Maiden Statements

Ka hari te tangata kāhore nei,

e haere i te whakaaro o te tangata kino, ā,

kāhore e tū i te ara o te hunga hara,

kāhore anō e noho i te nohoanga o te hunga whakahī.

Engari ko te Ture a Ihowā tāna e whakaahuareka ai;

Kei tōna ture ōna whakaaro i te ao, i te pō.

He rite hoki ia ki te rākau i whakatōkia ki te awa wai,

e whai hua nei i te pō e hua ai;

e kore tōna rau e memenge; ā,

ka pono āna mea katoa e me ai ia.

Koinā tōku tino wawata.

[Blessed is the one

who does not walk in step with the wicked

or stand in the way that sinners take

or sit in the company of mockers,

but whose delight is in the law of the Lord,

and who meditates on his law day and night.

That person is like a tree planted by streams of water,

which yields its fruit in season

and whose leaf does not wither—

whatever they do prospers.

That is my greatest dream.]

Ten years ago this January, a seed took root in my heart which has carried me here today. When on that summer’s morning Dr Alistair Reese began his talk titled “The Story of New Zealand”, he—a Pākehā—in beautiful te reo Māori, acknowledged every waka in the room. I’ll never forget the wairua. Waves of peace, of grace, and of unity rolled gently from one side of the hall to the other, and then he told a story of hope. I wept for most of the next three hours.

The seed planted that day grew into a tree that now deeply shapes why I am here. I want to speak to that more, but first, let me tell you a little of my own story. I had the most wonderful childhood—thank you for being here today, Mum and Dad. Raised on a small farm in the Wairarapa, my experience is one of unconditional love and endless opportunity.

At the age of nine, my dad gave me six laying hens and my first sack of wheat. I opened a bank account, back in those days when it was easier to open a bank account than to complete a PhD. By the time I was 13, I had 50 hens and a custom-designed shed, and I was selling several hundred eggs a week around the town. I sold all the cracked ones to my mum at full price; I may have even charged her delivery to the kitchen. As the Good Book says “Raise a child in the way that they should go”—and they might become an ACT MP. Toitū te capitalism!

At age 15, I changed to a different kind of egg and began importing used golf balls from the United States. Mr Nolan, my accounting teacher at Wairarapa College, told me I’d learn more from running my business than I would from his classes, so I used that time to negotiate an import licence with the Department of Internal Affairs. The week before I was to send them a cheque for $25,000, Roger Douglas deregulated the import industry, the golf ball price halved overnight, and I escaped with a free but invaluable education. I switched most of my capital then into Brierley shares, October 1987 soon arrived, and I received a further education—that one wasn’t free.

I knew by then that I would pursue business—not share trading—and I loved creating things and saw opportunities at every corner. So at Victoria University, I pursued accountancy. I also pursued Kirstin Harrison, and after four years, she finally agreed to marry me. We celebrate 30 years this January; in fact, I worked out that while we were getting married, our new Prime Minister was on honeymoon.

We headed to London, where I worked in finance and marketing, and by the time we returned home pregnant, I had a whole range of business ideas ready to pursue. However, just a few weeks in, I took a call from a new charity supporting parents. They needed a business manager, and I told them I’d look out for one. You see, my role was to make the money and give it to charities, or so I thought. However, after three sleepless nights, I drove to Auckland; met the board, chaired by Sir John Graham; and a few weeks later, we set up home in Onehunga. I was to give one year to the charity before returning to my business path, but those 12 months derailed my plans. I experienced the joy of connecting people in need with resources and solutions, and I was hooked.

As the work grew, I found us interacting with local government and central government, and my interest in politics was piqued. In 2001, I thought about running for Parliament, but Sir John and others encouraged me to instead take time to work out what I believed and why I believed it. A group of us started a think tank, and so began the next stage of my formation.

As I wrote this part of this speech, I reflected on who I was back then, and my supreme confidence in my ideas, despite them being untested by the realities of life. I’m so grateful to those friends who steered me. Had I come to this House then, I would have just added to the noise. My mind may have been clear, but my heart was nowhere near ready.

