my cryptic crossword unattended for more than a minute he would complete it by the time I got back, leaving me feeling utterly inadequate. Shortly before he left Parliament I was able to seize the moment. David went out. He left his cryptic crossword on the desk, with two clues still unanswered. I summoned up every ounce of intellectual energy I possessed and I finished those two outstanding clues. I was surprised that David did not immediately pick that I was the intellectual giant who had finished his crossword, but after a while he did look at me and give me a couple of grunts. Over the years I have decided to interpret that as extremely high praise.

But there was also the David Lange who proved to me that he was generous to a fault. Shortly before nominations for the Gisborne seat were called in 1992, I rang David with the news that the local law society, which had bankrupted my ex-husband, was now pursuing me for my house. David’s immediate response was to pay the law society and annul the bankruptcy. I declined his offer, but I have never forgotten it. He continued to assist me with advice as I met the local law society in the District Court and then in the High Court. Shortly before the election I received notice that the law society was pursuing me to the Court of Appeal. I was, of course, unable to defend myself in that court, and I could not afford a lawyer. David’s advice was: “Stall them, Janet.”, and I did. Three weeks after I was elected to this Parliament, the society withdrew that application. I wish David and his family well.

When I arrived in Parliament, I was a single parent. If Muriel Newman were here, I am sure I would be able to hear her grinding her teeth, and I am sure that Larry Baldock is sending a quick one up for my poor, fatherless household. I stood for the seat under first past the post, and, although the electorate was large by first-past-the-post standards, I could still get home for dinner most nights when I was in the electorate. That is no longer the case under MMP. Looking back, I wonder where I ever found both the nerve to stand and the energy to do the job. I had a big and marginal electorate that required not only hours of work but also hours of driving. I had small children living at home with a housekeeper during the week, and on the weekends I was both mum and dad.

I take this opportunity to thank my children, Moana, Erin, and Tūrei, for the good humour with which they have accepted—and, in one case, imitated—my choice of career. They have always supported me in my work. They have propped me up at times when I was flagging. What amazes me is that they have all turned out to be such nice people. They have grown up while I have been in this Parliament. Tūrei is off to Cuba after this election—and anyone who knows Tūrei will not be surprised by that. Erin is now a wonderfully competent chef working in Wellington, and Moana will be the best MP the East Coast electorate has ever had. Can I say that that is just fine by me, because I still intend to claim the credit.

In 1993 I was a wee bit of an outsider. I was a single parent and I lost my job when I announced that I was standing for Parliament. So for a total of 8 months the children and I were very grateful for the domestic purposes benefit. It did mean, however, that I had no choice but to come first on the night, and winning the seat on election night with a majority of 1,900 votes was my second proudest moment. My proudest was being the first general seat Labour MP ever to win the East Coast booths, and I thank Ngāti Porou and the people of the East Coast communities for the unflagging support they have given me and the children for 12 years. That night my campaign manager thought that winning the first booth returned was the most momentous thing, and he has called me “the member for St Mary’s Hall” ever since. Thank you, Bevan, for your valuable contribution, which has lent much to the past 12 years.

In 1996 I was really guaranteed a hiding to nothing. Under MMP, the seat had expanded to take in every farmer from Hawke’s Bay to Ōpōtiki. I was predicted to lose on the night by approximately 5,000 votes. At 1 a.m. on election night the vote finally came in. My mum, who had stayed in Auckland because she could not bear to watch me lose, rang when the final vote was announced. “Oh, Jan,” she said, “you’ve won.” Mothers say things occasionally that are very obvious. Then she said: “You know, dear, you were such a difficult wee girl, but I think you’re going to turn out all right.” I had won two elections, I was 42 years old, and my mother was Irish. Mum died just weeks before Moana entered Parliament. I wish she could be here this evening; she would be so relieved that I am finally going to get a proper job, albeit as a publican.

I have tried over the years to deliver a good service across a vast electorate. I have four offices, and there have been years when I have paid for extra offices myself. I pay tribute to all the staff who have struggled on less than shoestring budgets in my electorate offices to provide a great service to my constituents. To Peta in Whakatāne, to Lynda and formerly Di and Renee in Ōpōtiki, to Sue in Gisborne, and Maxine and Lee who preceded her, to Sonya, Denise, and Nigel in Wairoa: thank you all.

