Address in Reply

I’m absolutely delighted to speak in this Address in Reply debate and—I can say—for the first time as a member of the Government. I would actually like to start my address here today by congratulating you on your re-election as Speaker. It’s something that many others have done in this debate so far and I wanted to have my opportunity as well.

New Zealanders voted for stability and certainty in this last election. It was a fantastic campaign. I enjoyed going throughout the electorate that I live in and work in and hearing about what impacts upon our voters within that electorate. And certainly I got the sense that New Zealanders felt really stable, felt really strong, and, really, lots of comfort in the work that we are delivering as a Government. They said a lot to me during that campaign, but what I got a lot right throughout it is “We believe in you and we trust you.” So I’m really humbled to join my team on this side of the House to be part of the first majority Government under MMP in New Zealand.

But we know that we do not take this lightly. It is a huge responsibility. As overseas the global pandemic is raging, we continue to see the health and economic outlook worsen. So we have priorities as a Government—first and foremost our priority is to keep New Zealanders safe from COVID-19. It is a huge responsibility but it is something that I heard time and time and time again during the election campaign, “Please keep us safe. We like what’s happened so far. We trust you and we believe in you.”

We also have a priority of accelerating our economic recovery—again, because of the trust that New Zealanders have seen and put in us. Time and time again I heard, “We trust you with the economic recovery.” Actually, some of the times throughout the campaign, I heard this coming from quarters that I hadn’t heard it in the past. I heard it from people that I have engaged with widely in the past, but not necessarily have they ever said, “We put our trust in your economic abilities to take us through this campaign.”, but I did hear it a lot during the campaign. I was really heartened to hear that from people from our chambers, from our business community, from—much through the wider public, as I said, that I’d hadn’t heard it from in the past.

And the third area that we are focusing on as a Government is to lay the foundations for a better future. Again, during that campaign, I heard people say, “We need to take the opportunity. We have a window of opportunity to actually make things better for New Zealand.” And time and time again, I heard from people, “We need to jump through that window. Let’s not let it close before we actually take that leap.” Now, again, I’d have to say that I heard from people in the campaign saying, “Take that opportunity.” that I hadn’t necessarily heard from in those terms before, people that I hadn’t heard from—people in the business community, my local business community, people and our chambers saying to me, “You know, we really do need to think outside the square to tackle those things that are rife in New Zealand like child poverty.”

So I want to cycle back to the start, with looking at keeping New Zealand safe. As I said, this is something that New Zealanders have actually seen us achieve and they want to see it continue and continue and continue. Time and again, I heard “We’re fully aware of what is happening overseas. We don’t ever want to see that happen in this country. We appreciate what has happened here in New Zealand.” We know that no system is perfect; we’ve seen that. We know that this is a tricky virus; we’ve heard that. We’ve seen that this virus takes us by surprise all the time, because that’s exactly what it is; it’s a virus. But we know that we will be evidence based in everything that we do. We will continue to improve our systems of keeping us safe at the border.

We will learn from that evidence and we will put those lessons in place. As we learn about the virus and as new technologies are developed, we will actually implement those lessons and we will learn from what is happening around the world. We are in a position that we can take the evidence of what is happening and actually use that to ensure that those terrible events that we are seeing on a day-to-day basis don’t happen in this country.

Now, the second point that I talked about was our economic recovery, and as the Minister for Women I want to use this part of my reply to focus specifically on women and the recovery. Now, this Government will continue to take action to support a strong economic recovery and get people back into work. But we’ve seen in the past, in times like the global financial crisis and the Canterbury earthquakes, that women have been negatively impacted by those economic shocks. Now, we need to ensure, and learn from those lessons, that we can mitigate that for women in this labour market shock. So we’re looking at the COVID recovery in terms of what it means for women.

I have heard it said to me that maybe some of the things that we’ve been focusing on have been a little bit male-centric. However, I challenge that—I challenge that. We are putting women at the heart of what we do and ensuring that they have the equal opportunities to participate in the recovery as males do. We are ensuring that women are having equal opportunities to enter into our vocational education and training. Indeed, our campaign around that has focused on upping the number of female apprentices who take up that opportunity, and we have seen this go over double.

Now, there is way more work to do in that area. But there’s also a conversation that I want to have as a country around the fact that if women are a little bit hesitant about going into those areas—why is that? What is the culture of those vocational opportunities that needs to change to make it a safe place and a desirable place for woman to go into? We need to ensure that we are setting up conditions for women to ensure that they are protected from any future labour market shocks. It’s not good enough to say that in history this has happened and it’s going to happen again. We know there will be future labour market shocks. Let’s ensure women aren’t the most vulnerable next time around.

So the Government launched a $320 million free Targeted Training and Apprenticeship Fund, which makes all apprenticeships as well as certificates, diplomas, and programmes in targeted industries free for New Zealanders of all ages from the 1 July 2020. What has that meant for women? We’ve seen that 14,000 new apprentices have started in their apprenticeship nationwide. And of those apprenticeships, we have seen that women—over 1,800 as opposed to about 700 this time last year—have taken up those new apprenticeships. So we are moving in the right direction, but with way more to go. As I said, we are laying the foundations for a better future and we have the opportunity right now to build back better. Tackling New Zealand’s long-term issues as part of this recovery has to be a major focus of what we do. We need to think outside the square.

I want to spend the last minute of my Address in Reply speech here, talking about something that I am absolutely passionate about, and that’s child poverty. We need to continue that welfare system overhaul. But the one area that I really want to talk about and that I’m really proud about is the extension of the free lunches. Not only does this make the biggest difference to young people and their learning—and I have seen that happen firsthand—it is creating jobs for their families, for the people in their communities. It’s giving them mana. It’s giving them hope. I have had people come to me with tears in their eyes saying they have got a job at their young people’s school for the first time, and they have that mana.

We won’t solve these problems overnight, but we are a Government for all New Zealand and we will keep moving. Thank you.

I call Chris Baillie for his maiden speech.

Thank you, Mr Speaker. I rise to speak as a proud ACT MP residing in the beautiful city of Nelson. We develop our political affiliations as a result of our experiences in life. Our work, our interests, our friends, and our family all contribute to the views we have of the world and the way we think things should go. I’m sure we all want the same things—or similar things—it’s just how we get there that’s different.

I’ve always been interested in politics. I vividly remember meeting member of Parliament and Speaker Stan Whitehead when I was 10 years old. A towering figure with a booming voice; the impression he left on me was huge. A few years later, I was introduced to Prime Minister Sir Bill Rowling. You could tell he was just a lovely man and, dare I say it, kind. They were very different men, but both commanded a great deal of mana. My being here makes the memories of these encounters even more special. But I’m sure, like my father, they would have been much happier if I was sitting on the opposite side of the House.

A marine engineer, my father was very persuasive and a staunch unionist. But as a 12-year-old, I began questioning his judgment when he supported marine engineers on the Cook Strait ferries going on strike over one school holiday period because their beds weren’t being made. That just didn’t seem reasonable to me. But ironically, my father gave me what I believe is the greatest thing a parent can give to a child: a work ethic. Some people might say love is number one, but I’ve always thought that if you have to say you love your child, then something’s not right. Surely that’s just a gimmie. A good work ethic prepares you for life, develops personal responsibility, a sense of community, empathy, resilience, and an understanding that money doesn’t, in fact, grow on trees. As a child and teenager, I mowed lawns, poured petrol at the garage, babysat, and sold pine cones. I paid for everything I got, bought a car when I was 15, saved to put myself through university and to buy a house soon after. I didn’t expect—and didn’t get—anything handed to me on a plate.

My mum’s love was unconditional so my parents were a good match, and I had a great childhood. Mum passed away 12 years ago, aged 67, and I know she would love to be here now. I’m proud of my family, proud of my heritage, and I’m proud of my ancestry. My forebears were good, honest, caring, hard-working people. On my father’s side, well documented since 1840. Mum’s side is a bit more complicated, and I could be anything.

New Zealand’s history isn’t perfect, but we must be mindful that when looking at it with the benefit of hindsight through a 2020 lens to always have 20/20 vision. I’m proud to be part of a party that embraces diversity and unity and encourages and believes in success for everyone.

I’d love to be here talking about my 30-year rugby-playing career or my lifetime career as a musician, but Pōneke Thirds and Stokes Senior Bs don’t quite cut it, and I’ll keep practising my trumpet in the hope that one day I’ll improve. Instead, I’ll touch on a couple of topics that I know a little bit about.

The great boxer Muhammad Ali once said, “He who is not courageous enough to take risks will accomplish nothing in life.” This is true in many aspects of life, but none more so than owning a business today. It takes courage to often put everything on the line: house, family relationships, job security; all to employ staff, work hard, and try and get ahead in life. Small businesses are the engine room of our economy and can’t be taken for granted, and they carry disproportionate risk. The risk of employing people, giving people a chance, but paying the price if they aren’t up to the job. The risk of the biased personal grievance process being abused and mediated unfairly—lawyers do very well, and it’s cheaper for businesses to just pay the often unjustified demands. The risk of increased compliance, leave, and taxes being heaped upon them because of the misguided view that businesses can afford it. I’m no health nut, but I’ve had one sick day in the last 10 years. The current environment actually discourages employment.

We must not fall into the lazy thinking that if people are paid lots, they’ll work hard. People should be paid lots if they work hard, and that’s just common sense. I recently offered to split any profit I made with my employees. The only catch was that they would be OK to split the losses as well, including the loan I had to take out during lockdown in order to pay rent, rates, and other fixed costs businesses had to pay so their employees would have a job to come back to after they were well looked after by the Government. They declined my offer. The assumption that businesses can just keep on absorbing extra costs is naive and unrealistic. Productivity must increase at least at the same rate, and this can’t be ignored when striving for better conditions and more money for employees. It is time to end the ideological dogma that business owners are somehow the enemy. US President Thomas Jefferson once said, “I find that the harder I work, the more luck I seem to have.” Jobs build self-esteem, self-reliance, and purpose. We must stop the tailspin of welfare dependency and that sense of sitting outside the community that flows from it.

The effects of this disconnect are none more obvious than in many aspects of police work in New Zealand. The rise in antisocial behaviour, the appalling domestic violence statistics, and the increase in drug use are all blights on this wonderful country. The meteoric rise in mental health associated offences highlights a failure that must be addressed. I have attended tragic incidents involving young women, old men, and all those in between where the pressure of life has got too much. It is unfair and wrong to expect police to bear the brunt of accountability as a result of failures in other departments and entrenched social issues. I learnt a lot during my time in the New Zealand Police. It’s a hugely rewarding job, and I have enormous respect for front-line officers. I learnt that things aren’t always as they seem.

When working in a team policing unit in Wellington, we attended a large protest right here outside Parliament. Hundreds of angry people wanting to get up the steps and through the doors—maybe just to watch question time, but I’m not sure about that. The front line of protesters were organised. On command, they would all lift the steel barriers and move them gradually forward towards the steps. Six times they were told by a sergeant with a very loud voice helped by a loudhailer to not touch the barriers or swift action would be taken. The front-page photo in the Dominion Post the next day was of a distraught young woman holding a broken finger and an article on police violence. I learnt about the influence a member of Parliament can have when, a few months later, during another protest, I watched an Opposition education spokesperson stir up a large group of angry students into a frenzy. This resulted in an attempt to smash the doors of Treasury to gain entry. I thought then that he was very irresponsible. He went back to his cosy office, and, once again, police were portrayed unfairly in the inevitable aftermath.