In those early years, I knew what I believed; I just wanted to convince everyone else of my position. But then I encountered people who had different views, and I began to do something very dangerous: I began to listen to them. They invited me into their worlds, and my own began to change. Many of those generous, patient people are here tonight or watching online—I acknowledge and thank you all—and very often, from those changes I found myself creating.

As I mentioned earlier, I had thought my life would be one of creating businesses; instead, it’s been community organisations, and I’ve been involved with many. One of particular impact was in 2010, when I had the privilege of helping start a trust to scale the organic work of a remarkable immigrant couple, Cliffy and Indranee Reddy. The fruit of their efforts with struggling whānau in Manurewa was beyond remarkable, and my 12-year journey with them has deeply shaped my faith in the healing and restoration that is possible in even the most broken contexts. It’s carved in me my responsibility as someone who was given such a healthy relational context to invest my life in helping heal the less fortunate contexts of others.

It’s why I’ve come to this place. I think we all have. In the brief time I’ve been here, I’ve not heard or met anyone who wants anything different. We all yearn for our people, our communities, and our land to thrive; the differences are in how we think those ends are best achieved.

I am a National MP primarily because I’ve observed that Government contributes best to that flourishing when it distributes power to the front line—to iwi, hapū, whānau, community organisations, businesses, local schools, and local providers—for it is on the pae, in the vestry, in the school board meeting, and at kitchen tables that we build a flourishing Aotearoa. Seldom does central government know best, and that belief has—like all my beliefs—been formed and shaped in me through experience. I know firsthand in education, housing, welfare, rehabilitation, and business that it is local solutions in local contexts with local relationships where we foster true human flourishing.

Mana motuhake—it’s not a silver bullet. It has its own complexities and challenges, but it is, I believe, a measurably better approach than that of centralisation.

It’s why I asked Maungakiekie to send me to Parliament—to champion that sector, those platoons of civil society, those thousand points of light that bring life and hope to people’s lives: organisations like Tō Wāhi and the Oranga Community Centre, like the Mount Wellington community network and Connect the Dots, like Elevate Disabilities Trust and the Hearing House in One Tree Hill, like the Ellerslie, Mount Wellington, and Onehunga community patrols, like the Salvation Army Medical Centre in Royal Oak, like the Onehunga and Ellerslie business associations, and like every school and club and family in Maungakiekie. It’s why I’ve come to this place.

But I appreciate that my view of Government is contested. It’s why this House exists as it does—to debate those ideas and beliefs—and I am so grateful to be here and I’m determined to listen well. The first evening here, I returned after the dinner break, ready to write my Christmas cards, but then the speeches began and I never picked up my pen. For 2½ hours, I listened. I listened carefully to Ricardo Menéndez March’s vision of Government—I heard his heart—and I took notes of the points I want to unpack with him over a meal, or several perhaps. When Willow-Jean Prime spoke her full 10 minutes in te reo Māori with no notes at all, I hung off every word, including the many I look forward to debating. I remind myself daily that in every interaction, I am—through my actions, my words and my listening—either humanising someone or dehumanising them. I can enter their world or dismiss their world and discard the person along with it. In choosing to enter their world, I choose the space where tolerance lives. And tolerance is neither weakness nor agreement. It is strength; it is grace. It is recognising the humanity of the other and the importance of them being able to express their view—even though I might deeply disagree with it. And I can always learn. Because sometimes, in the fullness of life, it turns out that it was I who was wrong.

A few months after I heard that “Story of New Zealand”, I began a new leadership role and invited an old friend, Te Waka McLeod, to join me. She was relishing being back home in Taranaki, as there, in both her family and work context, she could at last be fully Māori. “What if we changed this new work environment to be like that?”, I asked. In a moment of reckless vision she agreed to move back north, and together we and others began a journey that has shaped me more than I can describe. It began simply with karakia and mihi and waiata. Then we had a staff retreat at Umupuia Marae. Next, we stayed at Te Tī in Waitangi. We formed a partnership with Te Wānanga o Aotearoa so all our staff could learn te reo during work time.