Under MMP my electorate has continued to grow like Topsy. It now includes the whole of Whakatāne, Ōhope, Ōpōtiki, the entire East Coast and south towards Hawke’s Bay. One of the great mysteries of the workings of the Parliamentary Service is the determination that rural MPs who drive 60,000 kilometres a year should receive 19c a kilometre for providing and using their own vehicle to do their job, yet an urban MP who drives less than 5,000 kilometres a year, for some reason, receives 96c a kilometre. I have always hoped that somebody would be able to explain to me before I go why this should be so, but nobody has as yet. Nothing will change the fact that it has cost me a considerable proportion of my income to provide my own vehicle and drive it, but I hope that my raising the issue here this afternoon may lead to a change for other rural MPs and for those who follow me. It seems to be a failure of Parliament’s administration that it just does not recognise that rural seats in New Zealand can be enormous, yet a cornerstone of our political system is that all people should have access to their elected representative.

Over the years I have developed a very rewarding relationship with the farming communities I inherited under MMP. I remember the first time a farmer contacted me. It was about 6 o’clock in the morning—as they do. The voice on the end of the phone said: “I suppose you’re not even out of bed yet, even though half the day’s gone.” That was my introduction to telephone calls from farmers. They always ring me at 6 o’clock in the morning and I always return the call at 10.30 at night. Most of the contact I have had from farmers has not been about access issues or the Kyoto Protocol. It has always been about the school bus, about the health system, or about the risk of losing the second classroom in their two-classroom school building—and it is hard to believe that the Ministry of Education would leave any school in New Zealand with one room, but it used to. Farmers have an extraordinary sense of responsibility to their communities, and I have learnt to admire them and respect them. In fact, when I talk to farmers, I always get great pleasure from discussing with them the parallels and the similarities between farmers and the Labour Party. At the end of the day we are both paralysed unless we form a collective. I look forward to continuing my relationship with the farming community in the electorate, albeit through a slightly different channel.

I have done a number of things in my time here, some big, some small, all of which have given me great satisfaction. In 1999 I chaired the review of firearms legislation, and as a committee we travelled the country, hearing 6,000 submissions from firearms owners. I think I am probably the only select committee chair to have ever been roundly told off for calling a public meeting during the roar. I decided that the further south we headed, the more sensible were the attitudes and arguments against gun registration, although I have to say that the elderly gentleman in Dunedin who confided to us that he had built a cannon and was keeping it in his basement caused us all a wee bit of a worry. But I was pleased that my caucus accepted, as did others, the committee’s unexpected recommendation, and another costly and inevitably ineffective bureaucracy was avoided.

Writing a rural education policy recognising the unique challenges faced by my little schools was, for me, immensely satisfying. For so many years in New Zealand we have had a policy of one-size-fits-all, whether it be for small rural schools or for their larger urban cousins. Singling out the issues that made life difficult and often impossible for small one and two teacher schools was very satisfying, and I thank all the wee schools in my electorate, which were so much a part of the development of that policy and so supportive of it.

Finally, persuading a Minister of Transport to allow the New Zealand Coastguard to claim back the road-user charge it paid on petrol and use it in saving lives for us on the water, has made a real difference to a voluntary organisation that has to fund-raise for the hundreds and thousands of dollars it costs it to provide us with a vital service. Thank you, Mark Gosche.

Perhaps the thing that makes me most proud is looking out of my window and seeing new life in the provinces. Six years ago people were moving out of Gisborne in droves. Today they are breaking down the doors to get in. Six years of attention to, and investment in, the provinces has given us a new lease on life, new growth, new jobs, new businesses, new faces in the street, and new children in the classrooms. I want to acknowledge the work this Government has done, and also the work Jim Anderton has done, in helping us to bring about an enormous regional revival.

There are so many thanks owed. To my children, to whom I owe so much, and to Robb, who is such a doer. If a hoarding needs to go up, you do not make a note of it; you go out the door and you put it up. Thank you, Robb, for everything. He makes sure I eat, he makes sure I rest, and he makes sure I take time to have fun. Thanks, too, to my sister, Lynore, and Graeme. After working for my entire parliamentary career for Mark Gosche and Richard Northey, they have now moved to Tāneatua, where they can work for Moana. To my friends and party folk in the electorate—there are too many of you to name. But to Pat and to Norman, I have to say a special thanks. We have been working on campaigns together since the 1980s, and you are the only two people I know who can make the worst part of election campaigns fun.

