Maiden Statements

Members, in accordance with the determination of the Business Committee, we now have maiden statements. Following the maiden statements, the House will adjourn until 2 p.m. on Tuesday, 19 March 2024. I now call to make his maiden statement to the House, Reuben Davidson.

Kia ora koutou.

Ko Reuben tōku ingoa

Nō Ōtautahi ahau

I tipu ake ahau i ngā tahataha o te Ōpāwaho

I tipu ake ahau i Ngā Kōhatu Whakarakaraka o Tamatea Pōkai Whenua

Ko toku kainga noho inaianei Ōrua Paeroa

Ki au nei ko Te Tiriti, te mana motuhake o Aotearoa

Ahakoa e ako tonu ana au i te reo Māori, he aroha tonu ō āku kupu.

[Hello everyone.

My name is Reuben.

I am from Christchurch.

I grew up on the banks of the Heathcote River

I grew up on Banks Peninsula

My home is currently Ōrua Paeroa

To me, the Treaty is the special authority of New Zealand

Even though I am still learning the Māori language, my words still have compassion.]

I acknowledge you, Mr Speaker, and congratulate you on the elevation to the only role in the House that apparently comes with a sheepskin seat. Just don’t let them pull the wool over your eyes.

I acknowledge Christchurch East. Thank you. I feel lucky every day to be your MP, and I will work hard to serve you. We swear an oath to become an MP. It’s a few short words, delivered in the language of our choice on a taonga that we choose. It’s a pretty succinct contract—one of the many things about this place that seems more Harry Potter than Aotearoa. But I see the role of this, the maiden speech, as the fuller oath. It’s my opportunity to tell you who I am and to tell you why I’m here. And I also ask that you hold me to this—my longer oath, my maiden speech.

In the late 1970s, my parents left Auckland with my brother, in a van, with a tent. They put a pin in a map, and they stopped in Christchurch. My dad rode his bike to work shifts at Boon’s Bakery, and my mum worked as a delivery driver for the gas works. I don’t know why that’s emotional. After my sister and I were born, they capitalised their child support entitlements and bought our family a home in Woolston. It was a combination of good Labour Government policy and good luck—I’ll come back to that.

We have a family history of hard work. My grandparents were coal miners, nurses, and teachers. My father, John Davidson, trained as a teacher, dedicating his life to education across New Zealand and Australia and coming to this very House to ensure special character schools survived. My mother, Glyn Abott—she will kill me for this—is hospitality royalty. She’s an amazing baker who opened incredible cafes, and this meant friends were always too scared to ask us over for dinner, but she was always in demand to come and cook on our school camps. Hard work is in our family DNA.

My parents separated, and our family grew. New relationships brought new siblings. There are a few of us—a coalition if you will—and I’d like to thank and acknowledge them all—the siblings, not the coalition—and it’s safest if I do that by order of age. So, Michelle, Delaney, Naomi, Jessie, Marina, Francis, Carlos, and Joseph, thank you for your support, your friendship, and your love.

Now, when you tell people you’re from Christchurch, they always have one question.

💬 Hon Members: What school did you go to?

That’s the one: “What school did you go to?” And my answer is often a little bit of a curveball, because I went to the Christchurch Rudolf Steiner school. So the next question is usually: “What’s that all about? How long have you got?”, and that’s best explained, succinctly, by Rudolf Steiner himself, who said, “Life as a whole is a unity, and we must not only consider the child but the whole of life; we must look at the whole human being.” That education shaped my life and, in part, my approach to politics—to look at the whole issue and to look at the broader solution. Now, the Steiner philosophy also meant I grew up in a house without a television—most of the time. We were allowed to watch Gloss. The 80s were full of contradictions. We all did things that we regret in the 80s—even Labour.

At high school, I was elected onto the board of trustees as the student representative, campaigning for equality, arguing that it wasn’t fair that the teachers could smoke on the school grounds but the students couldn’t [Laughter]. Some allies in the House tonight. It didn’t seem fair to have one rule for teachers and another for students. It really didn’t seem right that anyone smoked at a school. The result was a win: smoking was banned on the school grounds—a great way to endear yourself to those teachers who smoked and marked your work.