We were generously invited into a haerenga, a journey, into te ao Māori and its language, and for me that journey has never ended—and it never will. Every day I am shaped by the life and resonance of this taonga tuku iho nō ngā tīpuna [treasure that has been left to us by our predecessors] and when I hear it my spirit quickens. Kōrerotia te reo i ngā wā katoa [speak it all times]. When I hear it in this House, I’m on the edge of my seat. Te mutunga kē mai o te reka! [Incredibly beautiful!] I am only at the beginning of my journey, and I thank fluent speakers for their patience with me—whakatikaia mai. Tēnā, ko tōku tino oati ki a koutou, ko te whai i te reo rangatira, me te tautoko i te pūāwaitanga o te reo me ōna tikanga.

[Correct me. My greatest pledge to you is the pursuit of this noble language, to support the flourishing of the language and its conventions.]

For the past two years I’ve worked with friends to establish a tertiary language immersion school. Te Wānanga Ihorangi welcomes its first 40 students this February, and my son Toby will be one of them. My grandchildren will be bilingual.

This haerenga has shaped my faith. It wasn’t long before I found myself yearning to worship in te reo Māori and so Te Ana Tapu—Holy Sepulchre—soon became my home. I am Mihinare and it is an honour to have here tonight many of my friends from Te Ana Tapu, including my bishop, Te Kitohi Pikaahu. Now each morning I read Te Paipera Tapu [The Holy Bible]. I pray in te reo o te whenua nei. And when I think of and hear Ihu Karaiti: he kōrero Māori ia. He mataora tōna. [Jesus Christ: he speaks Māori. He has a facial moko].

A friend said to me several years ago, “Greg, we will be one when you can walk as easily in my world as I can in yours.” That invitation beckons me every day. That’s why I will never stop learning, and never stop listening.

When I dream of 6 February 2040, I dare to imagine, I dare to hope, I dare to believe that on that day, by the shores of Waitangi, we will not weep tears of lament, but tears of joy. That we will celebrate. That we will walk easily in both worlds. That we will be one.

So I come to this House in trepidation. With my heart thus shaped, how will I operate within a place of battle, where opinions are weapons—six seconds or 100 characters in length, and the stumbles of others are the trophies of each day’s fight. I know this world will change me, for every world does. It’s why I’ve hesitated for so long. Can I remain faithful to the vision and dreams so deeply seeded and shaped within?

That’s why I conclude by acknowledging those who have shaped me most. Kirstin, our five remarkable children—Harry, Annabel, Willis, Tobs, and Jed, my big, wonderful family—in-laws and out-laws, my friends at Oati, Hepara, Maxim, Aspiring Leaders, Te Ana Tapu, Venn, Te Whakaora Tangata, Parenting Place, and Affirming Works—please stay close. Hold me accountable.

To my campaign team, volunteers, supporters, and party colleagues. To all those who have through your generosity and grace made it possible for me to pursue this position of service, I am blessed beyond measure; I am grateful beyond words—e kore e ea i te kupu āku mihi ki a koutou [my gratitude to you all cannot be satisfactorily expressed by words].

Finally, I return to my maker. To the one from whom all blessings flow and from whom no secrets are hidden. You know the desires of my heart, you know my weaknesses, and you know my strengths for you formed them within me. My greatest desire is to serve you faithfully. Ko te wāhi ki ahau, he whai i te pūāwaitanga o ngā tangata katoa, ngā hapori katoa me ngā whānau katoa.

[My role is to pursue the flourishing of all people, all communities, and all families.]

I will, with every breath, mā te whanuitanga o tō aroha noa [by the breadth of your unconditional love], pursue the flourishing of this land and of its peoples.

E te Atua, arahina mai, tiakina mai, arohaina mai. Kia ora.

[O God, lead us, protect us, love us. Kia ora.]

Waiata

E ngā mana, e ngā reo, e ngā rangatira, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, kua huihui mai nei. Tēnā koutou katoa. To all the different people and cultures, to all distinguished persons, to everyone gathered here, I greet you all. Thank you, Mr Speaker, and congratulations. In three short weeks, you’ve demonstrated the institutional knowledge, good grace, fairness, and humour you bring to this esteemed office. Prime Minister Luxon and the Hon Nicola Willis, I am grateful for your relentless focus and leadership and your confidence in appointing me junior whip. To National Party President Sylvia Wood, thank you and your team for an invigorating campaign and your unwavering support. To the people of the mighty Rangitīkei electorate, it is an honour and a privilege to be your MP.