Police are the engine room for upholding law and order, but yet again, there is an attitude and an environment that makes it hard for them to do their job. Yet again, they are too often taken for granted. Sir Robert Peel was the founder of modern policing back in 1829. One of the core principles he established is, and I quote, “The key to preventing crime is earning public support. Every community member must share the responsibility of preventing crime as if they were all volunteer members of the force. They will only accept this responsibility if the community supports and trusts the police.” Putting police in unwanted situations because of political agendas and ideologies has seriously compromised this trust, epitomised by the recent firearms legislation debacle. Increasing violent offences against police and burgeoning gang crime is a very concerning problem that needs to be addressed. The inevitable criticism police receive every time a young person does something stupid and illegal is very unhelpful—criticism that is often given by people in positions of power or those who hide behind keyboard anonymity. Support for police is essential, and not just with empty rhetoric.

But ultimately we need to address the underlying social issues, and this starts with looking after our kids. The good news is that kids haven’t changed. They are the same awesome, impressionable know-alls as they were 10, 20, 50 years ago. As the Greek philosopher Hesiod said in the 8th century B.C., “I see no hope for the future of our people if they are dependent on frivolous youth of today, for certainly all youth are reckless beyond words”. The pressures young people have today are different to other generations, but they’re no more challenging. What has changed is the way we bring them up, the way we educate them, and the way we allow them to grow and develop into good, independent, contributing members of society. Teaching is a wonderful career, and there are some great people teaching our kids, but we need to constantly evaluate content and outcomes to ensure our young people are prepared for the great wide world.

To be here, I had to resign from the best job in the world, teaching fantastic students at a great school that embraces diversity and free thinking—the school that I left as a sixth former way back in 1979. I had a poster in my classroom that said, “Just because you’re offended doesn’t mean you’re right.”, and this is becoming more relevant every day. The increasing inability of young people to listen to a different opinion, debate ideas, challenge beliefs with fact, preferring to condemn all opposition, is concerning. Unfortunately, this is too often encouraged and demonstrated by adults, including teachers, hung up in their own world of woke conformity and self-righteousness, and those who are actively trying to strip away our rights to speak freely.

My granddad was barely out of his teens when he fought for this country in World War I. He watched the bombs being dropped that killed his 22-year-old brother in France, two weeks before the end of the war. They fought to protect the democracy and freedoms we enjoy today, and we need to cherish and protect every one of them. For the sake of our kids, we must reject any attempt to stifle our freedoms, especially our freedom of speech. Bullying is not OK; we all know that, but we must educate and not legislate, and adults must be role models and not just role players, cowardly hiding from face-to-face, uncomfortable situations. We must help students build resilience to face the real challenges of life in becoming an adult, not encourage a culture of delicate sensitivities. The oldies here will remember being told, “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” Our parents knew.

The toxic and false reality of social media, the increase in drug acceptance, and welfare dependency are challenging issues. Teachers have to recognise their role is to inspire and encourage discussion and debate while helping young people to develop the skills to persevere through hard times. Young people are finding it harder to stay in school. There are increasing depression rates, and New Zealand’s appalling suicide statistics show that what we are doing now isn’t working. The climate of fear has a lot to do with it—bombarded daily with messages of doom and gloom. I think we’re letting our children down. Young people need hope and a reason to work hard and succeed.

I began by saying I believe we’re all here for the same reason but that our life experiences determine the philosophies we have and how we think things should be achieved. Should a teacher give students the answers to an exam and teach only what the students want to learn to make them feel good, or should a teacher give students the resources, knowledge, and confidence to take responsibility, work hard, and succeed? Or, an analogy I alluded to at the start: which parent loves their children the most, those who give their child everything, protect them from all unpleasant experiences and reward them for mediocrity, or the parent who gives their child the skills to succeed and to cope with an ever-changing, sometimes difficult, and unpleasant world? I know which philosophy I think is right, but I’m sure there’s a happy medium.

I’d like to acknowledge the fantastic support I’ve received in this journey. My incredibly patient and supportive partner, Tanya, who’s been with me through all this and some pretty tough times over the last few years—thank you so much. My beautiful girls, who now think they might give politics a go because they reckon if Dad can do it, anyone can. My extended family, who understand how important this is to me. My dear auntie rang me on election day and said, “Well done, Chris. I’m so proud of you, and your mum would’ve been proud, too—but you know I’ll never vote for you, don’t you?” Teaching runs in the family. To my mates, who have supported me from the start and now can’t believe it, I know they’ll keep me well informed of the important issues of the day, and to those friends and colleagues whose life experiences have been different from mine but value friendship over political ideologies. Thank you to my Nelson electorate committee, who are the most enthusiastic and dedicated group of New Zealanders I know, and to our supporters everywhere who voted for ACT because they’re concerned at the current direction this country’s heading. And, lastly, to the ACT Party and the team with me in Parliament today, the values and principles we all believe in—freedom, equality, and personal responsibility—are more important now than ever before, and I’m proud to be part of this extraordinary whānau to represent those New Zealanders who put their trust in us. Thank you.

[Applause]

I call on Nicole McKee to make her maiden speech.

Mr Speaker, I stand before you, before my whānau, my friends, and my party colleagues, in New Zealand, as a newly elected ACT MP in this, the 53rd Parliament. Before I begin my maiden speech, I would like to congratulate you on your reappointment as Speaker of the House and congratulate my fellow members of Parliament for earning your seats across and around this, the New Zealand House of Representatives.

I have not had any political aspirations, nor any intention, of becoming a politician—maybe this is my mid-life crisis. I am but a humble wife, and a mother of four; a New Zealand sporting representative; and a small-business owner; a hard worker; and a community volunteer; and now I have the privilege of standing within this House as a representative of the people—a role which I respect and I’m proud to have achieved. So thank you to all the voters that have put me here.

My gratitude goes out to the board of the ACT Party, to the hard-working candidates, and the volunteers that made our 2020 election campaign so successful—without you all, we would not be in the position that we are in today. We have 10 voices in the House. I am thrilled to be a part of a team that values individualism; less Government interference; and advocates for freedom of speech, personal responsibility, and property rights. A special thankyou to you, David Seymour, for your trust, your confidence, and your persuasiveness to get me into Parliament.

As for me, well, I proudly stand before you all as a product of my upbringing, which I owe to my very strong mother Christine Fernie, who sits in the gallery today. You see, my Pākehā mother married my Māori father, but she raised my sister and I on her own. She worked two jobs, night and day, to afford to buy her first home for us. She worked those two jobs so that her two daughters could play sport, have food, be clothed, wear school uniforms, and have a home to return to each day. She told us, as we were growing up, that we needed to work twice as hard as everybody else because we were Māori and we were female. In the 1970s, a single Pākehā mother with two Māori kids did not fit into society well, but, nevertheless, my mother’s example taught us to stay true to what we believed in and to stand up for those less fortunate. I remember, as a teenager, bringing street kids home so they could have a safe place to stay at night, and mum tripping over strangers in the living room when she returned from her night job. Mum’s aroha was extended to all of those that needed help, and all she asked in return was for enough milk to be left in the morning for her coffee. She is proud of me and I am proud of her. I take this opportunity to thank you, Mum, for the life that you have given me, for the empathy that you have taught me, for the aroha that you have always shown me, and for your patience with me—I have been known to be a bit of a handful at times.

I would also like to pay my respects specifically to four of my tipuna—those that have passed but who have shaped me into the person that I have become. I pay tribute to my grandfather Richard Summervale and acknowledge his service in the Second World War. He always gave measured amounts of wisdom and thought, encouragement and love, and he often reminded me “You can have everything taken from you in the blink of an eye, but no one can take away what you have in here [Gestures toward head]; only you can own that.” Well, Grandad, I see a real potential now that with hate speech legislation around the corner, what we have in here [Gestures toward head] looks set to be restricted when coming out of here [Gestures toward mouth], and our ability to speak our minds may, as a result, be taken away.

My de facto grandparents Din and Viv Collings were stalwarts of the firearms community, and I pay my respects to them in the House today. Exceptional people, both New Zealand shooting sports representatives, with Viv breaking the mould and paving the way for women’s participation. It was a sad day for the firearms community when Din passed away; even sadder when Viv left us three weeks later, having quite literally died of a broken heart. The pioneering spirit of these two helped develop within me the confidence to step outside of my comfort zone.

My stepfather, Ian Fernie, he was a chef and he gave me the love and support of the father that I was sorely missing. He completed our whānau and introduced three step-siblings into my life. He was a wise man with lots of aroha and who taught me how to cuddle; although Ian didn’t have the same patience with me that Mum had—I only lasted one driving lesson and one cooking lesson with him. But Ian did truly complement our whānau and was the best father figure a young girl could have.

I’m grateful to be a part of, and to have learnt from, the lives of my tipuna, and I recognise and know that life is just one big classroom with many lessons awaiting all of us.

I would not be standing here if I did not receive the blessing of my husband and my children to join the campaign to enter Parliament—my biggest supporters. My endeavours have impacted on all of them, but to their credit they stood beside me on this journey, often at personal expense. To my husband, Duncan McKee, I thank you for supporting our whānau and allowing me the privilege of being able to be an at-home mum for eight years, bringing up our tribe. You kept a roof over our heads and you helped me learn the skills I needed to navigate through this university of life. Thank you for teaching me to debate issues—and here I was thinking you just liked arguing because you’re bored! My motorcycle-racing husband, the builder with a law degree, who insists on the race bike being housed in our living room, you can be the most incongruous man, but you have the biggest heart of any that I know. Thank you for insisting that I followed my instincts, to back myself, and for being the rock that held me in place during some stressful times over the last few years. Thank you for picking me up, and tripping me up, when I needed it the most. I love you dearly and more every day.

Our four children, they have also taught me much, and I still learn from all of you. Thank you for showing me the love and the respect that you have for our whānau as a unit. I’m so proud of you, of the choices you have made, the learning that you still undertake, the support that you give to your siblings and to your communities, your sense of humour, and of the beautiful young people that you are. You’ve always shown respect to your elders; are well-rounded, opinionated, and confident individuals. Jakarna, Kiriahi, Rex, and Brereton—I am truly blessed to have you. You are the four walls of my whare, and your father is the roof that holds us all together. I am a very lucky mother and wife.

I also take this opportunity to thank the firearms community, especially the entities that make up the Council of Licenced Firearms Owners: 12 of New Zealand’s biggest sporting and representative organisations that make up the council known as COLFO—the bodies that provide Olympic, Commonwealth Games, and world championship competitors—the largest NGO representing licensed firearm owners in New Zealand. You have persevered for a rational approach to firearms legislation wanting to be part of the solution. You have never been the problem, despite such accusations by the police, the Government, and the media. You held strong in your approach through the adversity of not having any meaningful involvement in the legislative process. You represented on behalf of so many affected by the rushed legislative changes and kept calm despite the bias—rational, thoughtful thinkers who I have been lucky to work with over the years.