So, after a blissful TV-free childhood and a successful smoke-free crusade at high school, I left school, got a broadcasting degree, and became a TV producer that smoked. True story. And it gets better and worse, because I stopped smoking and I started producing TV shows especially for children. I spent almost 20 years working with children and animals. A few people have suggested that that might help me in this place. I worked with so many talented people to produce What Now? and create shows like Fanimals and Brain Busters. A huge thanks to Janine and Jason for the belief, the support, and the freedom. I loved creating content for children. They tell you what they like, what they don’t like, they tell you why, and they don’t wait until an election to do it. You don’t have to take my word for it; I’ve bought evidence: “I’m writing to tell you that the Muppets do not live in Sesame Street. Elmo and his friends live there! Kermit lives in the Muppet studio. Please, if you’re going to ask any more Muppet questions, make the answers true. From Billie.” The request is pretty clear: make your answers true—good advice for this place. And another, which ends “Thanks so much for the amazing experience, prizes (and the food!), I will never forget it! From Lola.”

People know when you care, and they will never forget it. That’s the same in this place, for the decisions we make and for the people we are here to serve. And our kaupapa in serving children was a simple one: first, do no harm; and second, ensure our tamariki and rangatahi leave walking taller. Dame Whina Cooper put it best: “Take care of our children. Take care of what they hear, take care of what they see, take care of what they feel. For how the children grow, so will be the shape of Aotearoa.” It’s the same here, in this House. We need to take care, we need to show care, as we work to grow Aotearoa.

I was originally going to deliver this speech on 22 February. It’s an anniversary. Christchurch people all know where they were at 12.51 p.m. on 22 February 2011, because it’s the day that everything changed. It’s the anniversary of the earthquake that took 185 lives and changed the future for everyone in Christchurch. This is the first year I didn’t spend that anniversary back in the car park that we ran to as the ground literally roared and the building buckled underneath us. We lost a lot: lives, homes, large parts of the central city, and whole suburbs erased into a red zone. But we actually gained something too. Our communities came together and many got stronger. Strangers helped each other, hugged each other, dug liquefaction out of homes, and shared stories, tears, and the contents of our defrosting freezers. There was an energy and a spirit that got us through and gave us strength. I think that spirit is called “community”.

And there was a challenge to community—that challenge was called Government. Because, whilst locally there was a willingness to work together, to reimagine, redesign, and rebuild our city, too much was done to us. Top-down decision-making often didn’t hear or respect our strong and proud communities. The answers weren’t always true; the care wasn’t always shown.

In Christchurch East, we lost eight schools, thousands of homes—thousands. Our roads and bridges were broken, some still haven’t been replaced. Many people felt like they were left behind or forgotten—some still do.

I want to acknowledge the hard work and care from Lianne Dalziel, the local MP for Christchurch East at the time, and later as the Mayor of Christchurch. And I celebrate Poto Williams—and her team, Heather and Leeann—who took up the baton as the MP for Christchurch East for a decade, with a proud legacy of earthquake recovery, strengthening our social services, and an enviable set of completed shovel-ready projects that will serve the community for decades. You leave very big—and fast—shoes, and I am so grateful for your work, your advice, and your support. Thank you.

No one ever gets elected on their own. [Blows nose] They blow their nose on their own, though. Thanks to my family who helped with fund-raising, deliveries, doorknocking, and such good food. It means a lot to have you stand with me.

Thank you to the amazing team who worked so hard on my campaign for the opportunity to represent and serve this community. There are so many to thank, but I’ll try and do that now: Joe Davies, Tim Baker, Omer Shadich, Alana Pidgeon, Douglas Shaw, Jenny Hughey, Sarah Whitcombe-Dodds, Bebe Frayle, Yani Johanson, Jackie Simons, Paul McMahon, Simon Lawrence, Maryanne and Craig, Roland and Jackie, Chris and Ken, Emily Caygill, Joe Sole, Tracie Palmer, John and Mary, Norm and Chris, Liam Bateman, Colleen Philips, Jackie Simons, Kirsty McNab, David Close, Ihorangi Reweti Peters, Anne-Marie Reynolds, Alex Hewison, and Jen Miller. David, Jenny, and Sarah for that very long meeting this time a year ago—thanks for digging in. To Ruth and Martin, for your rock-solid guidance and constant support. David Lawrence, for being an unstoppable doorknocker. Hugh Perry, for your wisdom as campaign chair. And especially to Libby Caygill for being the best campaign manager a candidate could ever wish for. A huge thank you to every deliverer, caller, sign waver, and hoarding host across our campaign.