I’ve been to Parliament many times, as a student drawn by the antics of question time’s lively debate and as a Parliamentary Service employee—you’d think I’d know where the car park was. But I must say it is different now. I feel the trust placed in me, the weight of expectation, and a commitment and a determination to serve, to be Rangitīkei’s strongest advocate and a voice for rural and provincial New Zealand, for all of our diverse communities and interests. Rangitīkei represents quintessential heartland; rural and provincial New Zealand at its best. It’s where community is not just a word; it’s who we are, it’s how we are.

It’s great to be here. I couldn’t have done it alone, and I didn’t. I pay tribute to our members, in particular our electorate executive, boldly led by Shelley Dew-Hopkins; to our caucus club; campaign donors; cottage meeting hosts; and our team of volunteers. To my campaign team, especially the newbies who lowered the average age by about 20 years: Louise Mason, Jack Monkton, Patrick Coogan, Finn McDonald, and Isaac Grant—and thank you for being here. The Ohakune crew: Bruce and Steph Rollinson and Nikki Riley. And the matriarchs: Elaine, Sue, Di, Marguerite, Claire, Marion, and my fabulous mother-in-law, Gaylyn. You all are the beating heart of every election campaign, and I’m truly grateful.

I was born and raised in Wellington. I grew up in a close and caring family, with parents who recognised the values of integrity, generosity of spirit, education, and a strong work ethic, where we were reminded that good manners don’t cost a thing. My mum, born Robin Cuddon, and my dad, Michael Dossor, came from Marlborough. By sheer luck, Dad grew up on a farm in Rapaura. His dad, Robert, left York in his early 20s. He planned to be a mounted policeman in Canada. His best friend wanted to go to New Zealand to be a farmer. They flipped a coin, and here I am. Mum was a hostess with the National Airways Corporation—fabulous and elegant still, Mum. Thank you for everything you do and everything you are. I love you. Dad enjoyed a 50-year career with Turners and Growers—the banana man. He was proud of the fact that on his watch, New Zealanders ate more bananas per capita than any other country in the world. A marketer and a great communicator, Dad got on with everyone.

We moved to Samoa for a couple of years. I went to kindy there. My brother Mark was a novelty with his blonde locks. Emma, my sister, was born in Apia. This ingrained in our family a love and affinity for the islands, which is still celebrated. My youngest sister, Rach, arrived when we moved back to Paremata, when the topic of conversation was the merits or not of Transmission Gully, at an eye-watering $2 million—if only. After graduating from Otago University, I worked at ACC. This would prove a defining experience for me, the power of public service to make a material difference in the lives of others.

Mum and Dad inspired us to travel, and I’m grateful they encouraged me to go and see the world in order to better understand my place in it. In 1991, I left Napier on a Lauritzen reefer bound for Antwerp with my friend Kath Grieve—28 days on a ship, we touched land once to refuel before going through the Panama Canal. It was the start of a six-year adventure spanning a myriad of jobs and three continents, on a shoestring with a backpack. I loved it.

I landed back in New Zealand, and before I knew it I was married to my best friend Rich and living at Tunnel Hill, a sheep and beef and forestry and maize farm in Turakina. Three children in 3½ years was brutal but brilliant. Sam, Ruby, and Sophie are now in their early 20s and making their own way in the world.

In 39 years, Rangitīkei has been served by three National MPs. I’ve had the privilege of knowing each of them, and I’ve worked with two. Hon Denis Marshall, former Minister of Conservation, continues to this day to be a conservation pioneer through his New Zealand Nature Fund. Hon Simon Power was a great mentor and astute strategic political mind. Asked when he retired what he thought was the greatest quality required of an MP, he said, “Empathy.”—I agree. Ian McKelvie reinforced my belief that above all, politics is about service. It’s about being part of the communities you represent. I’ll be for ever grateful for his selfless commitment to helping others be the best version of themselves—and I won’t forget what it looks like either. Together, Ian and Sue are a formidable team. May I also claim the Hon Tama Potaka—tangata pekapeka, the Batman, the second Minister of Conservation to come from Rangitīkei. His wings grew strong and his senses were finely tuned during his formative years in Rata.