The korowai that I wear today was presented to me by COLFO. I wear around my shoulders their hopes and expectations that they will be respected as a part of the New Zealand community and be able to take part fully and properly in the democratic process. They have elected me the task of advocating on their behalf in the manner that I have conducted myself over recent times. The weight of their expectations rests upon me, but their respect and support also embraces me, tied around my shoulders in a shroud. Two feathers from this korowai fell on to this chair when I first wore it on the day of swearing my oath of allegiance in this House. I keep these feathers in my cabinet here as a constant reminder of the oath I have taken and the community I have sworn to represent.

What happened in Christchurch on the ides of March 2019 has caused this country to mourn the loss of innocence, of lives, and of peace as we knew it. The first tranche of legislation that immediately followed did not bring us together; it drove a wedge through parts of New Zealand society, not for the banning of guns but for the blame that was directed at the law-abiding and the way in which it was conducted. The second tranche was also rushed through, and this confirmed the Government’s attack was aimed at those that comply with the law—whitewashing the failure of police’s own processes and procedures in giving a foreign-national terrorist a firearms licence in the first place. The rushed legislation was followed by rushed policy implementation, regulations, and mountains of errors.

Legal firearm owners became the new outlaws, fruitlessly justifying their legitimacy while the real outlaws continued with their crimes. Throughout this process the firearms community had not been properly consulted, spoken to, or asked to sit around any table. I personally attended around 90 percent of the select committee hearings, which were, quite frankly, a joke and a stain on the select committee process. The failures of the rushed arms legislation needs addressing.

The reality is the Government has not taken guns off the streets as they claimed they had. We are no safer, and the escalating gun violence by criminals remains unchecked. What Government did do was take legitimately owned firearms not from the streets but from police-inspected, secure facilities, and used taxpayer money to pay for them. What they did do is not wait for the details to explain where the failings occurred but laid blame on members of the team of 5 million for the actions of a foreign national.

I would like to believe that, in this House, we all actually have the same end goal of keeping New Zealanders safe. We may have differences on how to achieve this, but with good strategy and fair laws we can reach our mutual goal. My advice to the Government is to take the time to listen to all sides before making decisions. Hear the real stories and don’t be wooed by the fairy tales. Represent all, not just the majority that got you here to govern alone. Show respect to the full team of 5 million, and stop hammering the minorities. Working for the end goal as a collective, recognising there is a little give and take if you are to truly have a democracy.

I will be a part of the ACT Party that will hold this Government to account over this coming term. Be prepared to hear the voices of 10, not one, over the next three years, not only opposing but proposing new initiatives and ideas in the expectation that we can achieve the same end goal on many issues. I am humbled to stand here amongst my peers, in front of my whānau and friends, in a room that commemorates our battles so we never forget what was endured to keep us free. I promise to do my best and give my all for my country: Aotearoa New Zealand. Thank you.

[Applause]

Waiata

E te Māngai o te Whare, tēnā koe. Tuatahi, me mihi ka tika ki ngā mana whenua, ki te ngā iwi, ki ngā hapū, ki ngā uri o ngā maunga whakahi. Tēnā rā koutou katoa, e manaaki mai ana, i a mātou, ngā tauiwi, ki te whenua nei. Ki a rātou, kua whetūrangitia, tēnei te mihi. Nā rātou te huarahi i para. Mā tātou, ngā tapuwae e whai. Ki a tātou te hunga ora—e mihi ana, e mihi ana, e mihi ana.

[Mr Speaker, greetings. Firstly, I acknowledge the tribes of this land, the sub-tribes and the descendants of the ancestral mountains. I pass on my thanks to those of you who protect us, the people from afar, in this land. Those who have passed on, we acknowledge you. They forged the way forward during their time. We follow their footsteps now. To those of us here today—greetings, greetings, greetings.]

I have spent a lot of time leading up to this thinking about what I would say in my maiden speech. They tell you it’s the moment where you can say anything, but now I find myself standing here, I can’t help but feel like I just want to rush it and get it over and done with, to get on with the work. However, I keep thinking this isn’t just my journey, but the journey of my village, my loved ones, my family, those who walk with me in times of adversity and joy. So I want to pay tribute to us.

I want to start by acknowledging everybody who has ever had to lie to Work and Income to survive. In our queer community there is a saying that I love. It goes, “Be gay, do crime.” To me it means to be transgressive, to acknowledge that decision makers have created rules that criminalise our survival and our existence. For many migrant communities, finding legitimate ways to stay connected to their new homes is a crime that results in an overstayer status. For sole caregivers, it means lying to Work and Income about their relationship status in order to have enough income to feed their children. The rules were simply not made for us. They were made to uphold a system where the wealthy few keep getting richer at the expense of our planet, and this House is enabling it. When your ability to be who you are—and therefore your survival—is criminalised, it is an act of love to break the rules to allow others to thrive.

I whakapapa to the Istmus Veracruzano and Cataluña. I stand here as tauiwi and tangata Tiriti, committed to honouring Te Tiriti o Waitangi and mana motuhake Māori. Like many people in Mexico, I grew up entangled in the messy politics of blood quantums, ethnonationalism, and living with colonial ideas of caste. My identity growing up was in relationship to the State, a product of the ongoing colonisation perpetuated by successive Governments. Growing up, I identified as a mestizo, but as contemporary thinkers like Yásnaya Aguilar remind us, and I’ll say this in Spanish: el mestizo es el Proyecto que necesita el estado para mantener su hegemonía, para mantenernos desingenizados. Yo Todavía estoy reconstruyendo mi identidad, descubro mi historia familiar y mi posicionalidad con el estado Mexicano. Pero mientras tanto lo que sé es que las luchas colectivas por un sistema en el que todos vivan con dignidad me dan fuerza y esperanza: ya sea Mexicali resiste, los movimientos de mujeres indígenas en Jalisco, o las luchas al sur de México que se imaginan una sociedad donde vivimos en harmonía con el ecosistema del que somos parte. Y los paralelismos con las luchas en Aotearoa por justicia climática me recuerda que somos parte de un movimiento global.

Identity is pretty messy, and simply being “Mexican” barely covers the truth—there are so many threads that make up my messy tapestry, and there are so many that I still need to unfold to find their meaning. I was born in Mexico City, but I grew up in Tijuana until I was 18—a city receiving the internal displacement due to neoliberal politics, the war on drugs, and colonisation. Living in Tijuana was constantly living at the crossroads—navigating several languages, cultures, and spaces. Sometimes, we were guests in Turtle Island, but a few hundred metres away we were aliens, beaners, and illegals.

It was not until later in life that I realised that the extreme violence that was part of everyday life in Tijuana was not a universal experience. It was only after I had lived in Aotearoa for several years that I came to the realisation that—for many people—it was not normal to grow up discussing what you would do if your parents got kidnapped, or seeing mutilated bodies hanging from bridges, or having classmates murdered by the cartels. Still, I grew up surrounded by love from my family and an incredibly supportive group of friends who allowed me to blossom into the proud socialist, transgressive queer that I am now. Tijuana taught me what love in the face of adversity can look like.

I grew up with stories of my grandmother Carmen, who I never got to meet, but who lived on in the bedtime stories that my dad told us. She taught me to be transgressive, because she chose to divorce her abusive partner, which resulted in her having to flee her hometown to save her life. She was cast away from her support networks because she dared challenge patriarchal norms of the time that prevented her from not only being safe but allowing herself and my dad to be their authentic selves. She did it out of love, while dreaming of a future where everybody was free, and I’m happy that the love and courage of my grandmother lives on with me now.

I arrived in Aotearoa in 2006—at a time when the war on drugs in Mexico was deteriorating and the xenophobic discourse in the US was escalating. My parents made the sacrifice of putting whatever savings and loans they had into offering me the opportunity to migrate—and while it was a heavy responsibility to carry, I also acknowledge the privilege it was to even be given that opportunity. After arriving in Aotearoa as an international student, I soon found out that the international student fees were far too expensive to cover. We were expected to be able to afford at least $20,000 a year in fees, while only being able to work 20 hours a week to sustain ourselves. We international students, after all, have been used by the Government to patch up the lack of funding they gave to tertiary institutions.

In 2010, I had to drop out of university. I was broke, unemployed, and my mum had died of suicide. My world was being torn apart around me. And while I would love to pander to the idea of model minorities, of taking personal responsibility, the truth is that I only got through that part of my life because of the radical love and collective care others showed me. My best friend, Tom, and my colleagues at the Capitol Cinema held me at this very vulnerable time and gave me the resources and space that I needed to heal and to thrive.

For almost eight years, I worked at the Capitol Cinema as a cinema attendant and projectionist. I owe a lot of the skills that led me to Parliament to my time at the Capitol. Being able to deal with a busy crowd, telling people at the end of the night they had to leave, never being above doing domestic labour like cleaning the toilets. For a few years, I ended up being a projectionist, a trade that I was pretty proud of. Being a projectionist at work was one of the few pathways to climb above the minimum wage. The role of a projectionist also taught me the realities of automation. When digital projectors were introduced, my role became obsolete—now that I was being reduced to clicking a few buttons instead of meticulously putting film reels together and keeping the projector in shape. As a result of automation, I was put back into the role of cinema attendant—and my wages subsequently stagnated. The amazing technological advances that meant a machine could do my job should have meant my freedom, not an excuse for my employer to not pay me livable wages.

Over the years, I had to put up with politicians consistently calling my line of work low-skilled and, in fact, it was politicians dismissing the labour of low-waged workers as low-skilled and low-value that made me tune into local politics. I remember in 2011 watching the election results at the back of the cinema counter while the last film of the night was playing. I clearly remember seeing clips that night of the Winston Peterses and Bob Joneses of the world scapegoating immigrants for the housing crisis, for unemployment, and for inequality in general. While we were being blamed for buying up all the houses, we were also being blamed for bringing low-skilled, low-wage labour that didn’t contribute to the economy—or so they claimed.

It was personal—to be told that billionaires like Peter Thiel could, effectively, purchase a residency, have access to bring his family to Aotearoa because of his wealth, while the rest of us had visa conditions that left us open to exploitation and few legitimate pathways to residency. At the time, I didn’t have the exact words to describe what was happening, but I felt both anger and frustration hearing politicians talk about me and my communities like that while I struggled to make ends meet. I realised that for far too long we had been reduced to economic units to exploit. I think of the many workers—migrant and local—who have been made redundant during the pandemic while CEOs rark up huge bonuses and their companies make millions of dollars in profits.

Now, after years of being involved in political work, I am learning that capitalism and colonialism are systems that thrive on these narratives that divide us. I’m learning that our worth isn’t determined by our salary or by our degrees. I am learning that we all have an inherent right to a life with dignity despite the wealthy elite actively trying to strip that right from many of us. I see that our immigration system is still a white immigration system, a tool of the coloniser to exploit us, but until we achieve constitutional transformation and true Tiriti justice, this House will continue to be a beacon for these oppressive systems.

