Valedictory Statements — Hon Andrew Bayly

Mr Speaker, colleagues, family, and friends, and all of you who have come tonight to make sure that I actually leave this place. I note that valedictory speeches normally begin with the departing MP droning on about themselves—don’t worry, that will come later, but I want to begin with seven wonderful women: Barbara Knowles, Lynne Richardson, Jane Hancock, Judith Tucker, Sally Sumner, Trish Wanden, and Sally Reid. Between them, they have given more than 80 years of service. These are the people in all of our electorate and parliamentary offices who quietly and sensitively handle thousands of requests for help without seeking recognition; they simply see it as their job. You are kind and caring people. You make people feel that they’ve been heard. I love you for it and thank you.

Like everyone who’s never done it, I assumed I would be good at politics. That’s one of politics’ little traps. Whatever I thought I knew, the people of Hunua and Port Waikato soon corrected. They did not care where I sat in caucus; they cared only whether I turned up, listened, and actually waited for the answer. Sometimes my constituents were confused why I turned up at all. One such instance occurred on a Sunday morning in the remote settlement of Glen Murray. As I sped past, I saw 30 cars outside a hall. Now, no self-respecting MP can resist such an audience. I stopped. The front door was unlocked, and the key was in it—isn’t that classic New Zealand? I went inside, heard muffled sounds, and opened a second door. Inside were 30 women all in a position I could not contemplate. There are moments when your training takes over; this was not one of them. I mumbled something like, “I think my wife does something like this” and just got the hell out of there. Behind me came shrieks of laughter and then, “Was that the local MP?”.

But electorate work is not just about the good times. People often come to an MP because something has gone wrong—sometimes, something terribly wrong. Nothing affected me more deeply than the suicides during COVID. The Auckland boundary did not simply divide my electorate on a map; it divided families and communities. People who lived only a few kilometres apart suddenly found themselves on the opposite sides of it. One family had a son living nearby who was struggling with serious mental health issues. They believed the restrictions meant they could not visit him. After three days trying to contact him, they emailed me. I said, “Please get in the car, just go to him now.” They found that he had taken his life three days earlier. We then had to help bury their son under COVID restrictions. At the very moment they most needed people around them, the rules kept these people apart. As we all know in this House, there are things in politics we celebrate, there are things that we defend, and then there are things that we always carry. I have carried that ever since.

After the 2020 election, Judith Collins appointed me treasurer and placed me third in our team. She told me she believed that I was the person best qualified for the role. Judith, you saw something in me, you backed me, and I will never forget it. The new role let me focus on the economic consequences of COVID—particularly business owners wondering whether they would survive. I knew what it was like to lie awake at 3 o’clock in the morning wondering how we were going to pay our 150 employees. Wages are not an accounting line; they are groceries, rent, mortgages, and those little things like school shoes. I spoke in this House on behalf of business owners who were watching years of their work slip away through no fault of their own. They feared for their staff, their families, and everything they had built. I believed the Government was moving too slowly. At the end of that speech, I finished with three words: “I am ashamed.” The video went viral because people living through it finally thought that someone understood.

Becoming a Minister was a great honour. I had waited nine long years. I wish to thank the Prime Minister for making me New Zealand’s first Minister of manufacturing: an industry vital to our economy but too often overlooked. Across my portfolios, my purpose was to make New Zealand a better place to build and run a business and to give New Zealanders greater control over their financial future. I knew the pride of employing someone new. I also knew the fear of signing a personal guarantee and putting everything that you built—including the family home—on the line.

We advanced open banking, completed the first major insurance law reform in 30 years, simplified legislation, and began the first serious review of New Zealand’s competition settings in decades. We also negotiated agreements with banks and telecommunications companies regarding financial scams. In respect of ACC, I commissioned two major reviews, including how its $50 billion fund might be better managed.

One of the biggest reforms I wanted to achieve was an overhaul of the Companies Act, which affects every business and director in New Zealand. A year before the 2023 election, I asked Roger Wallis of Simpson Grierson to begin redrafting it to modernise, simplify, and digitise the law. Roger did much of this work on a pro bono basis. A lawyer working for nothing is sufficiently rare that I thought it needed to be recorded in Hansard. Roger, you truly broke the mould.

Another priority was getting more New Zealand capital into New Zealand businesses. About $35 million a day currently goes into KiwiSaver. In 25 years’ time, New Zealand KiwiSaver balances are likely to be worth $1 trillion. Too little of that is invested in great New Zealand businesses and manufacturers. I wish to acknowledge Lloyd Kavanagh from Minter Ellison, who hosted many of my discussions with KiwiSaver providers and other industry participants.