I am so grateful for all of the love and hard work we put into this campaign for Labour and, most importantly, for the people of Christchurch East. Because that’s what we worked for: the opportunity to serve the people of Christchurch East. The mighty Christchurch East [Voice wavers]—I don’t know why that one gets me—the mighty Christchurch East. Communities with diversity, opportunity, energy, and passion. Communities that need more warm, healthy, dry, and safe homes that people don’t just call home but actually own; that recognise that schools are at the heart of community, they’re about so much more than an hour a day of reading, writing, and maths—without a cell phone—and they’re better with a healthy school lunch. Amazing entities like The Loft that provide wraparound services for families who need help and support. Community organisations like the Aranui Community Trust Incorporated Society, and the Shirley Village Project that set targets of a 100 percent family violence - free community—because how could we aim for anything less?

And why should we? We shouldn’t be making cuts to our social services—the scars will outlive the cuts. We need to work with community, not against it. That’s what I’m here to do for Christchurch East: to serve you, to work for you by working with you.

I talked at the beginning about my parents having good Government policy and good luck to be able to buy our family home. Today is day 99 of the first 100 days of this coalition Government. Take the time this weekend to compare the last 100 days with the first 100 days of our last Labour Government. The actions taken in your first 100 days means that there are already people in New Zealand who will now need good luck to make it through the day—good luck to make it through the day. You can shrug and blame your coalition agreement—but know that you will be held responsible. Because it’s not about the people in power; it’s about the power in the people.

I’m proud to be here as part of a united, Chris Hipkins - led Labour team that will work hard to serve people—I know we can, and I know we will. A team that doesn’t divide but that brings people together. A team that understands the immediate challenges, like how we ensure local media survives the current crisis so that democracy thrives—and so they can report on our plans to deepen our commitment to Te Tiriti, act with pace on the climate crisis, ensure fairer tax, deliver better health and education outcomes, and look after workers and people that can’t work. Because people don’t fall into poverty; they’re pushed there—and you are pushing. I commit to ask the right questions, for true answers, and, through my actions, show that I heard and that I care—because I do.

When my mum was growing up in Waitomo, her family was often joined for dinner by Wiremu Te Tau Huata. He wrote a song for his children, a song about working together, seeking knowledge, love for others, and always staying united. I want to finish with a song—but, don’t worry, I’m not going to sing it. We can all do that together at the end. But I will read it as my oath—in te reo Māori first. E Winiata, kaua e mataku.

Tūtira mai ngā iwi

Tātou tātou e

Tūtira mai ngā iwi

Tātou tātou e

Whāia te māramatanga

Me te aroha, e ngā iwi

Kia ko tapatahi

Kia kotahi rā

Tātou tātou e

[Line up together

All of us

Seek after knowledge

And love of others—everybody

Be virtuous

And stay united

All of us

All of us]

Nō reira, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā tātou katoa.

Waiata—“Tūtira Mai Ngā Iwi”

[Applause, hongi, and harirū]

Where we live,

The grass is green,

The water’s pure,

And the air is clean.

And if you wondered where heaven is on earth,

We’re telling you, yes, telling you,

It’s our place of birth.

Ko Hikurangi te maunga

[Hikurangi is the eponymous mountain]

Ko Waiapu te awa

[Waiapu is the glistening river]

And we are,

we are,

Ngāti Porou children.

Aha

Ngāti Porou children.

E te Māngai o te Whare, tēnā anō koe.

Ko taku mihi tuatahi ka tika ki tō tātou nei runga rawa nāna nei ngā mea katoa. Ka mihi hoki au ki ngā mate huhua o tēnei wā. Koutou mā haere haere hoki atu ki te wā kainga tuturu mō tātou te hunga tangata. Otirā ki taku whānau Reipa, tēnā koutou, aku hoa katoa o tēnei whare ahakoa nō tēhea pāti tēnei te mihi atu ki a koutou, ki a tātou. Huri noa ki a tātou katoa, aku hoa, aku whānau aku kaitautoko katoa. Tīhei mauriora! Kei te aha? Ā, mō taku whānau Paniora—adelante para siempre!