While, for some politicians, the discussion about low wages, the rights of migrants, benefit levels, having enough water to drink, climate change, and public housing is abstract stuff to be debated in the House, for some of us, it’s clear that we are not solely theoretical when we talk about why having livable incomes is so urgent. We talk about increasing incomes and public housing for all because we know what it is like to count your dollars before the next pay cheque. We fight for overhauling the welfare system because we know what it is like to be sitting for hours at Work and Income, having every single receipt scrutinised in order to get a measly food grant, while corporates easily accessed millions of dollars of subsidies during the pandemic in a high-trust model. It’s not abstract because it is a fight for the survival of the communities we serve and we belong to.

I come into Parliament grounded by the shared experience of my village, the experiences of struggle, but also a radical love for one another and our communities; the willingness to unpack our judgments, our biases in order to uphold each other’s mana. When I first came a few years ago to my role at Auckland Action Against Poverty, I had very little knowledge of the Social Security Act but I knew the feeling of shame when I reached out to others and admitted that I didn’t have enough to cover my basic expenses. I carry with me that knowledge of my mentors and my colleagues: people like Kathleen Paraha, who had the patience to teach me how to do welfare advocacy; Pat Hanly, who took the time to explain to me the ins and outs of the ministerial directives; Fred Anaru, who emphasised the importance of working across generations; and many others who have given me so much throughout the years. None of my struggles, victories, and experiences are walked alone.

I guess radical love is becoming a theme. It’s corny AF, but we’re here for it. I believe love is a discipline and action. The love we have for our communities makes us angry when we see injustice; gives us the strength to persevere, the humility to accept we can learn from one another, and the patience to have the difficult conversations at the dining table so that we can carry the important work for future generations to come. I also owe this privilege to our grassroots Green Party members, networks, campaigners who gave Teanau Tuiono, Elizabeth Kerekere, and I the mandate to join our amazing caucus. It’s great to belong to a movement where our members wield real power.

The work ahead is an extension of the work I’ve done on the ground. I’m really honoured to have been trusted with the social development portfolio to follow on the important work of Sue Bradford, Metiria Turei, Jan Logie, and Marama Davidson, who have been staunch Green champions on this issue. I am thankful to those in the union movement who have been unapologetic about supporting the unemployed as well as workers. All of these groups and people understand that addressing climate change requires tackling the extractive practices that drive inequality, that workers’ rights are intricately linked to climate justice, that we can’t have a livable planet if we don’t uphold the rights of indigenous groups already protecting most of the Earth’s biodiversity. The idea that you have to focus on social or environmental issues is an outdated construct, and we won’t stand by it.

Finally, to my family watching across the Pacific, to my dad, to Margarita, to Javier, and to my fam who can’t join me today because of the pandemic: thank you for allowing me to grow into this role. Thank you for your guidance, for your counsel, for your constant unsolicited commentary over the last few weeks over social media. Thank you for making me feel loved across the world. I look forward to honouring that love. Kia ora.

[Applause]

Waiata

I call Teanau Tui-ono—

💬 Teanau Tuiono: Tuiono, yes.

—for his maiden speech.

💬 Teanau Tuiono: Yes, that’s what I’m here for.

Ha, ha!

Atiu Tumu e, Atiu Tumu e. E rere taku manu kota‘a. Kua pāngia ta‘au takurua. E ‘apai i te karere o te papa kainga. Te rongo o taku tiputa. Me kura te rangi i te a‘ia‘i. Ka ma‘ara au ia koe.

E te mana whenua, Te Āti Awa, kei te mihi ka tika. Kei te tautoko katoa au i ngā mihi kua mihia, tēnā koutou katoa. Rātou ki a rātou, rātou anō ki Ōtautahi, e okioki ana i tēnei wā. Tātou ki a tātou e karapinepine ana ki raro i te whakaruruhou o tēnei o ngā Whare, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā tātou katoa.

Ko wai tēnei e tū ake nei? Ko Ngāpuhi, ko Ngāi Takoto ngā iwi. Ko Te Ururoroi te hapū. Ko tō mātou awa ko te Waipao. Ko Whatitiri te maunga. Ki te taha o taku pāpā, nō te pāuni o te Kuki Airani, nō te Oirea o Areora, ko Ngāti Ngutu, ko Ngāti Toki me ōna pānga ki a Ngāti Paerangi ngā iwi.

[To the tribe of this land, Te Āti Awa, it is only right that you are acknowledged. I wholeheartedly support the kind words that have been spoken about you today. At this time I would like to acknowledge those who have passed, including those in Christchurch. To those of us who have gathered within the protection of this House, greetings one and all.

Who is this person who stands before you? I descend from the tribes of Ngāpuhi and Ngāi Takoto. I descend from the sub-tribe of Te Ururori. Our ancestral river is Waipaoa. Our ancestral mountain is Whatitiri. On my father’s side, I descend from the Cook Islands, from Oirea o Areora. I descend from the tribes of Ngāti Ngutu, Ngāti Toki as well as its connections to Ngāti Paerangi.]

Nō reira [Finally], kia orana kotou katoatoa i te aro‘a rānuinui o te Atua.

Mr Speaker, Atiu tunu and the Tai Tokerau are in the House today. I have been thinking about the places that have defined me to get me to this place, and two of those places are Manurewa and Palmerston North. To coin two phrases at once, I’m Palmy-proud and ’rewa-hard. I would like to give a shout-out to everyone who is connected to both of those great two places. So to everyone who has rolled in from Palmy and the ’rewa, and everywhere else in between, to my campaign team from Palmerston North, and also the Greens wider whānau, we have put in all the hard years, after a very, very long campaign, tēnā koutou katoa. I thank you all for your effort.

I also acknowledge Tangi Utikere, the MP for Palmerston North, and note that two-thirds of the Cook Islands parliamentary caucus comes from Palmerston North. I actually asked a cousin of mine recently if that qualifies Palmy to be the 16th island of the Cook Islands, and he said, “No, that’s Tokoroa.” I said, “How about 17 or 18?” And he said, “No, that’s probably Porirua or Ōtara.” Also, the Cook Islands already has an island called Palmerston, which means you would end up being called South Palmerston North South, which would probably break Google Maps.

I am both tangata whenua and tangata moana, a descendant of both the land and sea. Like the tide ebbing and flowing onto the shore that doesn’t know where the land begins and the sea ends up, moving between these two communities is seamless for many of us who have the shared whakapapa. This connection always reminds me of a saying by poet and intellectual Teresia Teaiwa, who said, “We sweat and cry saltwater, so that we know that the ocean is really in our blood.” It reminds me that before there were borders and lines that carved up the Pacific, that whakapapa connected these islands, and that there is a deeper and richer tapestry of history that has been woven over centuries of interaction, interactions that cannot be confined by borders, but share linguistic, ancestral, and cultural roots, from Aotearoa to Hawaii, over to Rapanui, and with connections with every island in between.

Some people often ask me if I’m half Māori or half Pasifika, and I’m always like, “Nah, bro. I’m not half anything; I’m whole.” And I don’t think anyone is half anything—if anything, I’m double. If I was a beer, I would be Double Brown. If I was a flavour down at the dairy, I’d be Twice as Nice, but at only half the price. I am two peas in the cultural pod. Growing up Māori and Pasifika means growing up biculturally and having neither of those as the dominant culture, which meant I had to go to school to learn about Pākehā, and to be honest, I’m still learning about you people.

This is not a story unique to myself, but it is part of the story of places like South Auckland, Porirua, Aranui, Highbury—anywhere where our peoples have put down roots. My parents met in the tradition of that story. What I mean by that is they met at the pub where my dad was the bouncer and my mum was trying to get in. My parents weren’t the richest, but we were rich in the things that matter: love. We would sometimes work in the school holidays helping my dad mow lawns for a living, but I never went without. Education was really important to my parents. I remember once my dad saying to me, “Hey boy, you want this encyclopaedia set?” and I remember saying to him, “No, thanks.” And just like magic, I owned an encyclopaedia set.

My father was born in Areora on the island of Atiu, Enuamanu, also known as the land of birds. I acknowledge all the Atiuans here today. We are from Ngāti Ingatu and Ngāti Toki, with connections with Ngāti Paerangi. It is from my grandfather, Papa Teariki Tuiono, that I inherit my commitment to my communities. Today I acknowledge my aunties, who are here today. Although I join a growing number of MPs who think we should have the option of pledging to the Treaty of Waitangi as opposed to the Queen, I know that the old man wouldn’t have minded, because he got a medal from her—a Queen’s Service Medal for services to community. Back in the day, I would spend time at his place in Ōtara, discussing left-wing politics and about the olden days back on the islands, like when he was 14, working on the Makatea just over the border in French Polynesia, where young Atiuans had gone to mine phosphate. His commitment to community, and through that, the workers, continued when he migrated to Aotearoa. I think my colleagues in the Labour Party would have liked him. He was a member of their party. He would often give me helpful advice, which also sounded a bit mandatory, if not compulsory, like the time he said to me, “You know what, boy? You talk a lot. You should be a minister at the PIC or a lawyer.” That is the story of how I got a law degree.

My father was about the same age as I am now when he passed away in 1996. He worked too many jobs for too many hours. My grandfather passed away in the year 2000 and my grandmother passed just last year. They leave me with enduring lessons that I will carry into this House. Over the many years, I have been inspired politically by many people. But way before I had ever heard of Angela Davis, Emma Goldman, Eva Rickard, Fanon, Chomsky, or Marx, my first political role model was my mum. People often say that I am my mother’s son, which is very accurate because she was there when I was born. One of my earliest memories is my mum explaining to me about the Māori land march, in our lounge. My mum also took me on my first protest, in 1981 against the Springbok tour, when I was in primary school. I remember marching down Queen Street with the multitudes chanting “Amandla, amandla, amandla!” When she was a cleaner, she organised pickets and the workers, and when I was in my late teens, she dropped me and my brother off at the marae and told us to learn Māori, which we did.

My mother is never short on advice, even if you don’t want it—eh, Mum?—but there was always that reminder. She would always say to me, “Remember you’re from the North, boy.” She actually said that to me last week. So yes, it is northern blood that flows through these veins. To all the other Northerners in this House, and I think we’re in all the parties, I say kia ora, cuzzies. I look forward to agreeing to agree, agreeing to disagree, and, because this is Parliament and anything could happen, disagreeing to disagree.

My mother’s father is from the Te Uriroroi in Poroti, where the watercress is fresh and the vibrance and intellectual rigour of my people is fresher. It is through Te Owai that we are connected to people across the Tai Tokerau. My grandmother is from NgāiTakoto. Our marae there is Paparore—you have to drive past Awanui, and if you don’t drive fast enough, you will be pulled like a tractor beam into Hone Harawira’s house for a cup of tea, because you’ve got to go past his house to get there.

I referenced Whatitiri earlier as one of my maunga. Whatitiri is the word for thunder, and the reason it is called Thunder Mountain was because the kūkupa, or kererū, were so abundant that when they collectively flapped their wings, it was like thunder. Now it is silent up there. All the trees have been chopped down—environmental devastation. This silence is what happens when we do not remember our history, when we view events as isolated occasions and not part of the wider arc of colonisation. This dispossession of indigenous peoples correlates directly with the environmental destruction of those lands, and I stand and continue to stand with indigenous brothers and sisters from the Arctic to the Amazon to Australia, across Turtle Island, as we push back against extractive industries and against the destruction of this planet.