To Status Taxis drivers, my Wellington social life—you have provided me with a level of service, at times, that has gone way beyond the call of duty. I am going to miss travelling with you enormously. To lobbyists who approached me in my first year in Parliament—one of them on my first day in Parliament—and who today, I am pleased to say, are my friends. To Mark Unsworth, who arrived in my office with a carton of Cocoa Pops for my son in 1993, and to Tony O’Brien from Sky, known in Gisborne as “the man from Sky”. We have had a lot of fun over the years and I look forward to continuing our friendships.

To the security staff and the messengers, and in particular to Gray’s mum, who has baked me date and lemon slice for years—thank you. To the people who have worked in my office, including in 1993 the amazing Raewyn, who I employed after she worked for Hamish MacIntyre. To this day I have no idea how Raewyn ever persuaded me to go with her to Cuba Mall, where we ended up in Roger’s Tattoo Parlour, but I still bear the scars. I will never forget Raewyn sitting there, observing the damage being done, and she said to me: “Hamish MacIntyre used to take me to prayer meetings.” To Adrienne, who worked in my office and who, in true Kiwi tradition, 5 years’ later ended up employing my daughter in her restaurant, thank you; and to Wendy, my current parliamentary secretary.

To the people who have made my coffee, cooked my food, and cleaned my parliamentary office I say thank you, but in particular I want to thank our amazing select committee clerks. I do want to say here, in their support, that the new idea that our committees should lose all historical knowledge from one Parliament to the next because of a new rule that will force them to work on a different committee every 3 years, would have to be one of the daftest ideas I have ever heard of. I hope that those who return after the election will support the select committee staff in making sure it does not happen.

To colleagues and friends from all parties, I wish you well in the next Parliament, whatever its make-up, and it is with a little sadness that I leave you all to run the country on your own. But I would ask you to remember that this is the seat of democracy. Democracy is something we talk so much about, but I was taught that democracy requires tolerance towards different political beliefs. A little more tolerance and a little less personal attack in this Chamber may elevate Parliament and its members in the eyes and in the hearts of the people we work for.

But my biggest thanks goes to the people of the East Coast electorate who have shown so much confidence in me and have been so extraordinarily kind to me and my children. When I was first elected I wrote in a column that I was sorry that I had not mowed my lawns, but that they would be mowed and property values would go back up. Erin and Tūrei rang me from home and said: “Please don’t do that again, mum. There are six men out front mowing your lawns.” Somebody continued to mow my lawns for a very long time. To this day I am not certain who it was, but I have my suspicions. One summer I set about painting my large two-storey house. A constant stream of men in overalls came through the front gate telling me I could not possibly paint it myself. I came home one weekend to find it had been done. I have been hugged in the supermarket by complete strangers and then asked to wait there while they got their mother who was in the next aisle, because she would like to hug me too. But best of all they voted for me, and without them none of this would have happened.

It has been a privilege to serve the people of the East Coast in this Parliament. It has been the best of times and the worst of times, and if I had the chance to go back and do it again, with a little tweaking, yes I would. It has been an honour and a joy. Thank you all. Ka kite anō.

Today I make my last speech to this House as a member of Parliament, and can I say it is probably about 100 years too early. Tomorrow I commence a new journey, with no idea of where it will lead me.

My father encouraged me into a life of public service. He encouraged me both in his deeds as a parish priest and in discussions with me as I grew up. As I listened and learned, I developed a passion for helping people. I wanted to change the world, even at a very young age, and as time went on I pursued interests that eventually led to my being elected to Parliament.

But getting here was no plain sailing. John Husband will be known to many in this Chamber. He is a Southland artist and musician, and was, in 1993, the host of a popular radio talkback programme on Invercargill’s Foveaux Radio. I know that the Rt Hon Helen Clark certainly spoke to him on a regular basis. There was one occasion in 1993 when he uttered across the air for all to hear: “The estuary will freeze over before Mark Peck wins Invercargill.”

Well, I happened to hear that too, so what to do? I travelled to Riverton—I was going out to Riverton Hospital to say goodbye to some of my union members—and I put in his box on my rather large calling card, which was really large so that the senior citizens could read it, the words: “Watch the estuary freeze over in November. Get your skates on special from The Warehouse.” I left that in his mailbox. That became a theme of my election campaign in 1993, and especially so when John Husband was chairing those meetings. But he was right. The last time Labour had held the Invercargill seat was in 1972. Prior to that the last time it had been won by a Labour member was in 1935. One could have put up a swede with a hat on it in Invercargill, and National supporters would have voted for it!