[My first acknowledgment, rightly so, is to our most high for he is the creator of all that exist. I acknowledge also the many who have recently departed. Return back to our true home. Also to my Labour family, thank you all, all my friends of this house no matter which party you’re from, I express my utmost respect to you all. Also to our friends, our families, and all our supporters, let the force be with you! How is it? And to my Spanish family—adelante para siempre!]

Now, let’s see what I’ve got written on this paper.

It is truly humbling to stand here as a member of the 54th Parliament of Aotearoa New Zealand. I actually want to start by saying thank you to the people of Ikaroa-Rāwhiti who brought me to this House: the whānau who created unprecedented queues in Ruatōria to vote and those of you who deemed me worthy of your first ever vote. Tēnei te mihi ki a koutou.

[Here is my expression of gratitude to you all.]

You did this. You brought me here; the mana of your voice. I runga i tō mana i tō reo kua tae mai au hei kanohi mō koutou i roto i tēnei Whare.

[Due to your support and your honour, I am here to represent you all in this House.]

My earliest memory of delivering a speech is in the primers class at Tapere-nui-a-Whatonga. I was nudged to the front to deliver a thank you speech. It was your stock-standard “On behalf of Room 5, I would like to thank you for …”, and ever since then, whatever I’ve done in life, it’s been “On behalf of”. Reuben, I’m catching your tangiweto.

A life of service is what we were born into by our parents, affectionately known as Cina and Nunu. Our father was a reverend, historian, farmer, kura kaupapa tumuaki, but, more importantly, the best dad and papa, who was always present and extremely tolerant. He demonstrated the balance between taha Māori and Christianity, and loved to quote the Desiderata. One of his favourite lines was, “Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are a vexation to the spirit.” Sorry, Dad, I walked right into this one.

He’d often say to me, “You can do whatever you want. You’re your own boss.” My mother, on the other hand, frequently reminded that, in fact, I was not—sometimes, by means since outlawed in this House.

The education system hadn’t been ready for my mum. Encouraged into secretarial work, she was far more at home on horseback or in any machinery Dad made the mistake of leaving keys in. When people needed land for a papa kāinga at the height of her own illness, Mum jumped on the tractor, hooked up a slasher, and cleared the land. Houses are still being delivered to that whenua this day—ka pai, Labour. Mum normalised women in the workforce for our whānau, remaining a loyal employee of the Waiapu Farmers’ Co-op in Tikitiki until its doors closed in the early 1990s.

Our parents seemed to have enough of everything, for everyone—time, love, kids! We shared them, and they shared us. Mum and Dad gave me everything I needed to prepare for this journey, including the nurturing of a whole community. The Waiapu Valley is known as Waiapu kōkā huahua—Waiapu of many mothers—and I was fair game. My mother issued a warrant to the whole community to tune me up if I needed it. But, to the contrary, I was nurtured, mentored, and loved by my community. Raised on the shoulders of Project Employment Programme (PEP) workers and privileged to sit at the feet of our elders, I am number eight of nine of Cina and Nunu’s children. Edward stole my thunder as baby of the family when I was five, even charming his way into my godparents’ lives, who I am so happy to have here today—Ollie and Eddie. But, clearly, I’m over that! My siblings always keep my feet firmly on the ground, never letting me get carried away and think I’m too neat.

Once, when we were planning our mother’s 60th, I stood, hand on hip, and declared that we should all learn a song. Patrick and I always do the speeches, and we always sing the song. My eldest brother, Paul, stood up and he said, “OK, I’ll sing a song. You kill the mutton.” I sang the song! But the point is he knew my lay—they all did—and they’ve supported me in everything I’ve done. So to Materoa, Paul, Anne, Ruvae—who I know is watching and hopefully not crying—Patrick, Hiria, Dorothy and Edward, who were all taken too soon, thank you. And also, thank you for heckling me all my life so that I’m prepared for it in this House.