Climate change is an outcome of colonisation, which has removed indigenous communities’ ability to defend the land and the water. And here in the Pacific, our island homes are on the front lines of climate change. The struggle to protect the environment is also the struggle for self-determination. That struggle here is the struggle for tino rangatiratanga. For me, tino rangatiratanga could be a radically democratic alternative to capitalism in which the flax-roots local communities would be constantly and actively involved in making the decisions about the allocation of society’s resources in a collective way. It should embrace a system in which our entire economy is geared up to satisfy the needs of whānau—our tikanga, cultural values, and aspirations—not the profit margins of a tiny elite. It would encapsulate our role as kaitiaki, guardians of the earth and ecosystems. It would be based on a vision of society that affirms mana wahine; that is free of racism, class exploitation; and embraces our rainbow whānau.

I have always worked at the intersection of movements, and I believe that it is in solidarity with each other that we are stronger. I see our work here in Parliament as Greens as a part of the wider Green movement, which, when woven together with other movements, like a kete can hold together our collective aspirations. I will also remember to turn my face to the streets. I acknowledge all of the activists past, present, and yet to come who have and will put body and soul on the line for social and environmental justice—tēnā koutou. One thing I have learnt, though, through the years is that although ideas and ideology don’t change, people do. People either change or sometimes are not what you expect—soldiers who oppose war, dairy farmers who are opposed to intensive dairy farming, devout Christians opposed to Islamophobia. I have learnt over many years to expect the unexpected, that common ground can exist if we are open to finding it, and I wonder perhaps if there are unexpected friends and allies in this place.

If there was ever a time in which we need to reach for alternatives, it is now. The planet is heating up. Every year is hotter than the year before it. We started this year with the Australian bushfires—fires so hot that they even stained the skies here. We are facing ecological collapse and the mass extinction of species, and all of this layered with the COVID crisis and deepening poverty. The powers that hold this power in place seem inevitable, but I am reminded of the words of the writer Ursula Le Guin when she said, “We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art.” Artists help us to dream about what could be and what might be and help us to consider unexpected perspectives. I want to acknowledge all the poets, the writers, the dancers, visual artists, carvers, the singers and composers, and those who defy definition because of the very nature of who they are. I know this personally about artists because I married one.

Nō reira, e te tau o taku ate, taku toka tū moana, tēnei te mihi ki a koe.

[To the apple of my eye, to my source of strength when all else is uncertain, thank you.]

Terri, thank you for your strength and wisdom, for being the calm in the storm—and the storm in the calm, when needed. Thank you for always supporting my political adventures and also my political misadventures. I’m still figuring out which of those two this is yet. Thank you especially for helping me to view the world in different and unique ways. That is the gift that artists everywhere give to us all. If there is a time that we need to re-imagine the world, it is now. That re-imagination must challenge the way things are to look beyond the systems that hold in place power.

Science fiction has always been a medium for futuristic imagination, and, no surprises, I’m a bit of a fan. Possibly this is the reason why I was given the science, research, and innovation portfolio, because they probably figured, “Well, he’s good with science fiction; let’s see how he deals with science facts.” I was reflecting on this as I stepped into the inner core of the Beehive, where the lifts are. And I want all members to listen very carefully, because I want these words to follow you whenever you step in there, and that’s this: it looks like the Tardis. It looks and feels dimensionally outside of space and time. But here’s the thing: a Tardis is much bigger on the inside than it is on the outside, and that is what this place needs to be. Our ideas need to be bigger than this place—much bigger. We cannot go back to the way that things were. That world is disappearing fast, and it is our role to ensure a future for our tamariki and mokopuna. As Arundhati Roy said, “Another world is not only possible; she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.”

Nō reira, e te Whare, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, huri noa i te rūma, tēnā tātou katoa.

[Finally, to the House, to everyone in this room, thank you.]

[Applause]

Waiata

I call Tracey McLellan for her maiden speech.

Thank you, Mr Speaker. Tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou katoa. Ngā mihi nui ki a koutou katoa. It is with a tremendous sense of pride and a great sense of awe and responsibility that I stand here in this House for the very first time as the new member of Parliament for the beautiful Banks Peninsula. May I start my first contribution, Mr Speaker, by adding my congratulations to you and to your fellow presiding officers. My aim in this House is to learn and I look forward with some trepidation to your guidance.

May I offer my first thankyou to the people of Banks Peninsula for affording me the opportunity to represent you in this House and to work with you and alongside you in our communities. I have enjoyed meeting many fantastic community leaders, volunteers, and passionate advocates. Thank you to the groups and the organisations who got together to support me, and to the people who simply called out things like “Go Labour!” or “Can you say hello to Jacinda for me?”

💬 Hon Member: Go Labour!

Yeah! The beautiful Banks Peninsula electorate—every member, I’m sure, has claimed that their electorate is the best electorate. It’s not up to me to dismiss or to diminish those claims, but, with a healthy dash of deference to those I wouldn’t dare dispute, I emphatically claim top 10—and I’ll let you work that out.

The Banks Peninsula electorate has been well served over many years and has seen some beloved and formidable women MPs. Elizabeth McCombs was the very first woman elected to this House in 1933. Dame Ann Hercus famously knocked on every door in Lyttelton. But I would like to pay special tribute to the Hon Ruth Dyson, the outgoing member who served the people of Lyttelton, Port Hills, and Banks Peninsula so effectively, authentically, warmly, and selflessly for 27 years. I’ve been told many times that I have big shoes to fill, and while this is indeed true, it became clear as I knocked on doors throughout the electorate that it was not so much shoes but hearts that were full.

I feel very proud to join this amazing Labour caucus in the 53rd Parliament. This caucus not only reflects New Zealand, as many of my colleagues have already highlighted, but it reflects upon the work and the aspirations of the New Zealand Labour Party. I acknowledge our members, who are the lifeblood of our party, and I commend my New Zealand Council colleagues, both current and past, some of whom are here today—Claire, Tane, Dianna, Fleur, Beth, and brother Tolly—who prioritised a goal that this House should look like our houses. In achieving such a goal, we correct erroneous assumptions about the definition of merit, because merit isn’t elusive. We come from various walks of life and we may have different life experiences, but we share our values and we are here to effect those values together.

Growing up, I had a friend. His name was Burt. Burt had been a friend of my grandfather’s, whom I didn’t get the chance to meet. Burt was great fun. He never tired of playing board games, he believed with conviction and passion that chocolate biscuits could be for breakfast, and he let me drive and practise driving his maroon Toyota Viva on the back roads long before I should have. Burt didn’t always have a lot to say, but he would frequently impress upon me some sort of variation of the message that life isn’t always easy. It’s a simple enough sentiment, as was his solution: never waste an opportunity to learn and always vote Labour. Burt was the proud union rep for the Mataura paper mill, and every Tuesday he would drive down from Mataura to take my mum to the supermarket. This was his contribution to making life a little easier for Mum as she adapted to raising a young child as a newly single parent and a new life in a wheelchair.

I grew up in Southland and I started school in Bluff. One of my earliest memories is standing beside the electric range, watching my plate being loaded with crumbed oysters again and thinking, “Oh, oysters again!” One of my next memories was watching my mum being helped as she grasped her head in pain. After seven months in hospital, we moved to the big smoke of Invercargill when I was six years old. We were lucky to live in an excellent State house adapted for Mum that was warm, dry, and always made to feel like our own. If my friends had more than me, it wasn’t obvious. And when it was, it didn’t occur to me that it mattered. I recall my childhood in Invercargill as winterless—warm, sunny days spent tearing around with my friends on my red Cruiser. Likely inaccurate—sorry to the Invercargill people here—but we do remember details fondly when we’re happy and when we’re secure. It is my quest that all of our tamariki remember only sunny days.

My childhood also impressed upon me the need to continually strive for better accessibility for people who live with disability. Accessing the elements of everyday life shouldn’t be merely accommodated with workarounds sought. To do so is exhausting, and it becomes easier to simply make life smaller. All lives should be big lives.

After a stint in Australia and working at Telecom during endless rounds of redundancies, I decided to go back to school. I completed my degrees in psychology and picked up extra work, often as a bouncer—should that be any of service to you, Mr Speaker—and in 2002, my young family made Christchurch home and I completed my PhD. I’ve been fortunate to work within science and to indulge my love of the human being through psychology and neuroscience. I’ve added my contribution to what we know about dementia disorders and remain committed to the need to improve our societal response to what is a growing issue. I’ve added my contribution to what we know about traumatic brain injury. As I had growing up, I saw that vulnerability begets more vulnerability. It remains too easy for young people who sustain injuries to end up within the criminal justice system and far too easy when the socio-economic factors are not in their favour. We must do better.

My passion for people also extended to work within social psychology, and as a result I’ve authored a variety of papers. I was asked during the campaign whether a particular paper I once co-authored might help me deal with the egos in Parliament. It would be remiss of me not to emphasise that the paper was indeed a serious contribution to a men’s health issue, but the dreaded Google search was bound to catch someone’s eye—thank you, Sam Sachdeva. To answer the question, may I simply say that the short answer is no.

I want to thank Labour for recognising the importance of the training incentive allowance. It gave me a second chance at education, and I am grateful that thanks to the Labour Government, other people will no longer be denied the same opportunity.

Before entering this House, I worked as a union organiser for the New Zealand Nurses Organisation. I believe in the power of unions and that our whole society is stronger when workers are organised to fairly achieve better outcomes that improve the lives of everyone. In my role it was a privilege to see the myriad ways our nurses are at the heart of our health system. So I’d like to take this opportunity to acknowledge all nurses and to thank our nurses working in managed isolation and quarantine facilities. Your contribution towards keeping COVID at the border and keeping us all safe is immense, and I know that you and your families sacrifice much more than most people understand to do this work.

I like to think that Burt would’ve been proud to know that while my journey wasn’t always linear or easy, I can proudly say that I am a lifelong learner. And not only have I always voted Labour, but I stand here today in yet another role as part of the labour movement, a movement in which he placed so much trust.

My involvement in the Labour Party started when, coming home late and tired from work one evening, walking up the stairs, my son Jake responded to my question about whether the dishes were done by yelling out, “No, but I joined us to the Labour Party.” Within a month, I had a call from Elaine, a visit from Martin Ward, a delivery block, an invitation to join a meeting to plan the 2011 campaign, and a mental note to get a new dishwasher installed. There has not been much of my spare time since that hasn’t involved Labour, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I want to say thank you to Jacinda Ardern—this time, in particular, for declaring a climate emergency. Last Wednesday, I had the pleasure of welcoming the first school visit from Banks Peninsula. The students from Governors Bay School, who are passionate about climate change and their futures, asked to meet me on the steps of Parliament to share their thoughts and ideas. There’s no doubt that they want to see some more action, but your declaration not only acknowledged the next generation but specified directly to them that they are not alone. All of the great thoughts and ideas that they have are valid, and that is important.