Working in the electorate office for 20 years has given me unique insight into the social, environmental, and economic fabric of our region. I’ve walked many miles in others’ shoes. I’m genuinely motivated by helping people, and, stripped back, I believe that’s the fundamental role of an electorate MP. I’m well aware the staff in these offices play a critical role. To my outstanding colleagues over the years: Norma Humphries, Peter Bamber, Christine Nagel, and Jane Cameron—and, of course, Bernadette, Leanne, Kay, and Ainslie, who’ve agreed to stick with me. I’m grateful for your determination to find solutions and make a difference for the people who seek help.

The mighty Rangitīkei electorate covers the area of 12,500 square kilometres, from Taumarunui in the north, to Shannon in the south. The Whangaehu River forms our western boundary to include Rātana and my home town of Turakina. We skirt the edge of Palmerston North, to take in Massey University and the IPU technical institute, Summerhill, and Aokautere. The Rangitīkei River carves its way from the headwaters of the Kaimanawa Ranges south to the Tasman Sea, and gives us our name. It translates: the day to take great strides. Well, here we are.

Feilding is our biggest town, with a population of almost 18,000, followed by Marton, Taumarunui, Ashhurst, Taihape, Ohakune, National Park, Sanson, Hunterville, and Santoft. We have five great mayors serving across our communities. We have no traffic lights, but we love a good roundabout!

Feilding High School has produced nine All Blacks—three players in the team which played in this year’s Rugby World Cup final were old boys. Sport crosses cultures and backgrounds here, and is the glue that binds many of our isolated individuals and communities together.

We are the centre of gravity for the New Zealand Defence Force, with the greatest military presence of any region, including Ōhakea, Waiōuru, and Linton.

We share Mount Ruapehu with my friend the Hon Louise Upston’s Taupō electorate. Our maunga is a key player in the abundance of tourism opportunities that our region has to offer.

We are exceptional food and fibre producers in the Rangitīkei. We grow it all: beef, lamb, dairy products, fruit, vegetables, and wool—for New Zealanders and the world. We have a rich diversity of cultures. Many who first arrived as seasonal workers across these industries now proudly call Rangitīkei home; their contributions enrich our communities.

Rich and I launched our paddock to plate business, Coastal Lamb, in 2010, with Rangitīkei at its heart. We did it with the support of many local and national businesses and our farming partners, some of whom are here today—Pat and Catherine O’Neill and Hugh Lilburn, hi. The business was built and has grown because of relationships. We’ve travelled around New Zealand and the world telling the story of our lamb, and hosted our in-market partners and some of the world’s best chefs at Tunnel Hill. We’re all connected and they’re all very much a part of our business and our story.

Innovation flows in many forms in Rangitīkei—87 percent of all the petrol pumps in New Zealand, and 30 percent of those in Australia, are designed and manufactured in Marton. We have entrepreneurs revitalising the wool industry, exploring alternative land-use, and developing alternative fuels.

This city girl found herself in the country, and so it was Rangitīkei that would eventually bring me back to Wellington and to Parliament, with a proud resolve to celebrate who we are and what we have, and equally to be a voice for what needs fixing. Our role is not just lawmakers and regulators; we need to provide vision. It’s our job to inspire; Government can lead change.

Sustainable farming is not an oxymoron; it’s what most farmers—and all good farmers—do. We can’t make a living from the land without kaitiakitanga, without caring for the land and the soil, embracing biodiversity. We need a regulatory framework that’s built from the bottom up. Our catchment groups are doing a great job; let’s use them to drive water reforms. Let’s keep it local. Our farmers need to be empowered. New Zealand’s economic recovery starts in rural New Zealand.

Social investment provides early intervention and unlocks potential, and using the knowledge and experience of local organisations, like Manchester House in Feilding, and Mōkai Pātea in Taihape, will be the key to our success.

We have 78 schools, with rolls ranging from seven to over 1,500. We need an education system that’s aspirational. Education is the path to a job and a key to breaking the cycle of dependency. As a country, we’re failing our most vulnerable. But we’re also failing our kids in the middle and those at the top. They all deserve better. Thank you, Erica Stanford, for leading the way.

Technology has changed the world we live in, but its benefits are not shared equally. Our phone network and internet coverage in Rangitīkei is embarrassing. You’ll soon be able to enjoy uninterrupted broadband service flying on a plane with Air New Zealand, but you can’t drive more than 10 kilometres in Rangitīkei without dropping out of service.