I loved my primary school education at Tapere-Nui-A-Whatonga in Rangitukia—so much so that I haven’t left, now serving as the presiding member. My brother is the principal, and my sister is the other teacher—very hard! When it came time for high school, my parents decided I’d be educated at home and attend Ngata Memorial College. I’m so glad they did. At the time, I felt like we were “Dial-a-Pō’hiri”, but that’s only because we were! But to be entrenched in my Ngāti Poroutanga [in my being Ngāti Porou] right up to adulthood set me in really good stead for the rest of the world. It also set a frame for a pretty good campaign, but we’ll talk more about that later. To the current students of Ngata Kāreti who are here today, nau mai ki tēnei ō Whare—welcome to your House.

From there, as predetermined by my whānau, I moved here to Wellington to attend Victoria University. The whole time, my eyes were firmly fixed on getting back to Rangitukia. On arrival, my Uncle Cassidy gave me a pep talk: he said, “Now, make sure you don’t leave university with your BA—‘Bugger All’ ”. Well, technically, I’m still on a gap year, but I certainly didn’t leave with bugger all. It was a defining time where I made lifelong, non - Ngāti Porou friends, and some dear friends who are here, which gave me a true appreciation of the richness of my upbringing, and the value that the skills and knowledge bestowed upon me have in our society.

That said, it was time to get back to Rangitukia. As a founding student of kōhanga reo, I went full circle and became a kaiako at Ngai Tāne Kohanga Reo while doing voluntary youth work. That evolved into mahi with Paraire Huata’s Te Ngaru Learning Systems. Teaching Māori models of practice and affirming and sharing mātauranga Māori is something I remain committed to.

When Mum passed away in 2003, I decided it was time to revisit my childhood dream of getting paid to talk. My brother said he’d pay me to shut up—still waiting! That led to a very fulfilling career in the media, and I’m so happy to have some of my hoamahi here this evening. Unfortunately, there was actually much more to it than merely talking, but I loved it, capturing stories for generations to come.

It also afforded me the opportunity to—you guessed it—move back to Rangitukia. Living the East Coast dream, Russell and I headed to the 2012 Ngāti Porou East Coast Heartland rugby final versus Whanganui with his parents, Ma and John. You know the game—the one where Ngāti Porou East Coast made the best comeback of all time. On the trip there, my father-in-law, “Big John”—the guy who rode the blue horse—noted that East Coast were looking for a CEO. I thought, “Well, that’s not really a TV story.”, but I let him finish his kōrero. “Nek minnit”, I’m attending the New Zealand Rugby Union AGM as CEO of Ngāti Porou East Coast Rugby, the only female CEO or chair in New Zealand Rugby at that time.

Coming from Ngāti Porou, that was a far bigger deal to everyone else than it was to me. That’s where the people decided I could be of service at that time, so that’s where I was. It was one of my most challenging and rewarding phases. It was never merely about the oval ball; it was about pride—it’s still about pride—value, identity, setting pathways, and daring to dream. Again, lifelong friendships were established, and I thank my provincial union, New Zealand Rugby, and New Zealand Māori Rugby Board colleagues present tonight. By the way, rugby and politics—not so far removed.

But there is a saying that life is what happens when you’ve made other plans, and when I answered a call in June 2023, I was not expecting, “Caz, I want you to be the next Labour candidate for Ikaroa-Rāwhiti.” Adequate greasing up ensued, but it was not flattery that swayed my decision; it was legacy—the legacy of my parents, whānau, and community, and the legacy of Parekura Horomia, who was truly an MP of the people and became synonymous with this seat and the seat of Ikaroa-Rāwhiti. So to the Horomia whānau and all you “Hauitians”, you are a force of nature.

Of course, it was the legacy of Tā Apirana Nohopari Turupa Ngata. I said yes in that very phone call, and I couldn’t help but imagine Mum and Para—old mates from those PEP days—having a chuckle up there, and Para saying, “Finally got her, Cina.”