I’d also like to thank and acknowledge Megan Woods for her support and friendship. Despite having one or two things on her plate, she always makes time, offers the kindest words of support, is astute, is loyal, notices the smallest cues, and with grace often says things like “Now, tell me if I’m interfering.” before offering what turns out to be just what you needed to hear. This thankyou extends to Lynley, John, and Nick as well—I am very grateful for you all.

Earlier I mentioned my mum. I want to thank my parents, Rayna and Russell, for never failing to show up for me. To my mum, Rayna, for a long time it felt like you and me against the world, but you were up every morning without fail, Milo and Marmite toast at the ready, determined that we would have a good day. To Russell, thank you for loving my mum—your “my sweet”—and for being such a lovely poppy to Jake and Taylor. My gorgeous cousins and my equally gorgeous Auntie Marleen are here today to represent Mum and Russell also, so thank you for being here.

My election to the seat of Banks Peninsula was a real team effort. I want to thank the many volunteers who pitched in, cracked on, and offered their expertise, support, and friendship. Special thanks to Jake, Kaitlyn and Jeremy, and their hoarding teams; Elaine and John, Kier and Caroline, and Jackie and Judy; Nicola, Ken, Chris, Sara, Marianne, Phil, Paul, Joe, John, Oliver, Sigrid, David, Andrei, several Claires, and Jill. Speaking of campaigns, I want to acknowledge my clever friends Hayden and Anaru.

About five years ago, we attended Russell’s parents’ 70th wedding anniversary, where the groom, Ben, at a mere 96 years old, rose to say a few words. He recalled the Depression, their service during the war, struggles, the cost of buying your house relative to wages, and the many accomplishments of every single Labour Government, carefully crafted to remain within the brief of an actual anniversary speech. He expressed hope that soon there would be other Labour Governments—ones that would tackle the unenviable challenges that the great-grandchildren gathered that day would face. A wee dram has since been raised in remembrance, but the impact that Labour has on real people’s lives and how much that impact means to people when they look back and when they take stock is what drives my commitment.

In closing, I’d like to say thank you and acknowledge my lovely boys, Jake and Taylor. I love and adore you, and I’m very proud of you both. We’ve found ourselves a family hobby, complete with family holidays to places like Labour Party conferences in Wellington, Auckland, Palmerston North, Dunedin, and Whanganui. I look forward to sharing this next challenge with you also.

Nō reira, tēnā koutou katoa.

[Applause]

You go first—you say “Mr Speaker”, and then I say—

💬 Anna Lorck: Mr Speaker.

I call Anna Lorck for her maiden statement.

E te Māngai o te Whare, e mihi mahana ki a koe. Ki te Whare e tū nei, tēnā koe. Otirā, ngā mema o te Whare, tēnā koutou.

[Mr Speaker, warm greetings to you. To the House that stands before me, thank you. Indeed, to the Members of this House, greetings to you all.]

Congratulations to you, Mr Speaker, on being re-elected to this 53rd Parliament. I stand before you as the final piece of the puzzle, joining together with my more experienced and fellow members in Parliament, who are now the red wave for the entire Hawke’s Bay and East Coast of the North Island. In doing so, I’m thrilled to be the one who has the opportunity to acknowledge this milestone achievement for all of us here today and to say thank you to those for their support and confidence in us to represent them and work for our regions in the Labour Government.

Congratulations to our team: MP for Napier, the Hon Stuart Nash; MP for Ikaroa-Rāwhiti, the Hon Meka Whaitiri; MP for East Coast, the Hon Kiritapu Allan; and, especially for the Central Hawke’s Bay District, where I grew up and lived for 30 years, and MP for the Wairarapa, Kieran McAnulty. I am so proud to join you all here as the new MP for Tukituki, and, in the words of the well-known Ngāti Kahungunu waiata, “Tūtira mai ngā iwi”—speak to us—“Ki-a ko tapa-tahi, Ki-a kotahi rā, Tātou, tātou e.” This is our time to stand together, shoulder to shoulder.

Thank you, Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern, for your leadership and your positive impact that has been moving the Tukituki vote to Labour. I will always remember our visit to Kimi Ora Community School in Flaxmere, where we joined the students preparing and serving their own nutritious lunch programme, and the huge difference this was having on helping them thrive in their learning environment. The lasting impression Kimi Ora made went on to help feed in to our Labour Government initiative Ka Ora, Ka Ako, which will see over 200,000 children across this country enjoy free, healthy lunches in schools by the end of 2021.

What Kimi Ora and you, Prime Minister, demonstrated to me was that many of the answers to how we can tackle some of the big challenges in this country are likely to already exist in the communities we serve, and it is up to us as elected representatives to keep our eyes and ears open to them, by being engaged and staying connected with the people on the ground who are doing the real work. In this job, every decision we make will have an impact on the lives and livelihoods of others.

I grew up in Waipukurau, the home town of my parents—Mum, Vivienne, and Dad, Willie Peacock—along with my two younger brothers, Kendall and Guy, living on a small farm block. Along with being a rural contractor, Dad was also a Territorial soldier, having first served in Malaya, Borneo, and Vietnam. Strict but fair, it was the army values that Dad lived by and raised us up on that have helped me through life: courage to take action to fight your fears, commitment to give your best, comradeship to respect and look out for each other, and integrity to do the right thing, always.

It hasn’t always been easy, and we have certainly had our differences, Dad, no more so than in politics. But we’ve come a long way, because you are here today with me, even after saying you would never come, and you even lent me your big, red truck to brand us for the campaign.

We were one of those rural families hit hard by the removal of farm subsidies under Labour, which saw Dad’s thriving contract driving work come to an end. Looking back now, I rarely saw my parents together after that as they came in and out of shift work—Mum retraining as a nurse and Dad doing many different jobs—and, over time, they started drifting apart.

As the older sister, with both parents now working, I took care of my little brothers. I grew up very quickly, but with my new responsibility came a sense of independence. At 14, I had my first paid job, doing the dishes at the local Leopard Hotel, then moving up to waiting tables in weekends. I’d bike the 5 kilometres into town, and after work, I’d stay with my Granny Pam, who I adored. She was also the secretary of the first Waipukurau branch of the Labour Party, and I helped her sell the raffle tickets. We’d get up early to bake a sponge cake, which had to be filled with red jam and lots of red strawberries on top.

I was still enjoying school, but my education came to an abrupt end midway through my seventh-form year, when I was singled out in front of my peers, not for my academic potential, but for being mediocre. While the intent may have been to somehow focus harder on my grades, it had the very opposite effect. I went home believing I was not good enough to go to university, and that my best option now was to leave school and get a job. I heard the local community newspaper was hiring and I somehow managed to convince the editor to take me on as a cadet reporter. I thrived in this new training ground, covering everything from protests against closing our hospital, to council elections, and all the local issues in between. I began to realise very early on that if you wanted to be part of making the big decisions for your community, you needed to be prepared to stand up and put yourself forward. After six months of journalism school in Auckland, I returned home with a promotion to the regional newspaper, where I managed to work my way up to editor of the rural pages—a news round that would help me to establish a strong network of contacts and build relationships that eventually led me to setting up a business.

For the past 18 years, I have worked alongside my husband, Damon Harvey, championing the success of local business, enterprise, and industry while raising a very busy family of five daughters. Then, along the way, came politics. In our work, there have been times when we have challenged both sides of the political fence. In doing so, we have always agreed to stand strongly together, passionate about putting our home region first and foremost. But what triggered me to stand for the Labour Party came in a speech given by the principal of Frimley Primary School, Malcolm Dixon. In all the years I’d been attending the girls’ school prize-giving, I never once heard Malcolm be political—but this year, he never held back. He talked about all that was going wrong in our education system under a regime of standardising our children, and the detrimental impact this was having by taking his staff away from doing the most important job of all: having the time to teach. He called on us, as parents, to challenge the Government. I listened, angry, upset, and disappointed in myself for not being more aware of what was going on in my children’s education. For I knew what it was like to be told when you were only as good as average.

So I spent my holidays reading and researching in the New Year, I met with Malcolm again, and I promised him I would do everything I could to help support the Labour Party into Government so we could abolish these national standards. And, like a dog with a bone, and with an election just months away, I joined the Labour Party. Seven years later, and three elections on, it’s certainly been a rollercoaster ride. But I didn’t get there on my own, behind me I had an incredible, united, and committed team that’s gone from strength to strength.

To my campaign manager, Nick Costello, nothing will ever beat your good old-fashioned way of grassroots campaigning. To the Silver Fern Farms union members, who, on their Sunday day off, came out to support me in that first contested selection process—your presence and endorsement is what helped me build the confidence in local members to get me across the line. Mike, and especially to Sally Russell, I treasure your loyalty—a never-ending willingness to help and always be there. To the core Labour team of committed members and volunteers—Evan, Daniel, Beverley, Dolly, Vee, Les, Rion, Simon, Marjorie, Paddy, Anne, Rachel, and Liz—election after election, week after week, you turned up—along with Geoff and Don, our dedicated hording team—rain, hail, or shine.

Mardi, my dearest friend, who joined the party in sister solidarity; Catherine, who has been with me through thick and thin; and to Coco, Ali, Riz, and Stephanie, thank you for being here with me tonight. To Rick Barker and Kevin Atkinson, thank you for your mentorship, and for all your time you have given me, no matter what hour, day, or night. To the honourable Labour MPs, Andrew Little, David Parker, and especially Stuart, along with Dame Annette King—thank you for your support, help, and guidance over these years. To Damon, your hands always rest gently on my shoulders: calm, reasoned, and strong. You have seen me at my best, and at my most vulnerable. You have also put up with a lot, but not once have you ever suggested for me to walk away from this—giving up has never been an option. But who then, in the middle of it all, decided that along with standing as a second-term Hastings district councillor, he would also run for the mayoralty. Out came all the billboards again, and away we went. But it wasn’t to be.

Damon, and also to Mark Lorck, the fathers and protectors of our five children. Together, you made sure our family stayed the course. To Mark’s wife, Michelle—your words meant so much on election night, when you told me how this journey had brought our family closer together. And to our daughters, Tabitha, Brittney, Augusta, Greta and Livia, the greatest campaign a mum could ever dream of, I know at times you’ve had to put your girl armour on, but I’m amazed by your ability to take things in your stride, to not sweat the small stuff, and how you look after each other. I am very, very proud of you all. A big shout out to Granddad Norm, who at 101 is watching this from home on his TV; and to our family in Australia, who I know would have loved to have been here. Finally, to my mum Viv, who has been my lifelong supporter, when in that moment of doubt, when I wasn’t sure if I had the strength to go again, you gave me the gentle nudge to believe in me, telling me that hard work eventually pays off. Now, as I roll up my sleeves to get on with the job I’ve been elected to do, I know that the time it has taken to get me here, the experience I bring, and the issues I have led on will help me with the work ahead.

Hawke’s Bay is in a strong position to be one of the most prosperous regions to help lead our country forward. I am absolutely committed to building stronger and better working relationships with our farmers, growers, and rural communities. My time as an elected district health board member has given me a real insight into the needs of our community, and will shape me as an MP for ever. We must also keep leading on the housing front. We’re in Hastings, we’ve become the first district of New Zealand to deliver a place plan for building hundreds of more affordable homes, but there is still so much work to do.