Two other changes mattered to me. The first was requiring Government agencies to pay their bills within 10 working days. It is vital that smaller entities are paid regularly and quickly by their bigger customers. The deliberate strategy of publishing their actual payment times every six months was a great incentive to bring about this improvement. Using the Government as a precedent, I think that the requirement should now be extended to cover councils and large corporates. Its real value will become apparent during the next financial crisis, when small businesses are paid first—not last.

The second change was financial literacy. As a business owner, I saw employees struggle with basic financial decisions. Poor financial literacy is both an educational issue and a society issue. Before the 2023 election, I met organisations delivering financial literacy programmes. Immediately after the election, I raised the possibility of a nationwide delivery of these programmes in schools with the Hon Erica Stanford. She agreed immediately. Erica, I want to thank you for your leadership in now making financial literacy part of the curriculum.

Some of my work was completed. Some remains unfinished. Some will take years before its full benefit is realised. But together, it was a programme shaped by one belief: that people willing to risk their money, employ New Zealanders, and build something in New Zealand deserve a fair chance to succeed. None of this was achieved alone. To my advisers and ministerial staff, thank you for your hard work. I want to acknowledge Leonard, Jack, Paul, Grace, Sam, Jasmine, Kathleen, Andy, and the two Wills and two Bills, among others. I am proud of what we achieved together.

Ministerial office was one of the greatest privileges of my life. Losing it was one of the most brutal experiences of my life. It began with a six-minute meeting with three of my advisers. During a brief discussion, I placed my hand on the upper arm of one of my male advisers and said, “We can do this.” Then I left and thought no more about it. The next night, I was told a serious allegation had been made. I could not believe it. Later, on a flight, I told Tina, my wife, that I may have to resign. She did not say anything. She simply turned away from me, towards the window, and began to cry. Tina does not cry easily. That was when I understood this was no longer just about a ministerial job. It was hurting the person I loved most.

Next morning, I flew back to Wellington to meet the complainant. When I landed, I was told he was unavailable but the Department of Internal Affairs (DIA) wanted to question me. DIA said that all three people present at the meeting had corroborated the allegation. That was critical. I might contest one account or maybe two, but if all three corroborated a serious allegation, I could not remain a Minister. It was on that premise that I took the decision to resign.

That premise was false. Just before I announced my resignation, I again asked to meet the complainant. I wanted to apologise directly for my conduct and for making him feel uncomfortable. During that conversation, he told me that he had not made a complaint and would not have done so. The next day, the second witness described the meeting as “a storm in a teacup”. Three months later, Public Service Commissioner Sir Brian Roche confirmed in writing that the ACC chief executive had initiated the investigation. He also wrote, and I quote, “DIA has confirmed that no formal complaint was, or has been, made about Mr Bayly’s conduct.”

Ministers must be accountable. I have always believed that. As a Minister, I should not have put my staff in a position where they felt uncomfortable. For that, I sincerely apologise. Accountability must, however, rest on facts and a fair process. Mine did not. I leave others to decide how and why it failed. I put this on the record because it is part of my parliamentary story but not the whole story.

What this horrible episode did reveal was the kindness shown by some people. Soon after the matter was first raised, my adviser Grace Ridley-Smith rang me from Nelson. She was in the middle of her honeymoon. She did not ring merely to ask how I was. She rang to say that she was coming. Grace cut short her honeymoon—left her new husband to finish the honeymoon alone—and flew to Auckland to stay with my wife and me while we tried to understand what had happened and what we might do next. Who does a thing like that? Who does a thing like that? Well, Grace did. Grace, what you did was an extraordinary act of loyalty and love. Tina and I will never forget it.

Then Sally Reid rang. Sally had worked for me for six years before retiring two years earlier. She did not ring to offer advice. She rang to announce that she was coming back. No discussion, no interview. She had decided that I needed protecting, so she came out of retirement. Sally has also taken on another difficult assignment: teaching me French. Merci de toujours prendre soin de moi. Tu es peut-être petite, mais tu as un cœur de lionne.

When I felt abandoned by the system, Grace and Sally did not move away from me; they moved towards me. I had lost office. I had not lost them.

You may not have realised it, but after my resignation, I went into a very dark place. To those in this House and the few journalists who stopped and asked how I was, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It helped me find a way back. I would also like to make a special mention of my year group, who are around me today, who supported me during that process. To start to put events in order, I began writing a book. Hopefully, some of you might buy it when it’s published!