Then came those three words: “Push for Cush”. I wasn’t initially a fan, but, boy, did it work. I imagined myself getting pushed all over the place. Nobody seemed shocked by my announcement. Like my siblings, you were confident that this was my lane. Strangers who have now become trusted friends, who are too many to name, from Wainuiōmata, Wairarapa, Heretaunga, Ahuriri, Te Wairoa Hōpūpū Hōnengenenge Matangi Rau, Tūranga-nui-a-Kiwa, tae noa atu ki Pōtaka [all the way towards Pōtaka] saw hope in me, and you formed a formidable campaign team and pushed for Cush, trusting that I would push for you, and I will. I thank you for your confidence and your aroha.

Another group of campaigners who quite literally rose out of the wīwī were my irāmutu, who went from not giving two hoots about politics and elections to now being budding political analysts. My name even became “Push for Cush” to the mokos: “Who’s that?” “Push for Cush.”

Again, my irāmutu are too many to name, but I want to acknowledge those who are here in person: so Tina-Mei, Krisynthia, Paks, and my mokopuna taku ingoa Kushla, Fusion, Hone Hayes, and Donny Hunaara Russell. You guys are pretty meke. I might keep yous on for the next campaign. If I said, “I love you.”, they would think I was ill.

I framed my campaign on the whakatauākī of Tā Apirana Ngata’s “E tipu e rea”, and I’m so proud to have brought the hou, the seat home to te Riu o Waiapu for the first time since he held it 80 years ago. The wisdom and relevance of the message of “E tipu e rea” of walking in both te ao Māori and Pākehā naturally resonated with everyone throughout my campaign, and it’s been demonstrated in this House that it resonates with that side as well.

Recently, a few misguided souls have sought to appropriate Tā Apirana’s thoughts on the Treaty of Waitangi a hundred years ago—mischief-making. His whānau, iwi, and Māoridom are concerned by this, but I have it on good authority from the Ngata whānau that Tā Apirana would have offered the offenders a wry smile, tamped down his pipe, and got on with winning everyone over to his ultimate cause—as will I.

On the note of development, some of the key issues which arose consistently were recovery and slash. I’d like to thank our leader, Chris Hipkins, for heeding the call of our people and allocating me a spokesperson for cyclone recovery, forestry, and tourism and hospitality—all areas of opportunity for Ikaroa-Rāwhiti. There’s a bit of a theme developing here, too. On the date that I asked my first question, it was the anniversary of Gabrielle, and today is the anniversary of Cyclone Bola, so ka hoki ngā mahara [so the memories return].

So how do I serve you best from Opposition benches? Mahi tahi relationships. I acknowledge our incumbent Labour MPs Ginny Andersen and Kieran McAnulty, and I thank you for your support during the campaign. To the National MPs who hold seats throughout my electorate—Mike Butterick, Catherine Wedd, Katie Nimon, and our resident Coastie, Dana Kirkpatrick—tēnā koutou. I trust we will see beyond politics and prioritise our people. I’m pretty awesome to work with too, even in Opposition. That’s why there’s some Opposition heartland unions here today.

During the campaign, I said I was raised by the village, and, on that note, I want to acknowledge my Uncle Boydie and Auntie Bonnie, who are here, and my Auntie Taina—siblings of my mother and father—and acknowledge my two aunties watching from Darwin and Melbourne, Auntie Goosey and Auntie Dette: tēnā kōrua.

I said I was raised by the village and I’m accountable to the village. This remains true. The village has just grown to become the whole of Ikaroa-Rāwhiti and, indeed, anyone who feels I’m the right voice for you.

Times may seem dark right now, whānau, but I come from the northern end of Ikaroa-Rāwhiti, Te Uranga-o-te-Rā, where each day we are first to see the light, and I will continue to shine the light on the value of our rohe whānui. You will hear your reo. You will hear your stories, hopes, and vision for future generations. I will bring your light to this House and to the Aotearoa whānui.

Heoi anō rā e hika mā, tēnā anō koutou katoa i tae mai ki te tautoko i taku kauhau tuatahi, nei rā te mihi ki a koutou katoa, nō reira e te Māngai o te Whare, i raro i ngā manaakitanga o tō tātou nei runga rawa, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, kia ora tātou katoa.

[However, dear friends, thank you all for being here to support my maiden speech. I express my utmost respect to you all, also to the Speaker, under the guidance of our most high, thank you, thank you, thank you all very much.]

Waiata—“Paikea”

The House adjourned at 6.17 p.m.