I am told I am a hard worker; this is what my parents, friends and colleagues say about me. For the next three years, I will work as hard as I can to represent the people of Hastings and Tukituki so that when looking back on my first term in Government, they know, you know, and my fellow team mates here know I have done my very best to work as hard as I can for them. And in doing so, I hope to demonstrate as the first student from Central Hawke’s Bay College to be elected to New Zealand’s Parliament, that my reputation and record will stand as a hard-working constituent MP who is far from mediocre. Tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou katoa.

[Applause]

Thank you, Mr Speaker. Ka tangi te tītī, ka tangi te kākā, ka tangi hoki ahau. Tihei mauri ora. E ngā mana, e ngā reo, e ngā maunga, e ngā awa, e ngā pātaka o ngā taonga tuku iho, tēnā koutou katoa. Tēnei te mihi atu ki te mana whenua o te Whanganui-ā-Tara, tēnā koutou. Huri noa i te Whare nei, e mihi atu ki a koutou katoa.

[The mutton bird calls. The parrot calls. I too call to claim the right to speak. I take the call. To the leaders, the spokespeople, the ancestral mountains, the ancestral rivers and those who retain the ancient knowledge that has been passed down, greetings. I would like to acknowledge the tribes of this land in Wellington. Thank you. To those in this House, greetings.]

Mr Speaker, congratulations on your election to the office of Speaker and I also thank you for this privilege you extend to new members of the House to present ourselves to the House.

I enter Parliament at one of the most challenging times in our country’s history. We continue to fight a pandemic and to accelerate our economic recovery. I know that the decisions we make in this House impact people’s lives. I feel the responsibility to keep our country safe acutely, let me tell you why.

My mother grew up in a poor family in a tropical island nation, the Maldives. She was orphaned when she was just two, when her mother died of typhoid. Now, I was born in Invercargill, and growing up in New Zealand I always knew I was lucky and protected from the catastrophic effects of illness. I can’t ever forget that lesson, because I’m named Ayesha after my grandmother, the woman that my mother never got to know.

Mum was educated in New Zealand under the Colombo Plan, and met my father at teachers’ training college. I grew up in Te Ānau, where my parents were teachers—or rather, as is typical of small towns, dad was my high school principal and running coach, and mum was my English teacher and debating coach. Mum and dad were always on duty for the school and for their students. Years later, as a doctor, their professionalism guided me whenever the phone rang in the middle of the night because a patient was in danger.

Dad was also determined to instil in me and my sister his love of the outdoors. My sister and I played spotlight in moonlit valleys and dared each other who was to jump first into snow-fed lakes. We crossed the Eglinton River, scrambled up to Dore Pass, and awoke in freezing Department of Conservation huts to see the sun touch the mountaintops. We grew strong, resourceful, and independent. I am pleased to join a Government that will protect our rivers and our biodiversity and that will preserve our wild and isolated places for tomorrow’s teenagers.

I left Southland for medical school at Otago. Even then, I had many opinions about public health, and I was lucky to have them tested by some of New Zealand’s best epidemiologists, Charlotte Paul, Nigel Dickson, David Skegg, and, later, Michael Baker and Philip Hill—yes, for us epidemiologists, the pandemic was a little like a family reunion. But seriously, over the last year, in particular, I’ve been grateful for the rigorous education I received.

At university, I also became involved in progressive politics through students’ associations. I look around the House and I see so many friends from that time. I remember the Hon Grant Robertson for the concern and tolerance he showed to those of us who came after him, and the Hon Chris Hipkins for his commitment to free education, even at that time.

When I graduated from Otago, I worked as a junior doctor at Wellington Hospital. To my patients, I want you to know what a privilege it was to care for you. I diagnosed your stroke and spoke to you every day until you learnt to speak back to me. I pulled back the emergency department cubical curtains and said, “Hello, I’m Dr Ayesha, and I’m sorry you’ve waited so long.”, and you embarrassed me when you said back, “I know there are others who needed your help more than me.” I told you the lump was cancer. I shocked your heart rhythm back to normal. I sat with you and a translator for an hour and explained what each medicine was for and if you took them, your baby would have a life without HIV. And I stayed with you when you died, because you didn’t have anyone else to call. I’m immensely proud to have worked in the health sector alongside wonderful colleagues. Our health system is often stretched, but our healthcare workers’ professionalism, compassion, and good humour always carries the day.

As a student and young professional, I enjoyed the very best education here in New Zealand and internationally, and I had several opportunities to put my skills to work for my community.

In the Maldives, my family’s life was very different. When I was 11 years old, my older cousin, Mohamed Nasheed, was imprisoned for his journalism, drawing attention to the corruption in the Maldivian Government. Anni, as we called him, was detained for months and tortured. The question “Would he come home?” hung over my aunt’s head like a guillotine. That year, Anni was named Amnesty International prisoner of conscience, and a global campaign eventually secured his release. Since then, I’ve lost count of the times that he was arrested, beaten, harassed, or exiled while campaigning peacefully for democracy.

As a final-year medical student, I did my placement in the Maldives to get to know my family better. I worked in the hospital by day, and by night I learnt of my family’s and others’ aspirations for a democratic Maldives. In 2008, Anni became the Maldives first democratically elected president. In this role, he campaigned relentlessly to protect his low-lying islands from climate change. Speaking at the Oxford Union on climate change, he recalled his time as a political prisoner.

I know it seems lonely to continue the battle when everything is against us, but the mark of true leadership is being prepared to stand alone for a cause in which you believe. I could spend my whole life wondering if I have the same courage as my cousin. For the sake of our democracy, I hope no one in this House ever needs to find out. What I do know is that I am lucky to be born with the freedoms New Zealanders have, and they’re freedoms we secure each day in this House when we engage with each other peacefully, rationally, and with restraint.

At university, I also met Alice. We’ve just celebrated our 21st anniversary. In 2013, we took our two-month-old baby to West Java’s sprawling capital, Bandung, where I ran a study tracing contacts of tuberculosis cases through the traffic jams and shanty towns. Alice and I had no idea what it would be like to be two women raising a baby in a conservative Muslim community—as it turned out, people mostly focused on the baby. Parenting is humbling and a daily reminder that I might not be as interesting as I imagine. Alice, I remember the grace with which you dealt with a new baby, a new language, and, yes, the new experience of sharing our home with bats at one point. I am so grateful for your love and support in everything we’ve done.

Now our beautiful daughter is seven. Laila, we have less time together now, but we’ve found new things to do. I love it when you leave your maths out for me to check when I get home late at night. New Zealand needs girls who are good at maths and science. They will be among our epidemiologists, our geneticists, and our disease experts when the next pandemic comes. Whatever you choose, I will work here for a science system that gives young women equal opportunities to develop their talents.

At the beginning of this year, I was a hospital specialist, a medical school lecturer, a district health board member, and a mum, and I thought I knew what busy was. Then the COVID-19 outbreak started in Wuhan. Looking overseas, it was apparent that failing to contain the virus would lead to a catastrophic outbreak. Based on my experience with other infectious diseases, I knew our public health systems lacked the capacity to deal with the threat. I vividly remember when I realised how serious COVID was. I couldn’t bear the thought of the deaths, I couldn’t bear the thought of my friends in the hospital being overwhelmed, and I couldn’t bear the thought of my daughter not seeing her grandparents again. I raised the alarm about the state of our contact tracing in early March, and kept up the pressure until I was asked to review the system. I argued for an outbreak plan that coordinated the efforts of our hard-working public health staff and information technology that joined up our fragmented system.

In the last year, we’ve gone from underprepared to one of the world’s most successful responses. While our response was based on science, science alone was not enough. Science can’t answer the question “How important are the lives of our seniors?” That is a question of values. Science can’t predict “Will people stay home if the Government asks them to?” That is a question of leadership. Prime Minister, I’m deeply privileged to serve in your Government and to bring my skills and experience to your mission to build a kinder, fairer, and more humane society.

By Anzac Day this year, it was clear our sacrifices during lockdown were paying off. I remember standing at my gate on Anzac morning, and I thought of my grandad Norman Verrall. He was orphaned in 1918, when the Spanish flu killed both his parents. I know he had a tough childhood in foster care in Auckland. He joined the navy for World War II and served on HMS Leander in the Pacific and Indian oceans. I thought about how our country had asked him to risk so much when he had so little. Grandad returned from the war to work stoking the boiler at Christchurch’s Firestone factory, a duty he shared with Norman Kirk. I often imagine Big Norm had Norm Verrall in mind when he said all people need is “to have somewhere to live, they have to have food to eat, they have to have [clothes] to wear, and they have to have something to hope for.” Us grandkids called grandad “Plum”, for the proud fruit tree he tended at the back of his mint green State house in Sydenham.

Grandad died in 1992. I was a teenager, and, around me, the safety net that supported working-class families like his was fraying. Benefit cuts, market rentals, and an end to collective bargaining undermined the security of working New Zealanders. Today, the pandemic has shone a light on the importance of essential work, like stocking the supermarket shelves, staffing our border, and cleaning our hospitals.

The first Labour Government enacted sweeping legislation to protect people from the hardship that followed a world war, a pandemic, and the Great Depression. It’s often forgotten that preventative health was central to the 1938 social security reforms. Improvements in housing and sanitation led Māori life expectancy to increase more than 10 years in just two decades.

I imagine a post-pandemic 21st century health system founded on the same sense of solidarity, science, and pragmatism, one in which we strive for truly equitable and accessible health care; where you find the help you need quickly in your community, from someone you trust; where the person caring for you can focus on you because modern technology has put your information at their fingertips; where you are seen for who you are—old, young, men, women, Pasifika, Asian, refugee, gay, straight, or trans—where our mobilisation to fight COVID leads a legacy of a strong immunisation system; where we apply well-established science to protect children’s teeth with fluoride and children in the womb with folate; and in which a vibrant and proud Māori health workforce improves the care of their own people and, in doing so, humanises the system for all of us.

We need to continue Labour’s work on housing, transport, justice, and violence. We will need to do all of this, and we will also, simply, need to fund the health system more.

I’m lucky to have a family that spans city and country, New Zealander, Maldives, gay, and straight, and I’m so grateful for the friends, campaigners, and colleagues here today. I’m proud to stand alongside my new Labour family here in Parliament, particularly my many brothers and sisters in the class of 2020. We can work together to give New Zealand families longer and happier years together.

Nō reira, huri noa i te Whare nei, e mihi atu ki a koutou katoa.

[Applause]

Waiata

As people are coming in, I just want to indicate that at the conclusion of the next speech the House will be suspended until 7 o’clock for the dinner break. That just stops me having to try and sort of get over the top of everyone to say it.

Tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou katoa. Tēnā koe, Mr Speaker, from Taieri, an electorate way down south.

Last year on talkback radio, my former colleague broadcaster Marcus Lush put Taieri on the map when he launched a national debate about how to say this beautiful Te Reo word. It is frequently mispronounced Tiree, which is an island off the coast of Scotland. Many of us whakapapa to Scotland down our way, so it’s easy to see how this happened. However, I can assure this House that Marcus Lush was correct in his pronunciation. Our place is Taieri, which speaks to our awa, the fourth-longest river in New Zealand. So, Mr Speaker, I stand before you today, humbled to be the new MP for Taieri.