Not only that but I had qualities that would be unattractive to a conservative electorate—and I use “conservative” in a generous way, because some of the conservative values held by people in provincial New Zealand are actually rather good values that people should adopt. I was a trade union official. I was not a Southlander. In fact, I was a goddam Yankee from Kentucky. I might have been more endearing if I had been what a good friend of mine calls “a Dixiecrat”—namely, a southern American Democrat.

But what John Husband and others had not reckoned on was the incredible mood shift that was occurring amongst decent people who were concerned that the economic experiment the nation had been undergoing for more than a decade by 1993 had seriously damaged Invercargill and Southland. They had been promised a decent society. There were no longer any slogans that could explain away the high levels of unemployment, the closure of business, the decline in population, the increase in lawlessness, and the decline in social services. There was no way of explaining away why our senior citizens should be punished by having their pensions reduced at a time in their lives when they needed economic security as they never had, and when that security was at risk. People had not reckoned on a little person like me, frankly.

I was totally driven by a childhood dream. My dream was awakened by my childhood experiences. I was a child living on the Mason-Dixon Line—for those who do not know what the Mason-Dixon Line is, it was the dividing line between the northern and southern states of America during the civil war. I lived there during the time of the civil rights upheaval in the United States. It was the time of President Kennedy, my personal boyhood hero, and Martin Luther King, the sensible voice of the civil rights movement. It was a time of bussing black kids to white folks’ schools. It was a time of violence towards blacks. I will never forget the bombing of the Alabama Sunday school where four little children lost their lives. The next Sunday, my father led a march through Maysville in Kentucky, attended by our local congregation and those people in the black community who had the courage to front up. I will never forget it. The town was lined with the good folk of Maysville who shouted abuse at those of us who dared to stand up for the black people. I was 8 years old. I knew even then that racism and injustice were wrong. Maybe I could not put a name to them, but I knew what they were.

Those early childhood days of mine made me more determined than ever that if I could ever use the talents I possessed to do good for people, then I would. So with fire in my belly, and a small team of activists, we set about doing the unthinkable—winning the Invercargill seat for Labour. And we did. My very first duty was to deliver a pair of plastic ice skates to John Husband on the Monday morning. I suppose I was destined to be an MP. My name is wonderfully suited to politics—Mark Peck MP. I am going to patent it. It might be a nice little earner after Parliament. I will still identify my golf ball, because I play a little bit of competitive golf, with the initials MP.

I really must say thank you to the people of Invercargill for their support of and trust in me to be their member of Parliament for the last 12 years. I always felt very humbled on election night. Public office is held at the pleasure of the people. They bestow that awesome responsibility critically, and they judge it critically. I hope that when the ledger is finally totted up, I am found to have been their good and faithful servant.

Invercargill has come a long way since 1993. When I first came into Parliament, people were saying: “Last out, please turn out the lights.” I am proud of what Invercargill is now. It has a thriving student population, house prices are up, we have almost full employment, and we have a new hospital—I will say more about that later. Coopers Corner is, at last, being fixed. We have new, regenerated schools—I will say more about that, too—and a vibrant economy. The airport is being upgraded, and I tell Tim Shadbolt to get his head out of the sand if he thinks that is guilt money. That is good money. It is about providing an opportunity for our city, and he should welcome it, not be angry about it.

What has pleased me more has been to see the diversification in Invercargill. Yes, it will always have agriculture as its base, and as long as it is economically feasible to do so, aluminium will be produced. But in recent years we have seen a move into smart technology, value-adds, tourism, and niche products. That did not happen by accident. It happened as a result of a Government that said to the regions: “You matter.” In Southland, Topoclimate was the thing that gave hope to people that the regions mattered once more.

Those of us who are constituency MPs will have gained real enjoyment out of helping people with their problems and dealing with what on occasions can be seen to be inflexible bureaucracies. On a lighter note, some of the most blessed people come to see us. One gentleman who came to my office genuinely believed I could fix his cataracts. A lovely old lady who used to come and see me told me, quite seriously and quite often, that she was the Queen’s sister. That was wonderful, because I always knew that on any occasion when we had a serious citywide problem we would get the help of her sister.