Feilding, a town of 18,000 people no longer has a 24-hour police service, and the boy racers, amongst others, exploit it. Our community, our businesses, and our wellbeing wears it.

I will work hard to ensure that our businesses and farms grow and that our towns and communities and way of life can thrive. I will work hard to ensure no one is left behind and that those who need it get a hand up. I will champion local issues and I’ll help solve local problems.

To my family, you will always come first. Sam, currently working on a farm in Wales and who is eager to one day take the rein of Tunnel Hill, a farmer from day dot. Ruby, my wise and insightful daughter, a lawyer and banker with Rabobank, so proud of her rural roots. Sophie, fiercely competitive and driven, a salesperson since she could talk and who is now territory sales manager for Coca-Cola. I love you all and I’m proud to be your mum.

Rich, your focus, energy, and drive is inspirational. I couldn’t have done this without you. Thanks for luring the townie 200 kilometres up the road and showing her what the best of New Zealand looks like. I love you.

To those who are no longer here—Rich’s dad, Will, and to my dad, who would have so loved this ride; I promise you’re right here, Dad.

It’s clear I’ve seen and been part of the genuine sense of community that comes from living in rural and provincial New Zealand. Rangitīkei’s been my home for 26 years. It’s my tūrangawaewae. I found a real sense of purpose in rural New Zealand, where it’s about we, not me; our people are modest and humble—in Rangitīkei, show ponies wear a saddle; where the core National Party values of strong families, caring communities, and hard work are part of our daily life. I want Rangitīkei to be seen and heard. I want Rangitīkei to be proud—proud of the strength of our towns and communities, the diversity of talent, the pockets of excellence, the hearts of gold, the rich diversity of our social fabric.

“Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.” Arthur Ashe’s words speak of Rangitīkei, where we roll up our sleeves and get on with the job. That is what I will do: get on with the job of serving the mighty Rangitīkei and all who call our fantastic part of the world home.

It is a great honour to stand here, in the Parliament of New Zealand, and speak as a representative of Ilam and my community. May I begin by acknowledging you, Mr Speaker, and the years of service that you have given the Ilam electorate. You ably represented Ilam for over 20 years—nearly a quarter of a century. And I’m sure, Mr Speaker, you will agree with me, in an unbiased way, that Ilam is the best electorate in the country.

SPEAKER: No doubt about that.

Dr HAMISH CAMPBELL: Yeah, good. I will endeavour to serve it well, but I do acknowledge I have a lot of growing to do to get to your stature. Apart from you and I, Mr Speaker—

SPEAKER: That was a very career limiting sort of comment.

Dr HAMISH CAMPBELL: —there’ve been a number of notable people that have come from the Ilam electorate and spent their formative years there, including the former Prime Minister Sir John Key and, of course, the current Prime Minister, the Rt Hon Christopher Luxon. I think there must be something in the waters of the Avon River, that start there and run through the electorate.

Speaking of you, Mr Prime Minister—I’ll be a little bit gentler—I’d like to acknowledge and congratulate you on leading the National party to one of the largest turn-arounds that this country has ever seen. Congratulations. You led ably, and you’ll continue to lead our country to prosperity.

I’d like to acknowledge those that have assisted you, Mr Prime Minister, just in front of me, here: Nicola Willis, Chris Bishop, and the rest of the front bench, and of course, our president Sylvia Wood.

To the people of Ilam, thank you. Thank you for your trust and belief in me. I am here to deliver for you and to represent you to the best of my ability. I want to be an MP that’s consistently present in the electorate and part of the community—I was, during the campaign, and have been and will be, since the election.

I’d especially like to thank the National Party members of the Ilam electorate that first selected me as a candidate, and then helped me through the campaign. A true, heartfelt thank you to Ryan, Robyn, Murray, Chantel, Vivian, Ethan, Bryant, and Peter—just to name a few. But I’d also like to thank their partners for allowing them to spend so much time with me during the campaign.

To my current class of 2023, your maiden speeches have been outstanding. Couldn’t at least one of you screw-up to make me look a little better?