I also returned to my work on Antarctica. In 2019, I’d helped organise the first Antarctic Parliamentarians’ Assembly in London. MPs from 20 countries came together to discuss how to protect a continent that is a place of peace and dedicated to science. I decided that the next assembly should be held in New Zealand. The Rt Hon Winston Peters backed the project from the outset and generously provided foreign affairs staff to help host it. Winston, I am greatly, very grateful for your unwavering support. Following the successful assembly, I was appointed chair of the steering committee and tasked with organising the next gathering, likely in Norway in 2027. I’ve also finalised the constitution for the organisation, giving it an enduring structure, with parliamentarians meeting every two years. Helping to establish this permanent, international forum is something I hope will form part of my legacy.

A valedictory should not only look back; it should also look forward. So I want to finish with New Zealand’s biggest financial issue: superannuation. It represents a long-term promise to all New Zealanders. However, a promise is only as good as we can afford to keep it. Late last month, Leonard Hong and Emmanuel Jo and I published a paper in the Asia-based International Review of Public Administration on preserving universal superannuation. Treasury measures the cost against GDP. Government’s don’t pay superannuation out of GDP; they pay it out of taxation. Our analysis shows that, by 2065, superannuation, health, and education will consume almost 80 cents of every tax dollar, leaving only 21 cents for every other portfolio, every other Government activity.

We propose a gradual increase in the age of eligibility by one month every year starting in 2029, reflecting the improvement in life expectancy and avoiding abrupt policy changes. We also propose linking increases in superannuation to inflation rather than wage growth, with a review every five years to ensure the pension remains fair and adequate. Finally, we recommend that those unable to continue working because of poor health or because of physically demanding occupations should be able to draw their pension earlier. Other countries provide this option; New Zealand should too. Future Parliaments will have to address this issue. If we don’t deal with it soon, a change will have to occur—probably not in the next financial crisis, but probably the one after that. That’s when the change will be brutal, and there will be a major lurch in policy.

Finally, as we all know here, Parliament consumes time. If you’re not careful, it consumes all of it. Before politics, I knew I’d worked too much while our little boys were growing up. I could not recover those years, but I could still create something special for each—not a holiday, but a journey with a purpose. So, I made a plan. When each son turned 20, we would go on an adventure of his choosing. James and I dragged sledges to the North Pole; Dan and I crossed Jordan on camels following the routes of Lawrence of Arabia; and George and I lived with the Dukhas, the last of the reindeer herders in Mongolia in the mountains next to Russia. We came home with more than photographs; we came home with lasting memories and having seen each other in different ways. To my three boys, it has been a privilege sharing remote campsites and watching you grow into wonderful men. To my parliamentary colleagues, can I suggest, there is always another meeting, but some appointments with your children must be made before the opportunity disappears. I do admit, however, that our version of a family holiday was a little extreme!

Now, to my wife, Tina. There’s something I need to say to you publicly: politics was my choice. The death threat that named you and our boys was not something that you chose. I remember ringing you at work. It was already dark. As I told you what had been written, I heard your voice begin to tremble. I’m deeply sorry that my public life brought that into yours. You did not choose it, you did not deserve it, and for that, I will always be sorry. For 12 years you’ve had space. You’ve run the house, made decisions, and you even know where everything is—unlike me. Now, I’m going to be there every day—with time and ideas. You seem to have identified this as a significant risk. I’m sure that I will have some proposals for reform. However, I suspect none will survive consultation! I’m proud of the offices I’ve held. I’m proud of the work I did. But that is not what matters most. What matters is who is still beside you when the title has gone. Tina was there before Parliament, she was there through it, and she will be there when I walk out of this Chamber tonight.

To the people of Hunua and Port Waikato, thank you for trusting me. To my supporters, electorate volunteers, and National Party, thank you for your loyalty and friendship. To my staff, thank you for making me better than I was. To colleagues across the House, thank you for what you taught me. For the wonderful parliamentary staff, I enjoyed our quiet conversations. And to my family and friends above, thank you for coming, for staying, and for catching me when I fell.

I came here wanting to make a difference. I know not how history will judge what I did. I know only that I gave it everything I had. Thank you.

[Applause]

💬 SPEAKER: I think there’s going to be a bit of a changeover in the gallery, so we’ve got about five minutes before the people here for Maureen Pugh’s valedictory take their seats in the gallery. We’ll try and leave most of the congratulations to Andrew until the conclusion of the next speech.

Maureen Pugh

💬 SPEAKER: I thank members for their patience while we had the gallery change over. Just to reiterate, when the speech from Maureen is concluded, the House will be suspended for the dinner break. It’s now my pleasure to call on Maureen Pugh to deliver her valedictory speech.