The change that really appeals to me, though, is our new hospital. I know the effort that went into getting that hospital, and I know that the negotiations with Treasury were extremely raw. I want to thank Dennis Cairns for refusing to accept second best. He took on the battle, and the hospital in Invercargill now is a compliment to him and his team.

What has pleased me even more than that over the last 6 years is the change in areas of social justice. The removal of the Employment Contracts Act and its replacement with fair labour laws, the restoration of the pension and its future-proofing, the re-establishment of an apprenticeship system, and the targeting of assistance for families through the tax system have all brought about substantial relief and assistance to the people who need it most. I spoke to one young mother the other day who told me that as a result of the Working for Families package she can now take time off to stay at home with her children. Her income is actually better through working fewer hours, and she is investing that time in looking after her children. Surely that has to be good, if we are looking at social investment for the future.

Now I want to talk about the schools’ review. That is probably the single issue that has driven me from this Parliament 99 years earlier than I wanted to go. I want to say something about that review. I went around those schools 3 years before the review took place and said to them that they should look now at what economies of scale they could make. One did not need to be a rocket scientist to know that if a school had a roll of 100, or just over 100, it was not going to survive for terribly much longer. It is difficult to persuade people to negotiate away their own jobs, so nothing happened. There is no easy way to close schools. Everybody is against it. It is the reverse of motherhood and apple pie. But it was the right thing to do. Even in this, my last hour in this House, I say that it was the right thing to do. For Invercargill to have a solid schools network, rationalisation had to be made. The results I am getting from the people who talk to me now tell me that we have strong schools that are working well. If I am the sacrifice for that, so be it. History will judge that issue better than the petty politics that preceded it, and I stand firm that that was the right thing to do in Invercargill.

I want to mention two issues that stand out for me as a member of Parliament. Without going on about all the years in which I did this and did that, I want to say that two issues were important to me. The first was mental health. Shortly after I arrived in Parliament there was an armed offenders incident at H and J’s Outdoor World. A man called Eric Gellatly held up the shop and threatened to kill anybody who tried to get him. That incident ended with Eric being shot dead by the police armed offenders squad. Eric was mentally ill. His family had tried to get assistance for him, as had the people who were working with him, but to no avail. The snap debate that followed in Parliament ended with mental health going to the top of the policy agenda. From that came the Mason inquiry, and from that came ring-fenced funding, which meant that health boards could not siphon that money off into other areas of their operation.

I am confident, as a result of that, that Eric Gellatley’s death was not in vain. There will always be incidents in mental health. No Minister of Health and no politician will ever be able to stand in this House and say that people will not take their own lives, because of course they will. That is the nature of the illness. But I am confident that Parliament did its duty on that occasion. Even though it might have been dragged, kicking and screaming, into the process of doing it, Parliament did its duty.

I want to talk about the Pardon for Soldiers of the Great War Act—legislation that I championed. New Zealand is the first jurisdiction in the world to deal with the stain of dishonour that is visited on the families of those soldiers, and I am proud of that. Campaigns are under way now in Canada and the UK to similarly remove the stain from the families whose loved ones were executed during World War I. Some have said that that bill revisited history and put the norms that we understand now on the situation that existed back then. I disagree. The campaign was about exposing the awful reality that those soldiers faced in that particular war and their frailty as human beings. It was about setting that right and giving those families that live with this now, today, some serenity. Later on this year the Prime Minister will be presenting medals to those families whose loved ones were executed during World War I. I acknowledge the role of Dr Aaron Fox, who has managed to contact the next of kin of all those soldiers. I have seen the effect that that Act has had on the lives of two of the families in particular, and I know that the Act matters.

I want to say something about race relations, and as an American I think I am entitled to do so. If we listened to the debate in New Zealand, we would think our race relations in New Zealand were bad. I say poppycock to that. New Zealand should start to celebrate its diversity. I have had enough of those politicians who come in here and say that our race relations are bad. What is bad is a nation that has reserves for its Indians. What is bad is a nation that institutionalises racism against blacks. What is bad is a nation that is only now pursuing the lynchings of decades ago. It is time that this House stopped the phoney debate on race relations and celebrated its diversity as a nation. I hope that future generations of politicians will lower the tone of this debate in the House and let us get on as a multicultural nation and celebrate our diversity.