But, above all, I’d like to thank my family and friends for the support they have given me throughout my life. In particular, for the last 19.9 years, my wife, Carol, who’s sitting in the gallery. You have stood by me as I not only chose to enter into politics but also previously, when I made the choice to work as a scientist—not for industry but for charities and not-for-profit organisations. You shared my vision of making a difference in people’s lives. I’ve been very blessed to have such a supportive wife. You are my rock. You are my guide. You are an amazing person. Thank you for your sacrifices.

To my two young daughters up there, I love you dearly. I apologise in advance; I apologise for being away from home and missing dates and events that are important to you. I apologise for the hostilities you may face in the playground because of me. I apologise for the attacks that will come on social media—and possibly from the media. But may you look back in later years and know I was away from home in an effort to make the world a better and fairer place—not just for you but for all Kiwi kids. And as the American writer Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “to know even one life breathed easier because you lived, this is to have succeeded.” I hope you look back and know that I succeeded.

To my parents, who never sought the limelight, I think you probably cringed when I entered politics, but I’m very grateful for your support and understanding of my motivations.

To my mother, the sands of time are now taking their toll, but happy 82nd birthday for today. Happy birthday, mum. You grew up in a very conservative part of rural Canterbury but had the drive and ambition to overcome the prevailing social pressures and norms of the time, and to go to university. It was a time when it was not common to go to university—far less so for a female. You not only did that but you entered the male-dominated field of chemistry. From where I’m sitting today, I will never truly understand the battle you faced to get there and to be accepted and to achieve what you did. You did it not to seek attention, not to upturn everything, but to improve what was there. You did it because it was the right thing to do. You became a science and maths teacher. You loved teaching. You took your education, and you shared it. You knew education opened up the minds and was the key to an interesting and independent life, and a way to improve one’s lot.

I think of my father losing his father when he was just a young boy, in what was, essentially, an industrial accident, leaving six children—from 15 down to four years old—fatherless. It’s events like this that highlight the importance of a societal safety net. My grandmother raised six children, one with a severe chronic illness, in a two-bedroom State house. Despite those challenges, she did have the foresight to ensure that all of her children took a trade. University wasn’t even a faint possibility. I doubt, at that time, anybody living in that State house would imagine one of their immediate descendants would be ending up sitting in Parliament.

My father left school as soon as he legally could, at the age of 15, to support the rest of his family. He later, working full-time, went to night school to try and educate himself. He ended up with his own business that he grew and later sold to a large international company. Retiring freed him up to follow his interests as a pragmatic environmentalist by converting a derelict apple orchard into one of the first, early, certified-organic export orchards, and proving that an apple a day keeps the doctor away. Despite being in his 80s, he works every day.

To my two brothers who have travelled thousands of kilometres to be here today, thank you for your support. You have taught me a lot over the years. I credit you for teaching me to eat very fast. With two older brothers you learn to eat quickly or go hungry, but that has proven a very useful skill, here in Parliament.

My life story is a simple one. I don’t come from a family of famous, wealthy people. My whakapapa doesn’t trace back to anyone notable. But it does track back to a group of humble people that have just gone about their day-to-day lives below the radar. They’ve worked hard to provide for their families. But I don’t look back with rose-tinted glasses. They weren’t perfect, and neither am I. But, then again, I don’t think anybody is.

My family have worked and worried, loved and lost loved ones, they’ve had their ups and downs, but I think it’s dodgy to take credit for notable ancestors, because that would mean I’d need to take responsibility for those not so good.

I was born and raised in the Ilam electorate. And those who are asking the most important Christchurch question—

Hon Members: Ha, ha!

Dr HAMISH CAMPBELL: —I attended Avonhead Primary School, and then on to Christchurch Boys’ High School—I think there’s a few people from Christchurch here.

Following a fine education received from many great teachers, I then moved down to Dunedin, where I completed a PhD in cancer and viruses. I wrote about coronaviruses long before they were commonplace in the public lexicon. I say that not to blow my own trumpet but to highlight the knowledge that we have in our research organisations, up and down this country. It’s often knowledge that we pull upon in times of dark distress.