I was born in Germany, and on my dad’s side I whakapapa to the Irish immigrants who worked the scheelite mines of Arrowtown. My grandfather worked as a delegate for the Waterside Workers Union in the 1951 strike. My grandmother achieved dux of her school. After completing primary level, she dropped out to look after her siblings, as did so many girls in her day. My father knew what it meant to walk to school without shoes. However, he also enjoyed a roof over his head, the roof of a State house, thanks to the Social Security Act of 1938, passed by the Labour Government under Michael Joseph Savage. When my dad won a scholarship to medical school in Otago, he broke an inter-generational cycle of poverty, and the hairy issues that can go with it.

My mother’s childhood wasn’t easy either. Although born into wealth, my mother knew the insides of underground bomb shelters and being ripped away from family because of war. You see, my mother is a Dutch immigrant with Flemish and Jewish heritage. How those two lovebirds from opposite corners of the world found each other is a beautiful story for another time. What I can say is they worked incredibly hard to give my siblings and me the security that had been so scant in their lives. As I look to them in the gallery above me today, I feel overwhelming love and gratitude, especially knowing how much my mum hates flying—it took two flights just to get here and you’ve still got to get back, Mum.

It is my dad’s working class values and work ethic and my mum’s vision and compassion that inspire me about what’s possible for Aotearoa. These values of my parents have also shaped my children. Last year, my teenage son Marli made headlines when he courteously challenged his school’s rules about tattoos and tā moko—a cultural taonga that he was told to cover with an arm bandage. When the school wouldn’t change its stance, he changed schools. Feiaksia, Marli, you make me proud. So that’s why I swore my parliamentary oath of allegiance in the Rotuman language—for Marli, my songbird daughter Lily, and our Rotuman community.

As a family, we hold each other to a golden rule: no gossip. Taelyn, the seven-year- old, is the best at this. He mirrors his dad, Danny, who is the kindest person I know, and like our children Danny’s a true VIP—a very important Polynesian! Fa‘afetai lava, Danny. As whānau, we also try to reach out to everyone as brothers and sisters, and that’s why my family have had the heart to let me do my mahi, which has often taken me away from them and all over the world.

My parents are obsessed with the news, and I grew up to the soundtrack of Morning Report, so it’s little wonder I became a print, and then broadcast, journalist. I’ve worked across TVNZ, TV3, Māori Television, Fiji Television, and with crews from the BBC. What an adventure it’s been! I’ve founded my own production company and made many international documentaries. I’ve filmed with hidden cameras in the prisons of Cambodia.

My proudest achievement was starting the first indigenous language show for Fiji Television, when I worked there in the 1990s. That weekly programme, Talanoa, still screens today, some 24 years later. My most harrowing assignment was directing a documentary on George Gwaze, a black Zimbabwean vet who had immigrated to Christchurch and was tried twice for a “murder” that actually turned out to be an HIV-related death. George was a victim of confirmation bias in our health system, medical staff jumping to conclusions and then trying to prove themselves right, and unconscious bias in the criminal justice system—institutionally racist procedures with ignorant disregard for how others view the world. George Gwaze was eventually found not guilty. His life and family were torn apart, yet he never received an apology nor compensation. Mr Gwaze has never received justice, and I want to use my time here to help ensure we never have another case like this. My studies may help in that regard. I completed an honours degree in law from Otago University, and the legacy from my brief stint as a lawyer was setting up Russell McVeagh’s pro bono section.

While living in Fiji, I helped found a university journalism programme, and I completed a Master’s in sociology. I’ve also served as chair of the Pacific Islands AIDS Foundation, a role which included fighting to get HIV-positive people access to life-saving drugs.

In my decade as director of the British Council in New Zealand and the Pacific, I was privileged to work around East Asia and Europe with some of the finest people I have known, advancing youth voice and women’s rights, promoting access to justice and the rule of law, and setting up social enterprises and advocating for impact investing. I was employed by the British Government, so I know firsthand how Britain cherishes its relationship with New Zealand because of our common values. Now I’m a member of this House in another role that once again frequently takes me away from my whānau, and I thank them for their understanding and generosity.

This year, I stood for selection and then election because I felt that as a nation we faced a critical crossroad. I wanted to be sure that we resisted the tide of narcissism sweeping the globe and remained true to our values.

COVID has demanded much of us. We’ve gone through lockdowns together and it has challenged us to become better people. As a nation, I think we’ve chosen to put our most vulnerable first. I love the people of Taieri who cared for our seniors when they could not leave their homes to shop for food. We sprinkled some magic into the lives of our children with small gestures like the teddy bear hunt endorsed by our Prime Minister. You would be hard pressed to find an electorate with more soft toys peering out their windows than Taieri, and many remain to this day. Not only do we have the most teddy bears, we also have the largest ones. Created from hay-bales by the tireless farmers who kept New Zealand fed during the lockdowns, those kaitiaki watch over State Highway 1 between Milton and Balclutha, and that says something about our big, generous, caring, southern hearts. So it is humbling to stand before this House as the elected member for such a hard-working, community-minded place.

Taieri’s boundaries are new but the electorate has actually come full circle. The former electorate of Dunedin South first began as Taieri, based in Mosgiel during the 1870s, before women could vote, let alone stand for Parliament. It evolved into a very special seat for Labour: a champion for workers and the unions that founded our party. In my view, Taieri remains our social conscience, especially with MMP, which can force politics to the middle.

As the first woman MP for Taieri, I acknowledge all the wāhine toa who made today possible: the Rt Hon Helen Clark, who in 2005 awarded me a New Zealand Bravery Medal for my services to journalism after the Asian tsunami in Banda Aceh. Ka mihi for supporting my election campaign, Helen. Our incredible Prime Minister, the Rt Hon Jacinda Ardern, whose relentless positivity inspired me to take the first step on my journey. Former Dunedin South MP the Hon Clare Curran—I’m so delighted to see you here today—who served her constituents so fearlessly and was thoroughly generous in her handing of the baton. My Dunedin-based colleague MP Rachel Brooking, it’s an honour to serve with you. Maiinga, my namesake, aroha nui.

As a breadwinner for my family, I pledge to all our women of Aotearoa, when it comes to pay equity, sisters, I will have your back, and I will fight for the rights of all workers who receive less pay linked to their ethnicity.

I also salute Sir Michael Cullen in what is an esteemed whakapapa in our Taieri branch. Thank you for joining me on street corners, Sir Michael. Thank you, too, to former Dunedin Cabinet Minister Stan Rodger and his wife Anne, for your unwavering support and guidance, and for travelling to be here today. Pamela and Dennis, tautoko for your wisdom. To Jim Kelly, my union the Rail and Maritime Transport Union, and to the meat workers whose hard graft contributed to my campaign, thank you. Most especially to the Labour Electorate Committee campaign committee and volunteers who got me here, you blow me away; thank you. I feel the gaze of all you good people upon me, and I will not let you down.

Taieri is urban and rural. Some of us experience heartbreaking poverty, yet you don’t often hear about that, because, well, we’re staunch, and we may seem far away. We need more houses, more jobs, better access to health services, and more support for our rural communities; yet, I’m excited. Dunedin’s new hospital will transform our region, not just through healthcare but because of the social impact approach of the Labour Government. We are uplifting our whole community through training, apprenticeships, jobs, and community outreach linked to the hospital.

Last month, I began my first street-corner clinics, bringing politics to the people in Milton and Balclutha.

To Waihola, Henley, Waipori Falls, Benhar, Kaka Point, Middlemarch, Waitahuna, Lawrence, you’re also on my radar. As for Kaitangata—well, just so it finally gets said in Parliament and written into Hansard—Kai rulz.

To everyone in Taieri, regardless of your politics, I am your MP, I’m here for you, and I’m listening to you, and helping are my parliamentary colleagues Nadine, Warren, and the amazing Larissa, who helped secure an election win of more than 12,000 votes, to prove that Taieri never was a so-called marginal seat. I am honoured to work alongside them and all the dedicated staff who so ably serve this House.

I feel proud to be in a Government that is working to keep New Zealand safe and accelerate our economic recovery and rebuild better than before. Economic justice is my kaupapa. I will fight for the widow in the Taieri retirement village who was forced to pay $10,000 just to move into the smaller unit next door after the death of her husband. I’ll seek creative solutions for our Muslim community who can’t access the housing market because our New Zealand banking models don’t align with some of those in our faith-based communities. May I acknowledge here that the royal commission’s report into the March 15 terrorist attack has become public today and that our thoughts are with the Muslim community. Al salam alaikum.

I’ll insist on climate and economic justice for the 10,000 people who live on the Dunedin flats. I’ll advocate to futureproof South Dunedin from flooding, in ways that create warmer, greener houses, ignite the local economy, and inspire our young people to stay living locally. Now that this House has declared a climate emergency, we have a massive imperative to get this right and lead the world on climate adaptation.

I will promote social enterprise. It’s a new story where buying and selling becomes about wellbeing, where the financial ecosystem supports those who can prove benefit to their communities not just through targets but through contracts, where iwi can provide by Māori for Māori and for others too.

I will advocate for impact investment. It’s a story where banking becomes a force for good, creating impact at scale and creating change because investors care where their money goes.

Let us be bold in acknowledging our wairua—our spiritual and cultural selves—so that our whole selves are not lost in the economy. I believe New Zealand has the heart and the imagination to make this happen. The Aotearoa Circle is already leading the change and I commend their work, likewise the Ākina Foundation, the Pacific Business Trust, and many iwi businesses.

To all tangata whenua in this House, I acknowledge that the inequities you challenge are painful and profound and that your kaupapa are urgent. Regardless of where you sit in this House, I respect Te Tiriti, and I will continue to walk across the bridges that divide us, even when that is uncomfortable.

New Zealand is the best place in the world to be right now, and the eyes of the world are watching us. Therefore, we must continue to uphold truth and sanctify the rule of law. I want to see civics taught in schools, so that my children can vote with confidence and integrity. I want the Pacific, home to my children’s tipuna, promoted through fair systems that promote climate resilience and women’s rights. We must stand for our values of kaitiakitanga, tino rangatiratanga, and aroha. As the geopolitics around us change, we must assert our independence, like we did with nuclear free. We can continue to role model to all our global friends east and west, wellbeing, protection from hate speech, fair and sustainable trade, and evidenced animal welfare. We can prove to the world that inclusive, evidence-based policies create greater prosperity for everyone. Internationally, it is our time to shine.

All these dreams I bring to this House today, and every day, along with respect for democracy, staunch loyalty to my Labour team, and the aspirations of the people of Taieri who will ultimately hold me to account. Thank you for the opportunity to present myself today.

Moa ta pulou ka ’uaf ta pulou—that’s a Rotuman proverb meaning change comes when we work together. I challenge all of us in this House, and you watching at home, to be the change that we want to see in the world. Tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā tātou katoa.

[Applause]

Waiata

Sitting suspended from 6.12 p.m. to 7 p.m.

I move, That this debate be now adjourned.

Motion agreed to.