I can see the whip moving. I am just about out of time, but I am not finished and I will finish soon. I want to spend a moment thanking some of my activists. I acknowledge two who are now deceased—Danny Cairns and Maurice McGowan. I visited big Danny Cairns; he was a huge man. He gave me a cuddle days before he died. He had just had an argument with his boys about mowing the lawns. He said to me: “Mark, so long as I have strength, I’m going to mow those lawns, because I love the smell of cut grass.” I will never forget him. I will never forget Maurice McGowan.

I also acknowledge Noel Valentine, who will be listening to this speech at 283 Ness Street in Invercargill. Noel has been my mentor since I have been a member of Parliament. I know that he is listening to this debate today, and he was the last candidate who stood against Ralph Hanan in 1966. Noel was not one to tell me what I wanted to hear. Noel would always tell it like it was.

I thank my electorate staff: Judy Christie, who no longer works with me, John Watson, Stacy Dow, and Nicola McLaughlin. They have managed to get me in the right place at the right time, and, God knows, on some occasions that has been a challenge. I thank my parliamentary staff: Kay Martin, Trish McLean, Helen Toner, and Lorraine Griffiths. I particularly thank Helen, who has come back to work with me since the birth of her son. Helen has been able to work with me at a time when I have undergone some enormous change in my life, and I thank her for that.

I thank the select committee staff: the wonderful people I have worked with such as Julian Kersey, Matthew Louwrens, Graham Hill, Michelle Malyon, and Paul—I am terribly sorry I have forgotten his name, but I am feeling a little nervous just now. I particularly thank Anthony Flux in the Parliamentary Library, who worked me through my economics assignments. The messengers have been really good to me at a time in my life when I have been a little down; they have been there and have made me feel good. And I thank the Status Taxis drivers, as Janet Mackey did—I never graduated to Crown cars—for the way they looked after me, too. Rest assured, I will use their services every time I am back.

I arrived here in 1993 in a daze. I had to pinch myself to remind myself that I was a member of Parliament. Twelve years later I leave. I no longer have to pinch myself. I know that I am a politician. The question is whether I leave here bitter and resentful, or whether I leave here with some hope for the future.

Only a few short weeks ago I would have said that I leave here bitter and resentful. The most important question that ever gets asked around the time that jobs are being given out is: “Why not me?” In my case, it was never answered in the affirmative. I could never accept that it was my own behaviour that caused me to miss out on those jobs. I became so obsessed with my own defects of character that on 12 January this year I nearly killed myself. I faced a serious personal crisis, and I was given no serenity to deal with that personal crisis, as there were considerable rumours around here. I knew that there could, and would, be mischief done to me. So I made a full disclosure and I told my story. Although I might have been a bit discomfited in the process of doing so, I gave others hope. Alcoholism affects many families in this country. For an MP to stand up and say: “I’m an alcoholic, and I have a problem, and I am dealing with it.”, is something I am proud of. I also want to say that I have been overwhelmed by the messages of support and good wishes. I thank all those who have taken the opportunity to contact me. I wish them and their families all the best.

The Chinese symbol for crisis and opportunity is the same. The crisis I have suffered has given me an opportunity to sort my life out, not by denying my past but by cleaning up the wreckage of the past, making amends, and moving forward. I am indebted to Trevor Grice and the people at the Capri clinic for the help they have given me during a very difficult period of my life. I was going to talk a lot about rehab, but I want to say one thing. It is a bit rich to expect families to deal with rehabilitation on their own. At that time they need a break from their family member, as well.

Now I want to say a few things to my family. They are here today in the gallery. To Jenny, Christopher, and Andrew, you are the most amazing children, you have done so well so early in your lives, and I love you all. To Stuart, who cannot be here today, you are a father-in-law’s dream, mate. I thank you, and I wish you and Jenny all the best for your future. To Margaret, we are still together, Margaret, against all the odds. We got through it, and we are still here, and I love you dearly. To my granddaughter, Lara, who, is in the audience today as well, there will come a time when you will say to me: “Grandad, what was it like to be an MP?”. I want to say, Lara, that it is a privilege, a great pleasure, and a dream come true. I want you to live your dreams, too. Would I encourage my children or my grandchildren to go into politics? You bet I would. It is time to go. There is one good thing about me going. It will be the first time since 1972 that the next member for Invercargill is slightly more than 5 foot 3¼, believe it or not.

Debate interrupted.