Following my PhD, I had the privilege of working at the Children’s Medical Research Institute in Sydney, where I worked as a fundamental scientist, trying to understand the molecular drivers of cancer—or, in other words, how cancers form. This led me to immunology in autoimmune disease. I eventually became the deputy head of research for an organisation focused on multiple sclerosis. Multiple sclerosis and other immunological conditions are on the rise in our society. In these roles, I met people and families going through tough times facing diseases that they never thought they would need to face. To them, I would say: I have brought your memories and your stories to this place. You are one of the main reasons why I am here.

Two weeks ago, I had the privilege to attend the NZ science awards, celebrating some of New Zealand’s finest scientists working on things such as microplastics, environmental resilience, and seismic science. We have some amazing scientists here in New Zealand. I just do want to acknowledge the overall winner on that night: Dr Stephen Goldson, whose work on combatting agricultural pests saves New Zealand between $300 million and $500 million annually. His work makes this country more productive. I mention productivity because it’s so important. Producing more but using less: this makes environmental and economic sense; it is climate action in action. We need more scientists like Dr Goldson and the platoon of white lab coats that are silently driving our country forward.

The reason why science is so important is that our young people—along with the rest of us—are passionate about saving the planet, improving the environment, and finding cures for life-threatening diseases. All these problems can be solved by science. We need to encourage more school children and university students to become engineers and scientists to make sure we have the breakthroughs that we so desperately want. But to do that, we need to ensure that we educate them properly. They need to understand the fundamentals of reading, writing, and arithmetic before they can reach their dreams and aspirations.

It’s also about instilling resilience. As the famous Roman Stoics wrote—or a translation of what they wrote—“the obstacle is the way.” We need to teach our children to see opportunities and to focus on overcoming. Edison took thousands of attempts to develop a lightbulb; James Dyson over 5,000 prototypes to get to his famous vacuum cleaner. As James Dyson says, “We should be encouraging the young to become doers rather than virtue signallers, to help them strive to solve the problems of our age while looking forward to a better future.”

It would be a pity to educate our children only to be able to virtue signal and not be able to do anything about it. That would create anxiety. We need action, not activism. It has become very easy take offence at someone who may believe something different to ourselves, whether it be on climate change, vaccine science, race, or culture. We have come to think it’s our right to take offence, and if you disagree, you’re not just wrong but amoral.

We should not place a high value on our outrage. We seem to think it gives us the moral high ground, failing to appreciate that our moral outrage belittles us; it belittles our society; it drives division and only creates further outrage. We need to reach out, be neighbours, sharing in our identities as Kiwis, not as fellow members of a race, religion, or creed. Only then will we address some of the most pressing issues facing our country and the divisions which seem to be growing.

I recently read some words of a notable New Zealand anthropologist, Dame Anne Salmond. She said, “There are people in the middle ground who want things to be successful, tranquil, productive, creative. I would say most Kiwis are in that frame, but that’s getting splintered and it feels dangerous.” I think those are very accurate and sombre words. We all live on these clusters of islands in the middle of the South Pacific—we had no choice who we were born, or what we were born. We only have one shot at this life, and we need to ensure everyone can play their cards to the best of their abilities.

Now, I do just want to finally go back to the mighty Ilam electorate. It’s located on the western part of Christchurch, stretching out into the countryside. It’s home to the Christchurch International Airport; the University of Canterbury. Ilam is vibrant, it’s full of university students with a zest for life—I just wish some of those living next door to me would just have a little bit less zest for life in the wee hours of the morning. But it is exciting to see the enthusiasm and the optimism they have for life.

It is an amazing place, full of amazing people. A place where 31 percent of those people that live there were not born in New Zealand but have chosen to make New Zealand their home. They chose New Zealand because it’s an amazing place in which to live. This is because we have a stable secular democracy and where the rule of law is applied to all. And this is something that we should protect and cherish. Are we always going to get it right? No. Are we going to please everyone? No. More personally, am I always going to get it right? No. But at the soul of the matter, I firmly believe that everyone deserves a fair shot at life, and that is why I am here.

Just in view of the fact that there’s only about four minutes to go until the dinner break, I just move that we lift a few minutes early and resume at 7.30 p.m.

SPEAKER: Leave is sought. All those in favour? OK. No objections. The House is suspended until 7.30 p.m.

Sitting suspended from 5.56 p.m. to 7.30 p.m.